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“Another Russian shot him. I don’t think he’s seriously wounded.”
The stretcher was loaded into the ambulance.
Colonel Torine and Lieutenant Colonel Castillo appeared in the door, acknowledged the applause of the Air Force personnel, and then trotted down the ramp, with Max beside them. They got into the ambulance, which immediately drove off.
Generals Naylor and McNab appeared in the ramp door, walked down it, and got into a staff car.
“I want those two bastards here in thirty minutes,” the President ordered. “I want—”
“Mr. President,” Porky Parker said. “May I respectfully suggest that we have to carefully consider the ramifications of this?”
President Clendennen glared at him. “The next time those two sonsofbitches go to Fort Leavenworth, they’ll be in handcuffs on their way to the Army prison. . . .”
“Porky’s right, Mr. President,” DCI Powell said. “If we’ve invaded some South American country—”
“If? If ? You just heard Roscoe J. Danton tell the whole goddamned world we did! Putin was probably watching us carry that general we kidnapped off that fucking airplane we stole.”
“Or is watching it being replayed for him as we speak,” Parker said. “I’m told the Ministry of Information tapes Wolf News and then distributes the significant stories around the Kremlin.”
“That’s true, Mr. President,” DCI Powell said. “I really think we should get the secretary of State’s input on this, so we can decide how to react.”
“Well, get her here. In thirty minutes.”
“Secretary Cohen is in New York, at the UN, Mr. President,” Porky Parker said. “At a reception for President Chávez of Venezuela.”
“And if you plan to arrest General Naylor, Mr. President,” DCI Powell said, “I think we ought to hear what the attorney general has to say. And/or the secretary of Defense.”
“Maybe we should all give this some thought, Mr. President, overnight,” Porky Parker said. “Collect all the facts, and then, say, at ten tomorrow morning . . .”
“We really don’t want to act precipitously in the heat of the moment,” DCI Powell said.
The President looked between them for a good thirty seconds before saying, “Okay, ten tomorrow morning. Just make sure they’re all here.”
He then walked out of the presidential study, slamming the door behind him.
A moment later there was the sound of a vase falling to the floor.
Or perhaps of one being thrown against a wall.
[ELEVEN]
The Mayflower Hotel
1127 Connecticut Avenue, N.W.
Washington, D.C.
0925 14 February 2007
There is another, more elegant, name for it, in keeping with the elegance of the Mayflower itself, but most people think of it simply as “The Lobby Bar.”
It’s on the left of the hotel, and has windows opening on the Desales Street sidewalk. It offers morning coffee and a simple but of course elegant breakfast menu.
There were perhaps twenty people in it when Sergei Murov walked in.
“Over here, Sergei,” Frank Lammelle called.
He was standing beside one of the tables near the window. There were three men and a woman sitting at the table.
