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“Now, calm down, General,” the secretary of Defense said. “No one’s accusing you of treason.”
Naylor began: “General McNab—”
“Treason is a violation of the Uniform Code of Military Justice,” McNab interrupted him with cold anger in his voice. “I demand a court-martial!”
Naylor thought, Please, God, McNab, don’t get carried away!
“No one’s talking about a court-martial, General McNab,” he said.
“I am!”
“General, what Secretary Beiderman and I have been talking about is that when POTUS has a chance, over a few days, to reconsider what must be honestly described as an overreaction to what happened at Arlington and the Mayflower . . .”
“An ‘overreaction’? It’s insane, that’s what it is!”
“Watch your choice of words, General,” Naylor ordered sharply. “You’re speaking of the Commander in Chief.”
“Yes, sir,” McNab said after a moment.
“As I was saying, Secretary Beiderman and I have been discussing the possibility that, after a few days, POTUS may reconsider and possibly even regret what can only be described as his loss of self-control.”
Beiderman put in: “Get out of Dodge, so to speak, for a few days. Until this thing has a chance to blow over.”
“And where should I go for a few days until this thing, this outrage, this insanity, blows over?” McNab demanded.
“If you were not at Fort Bragg, General,” Naylor said, “if you were not at Fort Bragg when Secretary Beiderman and I arrived with the packet of photographs . . .”
“Go to Afghanistan, for Christ’s sake,” Beiderman snapped. “Confer with your people there. Just be unavailable.”
After a moment McNab said, “Yes, sir, Mr. Secretary.”
Congratulations, Mr. Secretary, Naylor thought. You are now a coconspirator.
The flashing LED on the red telephone stopped flashing.
“What the hell?” Beiderman demanded incredulously. “Did he hang up on us?”
Naylor held up his hand and then extended his arm and looked at his wristwatch.
Precisely sixty seconds later, he pushed a button on the red telephone. The LED began flashing.
“SPECOPSCOM,” a new voice come over the circuit. “General O’Toole speaking, sir.”
“This is General Naylor. Let me speak to General McNab, please.”
“Sir, I’m sorry. He’s not here.”
“Where is he?” Beiderman demanded.
“Sir, he’s on his way to Afghanistan.”
“As soon as you can get in touch with him, O’Toole, have him cal
l me,” Naylor ordered.
“That will probably take about an hour, sir.”
“As soon as possible,” Naylor said, and hung up.
