Fail Safe by Eugene Burdick, Harvey Wheeler Page B
Authors: Eugene Burdick, Harvey Wheeler
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newspaper people," the President said. "Pete can handle it all right, but someone else will crack and start to call Scotty or one of the wire services or some damned thing." He paused, leaned back in the chair, held a pencil up and studied it carefully. "Tell Pete to let them all know it's urgent, but not a bonebreaker. Not yet. Off the record. No leaks. Any leaks on this and the guy and his paper are dead. Now and forever. O.K.?"
"I'll tell Pete, just like that," Mrs. Johnson said and smiled.
"What about the Pentagon group?" the President said, smiling at Mrs. Johnson, but not responding to her remark. "You're supposed to have a list or something."
"Yes, Mr. President, it's right here," Mrs. Johnson said. She shuffled through the papers she was carrying. She did it with all the expert quickness of a gambler making a fast riffle. A white card appeared in her fingers.
The precision of the riffle again reassured Buck. In the presence of people so poised and prepared he knew he would perform welL
"Give it to Mr. Buck," the President said.
Mrs. Johnson handed Buck a stiff white card. He glanced at it. At the top of the card were the words PENTAGON ALERT GROUP. It had been dated at 0800 that morning and Buck realized that the list was probably made up each day. The list contained all the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Secretaries, and a representative from the National Security Council. Buck noticed that after the name of the Secretary for Air there was a handwritten sentence which said "In Dallas to dedicate new missile site. Back Thursday."
One of the phones on the President's desk rang and a light went on.
"That will be Bogan at Omaha," the President said.
Mrs. Johnson started to turn toward the door. "Wait just a second, Johnnie."
The President picked up the phone. He did not say "hello," but someone obviously had started talking to him at once.
By reflex Buck looked at his watch. It was 10:87.
Mrs. Johnson moved toward Buck. For the first time he noticed that her middle-aged and very smooth cheeks were flushed 'with excitement. She bent over Buck and spoke to him in a low urgent voice.
"At least we're better off than President Truman was in 1950 when the Korean thing started. That's one of the first things I changed around here," she said primly. "That poor man could hardly find anyone to advise him. He practically had to make the decision single-handed. He called State, the Pentagon, the Hill, here, there, everywhere. Nobody home. So he did it alone."
Did what, Buck thought to himself.
Buck looked up at Mrs. Johnson and smiled thinly. Her memory was said to be limitless, her knowledge encyclopedic, her antagonism fatal. He had heard, and he could not remember where, that when her cheeks showed small patches of pink it was the equivalent of Hitler throwing an epileptic fit.
For the first time Buck realized that this was something more than a drill, that great decisions might have to be made. His throat went dry and then, as he had trained himself to do when he was tense, his smile broadened into a wide and very good imitation of genuine amusement. He saw the President's eyes above the telephone regarding him curiously.
Five seconds after General Bogan had stopped speaking to the President the phone was back on its cradle and he and Colonel Cascio had started toward a door fifteen yards from the desk. Both were aware that they must not alarm Raskob and Knapp. They moved quickly, but without 'haste. It was an old drill. This was the first time their walk had intention and, even so, they walked at drill pace.
The door was labeled TACTICAL CONThOL. Colonel Cascio opened the door and the two men walked in. The room was served by a sergeant who even as he snapped to attention continued to let his -eyes roam over the controls and lights and mechanisms which filled the room. The central machine in the room was a long lean console with a bank of switches running down its spine. The room hummed, a faint, rather
newspaper people," the President said. "Pete can handle it all right, but someone else will crack and start to call Scotty or one of the wire services or some damned thing." He paused, leaned back in the chair, held a pencil up and studied it carefully. "Tell Pete to let them all know it's urgent, but not a bonebreaker. Not yet. Off the record. No leaks. Any leaks on this and the guy and his paper are dead. Now and forever. O.K.?"
"I'll tell Pete, just like that," Mrs. Johnson said and smiled.
"What about the Pentagon group?" the President said, smiling at Mrs. Johnson, but not responding to her remark. "You're supposed to have a list or something."
"Yes, Mr. President, it's right here," Mrs. Johnson said. She shuffled through the papers she was carrying. She did it with all the expert quickness of a gambler making a fast riffle. A white card appeared in her fingers.
The precision of the riffle again reassured Buck. In the presence of people so poised and prepared he knew he would perform welL
"Give it to Mr. Buck," the President said.
Mrs. Johnson handed Buck a stiff white card. He glanced at it. At the top of the card were the words PENTAGON ALERT GROUP. It had been dated at 0800 that morning and Buck realized that the list was probably made up each day. The list contained all the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Secretaries, and a representative from the National Security Council. Buck noticed that after the name of the Secretary for Air there was a handwritten sentence which said "In Dallas to dedicate new missile site. Back Thursday."
One of the phones on the President's desk rang and a light went on.
"That will be Bogan at Omaha," the President said.
Mrs. Johnson started to turn toward the door. "Wait just a second, Johnnie."
The President picked up the phone. He did not say "hello," but someone obviously had started talking to him at once.
By reflex Buck looked at his watch. It was 10:87.
Mrs. Johnson moved toward Buck. For the first time he noticed that her middle-aged and very smooth cheeks were flushed 'with excitement. She bent over Buck and spoke to him in a low urgent voice.
"At least we're better off than President Truman was in 1950 when the Korean thing started. That's one of the first things I changed around here," she said primly. "That poor man could hardly find anyone to advise him. He practically had to make the decision single-handed. He called State, the Pentagon, the Hill, here, there, everywhere. Nobody home. So he did it alone."
Did what, Buck thought to himself.
Buck looked up at Mrs. Johnson and smiled thinly. Her memory was said to be limitless, her knowledge encyclopedic, her antagonism fatal. He had heard, and he could not remember where, that when her cheeks showed small patches of pink it was the equivalent of Hitler throwing an epileptic fit.
For the first time Buck realized that this was something more than a drill, that great decisions might have to be made. His throat went dry and then, as he had trained himself to do when he was tense, his smile broadened into a wide and very good imitation of genuine amusement. He saw the President's eyes above the telephone regarding him curiously.
Five seconds after General Bogan had stopped speaking to the President the phone was back on its cradle and he and Colonel Cascio had started toward a door fifteen yards from the desk. Both were aware that they must not alarm Raskob and Knapp. They moved quickly, but without 'haste. It was an old drill. This was the first time their walk had intention and, even so, they walked at drill pace.
The door was labeled TACTICAL CONThOL. Colonel Cascio opened the door and the two men walked in. The room was served by a sergeant who even as he snapped to attention continued to let his -eyes roam over the controls and lights and mechanisms which filled the room. The central machine in the room was a long lean console with a bank of switches running down its spine. The room hummed, a faint, rather
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