The press secretary looked blank. The chief advance man looked blank. Everyone looked blank. "Doesn't anyone know who the postmaster general of the United States is?" the President demanded.
"Is he important?"
"If what I hear is true, he may be the most important man in America today."
And the President rushed to his private cabin to hide before the White House press corps surged onto the plane like a human tidal wave in search of quotes and free pretzels.
They were in the air when the presidential press secretary knocked once and poked his head in. "Damon Post on line 1 for you."
"Who?"
"The postmaster general."
"Oh, right. What do I call him - 'Mr. Postmaster'? 'General'?"
The press secretary looked startled. "I don't know. Should I pull the etiquette book?"
"I'll wing it," said the President, picking up the secure cabin phone.
"Damon, this is the President. I hope you don't mind if I call you 'Damon."
"Call me whatever you want, Mr. President."
"Damon, I've been brought up to speed on these incidents. What can you add?"
"We have people on the Manhattan matter."
"And Oklahoma City? What about that?"
"I have no comment on Oklahoma City."
"No comment? What kind of answer is that to give your President?"
"A politic one, Mr. President. It did not involve a postal employee." And from the tone of the postmaster general's voice, the President of the United States understood that he was calculating the odds of not having to deal with executive-branch interference until after the election.
"What do you mean, it didn't involve a postal employee? A dying witness described the assailant as a mailman."
"No, he described an assailant dressed in a USPS uniform. There's a big difference. Anyone can steal a uniform."
"What about the Manhattan explosions, then? The American people want to know if their mailboxes are safe."
"We are investigating the possible theft of master keys by non-postal-employees."
"In other words, you're saying your people aren't responsible."
"I have no hard evidence to support that theory at this hour, Mr. President."
"I'm going to be getting back to you on this," the President growled.
"Feel free," the postmaster general said. "We appreciate your business."
The line went dead.
"'We appreciate your business'?" said the President, staring at the receiver. "Who the hell does that guy think he is?"
As Air Force One screamed toward Andrews Air Base, the President slowly replaced the receiver. He was thinking of another telephone receiver. A red one.
With the FBI and ATF struggling over turf and the postmaster general stonewalling, the President planned to cut the bureaucratic red tape the same way his predecessors had for the past three decades.
If this wasn't a CURE matter, he didn't know what was.
He just hoped that damn Smith agreed. The President who had created the organization had included a fail-safe in its unwritten charter. The President could suggest missions, not order them. It would be up to Smith to make the decisions, a situation for which this President was grateful. He hated making decisions. There were always consequences.
"Coffee or tea?" asked a voice through the door.
"Surprise me," said the President.
Chapter 15
Harold Smith knew the President was upset from the instant he heard his raspy voice.
"Smith, this is your President speaking."
It wasn't the hoarseness of the President's voice. This President was naturally hoarse. It wasn't the breathlessness indicative of his sudden return to the executive mansion, and the dash he'd made up to the Lincoln Bedroom and his end of the dedicated CURE line.
It was the utter silence in the background. Almost every time Smith had spoken to the President in the past, Elvis music had played in the background. Smith couldn't actually tell-he assumed it was Elvis. All popular music recorded since World War II sounded pretty much alike to Harold Smith, who'd stopped listening to popular music around the time swing gave way to post-war bebop.
This time there was none of that. This more than anything told Smith that the President understood the gravity of the situation.
"I am listening, Mr. President."
"You've heard about the mailbox bombings in New York?"
"Yes, and the court shooting in Oklahoma."
"I think this may be only the beginning."
"You are correct. It is only the beginning."
"That's not exactly what I wanted to hear," said the President, suddenly realizing that being right in this case was not as useful as being wrong.
"That is not a guess on my part," Smith continued. "Someone just demolished the General Post Office in midtown Manhattan."
"How serious is that? We're just talking about a mail-processing center, right?"
"One that occupies an entire city block in the heart of Manhattan and greatly resembles the U.S. Treasury in size and design."