"So what you're telling me is that even in a best-case scenario, you couldn't have foreseen this attack?"
"Without more information, I cannot respond to that," Smith said, glancing at the flashing message on his computer screen. It was telling him the Jane's data base had no listing for a Kinetic Kill Vehicle. How odd. Obviously he would have to update the file.
"And what about your people? Why weren't they here to deal with this?"
"Well, Mr. President, my enforcement arm has always been an option of last resort. I keep him in reserve until needed."
"He should have been down here!" the President barked.
"With all due respect, sir, even if he had been on station, what could he have done? He's good. But not good enough to catch an incoming Kinetic Kill Vehicle. We are talking about a man with extraordinary abilities. But not Superman. He does not wear a cape or fly."
"Smith, this was supposed to be my first day in office and I spent it cowering in a hole."
"Yes." Smith's voice was noncommittal.
"This is intolerable. I want your people down here at once."
"Er, I'm afraid that is impossible."
"What are you saying?"
"They are unavailable. On another ... er ... assignment. I am sorry."
"Pull them off it. We are anticipating another attack at any moment."
"I would like to comply, Mr. President. But until they complete their mission, I will be unable to reach them."
"That's absurd. Don't they even check in?"
"Well, sometimes. Our enforcement arm usually does that, but he often has trouble with the security codes. His trainer, the older one, will use the telephone only as a last resort. "
"Don't they carry communicators? Walkie-talkies? Anything? They are needed in Washington, Smith."
"As soon as they report in, I will order them to Washington, I assure you."
"That's wonderful," the President said acidly. "If they arrive after the capital has been reduced to hot, sifting ash, be certain to thank them for me, won't you?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. President," Smith said lamely.
"When this is over, there will be some changes made, Smith. Mark my words. Your organization sounds like it belongs back in the nineteenth century. Do you know I had no way to reach you from down in the shelter?"
"Security demands that we have a minimum of technical equipment, Mr. President. That means one phone at each end of our special line. CURE has functioned this way for twenty years now."
"From where I'm sitting, it's not worth snot," said the President, hanging up.
At the other end, Smith replaced his receiver. He took off his rimless glasses and rubbed tired gray eyes. It was a terrible way to start a working relationship with a new administration, but how could he tell the President that Washington must stand naked before foreign aggression until its secret enforcement arm found a new home for an unwanted elephant?
Smith returned to his screen, typing in the words "Kinetic Kill Vehicle" and initiating a global search through the CURE system's massive memory banks. Then he settled back in his chair. Even with massive sort and memory capabilities, the computer would take several minutes to isolate an answer.
Perhaps the President had a point, Smith mused. Perhaps CURE's mission had become too big to manage effectively. Or maybe it was just that the world had become too complicated.
Chapter 10
As General Leiber was on his way to the White House, his car phone buzzed. He picked it up.
"Yeah," he said sourly.
"Major Cheek here, General."
"What is it?"
"We have a positive ID on the hostile object."
The general sat up straight. His hand tightened on the wheel. "Give it to me," he barked.
"Bad news."
"I can take it."
"It's one of ours, for sure."
"Ours?"
"Absolutely. It's an Alco Big Boy, vintage 1941. They used to haul cargo on the defunct Wyoming Division of the Union Pacific line. It's a real monster, sir. One of the most powerful steam engines ever devised. Listen to this: length 132 feet, weight 537 tons, tractive effort of 135,375 pounds. This means it could pull that weight, sir. It had sixteen driving wheels and-"
"Never mind that crap. Can you trace it to anyone?"
"Not without knowing its running number, General. And we've found no identifying marks."
"Are you absolutely, positively certain of your information?"
"Yes. I've researched it thoroughly. The reference books are wonderful, sir. I wish I had had them before. They would have saved a lot of time. For instance, the bell turns out to have been very important. American locomotives always had them because they rode through wild country where buffalo and horses ran free. In Europe, trains don't have bells.They don't have cowcatchers either. Instead, they have these two bumper rods sticking out in front. It's really quite fascinating, General."
"I'm sure the President will agree when I tell him," General Leiber said bitterly. "I'm on my way to the White House right now. He expects a full briefing."
"Good luck, General."
"You're a big help," the general muttered, hanging up. "The bastard. I think he enjoys watching the crap rain down on me."
Frowning, the general abruptly swung his car around. He pulled up in front of a hobby store.
Inside, he went to the section devoted to model trains. "Can I help you, sir?" a clerk asked him.
"You can help not only me but also your country."
"Glad to." The clerk stiffened.