“Yes, sir. Major Miller did not make a pass at Mrs. Wilson. ”
“So he would say, right?”
“Mrs. Wilson made a pass at Major Castillo when she thought he was the German journalist. And he caught it.”
“Interesting,” Dr. Cohen said.
"And ...”
“I’d like to hear that from Major Castillo,” the president said. “I’d like to hear the whole goddamned wild, incredible story again from him.”
“Sir, at the moment he’s on the Metroliner to Philadelphia. I can call him and have him return, but that would take several hours . . .”
“He’s checking into the possible Muslim connection in Philadelphia?” Dr. Cohen asked, and, when Hall nodded, went on: “Mr. President, you’re not going to
have time to check Castillo’s story out yourself. You’re going to have to make a decision and right now.”
“I know that I have to make a decision, Natalie,” the president said. He sounded tired rather than sarcastic. “What I want from you is advice on what that decision should be.”
She did not immediately reply.
“Come on, Natalie. This is why you make the big bucks,” the president said.
“Sir, my advice—your wife’s in Chicago, right?”
The president nodded.
“Sir, what I think you should do is call the Marines and chopper out to Camp David, taking Matt with you. No explanation to anybody.”
“What do I do with Powell?”
“I will go to the situation room and tell him—and Schmidt—that just before you left for Camp David you told me to tell him you really want to know whether or not the missing airplane is—or was—at this place in Chad . . .”
“Abéché,” Hall furnished.
“Thank you,” she said. “And that he is to let me know immediately what he finds out.”
“Why should I go—Matt and I go—to Camp David?” the president asked.
“Because if you were going to ask for Matt’s resignation, that’s where you’d take him to ask for it,” Dr. Cohen said.
“They should know whether that airplane is where Matt thinks it is by morning,” the president thought aloud.
“May I suggest, Mr. President, that you come back here about this time tomorrow?” Dr. Cohen said.
“Okay,” the president said after a moment’s thought. “Let’s do it.”
Dr. Cohen picked up the handset of a multibuttoned telephone on the coffee table and pushed one of the buttons.
“This is Dr. Cohen,” she said. “The president will require Marine One for a flight to Camp David immediately. No prior or post-takeoff announcement. Refer all inquiries you can’t handle to me.”
She put the handset back in the cradle.
“Thank you, Natalie,” the president said. And then he looked at Matt Hall. “Jesus H. Christ, Matt! They really want to crash that airplane into the Liberty Bell?”
[FOUR]
Aboard Marine One The White House 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW Washington, D.C. 1810 8 June 2005