Patrick McLanahan Collection #1 (190 page)

Gardner chuckled, and unconsciously let his eyes roam her body again, and this time Barbeau allowed herself to show that she noticed, smiled, and blushed—she was one of those women who could blush anytime, anywhere, in any situation, at will. He sat back in his chair, wanting to get this meeting under way so they could concentrate on other things, if the opportunity presented itself. “So, Stacy, we both know the issue before us. Where does the White House stand with the Armed Services Committee? Are we going to have a fight over the military budget, or can we come to an agreement and form a united front?”

“Unfortunately we're more confused than ever, I'm afraid, Joe,” Barbeau replied. She took her hand away, watching a sudden pang of loss cloud his face. “This is all confidential, Mr. President?”

“Of course.” He touched her hand, and her eyes fluttered. “On both sides. Strictly confidential.”

“My lips are sealed.” Barbeau smiled, then put her red lips together, made a locking motion with her long fingers, and tucked the invisible key in the ample cleavage between her breasts. Gardner took that as open permission to look at her chest this time, and he
did so liberally. “The committee is in an uproar, Joe. They're concerned about General McLanahan's health and well-being, of course. Have you heard anything more about him?”

“Not much. The doctors originally told me not to expect him back to duty for several months. Some kind of heart thing.”

That jibed with what her sources at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center told her, she thought—so far, Gardner wasn't lying to her. That was a good sign. “For such a strong young man to be suddenly rendered unconscious like that, the stresses of living on that space station and making repeated trips back and forth in the Black Stallion spaceplane must be enormous, far more than anyone could have possibly anticipated.”

“McLanahan's a tough guy, but you're right—although he is over fifty and has a family history of heart disease, he was incredibly fit. Shuttle astronauts usually get several days between liftoff and re-entry—McLanahan has taken five round-trips to the space station in the past four weeks. That's unprecedented, but for the past few months it's been the norm. We're restricting travel to the space station and are in the process of doing extensive physicals on everyone involved. We need answers as to what's happened.”

“But that's exactly my point, Joe. McLanahan is tough and strong, especially for a middle-aged man, and he's a combat veteran and national military figure—my God, he's a
hero
!—who I'm sure gets regular fitness checkups. Yet he was still incapacitated and God knows what sort of injury he has sustained. It calls into question the safety and utility of the proposed military space plan. For heaven's sake, Joe, why are we risking good men on such a project? I grant you it's modern and exotic and exciting, but it's technology that just hasn't been perfected and probably won't be for another ten years—not to mention the fact that it's four-fifths fewer aircraft and one-tenth the payload for the same money. If a strong guy like General McLanahan is knocked senseless by flying the thing, is it safe for other crewmembers?”

“What does the committee think, Stacy?”

“It's simple and logical, Joe,” Barbeau said. “It's not about impressing the folks with global Internet access or half-meter resolution photographs of everyone's backyards—it's about creating value and benefit for our country's defense. As far as I can see, the spaceplanes benefit only the handful of contractors assigned to the project, namely Sky Masters and their subcompanies. We have a dozen different space booster systems with proven track records that can do a better job than the Black Stallion.” She rolled her eyes. “For God's sake, Joe, who else is McLanahan in bed with?”

“Certainly not Maureen Hershel anymore,” Gardner chuckled.

Barbeau rolled her eyes in dramatized disbelief. “Oh, that
dreadful
woman—I'll never understand why President Martindale chose
her
of all people to be his Vice President,” Barbeau retorted. She looked inquisitively, then playfully at Gardner over the rim of her glass, then asked, “Or was the cold-fish routine just for public consumption, Joe?”

“We became close friends because of the demands of the job, Stacy, just business. All the rumors floating around about us are completely bogus.”

Now
he was lying, Barbeau thought, but she expected nothing less than a complete and outright denial. “I completely understand how the working conditions in Washington thrust two people together, especially ones who seem complete opposites,” Barbeau said. “Combine power politics with a brewing war in the Middle East and long nights attending briefings and planning sessions, and sparks can fly.”

“Not to mention McLanahan was obviously not getting business done back at home,” Gardner added. They both laughed, and Gardner used that opportunity to clasp Barbeau's hand again. “He was too busy playing space cadet to pay any attention to her.” He affixed Barbeau with a deep, serious stare. “Look, Stacy, let's get right down to it, okay? I know what you want—you've been lobbying for it since you set foot inside the Beltway. With most of the rest of the Air Force bomber bases destroyed by the Russians in the '04 Holocaust nuclear
attacks, Barksdale Air Force Base is the natural home for a new long-range bomber fleet—”

“If the Pentagon doesn't keep on dumping money into that dust-bowl desert base in Battle Mountain, black programs in Dreamland—another Nevada base that mostly falls outside congressional oversight, I might point out—or the space station.”

“It's no secret McLanahan's stock rose to all-time highs after his actions in the counterattacks against Russia,” Gardner said, “and his pet projects were the unmanned bombers at Battle Mountain, his high-tech laser gizmos at Dreamland, and now the space station. It gave Martindale something to point at and brag to the American people that he devised and supported—”

“Even though President Thomas Thorn was the one who authorized their construction, not Martindale,” Barbeau pointed out.

“Unfortunately, President Thorn will always and forever be known as the president who allowed the Russians to pull off a sneak attack against the United States that killed thirty thousand men, women, and children and injured another quarter million,” Gardner said. “It won't matter that he was just as interested in high-tech toys as Martindale: Thorn will always be thought of as the weaker president.

“But the question is, what do we think is in the best interest of the American people and national defense, Stacy—these fancy spaceplanes that can't carry as much as the Secret Service's Suburbans, or proven technology like stealth bombers, unmanned combat aerial vehicles, and aircraft carriers? McLanahan has convinced Martindale that spaceplanes are better, even though he used unmanned bombers almost exclusively in his attacks on Russia—”

“And as you've pointed out many times, Joe,” Barbeau added, “we can't afford to put all our eggs in one basket again. The Russian attack was so successful because all the bombers were located at a small handful of undefended bases, and unless they're all in the air, they're vulnerable to attack. But aircraft carrier battle groups deployed to bases all around the world, or far out at sea, are heavily equipped for self-protection and are far less vulnerable to sneak attack.”

“Exactly,” Gardner said, nodding with pleasure that Barbeau had brought up the aircraft carriers. “That's the point I've been trying to make for all these years. We need a mix of forces—we can't dump all the money for new weapon systems on one unproven technology. An aircraft carrier battle group is no more expensive that what McLanahan is proposing we spend on these spaceplanes, but they are far more versatile and battle-proven.”

“The Senate Armed Services Committee
needs
to hear that argument from you and your administration, Joe,” Barbeau said, giving his hand another caress and leaning forward toward him sympathetically, exposing more of her ample cleavage. “McLanahan was the hero of the war to avenge the American Holocaust, but that was in the past. A lot of senators may be afraid to cross McLanahan for fear there will be a backlash against them if the American people wonder why they're not supporting America's most famous general. But with McLanahan silenced, if they get the direct support of the President, they'll be more inclined to break ranks. Now is the time to act. We
must
do something, and it has to be now, while McLanahan is…well, with all due respect, while the general is out of the picture. Undoubtedly the committee's confidence in the spaceplane program is rattled. They are much more amenable to a compromise.”

“I think we need to get together on this, Stacy,” Gardner said. “Let's hammer out a plan that both the committee and the Pentagon will support. We should present a united front.”

“That sounds marvelous, Mr. President, really marvelous.”

“Then I have the full support of the Senate Armed Services Committee?” Gardner asked. “I have allies in the House I can call on too, but the backing of the Senate is crucial. Together, united, we can go before the American people and Congress and make a convincing argument.”

“What if McLanahan pulls out of this? He and that ex-senator astronaut science geek Ann Page are a formidable team.”

“McLanahan is out—he'll surely retire, or be forced to retire.”

“That man is a bulldog. If he recovers, he won't retire.”

“If he won't do it for his own good, he'll do it because I'll
order
him to do it,” Gardner said. “And if he still fights it, I'll make sure the world understands how dangerous the man has been over the years. He
is
a loose cannon—the world just doesn't know about it. The man killed dozens of innocent civilians in Tehran, for Christ's sake.”

“He did?” She hated to let it slip that the majority leader of the U.S. Senate didn't know something, but she couldn't help it. It
was
a surprise, and she didn't like surprises. Would Gardner fill her in? “When?”

“On the very mission we were discussing when he had his episode, the operational test mission he was running from the Armstrong Space Station,” Gardner replied. “He set off a missile that released chemical weapons outside an apartment building in Tehran, killing dozens including women and children, and
then
he attacked a Russian reconnaissance plane with some kind of death ray—probably to cover up the attack on Tehran.”

Thank God Gardner was a blabbermouth. “I had no idea…!”

“That's not the half of what this joker does, Stacy. I know a dozen different criminal infractions and outright acts of war he's responsible for over the years—including an attack that probably made Russian president Gryzlov plan the atomic attacks against the United States.”

“What?”

“McLanahan is a loose cannon, a complete wild card,” Gardner said bitterly. “He attacked Russia with absolutely no authorization; he bombed a Russian bomber base simply for personal revenge. Gryzlov was a former Russian bomber pilot—he knew it was an attack against
him,
a personal attack.” Gardner was on a roll—this was better than the Congressional Research Service, Barbeau thought. “That's why Gryzlov went after bomber bases in the United States—not because our bombers were any great strategic threat to Russia, but because he was trying to get McLanahan.”

Barbeau's mouth was open in shock…but at the same time, she was tantalized, even aroused. Damn, she thought, McLanahan seemed like such a milquetoast, a Boy Scout—who the hell knew he was some kind of maverick action hero? That made him more appealing than ever. What else lurked underneath that impossibly quiet, unassuming frame? She had to shake herself out of her sudden reverie. “Wow…”

“The Russians are scared of him, that's for sure,” Gardner went on. “Zevitin wants me to have him arrested. He demands to know what he's been doing and what he intends to do with the space station and those spaceplanes. He's madder than hell, and I don't blame him.”

“Zevitin sees the space station as a threat.”

“Of course he does. But is that the only damned benefit of the thing? It's costing us as much as two aircraft carrier battle groups to keep that thing up there…for
what
? I've got to reassure Zevitin that the space stuff is no direct offensive threat to Russia, and
I
don't know exactly what the thing can do! I didn't even know McLanahan was
on board
the thing!”

“If it's only a defensive system, I don't see any reason not to tell Zevitin all there is to tell about the space station, if it'll help defuse tensions between us,” Barbeau said. “The McLanahan situation may have solved itself.”

“Thank God,” Gardner grunted. “I'm sure for every crime I
know
McLanahan is guilty of, there are ten more I don't know about…yet,” Gardner went on. “He's got weapons at his disposal from dozens of different black research programs that I don't even fully know about, and
I
was the damned
Secretary of Defense
!”

She looked at Gardner carefully. “McLanahan will certainly retire on his own, or you can have him medically retire,” she said. “But he could be even more dangerous to us on the outside.”

“I know, I know. That's why Zevitin wants him put away.”

“If I can help you put pressure on McLanahan, Joe, just tell me,” Barbeau said sincerely. “I'll do whatever I can to turn him, or at least
make him think about what his opinions mean to others in the government and around the world. I'll make him realize it's personal, not just business. I'll ruin him if he persists, but I'm sure I can convince him to see it our way.”