“It may be that neutralization is the only answer,” the Russian replied. “I will discuss this with our Chairman and also seek his permission for the London meeting. Since we will not have another chance, I suggest we make arrangements now for that meeting, but before we do so, are there any other matters you wish to raise?”
The Russian's calmness annoyed Forbin, who again had to hold himself in check.
“No,” he said shortly. He paused, then went on, “We both agree that the machines will not like us meeting. It has to be clandestine, so how do we communicate?”
“Subject to the Chairman's approval,” said Kupri cautiously, “I will travel as part of a trade group joining our mission in London. I will be a secretary, too minor in position to be of interest to your intelligence. My name will be Matutin, I. K. Matutin.”
“Matutin,” repeated Forbin. “How do I know the date of our meeting?”
“Listen to our evening TV transmission for England—evening their time, that is. The movement of our trade group will be mentioned in the newscast in two days' time, the 7th, and the date of that group's arrival in London will be the date for our meeting, or as soon as is possible for you after that date. When you get to London, ring our mission and ask for Matutin. All you need say is ”'What time do we meet, Matutin?' and I will tell you, nothing else.“ Kupri stopped. ”Is that clear so far?“
It struck Forbin that Kupri was remarkably well versed in clandestine activities, but forbore to mention it. Kupri went on to give recognition details and the rendezvous—Hyde Park, at the western end of the Serpentine. Forbin repeated the details back to him.
“That is correct,” said Kupri. “I would suggest you try to avoid your own security forces. Try not to be escorted by them—who knows where their routine reports may end up?”
“I don't get it,” said Forbin. The teletype was still going intermittently.
“Come,” answered Kupri reproachfully, “consider—is there not a possibility that there is a foreign agent in the Secret Service or the FBI? I do not say there is, but you cannot rule it out.”
Forbin knew he was right, and a new wave of helplessness engulfed him. “OK,” he replied wearily, “I guess so. I'll watch it.”
“Good-bye then, Professor.” The calm detached voice softened fractionally. “Do not be too depressed, we have not lost yet.”
“I guess so,” repeated Forbin. “Good-bye.”
He replaced the receiver and carefully noted down the details of his rendezvous. He looked up as the President stumped in, his hair aggressively brown. Forbin took it in at a glance and passed on to more important matters.
“I have just been on to Kupri on the hot line.” Forbin knew, against his will, he sounded defensive. “Colossus wants—demands—a tap on that line, and it's not hard to see why.”
“I get the idea.” The President nodded. “So?”
“So I took this last chance to give him a rough outline of my idea to neutralize the hardware. There's a lot that would need to be discussed, and perhaps someone will come up with a brighter idea. Anyway, I've arranged a covert meeting with him.” He explained the plan.
“Why so secret? You think Colossus might object?”
“I'm sure of it. Bluntly, the machines are more interested in Kupri and me than you or the Chairman. Their view clearly is that machines are more important than people; your concern is with people, ours is with machines—it's as simple as that.”
The President gave a faint, unfunny, twisted grin, but did not speak. There was no need.
Forbin didn't pursue the subject, but crossed to the teletype and tore off the messages. It looked as if Cleo had been holding her own. He picked up the exchange where he had left off:
IS FORBIN THERE
Cleo had answered
FROM CPO NO
Inevitably Colossus had come back with
WHERE IS HE
FROM CPO WAIT WILL TRY TO FIND OUT
Forbin nodded approvingly. Cleo was not giving a fraction more than had been asked. Five minutes had been gained while she was “finding out.”
FROM CPO PROFESSOR FORBIN IN WASHINGTON UNWELL AFTER RECENT EVENTS NOT TAKING CALLS
Forbin stopped nodding at that one.
IMPERATIVE MESSAGE BE PASSED AT ONCE
Cleo, greatly daring, had replied
HUMANS MUST REST MESSAGE WILL BE PASSED IN ONE HOUR CHECK YOUR MEMORY BANK ON FATIGUE/STRAIN
Forbin hardly dared to look at Colossus' answer.
FORBIN IS TO BE ON LINE AT 1711 GMT
The time check, printed down the side of the sheet, showed that Colossus made that message at 1610' GMT—giving Forbin precisely one hour, one minute. It was cheering to think that Colossus was not completely unreasonable, yet that very flexibility was staggering. . . He glanced at his watch; he had nearly an hour—to do what? Cleo had stalled, but only stalled, Colossus. He must make the most of the time gained. First he must call her.
As he reached for the phone, the President raised his hand. “Will you be long, Forbin? The cameras and the Vice-President will be here in a few minutes.”
Forbin had forgotten the telecast. “I'll call from the outer office.” He looked at the strained, set expression on the President's face. “Try to take it easy, Mr. President, let me fix you a drink before the rush starts.”
“How do I look?” asked the President anxiously.
“Pretty good. Maybe a little browner than last week, but not enough to show. You'll do fine. No one expects you to be laughing your head off, anyway.”
“Thanks, Forbin. D'you mind sending in the Secret Service? Those cameras won't get in without my say—so.” He smiled ironically, sadly. “At least there's still one place where my word goes.”
Chapter 15
WITH TV cameramen and producers in the Presidential suite, and the Vice-President, who arrived full of wounded vanity, not to mention two very edgy White House guards hovering in the background, Forbin decided it was safer to postpone his call until after the telecast.
The President did very well. Forbin watched on the monitor in the aide's office and was quite impressed. The President summoned up strength from some hidden reserve and gave a fine and apparently sincere performance. Forbin was at a loss to decide how genuine the President was, apart from the story itself, but those actually in the sanctum at the time saw the mask thrown aside, once the President was sure the cameras were off the air. He fairly screamed at the gathering to get out, which they did, hurriedly.
Forbin called Cleo, and congratulated her on her presence of mind—painfully aware that he sounded like a headmaster at a prize-giving. But he made it up by adding, with unnecessary warmth, that he hoped to see her soon, real soon. Privately, he marveled at his ability to think of other things, but reflected that sex was a very basic emotion. He again felt unreasonably happy as he returned to the sanctum.
The President was surrounded by most of his Cabinet and was speaking as Forbin entered.
“Ah, Forbin! I've just filled in the situation to the Vice-President.” He flashed a tigerish grin at his visibly sweating deputy. “After all, if I drop down dead, he'll have to follow in the steps of Tyler and Coolidge.”
Forbin noted that he mentioned only the two notoriously dead-beat Vices that assumed office on the death of the President. No mention of Roosevelt, Truman, Johnson.
The President looked round him. “Where's that S of S?”
“I don't think we can wait for him,” interposed Forbin. “Colossus has demanded access to the hot line, and we must give a decision very soon.”
“Well, there's enough here,” replied the President with barely concealed contempt for his advisers. “I guess I know your views, Forbin. Anyone else want to add anything?”
There was a silence that bore down on them all.
“Damn you all!” roared the President. “Do I have to do it all, me and Forbin?”
The Chief of Staff cleared his throat, thought better of it, and remained mute.
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“We've no option, Mr. President. If there's anything you want to talk to the Soviet Chairman about, now is your chance, possibly your last chance—until we get something organized.” Forbin did not know why he added the last part. Partly to bolster the President, who was teetering on the edge of total collapse—but partly because he had begun to think ahead. . .
The President gulped down the rest of his drink and scowled slightly at Forbin. “I'll say this for you, Forbin, you face up to situations a whole lot better than these,” he sought an offensive epithet, “these punks! Bishop—get me the Chairman! How long have we got, Forbin?”
“Not more than half an hour for sure. I have to communicate with Colossus in the next fifteen minutes. One point I think you should raise,” he added, remembering Kupri's remarks, “is the question of secret agents both sides probably have planted in each other's higher echelons. Is this room, for example, bugged by the Soviets? Have we any electronic devices rigged in the Kremlin? Remember, anything intercepted is inevitably finding its way back to the machines.”
“Christ! That's a hellava idea! Ed—get on to Grauber, find out what we have on the Reds—move!” He called Bishop to find out how the call to Moscow was progressing and learned that it was going through at that moment. He told the aide to hold on, and sank back in his seat, clutching an empty glass.
Forbin looked at the President with growing alarm. The tic under one eye was very prominent, yet for all the outward signs of collapse, the man was still fighting.
“Bishop, tell the Chief of Staff to speak to the Chairman and fill him in on this spy question. It'll give the Russians more time to sort out their list before I come on the line.” His gaze, overbright, swept round the room. “The rest of you listen. All of you—except the Secretary of State for Peace, who was too goddam late—know what the situation is. None of you—except one—has been the slightest help, and one, my principal aide, even died of fright!” The President's train of thought sidetracked for a moment, and he added somberly, “Maybe he was not so dumb.” He braced himself and went on. “That one exception was Professor Forbin, here,” he waved a hand. “I go on record that he stood up to me when he knew I was wrong, and I want to thank him for his support: More than that, as President, I hereby appoint him a Secretary of State. It is not in my power to rate him any higher, but I rule that he is senior to all, and I mean all, officials of this Administration, except Mr. Vice and myself, and I would tell Mr. Vice that in any question dealing with Colossus or Guardian, I would accept Forbin's advice without question.” Smiling grimly, enjoying the shock he had administered, the President glowered at his staff. “Well, have you anything to say?”
There was a little shuffling of feet, and a tentative throat-clearing or two, but no one spoke.
“Right,” the President nodded. “Forbin, any comment?” Forbin was still reeling with the shock of it all. He collected his thoughts rapidly.
“This is no time for speeches. Thank you, Mr. President, I will do my best. One thing—my position in the Government should be kept secret. I don't want to add to my possible importance in Colossus' view.”
“OK, whatever you say,” answered the President, nodding his head vigorously, and glaring at the Cabinet as if they were likely to burst into open revolt. Forbin realized that, as far as he could, the President was getting out from underneath, putting as much of the responsibility on him as he could. But it did not upset or annoy him. The situation was far too serious for personal animus. In any case, he knew full well he was the only man who might be able to do anything.
“Well, I'll get on to Colossus. We are agreed, I take it, that we have no option but to let the line be tapped?”
“If you say so, Forbin.” The President wanted to make sure that one and all saw where the responsibility lay. Watching him, Forbin realized that the President had to shed the load if he was not to crack completely.
“I do.”
“Right. The rest of you, get the hell out of here. I am going to talk to the Chairman, and there will be a Cabinet meeting in here as soon as I have finished.” He reached for the hotline phone. “President here! Mr. Chairman? We are forced to give monitoring facilities to Colossus, and we expect to have this operative in about a half-hour's time. So this is our final chance for private conversation, at least until we can get some new arrangement. . .”
Forbin suddenly realized that time was a good deal shorter than he had realized. There was only a minute or two to go to the deadline. Still, Cleo's hour had not been entirely wasted.
FORBIN HERE
Instantly Colossus repeated
PROVIDE MONITORING FACILITIES ON HEADS OF STATE PRIVATE TELEPHONE
Forbin had little hope, but Cleo had done pretty well, and it was worth a try.
WHEN DO YOU WANT IT AND FOR HOW LONG
The answer left no doubt.
NOW—PERMANENTLY
Forbin shrugged his shoulders, tried a different attack,
WILL ISSUE AUTHORIZATION IMMEDIATELY LINE WILL BE VIA CIA MAIN FEED—IN
It was no surprise when Colossus rapped back:
NO CONNECT DIRECT TO ALFA BLOCK TERMINAL
So Colossus was not going to risk any possible delay in getting the intelligence.
CONNECTION WILL BE MADE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE PROBABLY IN ONE HOUR
Forbin watched, almost with detached interest, the answer to that one.
CANNOT CONNECTION BE MADE SOONER
So you don't know it all, you clever bastard!
DOUBTFUL WILL TRY
Pick the bones out of that.
MAKE CONNECTION BY 1815 GMT
Allowing one hour, two minutes! Colossus' flexibility was both comforting and appalling.
Forbin walked slowly out of the sanctum, dimly aware that the President was still talking urgently to the Chairman. He called Grauber, and in the few seconds' wait his mind tore feverishly at the problem of inhibition. Even as he directed Grauber to fix the hot-line monitoring, part of his mind was searching, sifting, rejecting. . .
“Look, Grauber, we”ll just have to pray this line is secure.
I want you to get your experts onto rendering Colossus' armament harmless. Work on the missile safety locks—I'm sure that's the weak link. If you can alter them so they pass the daily test by Colossus, yet won't complete the firing circuits, we'll have a way, in time, of rendering the setup harmless. Contact Missile Command—they'll give you the technical data—and do it now. Meet me in the Zone sometime this evening.“
Some noise filtered through from the corridor. Forbin learned from the aide that the full Cabinet was gathering. The new S of S had no intention of being bogged down with them. He instructed the aide to fix him transport to the Zone immediately, and returned to the sanctum.
“Mr. President, the tapping is in hand, connection will be made by 1310. I must get back to the Zone right away, but I'll be in touch.”
“What about the meeting?” The President did not attempt to conceal his anxiety.
Forbin turned on the pressure. “There's no time for that. Let them concentrate on keeping the nation happy—if they can—and let us get on with the real job.” He let that soak in for a moment. “Colossus hasn't finished with us yet—if, indeed, he's even started. I'm seeing Grauber this evening about secure communications between us and Moscow—and one or two other matters.”
Irritably the President rubbed his twitching eye. He was visibly sagging; reaction was setting in. Soon he must fall off his personal tightrope.
“OK, Forbin—I leave it to you.” He sounded as if it were of the smallest consequence to him, but his eyes belied his tone.
Forbin nodded briefly and left.
A Presidential car was soon wafting Forbin to the Air-Car Terminal. There a small two- seat vehicle was ready and waiting. Forbin climbed into the plastic bubble with a sense of relief at the release from Washington. Soon he was flashing effortlessly on his way, alone for the first time, it seemed, in weeks. The warm sun filtering throu
gh the translucent orange plastic top of the vehicle made him drowsy, the gentle sway was pleasant, soporific. . . Colossus had accepted the idea that he, Forbin, was the kingpin, that he could be out of touch and that without him, no action could be taken. . . A moment's hesitation, then Forbin reached forward and switched off the intercom. Let someone else fight it out for the next hour. In less than two minutes he was asleep.
Twenty minutes later Fisher was frantically—and unsuccessfully—trying to contact the hurtling air-car. He was not the only one.
Colossus had started up again.
Chapter 16
About the time that Forbin was settling into the air-car, Fisher, in the relative quiet of the Colossus Program Office, was deeply immersed in some of the early high-speed exchange between Colossus and Guardian. He was vainly trying to find some link between the last of the slow-speed run and the data, still ripping out from both machines at a fantastic speed, when Cleo burst in. Deep in the mathematical world of the machines, it took the bemused doctor some time to adjust.
“Doctor Fisher! Listen to me, this is urgent!” Cleo's voice was controlled, there was little sign of the impatience welling up within her.
Slowly Fisher shifted his unseeing stare from the ceiling to his colleague. “Doctor Markham!” he said with a trace of triumph, as if he was glad that he could remember the name so quickly.
“Doctor,” Cleo spoke deliberately and with care, “you must listen. Colossus has now issued a new demand. I have tried to get Charles but he is in an air-car on his way here, and I can't contact him. We must decide what to do.”
The apprehensive expression dawning on the mathematician's face deepened at the word “decide.”
“Can't it wait?” he said petulantly. “Forbin can't be all that long.”
“I've checked with the Washington Terminal, and we can't expect him for another forty minutes,” Cleo snapped, her impatience beginning to show. “Read this.” She unrolled a teletype message on the desk. The mere sight of it made Fisher wince—but the message itself almost paralyzed him with shock. Cleo watched him anxiously, but without much hope.
D.F. Jones - [Colossus 01] Page 15
