Final Approach (54 page)

Kell leaned against the unencumbered wall of the module and looked at the general, who was smiling. “This was all a show, then?”

“That's right. It was showtime. The CIA picked up indications of extraordinary Soviet interest in the progress of one particular aspect of Brilliant Pebbles—a facet of the program that we really hadn't made as much progress in as we wanted them to think. Well, we can't very well trot out one of the Pebbles vehicles and disassemble it on an outdoor picnic table for their cameras, but if they see us getting ready to test it, moving a piece of equipment even our own Congress has forbidden us to move …”

“I get the picture.”

“So did they. We monitored the transmissions. Beautiful. We moved it through Kansas City Airport to make sure at least a ground-based agent would find out and report it to Moscow, but their satellites caught it too, as we'd hoped. They caught it leaving the factory, sitting on the ramp in Kansas City, and even had the C-5B pictured in flight on the way to Kwajalein. They also got the North America accident moments after it occurred. Most of it imaged on infrared, of course. You can see that whole careful setup would have been destroyed if we'd said anything more after the accident.”

“You didn't have a cover story?”

“We never anticipated an airline crash. Even now, no one outside of secure channels can know this—and that includes what I told you about their surveillance satellite capability. We're only telling you because
someone
has to champion us as something other than rotten liars.”

“What
can
I tell the other members of the committee?”

The general's face changed instantly to a look of dead seriousness.

“This circle can't widen, Senator. Tell each of them that if they absolutely insist on jeopardizing national defense, and they refuse to take your word, I will reluctantly show them the same thing in the same way with the same restrictions if they will take the time to fly here with me, but otherwise, they must take your word that this unit could not have been transmitting that night because the antenna was not deployed. That's all you can say—a half-truth, of course, but it's necessary.”

The flight back to Washington was spent sleeping, the daylight streaming in the Learjet's windows before they were past Memphis. Kell knew he looked like hell, but he headed for his office anyway, a long series of calls to each member of the committee ahead of him, all with essentially the same message: “Trust me, I've seen it, it is electronically impossible for the unit to have transmitted, although the power surge was normal.” And amazingly, there was little resistance.

Kell thought of calling Dean Farris. Protocol made it the proper course of action, but he called Joe Wallingford instead, finding the NTSB investigator almost too shell-shocked to accept anything on faith.

“I want to believe you, Kell, but I've got a man in Dallas talking to Tarvin right now, and the entire NTSB is up in arms about North America's method of releasing this.”

“What does that have to do with believing me, Joe?”

Kell heard a snort from the other end. “You're right. That made no sense, did it? You say you physically saw this thing?”

“Joe, I was there, I saw it, I touched it, and although I can't tell you the details why—because it's a matter of national security since this is an important piece of defense equipment—it could not have been transmitting. You simply have to trust me. I'm telling you the truth.”

“Okay Senator. I didn't mean to doubt you. Of course, this means we're back in the woods with respect to what caused the accident.”

“Sorry, Joe, but radar interference was never in my equation.”

There was momentary silence from Joe's end as he struggled to decide whether to ask.

“Uh, Kell, could I ask a favor?”

“Certainly.”

“I appreciate your calling me first, but if I give you his home phone, would you call Dean Farris too, and not let on you've called me? Otherwise the tenuous truce between us will probably come apart.”

“Consider it done.”

Kell replaced the phone momentarily, thinking not of the promised call to the NTSB chairman, but the calls he needed to make to the media. The general had asked for help as they taxied in at Andrews.

“Senator, since the media and the public don't believe us, and since you're the only other person who really knows the truth and can assure the public we were telling the truth …”

“Would I go tell the media in a press conference?”

“Something like that.”

“Something
exactly
like that indeed. That was part of the plan, wasn't it?” Kell asked it without rancor and delivered it with a smile. There's no sense denying a tiger his stripes, Kell thought to himself. The top military brass could be just as politically astute as the elected masses on the Hill. And in fact they had to be. It was a matter of survival if their programs were to be funded with any consistency.

“Well, we kind of figured—the chief of staff and I—that you would volunteer to help once you knew the truth.” The general was grinning, and Kell shook his head in mock despair.

“The hell of it is, General, you're right.
After
I try to make peace with the committee members, I'll do it.”

Kell checked with Cindy before calling the networks to see if they would be interested in his presence on the Sunday morning news shows. They were, of course, and before leaving the office he alerted Joe.

“Watch ‘Face the Nation' tomorrow morning, Joe. They've got David Bayne on from New York with me by satellite, and he doesn't know what's coming. This should be interesting.”

“I wouldn't miss this one for the world,” Joe replied.

23

Thursday, December 20 Washington, D.C.

Fred Sneadman checked his watch in the light of oncoming traffic as he pulled up in front of Washington's refurbished Union Station with his boss, Senator Kell Martinson, in the passenger's seat.

“It's 9:55, sir. Your train leaves at 10:30 so you've got a few minutes.”

“I sure appreciate your staying late to get the agenda together, not to mention the taxi ride, Fred.”

“No problem.”

“You'll get those papers I gave you over to Joe Wallingford at the NTSB for me tomorrow, won't you?”

“Yes sir.”

“Hand them to him personally, now, and only to him. Make him show you some identification.” Kell looked at Sneadman. “I'm serious about that. He's taking a big risk working with us on this.”

Sneadman nodded. “I understand.”

“And”—Kell rummaged through a file folder as he talked—“tell Mr. Wallingford I'd appreciate it if he'd study the background material over the holidays, and reconfirm with him that the hearing begins at nine
A.M.
on January eighth, and give him the room number and all that.”

“Yes sir.” Sneadman had put the gearshift lever in park and was struggling to write on a steno pad balanced on the steering wheel.

“That drafting session two weeks ago really worked well. Tell him that. Tell him I said that thanks to his ideas, I think we've got a good piece of legislation. Have you heard any reaction, by the way?” Kell closed the folder and stuffed it into his briefcase.

“From Wallingford? Only chuckles over the way you embarrassed North America last Sunday on network TV. If you mean committee staff reaction about the bill, we're going to have an uphill battle convincing everyone this is needed right now, but so far no one's throwing mud balls philosophically. The problem is, it's not revenue neutral.”

“But the funding plan was clever as hell, don't you think? It's almost neutral, even though plugging it into fuel taxes does constitute a bit of a tax hike.”

“Oh, I think it will wash, sir, but we'll need public pressure.”

“That's the other thing, and I only mentioned it in passing back at the office. I want you to get hold of Wally on the committee staff. He's the best congressional subcommittee publicist in the business. Tell him we need this to explode nationally on the day before the hearing starts, and I want to meet with him sometime next week if possible to plan the strategy, provided he'll do it.”

“Yes sir. And he will. He owes us a favor.”

“Should I ask what?”

“No.” Fred grinned at him.

“Okay, Fred. I'll trust you—this time. By the way, you were planning to stay in the District over Christmas, weren't you? You're not changing any plans on my account?”

“No, no. My parents are driving in from Philly on Sunday and we're going to observe Hanukkah right here. Holding down the fort is no problem, and in fact, I was going to show them the office and even sit in your chair.”

Kell laughed at that. “Be my guest. Just don't swing on the chandeliers.”

“You don't have any, Senator.”

“Okay. Make a note to buy some chandeliers.” Kell leaned back, chortling, while Sneadman shook his head.

“You're in an extraordinarily good mood tonight for someone about to risk his life on the open rails.”

“It's good to get away. It's good to see us go into recess after that marathon budget battle and the filibuster. Am I not entitled to one good mood a year?”

“According to the ethics committee, no, not if you enjoy it.”

“Oh. Well then. Officially I'm in a somber and serious mood, but Merry Christmas anyway.”

“Happy Hanukkah to you too.”

“Hanukkah. Yeah, you said that. I knew that.” Kell looked at his watch again. “About time, I think. I hate running for planes and trains. By the way, has Cynthia left for Missouri?”

“I think so. She bustled out of the office around four.”

“There was an item I needed to go over with her, but it can wait.”

Kell got out of the car with his briefcase and wrestled his portable computer and bag from the backseat, placing them on a folding baggage cart and strapping them down as Fred watched. “You sure you don't want me to help you, sir?”

“No,” Kell said, smiling. “No, you're already into the above-and-beyond-the-call-of-duty roster here. I let you do any more, I'll have to start treating you better.”

“You mean, like paying me too?”

“Now cut that out, Sneadman.” He laughed. “Seriously, Fred, thank you very much. Please relax and have a good holiday.”

“I will, sir. You, too. Please don't break anything skiing.”

“All I patronize are the bunny slopes, Fred. I'm in more danger around the cabin. By the way, did I give you the phone number?”

“Yes sir, you did.”

He waved his aide good-bye and pulled the baggage cart into the beautiful interior of the proud old terminal, marveling at how effective the facelift and remodeling job had been. The bright floodlights illuminating the stark white facade of the classic, columned front, gave it a grandeur which rivaled any of the great public buildings of the world's capitals. It was a government project he had been proud to support.

Kell looked at the departure screens as he entered the terminal, searching for Amtrak's Night Owl, Train
#66
, and finding the track number at last. He entered the gate area at 10:05
P.M.
, enjoying the walk between the railcars and the sound of powerful diesel engines in the distance as he searched for car number 6705, an old but refurbished Pullman. Kell folded the baggage cart and slung the computer's strap over his shoulder, picking up bag and briefcase and trundling aboard, moving laboriously down the narrow companionway to compartment 8, a full-size bedroom he had reserved. He opened the compartment door and struggled inside with the luggage, banging a knuckle in the process, finally closing the door behind him.

“Just get into port, sailor?” A honeyed female voice enveloped him from the top bunk, and he held out his arms as Cindy came to him, giggling. “Mission accomplished? Or were you followed?”

“The only thing missing from this scene,” he said, “is having the train pull out of King's Cross Station in London.”

“Fred doesn't suspect a thing?”

“Probably thinks I've been drinking. I wished him Merry Christmas.”

“Kell!”

“Well …” He kissed her deeply. “I was being ecumenical.”

They held each other for awhile, Cindy talking over his shoulder. “I never thought I'd ever drag you away from here for an entire week.”

“I never thought you'd give up Christmas with your folks.”

She pulled back, an impish look on her face. “You have your cellular phone in the briefcase?”

“Yes.”

“The battery, please.” Cindy had her hand out.

“Don't worry, it won't ring.”

“The battery, or you go alone.” Kell saw her smiling but serious. “Okay, honey.” He kissed her once more and then pulled his briefcase onto the bed, retrieving the phone and sliding the battery out, which he handed to her with mock ceremony.

“Thank you.” She stuffed it in her bag, zipped it up and sat down in a small chair. “Now. The itinerary.”

“Okay.”

“First, the tickets are to be placed outside the door. The porter has already made an extra fifteen dollars for agreeing not to disturb the very fatigued gentleman in room 8. Second, we get into Boston South Station at 8:35
A.M.
I get off there, proceed to the taxi stand, take a cab to the rental car place, pick up said car, drive straight to the main station, where I find you looking confused on the curb. I pick up said confused lawmaker and proceed across state lines to Stowe, Vermont, where our prerented, prepaid, prewarmed cabin awaits.”

“I thought transportation of pols across state lines for immoral purposes was illegal?”

“But fun.”

“What about dinner? How are we going to handle the dining car without being seen together?” he asked.