Time to brief the brass. If the brass is available, Hunt thought. The last time he tried for an unscheduled appointment he couldn’t get past the secretary. She was a regular Praetorian guard.
Hunt shoved his notes into his leather folder and headed out of the OEOB across West Exec to the awning over the door to the basement of the West Wing. The Secret Service agent sitting at the desk just inside the door took note of Hunt’s security badge and waved him in. The agents knew the staff by sight, but always checked the badges through habit and training. After all, there were often reassignments and turnover to consider.
Hunt walked into the lower reception area, past the staff entrance to the Situation Room and turned left. He checked out the dozens of photos along the walls, pictures of the president, his family and visiting dignitaries. The photos were changed every few weeks, replaced with newer ones showing more recent events around the building or the presidential entourage on the road.
He walked up the blue carpeted stairs to the first floor, turned down a short hall and stopped at the desk of Lucy Shapiro. The dark-haired assistant was the picture of efficiency. Her black suit jacket covered all but the top button of her red silk blouse. A small arrangement of fresh tulips sat on the corner of her desk, replaced daily by the White House florist. Lucy had worked for national security advisors and their deputies in four successive administrations, Democrat and Republican. She knew everyone and everything. Or at least it seemed that way.
Her list of contacts was as up-to-date as the files of the famous White House telephone operators who could find any member of the Administration at any time on any given day. And if they couldn’t find you, you were in big trouble.
Legend had it that President Eisenhower needed to get a hold of one of his Emissaries in the Middle East. When told that he was off in the desert somewhere, the White House operators had someone tape a note on a tree in an oasis. The guy found it and called in.
“Good afternoon, Lucy. Is Stock in?”
“Yes, he’s in, Colonel Daniels. I assume you have something important, as you’re not on his calendar,” she said briskly.
“You’re right, as usual. Can I get him for a minute?”
Lucy glanced at her computer screen and then at the wall clock. “He’s got a meeting with Austin in fifteen minutes, and he’s on the phone right now. But wait a minute, and I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks, Lucy. Things look pretty busy out there,” Hunt said, motioning over his shoulder toward the West Wing reception area.
Lucy sighed. “Yes. As if it’s not enough that we’ve got a Japanese state visit going on, there’s an environmental group in the Roosevelt Room that’s worried about some sort of eel extinction, and a congressional delegation that’s pushing for more wind power. Sounds like an appropriate group on that score, though.”
“Same old, same old,” Hunt said as he smiled at the brusque lady with the impeccable manners and compartmentalized mind. “I heard that the Japanese wanted to have a bunch of their sumo wrestlers meet the president outside the Oval Office.”
Lucy sniffed, “Can you imagine! Four-hundred-pound near-naked men rolling around in our Rose Garden? Not for this White House, I can assure you.”
Hunt gave a short laugh. “I know. I know. That one came up at our morning staff meeting, and we decided to boot it over to the secretary of state.”
“Yes, I heard. Let those seventh floor diplomatic types handle that one.” She glanced down at her phone and picked up the handset. “Colonel Daniels is here with something important, sir.” She paused, then turned to Hunt. “You can go in to see the deputy now, but mind the time.”
He winked at her. “Thanks, Lucy, catch you later.” He walked over to the open door of Stockton Sloan, deputy national security advisor.
A graduate of West Point, Stock had a stellar military career. When he retired, he was quickly recruited by the current national security advisor, Austin Gage, to be his number two man, and serve as his eyes and ears around the agencies.
“Good morning, Daniels,” Stock said as he placed a red folder on top of two others on his desk. “Feels like a three-ring circus around here today. So, have you got something new on that missile strike?”
Hunt pulled up a chair and opened his leather folder. He had jotted down several points he wanted to raise with Stock. He’d keep it brief.
“The big news is from one of Ted’s ISI contacts. Seems one of their Depots is missing three cruise missiles along with their launch vehicles.”
“Now it’s three?” Stock exclaimed. “Are they sure the other two are gone and it’s not just some paperwork foul-up?”
“Gone. He says they’re gone.”
“Do they have any idea who . . . ?
“Not yet. But it sure looks like whoever stole them has a lot of support inside the government. Ted’s not so sure about . . .”
“Jesus Christ!” Stock interrupted. “Does ISI have any leads on who fired the first one? Anything they’re telling us, that is?”
Hunt checked his notes and shifted forward. “Ted’s working his contacts. And I’ve checked with CIA, NSA and State. No firm leads yet. No claims of responsibility either.”
“Well, stay on it.” Stock checked his watch and frowned. “I’ve got a meeting in a few minutes.”
“I know.” Hunt got up from his chair and said, “Just one more quick point. It’s about that new missile defense technology Bandaq is putting together. Ironically, it’s supposed to work against cruise missiles.”
“Cruise? Not ballistic?”
“Right. Cruise and all the guided missiles. It’s a computer program that evidently takes over the guidance system of the missile.”
“How the hell would they do that?” Stock asked, his face suddenly becoming animated.
“I don’t know . . . yet. But I’m going to head over there as soon as I can get away to check it out.”
“I did see an online announcement from Air Force Times saying their Project Director was going to testify at the hearing, but there weren’t many details.”
“She was there with her CEO because they’re trying to get R&D funds in the new defense budget.”
“They’d better hurry up.”
“I know. After I see if this thing is for real, I’ll let you know, and maybe we can give it a push with the Committee.”
“For this one line-item? No way.” Stock said, raising his eyebrows.
“Why not? Nancy Kennedy’s legislative shop could alert a few Members when they’re on the Hill. They’ll be up there a lot this week anyway. Look, I know we’re trying for a major increase in defense spending and some congressmen are balking . . .”
“Balking? I’d term it major road-blocking.”
Hunt glanced down at his talking points again. “Besides, there’s an important thing here when it comes to the budget.”
“Which is rapidly getting out of hand,” Stock said.
“Okay, I know. But Q-3 . . . that’s the name of the project . . . Q-3 is cheaper because it doesn’t have to send up a missile to knock down one of theirs. It’s all done with computer programs. And think about it. If this thing really works, can you imagine a better deterrent than having an enemy even think that we could neutralize their missiles?”
Stock leaned back and steepled his fingers. “If is a big concept for a small word. On the other hand, if the damn thing does work, there’d be a helluva market for a system like that. Taiwan wants missile defense against China. India’s trying to buy Israel’s Arrow system. And, of course, you’ve got Japan and everybody else worried about North Korea, so they’re contracting with Sterling Dynamics for their missile system.”
Stock turned and pulled a red folder out from the middle of the pile on his desk and continued. “And on that subject, I’m sure the Japanese prime minister will want to talk about it in the meeting with the president this afternoon.” Stock paused and glanced over at Hunt again. “Now on this Q-3 thing, go out there and get me an assessment.”
“Will do.”
“And one more thing. As soon as we get anything on those stolen missiles, I want you to stay on top of that one . . . and I mean yesterday! The president is leaning hard on India not to retaliate, but if another one is launched, all bets are off.”
“Right. I know.”
“In his briefing this morning, the president said he’s thinking about appointing a special envoy to go over there and try to get peace talks back on track. He also mentioned that an anniversary celebration of the Taj Mahal is coming up, and he’s got visions of some sort of a treaty being signed right there with the world watching.”
“That would be a pretty fancy photo op,” Hunt said.
“And come to think of it, an advance team could pull double duty on this . . . set up the negotiations, but also talk to the defense people in both India and Pakistan about those damn missiles.”
“Good idea. Want me to get on it?”
Stock nodded. “Let’s get ahead of the curve here. Do some preliminary planning. Get me a list of names for the team . . . someone from the Pentagon . . . CIA . . . guess we’ll have to include State,” Stock said with a frown. Everyone knew Stockton Sloan had great disdain for the diplomatic approach when direct action could be used instead.
Hunt made a few notes in his folder and headed for the door. “I’ll have a Decision Directive ready by C.O.B.”
If he was going to check with all the agencies again, summarize his findings and pull together an advance team by close of business, he’d better get hustling. He turned and left the office, feeling a bit like a juggler in that circus that Stock was talking about.