He was granted an appointment sandwiched between a delegation from the Free Palestinian Trades Council and an awards ceremony in honor of an army ordnance team that had defused a one-thousand-pound bomb at Grand Central Station. Instead of being shown to the Oval Office, however, as he'd expected, Lucas was stationed between an aide and a secret service agent on the steps leading down to the lawn at the rear of the White House.
Then came another surprise--or rather, shock. He was crisply informed that he had however long it would take the president to walk from the steps to the welcoming committee of military brass in the middle of the lawn to state his case. Dumbfounded, Lucas gazed with sick dismay at the short stretch of trimmed grass. He reckoned he had about a minute; perhaps a few seconds more if the president slowed to a dawdle.
One minute in which to explain the technical complexities, the scientific fallacies, and the ecological implications of DEPARTMENT STORE.
One minute to warn of global catastrophe.
Trying to get his thoughts in order, and already sweating at the prospect, Lucas was totally unprepared for what happened--which happened so fast he didn't know it was happening. The tap and scrape of shoe leather on marble, a pack of people bearing down on him, and he was grasped firmly by the elbows and all five feet four of him lifted off his feet and thrust forward, before he knew it walking--trotting-- alongside the president, completely surrounded by large hulking men wearing sunglasses and blocking out the light. He was in a forest of bodies.
"Gene, good to see you. How's everything?"
Automatically Lucas extended his hand and it was lightly taken by the slender black one. The president released his hand and said over his shoulder out of the side of his mouth, "What is he, colonel, general, or what?" A low hard voice from the crush answered at once, "Colonel, sir. Cathermore. Purple Heart in El Salvador. Prosthetic hip joint, right side."
"Mr. President," Lucas said breathlessly, running alongside, "I have to speak with you. It's vitally important, a matter of national security. It's difficult to explain right now, in these circumstances."
Munro smiled, incredibly handsome, perfect white teeth in a strong, acceptably negroid face. Virile, sensual, powerful, full of character. "I appreciate the problem, Gene, but that's how it is. Sorry. These people tie me up in so many fucking knots I can't move."
The smile came back, dazzling. No wonder television audiences went wild over him. He was better looking than any movie star.
Lucas gritted his teeth and launched in. "Shortly before he died, Mr. President, Secretary of Defense Lebasse gave me a dossier concerning a top-secret project that had been submitted to him for approval. He wanted my opinion--as a scientist--on the advisability of proceeding with this project"--they had covered half the distance already; this was impossible, ludicrous--"and I know that he himself had grave doubts. In view of his death--what I mean is, Mr. President, is that I feel it's my responsibility as your scientific adviser to urge you most strongly not to grant approval . . ."
He was babbling. Did any of this make sense? Physically shaking, trying to keep his voice under control, he said with as much firmness and authority as he could muster, "This project must not be allowed to go ahead, sir. The consequences are truly horrendous."
They were ten yards away from the flags and the bunting and the group of officers and the squad of soldiers beyond. President Munro halted and the phalanx of aides and secret service agents stopped with him, forming a solid mass enclosing the two men, the tall handsome black one and the small gray-haired white one.
Lucas drew in a quivering breath: He felt dwarfed and lost, yet somehow defiant, a man fighting desperately for a cause in which he believed.
President Munro was looking down at him, two thin creases on either side of his nose, momentarily spoiling those dark beautifully proportioned features.
"What project are you speaking of, Gene?"
Lucas let go a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Gaining confidence by the second, he said rapidly, "It's code-named DEPARTMENT STORE, sir. It was submitted to the Defense Department by Advanced Strategic Projects of the Pentagon." At last he was being listened to, and by someone who mattered, who had the power to do something. By God, the evil
"That one. Yep." The president was nodding. "Nothing to worry about, Gene, it's all taken care of. Approval has been granted on the advice of Mr. Zadikov."
"Who?" Lucas mumbled, too dazed to be astounded.
"Ralf Zadikov, the newly appointed secretary of defense." President Munro patted Lucas on the shoulder. "Great to see you again, Gene. Drop by again sometime. Give my best regards to your wife--" somebody muttered in his ear--"Elizabeth."
