The Prodigal Daughter (Kane & Abel 2)

“There’s an intelligence report that the Russians are mobilizing.”

“Where’s the President?” was Florentyna’s immediate reaction.

“I’ve no idea. I saw him leaving the White House by helicopter about three hours ago.”

Florentyna reopened her file and stared back down at the cables while Janet remained standing in front of her desk.

“Well, who will know where he is.”

“You can be sure Ralph Brooks does,” Janet said.

“Get me the Secretary of State on the line.”

Janet left for her own office while Florentyna checked through the reports again. She quickly went over the salient points raised by the American ambassador in Islamabad before re-reading the assessment of General Pierce Dixon, the chairsan of the joint chiefs of staff.

The Russians, it was reliably documented now, had ten divisions of troops on the Afghanistan-Pakistan border and their forces had been multiplying over the past few days. It was known that half their Pacific fleet was sailing toward Karachi, while two battle groups were carrying out “exercises” in the Indian Ocean. General Dixon had directed an increased intelligence watch when it was confirmed that fifty MIG 25s and SU 7s had landed at Kabul military airport at six that evening. Florentyna checked her watch: 7:09.

“Where is the bloody man?” she said out loud. Her phone buzzed.

“The Secretary of State on the line for you,” said Janet. Florentyna waited for several seconds.

“What can I do for you?” asked Ralph Brooks, sounding as if Florentyna had interrupted him.

“Where is the President?” she asked for a third time.

“At this moment he’s on Air Force I,” said Brooks quickly.

“Stop lying, Ralph. It’s transparent, even on the phone. Now, tell me where the President is.”

“Halfway to California.”

“If we have an increased intelligence watch because the Soviets are on the move, why hasn’t he been advised to return?”

“We have advised him, but he had to land to refuel.”

“As you well know, Air Force I doesn’t need to refuel for that length of journey.”

“He isn’t on Air Force I.”

“Why the hell not?”

No reply came.

“I suggest you level with me, Ralph, even if it’s only to save your own skin.”

There was a further pause.

“He was on his way to see a friend in California when the crisis broke.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Florentyna. “Who does he think he is? The President of France?”

“I have everything under control,” said Brooks, ignoring her comment. “His plane will touch down at the Colorado airport in a few minutes’ time. The President will immediately transfer to an air force F15 and will be back in Washington within two hours.”

“What type of aircraft is he on at this moment?” asked Florentyna.

“A private 737 owned by Marvin Snyder of Blade Oil.”

“Can the President enter the secure National Command Network from the plane?” asked Florentyna. No reply was forthcoming. “Did you hear what I said?” she rapped out.

“Yes,” said Ralph. “The truth is that the plane doesn’t have complete security. We have the same problem George Bush had when he had no choice but to return to Washington in a private plane at the time Reagan was shot.”

“Are you telling me that over the next two hours any ham radio operator could tune in to a conversation between the President and the chairman of the joint chiefs of staff?”

“Yes,” admitted Ralph.

“I’ll see you in the Situation Room,” said Florentyna, and slammed down the phone.

She came out of her office almost on the run. Two surprised Secret Service officers quickly followed her as she headed down the narrow staircase past small portraits of former Presidents. Washington faced her at the bottom of the stairs before she turned into the wide corridor that led to the Situation Room. The security guard already had the door open that led into the secretarial section. She passed through a room of buzzing Telexes and noisy typewriters while yet another security man opened the oak-paneled door of the Situation Room for her. Her Secret Service men remained outside as she marched in.

Ralph Brooks was seated in the President’s chair giving orders to a bevy of military personnel. Four of the remaining nine seats were already occupied—around a table that almost took up the whole room. Immediately to the right of Brooks sat the Secretary of Defense, Charles Lee, and on his right the director of the CIA, Paul Rowe. Opposite them sat the chairman of the joint chiefs of staff, General Dixon, and the national security advisor, Michael Brewer. The door at the end of the room that led into the communications area was wide open.

Brooks swung around to face her. Florentyna had never seen him with his coat off and a shirt button undone.

“No panic,” he said. “I’m on top of everything. I’m confident the Russians won’t make any move before the President returns.”

“I don’t expect that’s what the Russians have in mind,” said Florentyna. “While the President is unexplainably absent, we must be prepared for them to make any move that suits them.”

“Well, it’s not your problem, Florentyna. The President has left me in control.”

“On the contrary, it is my problem,” said Florentyna, firmly refusing to take a seat. “In the absence of the President the responsibility for all military matters passes to me.”

“Now listen, Florentyna, I’m running the shop and I don’t want you interfering.” The gentle buzz of conversation between personnel around the room came to an abrupt halt as Brooks stared angrily at Florentyna. She picked up the nearest phone. “Put the attorney general on the screen.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the operator.

A few seconds later Pierre Levale’s face appeared on one of the six televisions encased in the oak paneling along the side of the wall.

“Good evening, Pierre, it’s Florentyna Kane. We have an increased intelligence watch on our hands and for reasons I am not willing to discuss the President is indisposed. Will you make it clear to the Secretary of State who holds executive responsibility in such a situation?”

Everyone in the room stood still and stared up at the worried face on the screen. The lines on Pierre Levale’s face had never been more pronounced. They all knew he had been a Parkin appointment, but he had shown on past occasions that he thought more highly of the rule of law than of the President.

“The Constitution is not always clear on these matters,” he began, “especially after the Bush-Haig showdown following the attempt on Ronald Reagan’s life. But in my judgment, in the President’s absence all power is vested in the Vice President and that is how I would advise the Senate.”

“Thank you, Pierre,” said Florentyna, still looking at the screen. “Please put that in writing and see that a copy is on the President’s desk immediately on completion.” The Attorney General disappeared from the screen.

“Now that that’s settled, Ralph, brief me quickly.”

Brooks reluctantly vacated the President’s chair, while a staff officer opened a small panel below the light switch by the door. He pressed a button and the beige curtain that stretched along the wall behind the President’s chair opened. A large screen came down from the ceiling with a map of the world on it.

Charles Lee, the Secretary of Defense, rose from his chair as different-colored lights shone all over the map. “The lights indicate the position of all known hostile forces,” he said as Florentyna swung around to face the map. “The red ones are submarines, the green ones aircraft and the blue ones full army divisions.”

“A West Point plebe looking at the map could tell you exactly what the Russians have in mind,” said Florentyna as she stared at the mass of red lights in the Indian Ocean, green lights at Kabul airport and blue lights stretched along Afghanistan’s border with Pakistan.

Paul Rowe then co

nfirmed that the Russians had been massing armies on the Pakistan border for several days and within the last hour a coded message from a CIA agent behind the lines suggested that the Soviets intended to cross the border of Pakistan at ten o’clock Eastern Standard Time. He handed her a set of decoded cables and answered each of her questions as they arose.

“The President told me,” said Brooks pointedly when Florentyna had read the final message, “that he feels Pakistan is not another Poland and that the Russians wouldn’t dare go beyond the Afghanistan border.”

“I think we are about to find out if his judgment is sound,” she said.

“The President,” he added, “has been in touch with Moscow during the week, as well as the Prime Minister of England, the President of France and the West German Chancellor. They all seem to agree with his assessment.”

“Since then the situation has changed radically,” said Florentyna sharply. “It’s obvious that I’ll have to speak to the Russian President myself.”

Once again Brooks hesitated. “Immediately,” Florentyna added. Brooks picked up the phone. Everyone in the room waited while the circuit was linked. Florentyna had never spoken to President Andropov before and she could feel her heart beating. She knew her phone would be monitored to pick up the slightest reaction she unwittingly displayed, as it would be for the Russian leader. It was always said that it was this device that had enabled the Russians to run roughshod over Jimmy Carter.

A few minutes later Andropov came on the line. “Good evening, Mrs. Kane,” he said, not acknowledging her title, his voice as clear as if he were in the next room. After four years at the Court of St. James the President’s accent was minimal and his command of the language impressive. “May I ask where President Parkin is?”