“May I see a photo ID please?”
Cammy fished in her purse, produced her driver’s license and handed it to the uniformed guard in the small white building lined with windows. He checked his computer, smiled and handed her a laminated pass on a long silver chain.
“Just hold up that up to the machine over there. The one with the White House picture.”
She followed his order, realizing that the machine must be registering the time she entered the White House grounds. She figured there would be a similar machine to keep track of when she left. Clever, she thought.
She then put the chain over her head and heard the guard say, “Please keep that pass visible at all times, Ma’am.”
“Sure will. Thanks.”
“And would you put your purse down here, and step through the metal detector, please?”
At least this is quicker than airport security, she reflected, as she picked up her shoulder bag and walked through the door of the Northwest Gate. She proceeded up the driveway toward the entrance to the West Wing. She had never been to the White House, and she wondered if it would be like scenes in the TV shows Designated Survivor or Madam Secretary. In that one, everything looked so big and everyone looked so busy. The people were always making policy walking up and down the halls. She wondered if they did that in the real White House.
A smartly dressed military guard was standing at attention at the door. When she approached, he said “Good Morning, Ma’am,” turned and opened the door for her.
She stepped inside and approached the reception desk. She was again asked for an ID, and while the woman was checking her log, Cammy glanced around the room. She noted a large painting of Washington crossing the Delaware. She scrutinized the picture and wondered why the artist had painted a woman riding in the boat. She made a mental note to ask Hunt about that some time.
She was immediately led down the hall to the office of the president’s secretary. As she looked around, she realized that there weren’t any glass walls or glass cubicles like the ones she had seen on that other TV show, West Wing a long time ago. In fact, the place had an aura of a nicely furnished colonial home with camel backed sofas, wing back chairs and Chippendale coffee tables placed strategically throughout the reception areas.
“Good morning, Dr. Talbot. The secretary said brightly. “Congratulations. I read about what happened in Rockville. Remarkable story. Just remarkable.”
Cammy blushed. The papers had all printed an account circulated by Melanie and backed up by interviews with General Landsdale of how she had refused to evacuate the building and had stayed to take control of the radio frequency guiding the drone with its deadly cargo. The reporters explained that Dr. Talbot had managed to turn it “like a boomerang” and aim it back at the attacker, whose body had been found later in the smoldering forest. She had been called a hero by her congressman, Davis Metcher.
“Thanks. It was just something I’ve been working on,” Cammy said modestly.
“Well, we were all mighty impressed.” The secretary looked down at the mass of buttons on her phone and said, “Oh good, he’s finished his call. You may go in now.” She motioned to the president’s military aide who was standing by the door.
Cammy followed him into a bright oval room with a trio of tall windows at one end framed by four panels of gold drapery. While the rest of the building bore absolutely no resemblance to the TV shows, the Oval Office did look familiar. The show sets obviously had a good replica of the president’s work space because there was the same Resolute desk that Queen Victoria had given to President Rutherford B. Hayes. It stood in front of the windows, the polished surface gleaming in a shaft of sunlight.
She had once seen the famous picture of that desk showing little John John poking his head out of the front panel when President Kennedy was working behind him.
She looked around and saw a painting of George Washington over the white fireplace mantel. There were three small statues on side tables along the curved walls. They were busts of Winston Churchill, Abraham Lincoln and Dwight Eisenhower.
What a fabulous place to work, she thought, as she took a tentative step onto the plush gold oval rug with the presidential seal in the center.
“Dr. Cameron Talbot,” the aide announced. The president rose from his tall leather chair and extended his hand. Cammy stepped forward as the president said, “Welcome to the White House, Dr. Talbot. I understand we are all in your debt.”
“Oh, that article . . .”
“Not just for saving one of our key defense suppliers and all the employees, but you are the lady who has invented a whole new concept for my missile defense program, and I like that.”
The president exchanged a glance with Austin Gage who was standing off to the side. “First time in the White House?”
“Yes sir,” she said, not quite catching her breath. Yes sir. Is that all I can say, she wondered. Just yes sir? She was afraid she sounded like an echo chamber.
“Well, relax,” the president continued warmly. It’s a pretty nice place, and we’re glad to have you here. This is Austin Gage, my national security advisor.” He motioned to one of the off-white couches in the center of the room. “Have a seat.”
She sat on the plush cushions and felt herself sink down several inches at least. The president sat opposite her, and the NSC adviser pulled up one of the green striped chairs that flanked the fireplace. “Now then, let’s get down to business. Austin, would you like to brief our guest here on the situation in India?”
The advisor opened a leather folder and began. “Dr. Talbot, we know that you are in touch with Colonel Daniels in New Delhi.”
“Well yes. He called and . . . oh, I was so sorry to hear about Ted. That car bomb!”
“Yes,” Austin shook his head. “He was one of our best staff members. Damn shame. At least we’ve got a line on the group responsible for that tragedy.”
“You do?” she inquired.
“I’ll come back to that. First, we want to talk to you about a classified situation. We know you have a Top Secret clearance in connection with your work at Bandaq. But what you are about to hear today is strictly need-to-know.”
“All right,” she said in a steady voice.
“We’ve been working with India’s intelligence agents as well as with the top people at ISI in Pakistan. That’s their military hierarchy. There is now a consensus that a group called Lashkar-i-Taiba may have set off the car bomb.”
“That’s the same group, I mean, the man who tried to crash that drone into our building . . . when Hunt called, he said that guy might have been a member of the same group,” Cammy said.
“Yes. It is all beginning to fit together. And we believe that may have been the group that fired the cruise missile at the Indian Army Base in Jammu and Kashmir that killed so many people. Soldiers, but many innocents as well. We also believe that they have two other missiles, as three were stolen at the same time from a Pakistani Depot.”
He studied her face carefully and went on. “Now, the need-to-know part of this equation is this. About the other two missiles. One is conventional, just like the first. But the other one may have a biological warhead.”
Cammy gasped. “Oh my God!”
The president intervened. “As Austin said, we have a line on this group. But as you know, these terrorists have cells in many locations. They could be in Pakistan, Kashmir, India and God knows where else. That man, that Jambaz who tried to kill you, he managed to slip in here right under our noses.” He turned to Austin, “Make a note that I want an update on airport security and our new watch-list procedures. We’ve got to get tougher and figure out how to nail more than just Islamic rock stars.”
Austin nodded and jotted down a reminder. He looked up again as the president continued. “So, as I was saying, we’re trying to find this Lashkar group before they launch any more missiles. But we’ve picked up some chatter and decoded a few emails about the upcoming celebration at the Taj Mahal.”
“You don’t think they would target that beautiful building, do you, Mr. President?” Cammy asked. “I mean, it’s a Moslem mosque.”
The president waved his hand. “We don’t know for sure. But this is the same group that had plans to attack it several years ago.”
“Really?” Cammy asked wide-eyed.
“That celebration is going on as scheduled, but the Indians are doing everything they can to increase security, add guards and install defensive systems around its perimeter. With such a large group of world leaders already planning to attend, India doesn’t want to cancel because it might look like they’re kowtowing to these terrorists and aren’t strong enough to defend their country.”
“Are you going over there, Mr. President?” Cammy asked cautiously.
“I’m not sure yet. First, I need to get Ferrell in there to persuade the Indians and the Pakistanis to sign onto a formal peace treaty. They’ve already talked about trade and transportation, but we need much more than that. We need a no-first-use pledge in terms of nuclear weapons, among other things.”
“Do you think they’ll sign something like that, sir?” she asked.
“In the current climate, with so many eyes focused on that part of the world, they just might. They all have their hands out for economic aid, elimination of tariffs and, in India especially, they want to be sure we don’t clamp down on any out-sourcing contracts. So, yes, I believe we have a window of opportunity here. But, we want to do everything we can to ensure the safety of the next group of Americans going over there.”
“The special envoy, you mean?” Cammy asked.
“Right,” Austin said. “So here is the plan. In fact, I have to give credit where credit is due. I received an NSDD—National Security Decision Directive—from Colonel Daniels overnight. He has some interesting ideas. The president and I have discussed this, and we need your help.”
“ My help?” Cammy asked, turning from Austin to the president and raising her eyebrows. “What can I do?”
“You can take Q-3 to New Delhi and set up an additional defense perimeter.”
“For the Taj Mahal?” she asked, her heart beating faster.
The president nodded. “We realize this is a very dangerous assignment, and we don’t take it lightly We’re talking about sending you and your Bandaq team over to a highly volatile area where there’s a chance . . . and I have to say a very good chance . . . that some band of terrorists will try to launch a couple of missiles. And if they start playing around with biological warheads, no one can vouch for your safety.”
Cammy hesitated. They wanted her to go to New Delhi. That meant she’d have to fly there. Get in a plane, probably a small government plane, strap herself in and pray to God it didn’t crash like all the planes in all her dreams. She had avoided planes for years.
“Dr. Talbot?” the advisor prompted.
She took a deep breath and focused on the president. “If you ask me to go somewhere, of course I would go . . . anywhere, Mr. President,” she said carefully. “It’s just that if you want Q-3 to protect an area in India, I’m not sure if it will work.” It would be the triumph of hope over experience, she thought ruefully. “I mean, we haven’t even had a full field test against a live missile yet. Only simulations.”
The president gave a half smile. “It seemed to work pretty well yesterday.”
“But that was as basic as you can get. A drone. Now we’re talking about cruise missiles with sophisticated guidance systems . . . sir,” she said.
Austin consulted his notes. “Yes, well, Colonel Daniels seems to think it’s worth a try. Then again, you could find yourself in the middle of a battle zone.”
Cammy sat back against the down cushions and crossed her arms. This was it. A real test of her invention. An idea she had spent years perfecting. An idea that was born on the night she heard about how President Reagan asked scientists to help develop a system for missile defense. And now she was sitting in front of this president who was asking a scientist for help to deploy it. Her help.
She had worked all her life for just such an opportunity. And now, at this moment, it was about to become a reality. But could she do it?
She looked up and announced, “I don’t know if it will work, but I will try.”
“That’s all we wanted to hear,” Austin said. “We know this is all very sudden, but we must move quickly. Do you think you could get whatever equipment you might need and get it on a plane first thing tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” she asked, incredulously.
“Yes. We’re sending Ferrell over there. He arrives on Monday, and we don’t know how long it will take to get both sides to agree on a treaty. We want you and your people in place so you can set up, tie in to our satellites and test your system before the talks get underway. You see, as soon as they can hammer out an agreement, they’ll all head to Agra.”
The president spoke again. “About these militants. We still don’t know where they are or just where they might strike next. They might not target the Taj Mahal. I think they’d be absolute fools to try such a thing. But we can’t be sure. That’s why we need you to go over there and work with the Indian Defense people.
“Obviously, they already have a copy of Q-3,” he said. “Clever thieves that they are. But maybe they haven’t had time to study it and train enough people to operate all the systems. That’s why we need you and your staff. Right now the Indians are pleading for our help and falling all over themselves to be cooperative.”
Cammy thought for a moment. “Speaking of cooperation, there is one thing that could be really helpful.”
“Name it,” the president said firmly.
“This may be way out of line,” she said tentatively.
“In this business, there is very little that’s ‘way out of line’,” the president countered.
“Would you know what happened to Dr. Raj P. Singh?” Cammy asked.
The president glanced over at Austin and narrowed his eyes. “You mean the traitor who stole that program out of your shop?”
“Yes sir, that one,” she answered.
“Why do you ask?” the advisor said.
“I know what he did. I know it was wrong. In fact, we were all shocked by the whole thing. It’s just that out of all the scientists I’ve worked with, Raj was the very best . . . I mean, he knows how to operate much of the system, especially the satellite and radar components, and there isn’t anybody else, yet, who can work with me on some of these calculations.”
“So you’re asking that he be allowed to work with you again?” Austin asked, furrowing his brow.
Cammy pressed ahead. “What I mean is, is he here? Is he in prison?”
The president replied. “No. The Indians were pretty upset having been caught with their hands in the cookie jar, so to speak, but they’ve been making the case that he wasn’t trying to harm the United States, he was only trying to protect his people from an attack. The man is not an American citizen. So instead of a public trial, we decided to deport him.”
“Never to return,” Austin added with a shrug.
“When will he be leaving?” Cammy asked.
“He’s already gone. We shipped him out last night,” the president said.
“Then he’s back in India,” Cammy said excitedly. “That means he could help me. I mean, if he could be allowed to work with us when we tie into the satellite warning system and . . .”
Austin cleared his throat and exchanged a glance with the president. “Well, this is a first. She wants to work with a spy.”
“It’s only because he might be able to help us,” she said quickly. “I mean we’ll have to set things up so fast, he could . . .”
The president held up his hands. “Highly unusual to say the least. But I take your point. Tell you what. You get back to Bandaq and get your team and your equipment organized for a morning departure. We’ll have a plane on standby at Andrews, and we’ll give you vans to transport your people and whatever you need. Austin will contact General Lands-dale and what’s left of our own team in New Delhi.”
“You mean Hunt . . . uh, Colonel Daniels? He’ll be there with us too?” She suddenly felt a bit better just thinking about seeing him again.
“Yes,” Austin assured her. “He’ll be handling logistics, and he’ll act as your go-between with the Defense Ministry.”
The president added, “And I’ll see what we can do about India’s clever spy, although I’m sure they’ll jump at the chance to have him lend a hand. Oh, and one last point. No publicity. No one, absolutely no one except the general and your own staff at Bandaq, is to know you’re going over there. We don’t want any more welcoming committees setting off car bombs.”
She shuddered at the thought. “Yes, Mr. President. I completely understand.”