"Mr. President," a woman reporter asked, "would you care to comment on your alleged drinking problem?" Horror rode the President's face.
"What drinking problem?" he demanded.
The lady journalist did not reply. She was too busy writing his answer.
"What drinking problem?" the President repeated.
No one answered him. They were too busy writing that down too.
"Can we get back to the crisis?" a reporter piped up.
"I did not say there was a crisis," the President said.
"Then you are denying the existence of a crisis?"
"Well, no. But I cannot categorize the current situation as a crisis."
"Then what would you call it? After all, you go to your inaugural ball, retire for the evening, and disappear for an entire day. Everyone saw you drink that second glass of champagne."
"Second-"
"Does the First Lady know where you were last night?" another reporter wanted to know.
"Of course. She was with me," the President said indignantly.
The press corps busily wrote the President's words down as if they were very important. Pencils scratched loudly, against notepads. Numerous hand-held tape recorders hummed. The heat of the glaring lights made the President feel light-headed. All he had intended to do was tell the nation that a sudden emergency had occupied the first day of this term. For national security reasons, he could not comment on the emergency, but he believed it was on its way to being under control. Instead, they were fishing into his private life. Having been happily married for most of his adult life, and having been a professional politician even longer, the President was of the opinion that he didn't have a private life. As such.
"Mr. President, we have a report that the Strategic Air Command has moved every B-52 bomber wing to combat-readiness status. Are we preparing for an invasion?"
"No," the President said flatly. "Nonsense."
"Then can you explain that movement of SAC aircraft on your first day?"
"A routine training exercise," the President said. He hated to lie like that, but he had come on television to reassure the nation, not to panic it.
"Then it is not related to this alleged emergency?"
"The emergency is not alleged. It is quite real. It is very serious."
"If it is that serious, then why won't you specifically describe it for the people? Don't you feel you owe it to those who voted you into office to level with them?"
"I am leveling with them," the President said hotly.
"Mr. President, can we get back to your drinking problem?"
"What drinking problem?" the President roared.
"That is the third time you've said that," suggested another reporter. "Does that mean you are categorically denying that you have a drinking problem as a result of overindulging during the inaugural ball?"
"I do so deny it."
The Washington press corps began busily to scribble onto their notepads again and the President thought with sick horror of the evening headlines: "PRESIDENT DENIES DRINKING PROBLEM."
"Now, listen," the President said quickly. "I just want to assure the nation that the situation is under control. There is no need to be alarmed. Right at this moment one of the finest military minds in the Pentagon is dealing with the problem."
"Military? Are we expecting an attack?"
The President hesitated. He did not want to lie. And this would be an awfully big lie. Especially if another attack were to come.
A reporter jumped into the gap. "What about the fire in Lafayette Park? And the golf-course explosion in Bethesda? Are these in any way connected?"
The question gave the President no choice. He would have to fib.
"I'm told Bethesda was a meteor fall. The fire in the park was just a fire."
No one challenged that, to the President's surprised relief.
"I can tell you this," he added. "A certain foreign nation has been rattling its sabers at us. We know who this nation is and what they are up to. And I want to assure the people of America that we have the matter well in hand, and furthermore, I want to put this foreign nation on notice that the next move on their part will result in severe sanctions."
"Military sanctions, Mr. President?"
"I. . . No comment," the President said quickly. Damn, he thought. They mouse-trapped me.
The President's press secretary quickly moved in.
"That will be all gentlemen," he said, pulling the President away from the podium.
"But I'm not finished!" the President hissed.
"Yes you are, Mr. President. They're eating you alive. Please come with me. We'll have your damage-control people handle this."
Reluctantly the President of the United States shot the press corps a stiff farewell wave. He would much rather have shot them the bird. But it would have gone over the airwaves, followed by a twenty-minute critical analysis of the meaning of the President's gesture and its far-reaching political implications.
As he walked down the luxuriously carpeted hall, he wondered what gave his press secretary the idea that he could overrule the Commander in Chief at his own press conference. Who did the man think he was-a Secret Service agent?
In his Pentagon office, General Martin S. Leiber turned off the television and heaved a sigh of relief.
The President had blown his news conference. What the hell, he thought. The poor bastard was as green as grass. He'd get better at it. And the press were sharks. You could never win where they were concerned. But the important thing was that he hadn't blown General Leiber's career. Which is exactly what would have happened had he mentioned exactly who "the finest military mind in the Pentagon" was.
The press would have been all over General Leiber like polish on a boot. They'd have wanted his plans, his life story, and most of all, a day-by-day history of his military career.
It would have made juicy reading. General Martin S. Leiber had been a minor rear-echelon officer during the Korean war. He was totally incompetent in battle, in leadership, and in every other trait important to military service. But when a lucky North Korean artillery shell took out the officers' club two days before the annual Christmas party, taking with it the Air Force's precious store of liquor, it fell on then Master Sergeant Martin S. Leiber to replenish the base supply.
There was no liquor to be had. Sergeant Leiber saw himself about to be busted down to private, when he came upon an Army tank that had been left standing by the side of a road while its crew were off whoring. Believing the Army to be simply a less hostile form of enemy, Sergeant Leiber rode off with the tank, which he traded to a ROK unit for several cases of good rice wine. Anyone else would have been satisfied to pull his own bacon from the fire so easily. Not Master Sergeant Martin S. Leiber. He then watered the wine down; to double the six cases to twelve, and returned triumphantly to the base.
A week later, after he sobered up, he traded the remaining six cases for a two-week leave in Tokyo, where he purchased a year's supply of fake North Korean souvenirs, and priced them to sell as genuine.