by Ben Bova
Harmon made a sour face. “That debating society? Hah. Besides, we want to keep this as quiet as possible. No fuss. No publicity. We’ve triangulated the most likely location of the laser. It’s in one of the Russians’ milsats, we’re pretty sure.”
“Military satellites,” Farthington translated.
“So we’re going to take care of that bird. It’s going to get hit by a piece of space junk. Bang. Off the air. Out of commission. Too bad.”
“But that’s…” Jake hesitated, then finished his thought, “that’s an act of war, isn’t it?”
Harmon answered with a tight grin and, “No. It’s just a little game we’re playing. The Russians are trying to see how far they can go. If we ever get into a real shooting way, they’ll want to knock out as many of our milsats as they can. This is just a test to see if we can figure out what they’re doing, and respond to it.”
“But why are you telling me about it?”
“You’re pushing this new space plan.”
“But it’s entirely peaceful!”
“Sure it is,” said the general. “But you’ll be putting a lot of assets on the Moon and in cislunar space. Tempting targets, possibly.”
“You think the Russians would try to damage peaceful civilian space facilities?”
“The Russians, maybe. Or the Chinese. Or the Iranians, or some bunch of terrorist wackos. Lots of possibilities.”
“Holy god,” Jake muttered.
“Sooner or later you’re going to need protection,” General Harmon said. “I thought you ought to know that, understand the situation. The more assets you put in space, the more tempting targets you’re setting up for a potential enemy.”
“Sooner or later,” Farthington agreed.
“Okay,” said the general. “Message sent and received. Let’s eat lunch.”
Jake had no appetite at all.
New Hampshire
“It looks like a Currier and Ives Christmas card,” said Tami.
She and Jake were riding in a chauffeured black sedan through the snowy hills west of Nashua, toward a rustic hotel next to the campus of Daniel Webster College, near the state’s capital.
It was late afternoon, but cloudy, dark, ominous. By five p.m. it would be black as night, Jake knew. The land was blanketed with snow, although the road had been plowed down to the bare paving, and it was warm enough inside the sedan so that both Jake and Tami had unbuttoned their heavy winter overcoats.
Senator Tomlinson was giving a televised speech in Nashua. He and Patrick Lovett would rendezvous with Jake at the hotel at six p.m., then the three of them would be driven to the home of Senator Sebastian’s friend, farther out in the hills.
“Hope it doesn’t snow again,” Jake said, peering up at the cloudy sky.
“Weather forecast doesn’t call for snow,” said Tami.
Jake nodded absently. He was still thinking about General Harmon’s revelation. They’re fighting a battle in orbital space. A silent, undeclared, contest. But it’s real. We’ve got to be prepared to protect ourselves in space. Damn!
“When is Senator Sebastian showing up?” Tami asked.
“Six thirty or so,” Jake replied. “He’s flying in from a rally in Boston. The house where they’re meeting has an airstrip.”
Tami’s brows rose. “Convenient.”
With a tight grin, Jake started, “Rich or poor…”
“… it pays to have money,” Tami finished. They both laughed.
Jake and Tami took a light dinner at the hotel, then Lovett showed up at the entrance to the dining room, looking almost like a local in a heavy British thorn-proof coat and a ridiculous-looking fur hat with earflaps jammed down over his head.
Jake dabbed at his chin with his napkin, got up from his chair, and leaned over to kiss Tami. “Remember,” he whispered, “this is all not for publication.”
With a bit of a grimace, Tami whispered back, “I know. Deep cover.”
“Loose lips sink ships,” Jake quoted inanely, then he hurried toward the waiting Lovett.
The ride out to the designated country estate was quiet, tense with expectation. Tomlinson, Lovett, and Jake sat squeezed into the rear seat of the sedan. Jake recognized the driver as one of the Tomlinsons’ servants, from the senator’s house in DC.
“Hope it doesn’t snow again,” Lovett said.
Favorite topic of conversation in New Hampshire, Jake thought.
The house was a rambling old wooden structure, only one story high except for a sort of turret poking up near the front entrance. The owner himself—a lanky, balding New Hampshireman—led them through the front entrance, past several closed doors, and finally into a spacious recreation room in the back of the house. Pool table, ping-pong table, bookshelves along one wall that held mostly magazines, a cold and dark fireplace, and a single wide window that looked out onto the snowy woods.
“I’ve known Brad Sebastian since we were in the infantry together, back in Afghanistan,” their host said, in a twangy New Hampshire drawl. “Good man. He’ll make a fine president.”
“He’s not here yet?” Lovett asked.
As if in answer, the drone of an airplane’s engines came throbbing through the dark sky.
Their host smiled cannily. “Right on time.” And he hurried across the room to turn on the gas-fed fireplace. Suddenly the room seemed cheerier.
About fifteen minutes later Senator Bradley Sebastian entered the room, with Manstein and another youngish man flanking him.
The host left the room, almost tiptoeing, and closed the door firmly behind him. Jake, Tomlinson, and Lovett stood facing Sebastian and his two aides. Jake got an impression of the Earps and the Clantons at the O.K. Corral.
Senator Sebastian broke the silence. “I’m glad you could come.”
Tomlinson gave him a guarded smile. “Good of you to invite us, Brad.”
Sebastian gestured to the big leather sofa and scattering of chairs on the other side of the pool table. “Let’s be comfortable. Do you want anything to eat? Drink?”
“We’ve had dinner,” Lovett said as he started toward the chairs.
As they sat—Tomlinson’s trio on the sofa, Sebastian’s on the armchairs facing them—Lovett asked, “So we’re all in our places. What do you want to talk about?”
“The campaign, what else?” Sebastian said.
Jake saw that Manstein seemed a bit uptight; his usual knowing smirk was nowhere in sight.
“It’s getting interesting, isn’t it?” Tomlinson said. He seemed relaxed, at ease. “I had a good audience this afternoon in Nashua.”
Sebastian looked tired, Jake thought, like a grandfather who’d been working too hard. He was actually perspiring. Can’t be the fireplace, Jake told himself. It’s all the way over on the other side of the room.
“I want to bring the party together,” he said, his voice calm, reasonable. “It’s a fatal mistake for the two of us to be competing against each other. We’ll be handing the White House to the Democrats if we can’t find a way to work together.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” said Tomlinson. “After all, the primaries exist so that the voters can see the candidates, listen to their ideas, make up their minds about who they want to represent them.”
“We should be looking at the November election, not trying to slit each other’s throats.”
Before Tomlinson could reply, Lovett put a hand on the senator’s arm and asked Sebastian, “What do you have in mind?”
Sebastian blinked once, twice, then licked his lips. “You withdraw your candidacy and I’ll support you for president eight years from now.”
With a crooked grin, Tomlinson said, “You’re assuming you’ll be reelected next time around.”
“If you win this time in November,” Lovett added.
“That’s right,” Sebastian replied. “If the party’s united we can beat whoever the Democrats run next year.”
Breaking into a knowing grin, Lovett said, “Our incumbent president
isn’t doing very well, is she?”
“She’s not running.”
“Good thing, too. She’s made a mess of everything she’s touched.”
“We can beat whoever the Democrats put up,” Sebastian insisted. “If our party is united. We can’t afford to be fighting each other.”
Tomlinson shook his head. “Seems to me that the polls show both you and I are comfortably ahead of whoever the Democrats choose.”
“That doesn’t mean much,” said Sebastian’s aide.
“I want a united party,” Sebastian repeated. “That’s the way to win next November.”
“A united party,” said Tomlinson. “With you at its head.”
“Yes! I’ve earned the right! I’ve put in my years. I deserve the nomination.”
Tomlinson leaned back in the softly yielding sofa. “That’s for the voters to decide, isn’t it?”
For a long moment Sebastian remained silent, staring hard at Tomlinson. Jake could hear the soft whooshing of the gas-fed fireplace all the way across the big room.
Very softly, reluctantly, Sebastian said, “I could knock you out of the race, you know. I could ruin your career entirely.”
Tomlinson’s chin went up a notch. Turning his eyes toward Manstein, he replied tightly, “Maybe.”
“Why can’t you be reasonable?” Sebastian asked, almost pleading.
“I made my father a promise, on his deathbed,” Tomlinson answered. “I can’t go back on that.”
And Jake thought, Even from the grave, Frank’s father is manipulating him.
Manstein spoke up. “Death cancels all debts, you know.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Tomlinson looked as if he wanted to get up and slug Manstein.
Jake broke in. “If you go public with your little story, we’ll demand that you take a lie detector test. In public. Whose reputation will be ruined by that?”
Manstein waved a hand in the air. “I will simply refuse to answer any questions about what took place after my private little dinner with your charming wife. After all, a gentleman does not kiss and tell.”
Lovett actually grabbed Tomlinson’s arm, holding him down on the sofa.
“Nothing happened and you know it!” the senator snapped.
“I know it,” said Manstein, with his irritating smirk. “You know it. But will the public accept that idea?”
“They will if you tell the truth.”
With a sad shake of his head Manstein retorted, “Ahh, you Americans with your touching faith in the will of the people. Don’t you understand that the more I deny anything happened the more your precious public will believe the worst?”
Tomlinson yanked his arm free of Lovett’s grasp and jumped to his feet. “Go ahead and shoot your mouth off! Say what the fuck ever you want. You tell your story and Amy and I will tell ours and to hell with you!”
Senator Sebastian raised both his hands in a placating gesture. “Frank, Frank, be reasonable. There’s no need for getting angry.”
“The hell there isn’t,” Tomlinson barked. “This slimy son of a bitch is trying to ruin my wife and you’re helping him to do it!”
Lovett stood up beside Senator Tomlinson. “Cool it, Frank. Don’t let your temper get the better of you.”
Sebastian, almost pleading, said, “Frank, don’t you realize I’ve been keeping this whole matter quiet? I’ve kept everything under wraps.”
“For now,” Tomlinson said.
“For as long as I need to,” Sebastian replied. “All I’m asking from you is to step aside gracefully—and I’ll find a place for you in my cabinet. Maybe secretary of the interior. Or commerce, if you prefer that.”
Tomlinson shook his head. “I appreciate it, Brad. But no thanks. I’m in this campaign until the bitter end.”
Manstein’s smirk turned into a pitying smile. But he kept his mouth shut. Good thing, Jake thought as he got to his feet. For two cents I’d punch out the bastard myself.
Tomlinson turned to Lovett. “Come on, Pat. This has been a waste of time.”
And he stalked past Sebastian, who remained in his chair, looking like a grandfather who was bewildered by his grandson’s impolite behavior.
Back to DC
Riding with Jake and Senator Tomlinson through the dark, moonless night back to the hotel where Tami waited, Patrick Lovett shook his head disapprovingly.
“You broke one of the basic rules of the game, Frank.”
Sitting in the middle of the sedan’s rear seat, Tomlinson grunted, “Did I?”
“Ever hear of Ev Dirksen’s three rules of politics?”
Jake, on Tomlinson’s other side, remembered that the old senator’s first two rules were, “One: get elected. Two: get reelected.”
“Yeah.” Lovett explained, “And the third rule is, don’t get mad, get even.”
“Big deal,” Tomlinson muttered.
“You lost your temper, Frank. Not smart. Didn’t you see that Sebastian was trying to placate you? He doesn’t like this Manstein business any more than you. He’s keeping Manstein quiet, for god’s sake!”
“Is he?”
“Yes, he is. But you’re pushing him into letting Manstein blab the story to the media.”
“Let him.”
“Are you crazy?”
Tapping Lovett’s leg with a stiff finger, Tomlinson said, “Pat, as long as Manstein is around he’ll hold that story over us. He can go public with it tomorrow, or a month from now. He can spring it at the opening of the party convention next summer. I say we should let him tell his story now, while we’ve got time to let it play out in the media. By next summer it’ll be old news.”
Jake sat there on the senator’s other side, feeling stunned at this revelation of political strategy. Let them fire their best shot; we’ll weather the storm. Maybe Frank’s right. Maybe that’s the best course of action. Get past Manstein once and for all.
But Lovett said, “That’ll be awful rough on your wife, you know. They’ll be after her like a pack of wolves.”
“Amy can handle it. We’ve talked it over. She’s ready to face them down.”
For long moments Lovett said nothing. The car was silent except for the purr of the motor and the drone of the tires on the roadway. The snowy landscape slid by, silent and cold. In the distance Jake could see the lights of a lone farmhouse breaking the darkness.
At last Lovett said, in a near whisper, “That’s a tough path you’ve picked out.”
“Do you see any easier ones?” Tomlinson demanded.
Lovett puffed out a long sigh. Then, “No. I wish I did, but I don’t.”
“Then let’s face this head-on.”
“Damn the torpedoes, eh?”
“Right,” said the senator.
Jake thought of Custer charging into the whole Sioux nation at the Little Bighorn.
* * *
Earl Reynolds looked stunned. “Go public?” he gasped.
Jake was sitting in Senator Tomlinson’s office with Pat Lovett, Kevin O’Donnell, and the media relations director, the four of them in the deep leather chairs arrayed in front of the senator’s desk.
“Go public,” said Tomlinson. “The sooner the better.”
Reynolds’s beefy face morphed slowly from astonishment to careful calculation.
“Break the story now, get it out in the open,” he mused.
“Get it behind us,” said Lovett.
O’Donnell shook his head. “It’d be better to keep it covered up.”
“No,” said Lovett. “That puts the ball in Sebastian’s court. He can spring it whenever and wherever he chooses. Where it’ll do the most harm to us.”
Jake thought that O’Donnell looked even more disconsolate than usual. “You can’t tell the media that Frank’s wife might have been fooling around behind his back. That’s suicide!”
Reynolds turned slightly in his chair to look squarely at the senator’s office chief. “Maybe not, Kev. If we break the story in the right way, at the right time—
”
“The time is now,” Tomlinson said firmly. “Before Manstein can give his version of the story.”
“Amy actually had the guy over for dinner while you were out of town?” Reynolds asked, in a tell me it’s not so tone.
“Yes,” the senator replied, tightly.
“And the servants were out of the house?”
“All except the cook,” Tomlinson said, his face growing grimmer.
“Jeez.”
Lovett said, “But if we break it the right way—”
“Get the fuss and fury behind us, now, before the Iowa caucuses,” Tomlinson said.
“It’ll kill Iowa for us,” O’Donnell muttered.
“Better than losing Carolina,” said Lovett. “Or Pennsylvania.”
“Or California,” Jake piped up.
Lovett almost smiled. “Hell, it might even help us in California.”
Nobody laughed.
Breaking News
A week later, Jake had just returned from a quick trip to Los Angeles, where he had met with engineers and executives from United Launch Alliance to nail down the details of buying six launches of their heavy boosters as part of the first phase of building a permanent base on the Moon.
To Jake’s shock, Senator Tomlinson was waiting for him in the back seat of the limousine he had sent to meet Jake on his arrival at Reagan Airport, smiling at him when the chauffeur opened the stretch limo’s rear door.
As Jake climbed into the capacious rear seat, the senator said, “Jake, I need you to do me a favor.”
Putting his briefcase down beside him, Jake asked, “A favor? Sure. What is it?”
As the chauffeur chucked Jake’s well-worn travel bag into the limo’s trunk and slammed the lid shut, the senator replied, his smile dimming noticeably, “You know Amy’s giving the speech tomorrow at the Career Women’s luncheon.”
Jake hadn’t known, but he nodded anyway.
“I want you to go with her. Give her some moral support.”
Another shock. For several moments Jake sat in silence as the chauffeur slid in behind the wheel and pulled the limo away from the curb.
At last Jake squeaked, “Me?”
“You.”
“Frank, I don’t think I’m the best man for the job. After all, I—”
