Fade Out (23 page)

‘Maybe.' Wedderkind smiled. ‘But I'd never forgive myself if something did and I wasn't here to see it. In any case, there's still a lot to organize.'

‘You've got competent people here who can handle that.'

‘Bob, the future of the whole world is up there under the ridge, not back in Washington.'

‘I'll try to remember that. However, for the moment, Washington is where the decisions are made that make or break this project.'

‘I know. That's why it's important that you go back there and tell them that everything's under control.'

It was Connors' turn to smile. ‘Whose control – ours or Crusoe's?'

‘Say ours – whatever you may believe privately.'

‘Is there anything special you'd like me to ask for?'

‘Time,' said Wedderkind. ‘Just as much time as you can get. Everyone back there has been weaned on Hollywood features where some goon solves the secret of the universe in a hundred and ten minutes with the aid of a screwdriver and the love of a good woman. In real life, it always takes a little longer. The answers – if we ever find them – may be incredibly simple, but it may take a long time to realize just how simple they are.'

‘I'll be back at the weekend.' Connors laid a hand on Wedderkind's shoulder. ‘Take care.'

‘Give my love to Charly.'

‘I will.'

‘And promise me one thing.'

‘What's that?'

‘One day, be a
mensch
and marry the girl.'

‘I'll think about it,' said Connors.

Marion buzzed to tell Connors that the President was ready to talk to him in his private office next to the Oval Room.

‘Bob. It's good to see you.'

The President's handshake and voice were warm and
friendly, but his face had changed noticeably. Although it had been only a couple of days since Connors had seen the President, he seemed to have aged a couple of years.

Connors' eyes must have given him away, because the President said, ‘Don't ask me how I feel. Anne's been asking me that for the last two weeks. I feel fine, and McVickers agrees with me.'

‘I'm glad to hear it.' McVickers was the President's personal physician.

‘A little tired, maybe, but then you look as if you could do with a good night's sleep yourself.'

‘I'll get around to it eventually,' said Connors. ‘What's it been like so far this week?'

‘The pressures are beginning to build.' The President sat down and gestured to Connors to do the same. ‘How is Allbright shaping up?'

‘He seems to have everything under control,' said Connors.

The President nodded. ‘You apparently gave Chuck Clayson the impression that you weren't entirely happy to have Allbright along on this thing.'

‘In that case, I need to get my face fixed,' said Connors. ‘Did he say anything else?'

‘No. I suggested your reaction may have been coloured by the fact that you'd never met Allbright before. I didn't mention our conversation at Camp David.'

‘Good.'

The President fingered the cover of the blue file that lay on the desk in front of him. ‘I've read your latest situation report. Did one of your girls –?'

‘No, Greg Mitchell typed it. Was everything clear?'

‘Yes – perfectly.' The President put on his reading glasses and flipped over several pages.

‘The situation isn't quite as straightforward as we
expected,' said Connors. ‘But it's nothing we can't deal with – given time.'

‘Yes…' The President took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘That may be the one item we're running out of.'

Wedderkind was right. They were starting to lean on the project less than two weeks after touchdown.

‘We didn't get our first people on to the Ridge until four days ago,' said Connors.

‘I appreciate that.' The President put his glasses back on and turned over another page of the file. ‘Is there no way you can speed up this drilling operation?'

‘They're planning to work twenty-four hours a day on that,' said Connors. ‘But even if we complete ahead of schedule, there is no guarantee that we'll succeed in forcing Crusoe to the surface.'

‘No…' The President closed the file, laid his glasses on top of it, and sat back in his chair. ‘If this goes on, we're going to find ourselves in one hell of a bind.'

‘Are you getting pressure from the Pentagon?'

‘Some of the things they're saying make sense.'

‘Such as?'

‘Safeguarding our interests in Saudi Arabia – and the Persian Gulf.'

‘Don't tell me you've sent in the Marines.'

‘Not yet, but I have authorized the airlift of a Marine division to Diego Garcia and the transfer of more naval units to the Indian Ocean.'

It was provocative but it made sense. Connors had seen copies of the cables sent by Admiral Kirk, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The Russians had a big chunk of their blue-water navy in the area. Worried by the impact of the first twenty-minute fade-out on communications, Fraser had ordered Kirk to stay aboard the carrier
Lexington
and set up a forward command post.
Kirk had the authority to make vital tactical command decisions without referring them to Washington.

It was another wise move. Since early morning, it had been impossible to receive or transmit any coherent messages on the long wavelengths. There was now a total, worldwide radio blackout.

‘We've talked a lot about setting up the Crusoe Project,' said Connors. ‘But what we haven't really touched is your reaction to Crusoe itself. I got the impression on Sunday that we weren't quite connecting. Do you want to tell me where you stand on this?'

The President looked at Connors, then moved the bottom right-hand corner of his wife's picture by a fraction of an inch.

‘You don't have to tell me the truth.'

‘I don't have to tell you anything.' The President moved the picture back to its original position.

‘That's right,' said Connors. ‘That's what makes this job so exciting.'

The President got up from his chair and gazed out of the window for a moment, hands clasped behind his back. He turned around and waved Connors back into his seat. ‘Okay, you've asked me where I stand on this. It's a fair question. Whatever the potential gains in terms of scientific and general knowledge, whatever long-term benefit to humanity this contact may represent, those gains are, and must remain, totally subordinate to the maintenance of our democratic system of government, our concept of a free society and a free-enterprise economy, and the continued well-being of the people of the United States as set forth in, and guaranteed by, the Constitution.'

Connors nodded his agreement. Whenever the President used words like ‘democracy', ‘free society', and ‘the
Constitution', it meant he was making a speech, not holding a conversation.

‘Our effectiveness as a world power and our defensive capacity are already threatened by this open-ended jamming of the radar and radio frequencies. It's already started to send bad vibrations through the economy, and if it goes on, it will create chaos on an international scale. Have you seen the reports from our embassies in Europe?'

‘Yes, it's tough. But there's nothing we can do.'

‘I know,' said the President. ‘But we may not be able to conceal Crusoe's presence indefinitely. If word gets out, we're going to be held responsible for every hour this disruption is allowed to continue.'

‘In that case, we have to make doubly sure no one finds out he's in Montana until we work out how to switch him off.'

‘And before the Russians take advantage of the situation.'

‘That sounds like one of Fraser's ideas.'

‘You suggested something similar.'

‘Yes, but that was specifically related to Crusoe. I don't think they will make any military moves, not yet anyway. That's not just because of the time we've spent working towards better relations. The risks are too great. The fade-out has left us with one option. Nuclear war. They won't push for that. Admittedly they're in better shape on the ground, but the overall effects of the fade-out must still be crippling. There are two things we must remember. First, they have the Chinese along their eastern frontier. In the present situation that's dynamite. Second, they don't need to risk a war with us over Europe. If the fade-out lasts several months, Europe might collapse and fall into their hands without a shot
being fired. I think the Russians are more worried about what
we
might do to prevent that happening.'

‘Yes… it's like getting your fingers caught in a meat grinder. Whichever way you turn the handle it hurts. And it's all due to your friend Crusoe.'

‘Hang on,' said Connors. ‘We haven't even got acquainted yet.'

‘Okay, but now that we've started, let's get things quite clear. Your area of responsibility covers the containment and evaluation of the spacecraft. Containment, in this case, is defined as maintaining total security on this whole operation by the isolation of Crow Ridge and its contents from the rest of the United States. That includes any problems, whatever their nature, contamination or infection – and let's not underestimate the risks of that. Any side effects, harmful or otherwise. The whole circus is to be confined to that immediate geographical area until every part of Crusoe has been carefully examined. It also means the isolation of everyone physically involved in the project on Crow Ridge until they've been checked and rechecked.'

‘Does that include me too?'

‘It could. It depends on what happens when contact is made with whatever is down there.'

‘I'll remember that.' Connors decided against mentioning the icecold tingling he'd felt near the crater. Perhaps, without their knowing, Crusoe had got to them already.

‘Evaluation,' continued the President, ‘is at least straightforward. We need to know what it is, how it works, what its mission is, and, if possible, where it is from.'

‘We'll do our best.'

‘Then let's hope that this encounter will turn out to be as peaceful and harmless as you and Arnold have forecast.'

‘That's not quite accurate,' said Connors. ‘I'm sympathetic to Arnold's views, but if you care to check the record, I've merely counselled caution. I've never opposed any attempt to destroy Crusoe.'

‘Good.' The President sat down and pointed his forefinger at Connors. ‘As soon as Crusoe was located in Montana, Mel Fraser urged me to set up a special defensive capability, to protect the rest of the United States from any threat from Crow Ridge.'

Connors grinned. ‘What did he tell you to expect – an H.G. Wells-type Martian invasion?'

The President gave a wry smile. ‘I haven't succumbed to Mel's Armageddon complex, but some of his arguments were quite persuasive. It would be foolish not to be prepared for every possibility.'

‘I agree with you,' said Connors. ‘But I disagree with Fraser. The dangers, if any exist, lie beyond those delineated in the dime novel. Arnold is worried that they may even be beyond our comprehension.'

‘That's an even better reason for not taking any chances. Which is why, for the last seven days, we've been ready, at the first sign of trouble, to mount an immediate strike against Crow Ridge.'

‘To take out Crusoe?'

‘If it proved necessary, the strike would include everything and everybody on the Ridge.' The President's voice matched the grimness of the prospect. ‘The code name for the operation is CAMPFIRE.'

Connors' eyes met the President's. The possibility that Arnold and the others – and himself too – might be risking their lives in such a dramatic fashion had not really occurred to him so forcibly before.

He'd been aware that there were risks, of course, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to believe that Crusoe was about to perform like a pulp sci-fi creation. As
Wedderkind had said over and over again, the real danger lay in their own ill-considered reactions. Connors knew that whatever the ultimate benefits to science and mankind, the fade-out couldn't be allowed to continue indefinitely. But they needed time. Time to coax Crusoe to the surface. Time to find out all they could. Time to make the right decisions. Now that Fraser had been given his head, it only needed one crackpot to sound the alarm, and the whole project would go up, literally, in smoke.

‘Just how far can we go before we decide we're in trouble?' asked Connors.

‘I've outlined what our priorities are,' said the President. ‘It will be up to you to make that decision. You will notify me, then take whatever action is necessary to terminate the project.'

‘And if, for some reason, I am unable to make that decision?'

The President swung his chair round to face Connors squarely. ‘If by that you mean incapacitated in some way, then it will be Allbright's job. He's there to give you whatever backup you need.'

It was a shrewd move. Someone had assessed, quite correctly, that Connors might be swayed by reasoned, or even impassioned, scientific argument into keeping the project going beyond the fail-safe point. Then it would be Allbright's finger on the trigger.

That was why he'd been picked to help Connors run the Ridge. Allbright was there not only to seal off Crow Ridge from the outside world; he was there to make sure that, if necessary, the people
on
the Ridge stayed there. Permanently.

‘Allbright also has another responsibility,' said the President. ‘That is to get you and Arnold out fast if you happen to be there when it all goes wrong.'

Yes, maybe, thought Connors. But don't count on it.
Having looked into those hard blue eyes, Connors had the feeling that, if it came to the crunch, Allbright wouldn't hesitate to include himself and his big palomino on the casualty list.