Does that mean they’ll need it or not?”
“Yes, sir, they will.”
The President waved impatiently at the weather map. “Couldn’t they do that in the clear area where the fishing boat is holding out?”
Henricks admired the President’s inventiveness, but he shook his head. “It would take time, sir. Besides, the fire could have eaten up most of the area by then. As Norman said, we don’t know how fast it’s closing in on the Vice-President or any of the other patches which haven’t caught fire yet. All we do know is that it’s closing. Where it is now, the sub’s only safely got enough power and air to retreat away from under the fire. If it goes further in, it could reach a point of no return.”
Seeing how risky such an operation would be, Sutherland studied the weather map for some hidden answer. “Is there any possibility that the fire can be doused? By the weather, I mean?”
Blane’s arms were windmilling. He looked like an enthusiastic professor unexpectedly given an opportunity to get in on the decision making. “There is an Arctic front coming down, but it’s a close bet. It might not rain. Actually, that would be worse; you’d have winds pushing the firespill further in, right down the coast.”
“Well, we can’t depend on acts of God,” said the President, turning to Jean for a glimmer of hope. “Jean, call General Oster. Ask him if there’s any chance of a helicopter or parachute drop. And ask him to come over.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
The general’s voice on the phone was clipped and tense. “No way. Even if we could get them there in time, planes or helicopters couldn’t work effectively in that smoke cover. They really couldn’t work at all. Too dangerous lifting someone out of a fire you can’t see properly. And they’d be burned themselves, as well as the Vice-President. I’ve checked with the Coast Guard; they’ve ruled out hydrofoils. They’d be useless in slick even if they could get near the fire, which they couldn’t.”
As Jean relayed the information, the President sat down. For an instant, he looked very anxious.
Clara Sutherland sat quietly in her White House study overlooking the tall, white, floodlit Washington Monument, waiting patiently for the phone to ring. He had not even told her about Elaine Horton’s being trapped. Had it not been for an aide, she still wouldn’t have known. She knew better than to call down to the Operations Room at a time like this, yet she had hoped that somehow he would need her. But the phone in her study remained silent. It did not occur to her to feel self-pity, but she did feel lonely. She gained no comfort from the warm feeling she usually experienced in the study which she had decorated in soft, autumnal shades of red and russet brown.
As the night darkened even further, she turned on the lamp in the mahogany stand near the balcony overlooking the still, light-bathed lawn. She opened a book, but try as she might she could not concentrate. Perhaps, she thought, he would ring later; perhaps they might have supper together. She pressed the remote TV control, changing channels only to see the same pictures of the fire reappear.
Back in the Operations Room the President, somewhat shamed that his attention had been almost entirely centered on Elaine’s welfare, asked, “How about our agents down on the boat? How many are there besides the Vice-President?”
Jean Roche had been fearing this question, for although she was as upset as anyone else about the situation, she thoroughly disapproved of the Vice-President’s behavior as reported by a distraught Miller from Sitka. She was afraid her disapproval might show. “None, Mr. President—only the captain, I believe. The Vice-President refused to have agents along on this trip.”
The President made no comment though he instinctively felt angry that someone he loved had unnecessarily exposed herself to danger. And yet he realized, in her defense, that he, too,
“Yes, sir, they will.”
The President waved impatiently at the weather map. “Couldn’t they do that in the clear area where the fishing boat is holding out?”
Henricks admired the President’s inventiveness, but he shook his head. “It would take time, sir. Besides, the fire could have eaten up most of the area by then. As Norman said, we don’t know how fast it’s closing in on the Vice-President or any of the other patches which haven’t caught fire yet. All we do know is that it’s closing. Where it is now, the sub’s only safely got enough power and air to retreat away from under the fire. If it goes further in, it could reach a point of no return.”
Seeing how risky such an operation would be, Sutherland studied the weather map for some hidden answer. “Is there any possibility that the fire can be doused? By the weather, I mean?”
Blane’s arms were windmilling. He looked like an enthusiastic professor unexpectedly given an opportunity to get in on the decision making. “There is an Arctic front coming down, but it’s a close bet. It might not rain. Actually, that would be worse; you’d have winds pushing the firespill further in, right down the coast.”
“Well, we can’t depend on acts of God,” said the President, turning to Jean for a glimmer of hope. “Jean, call General Oster. Ask him if there’s any chance of a helicopter or parachute drop. And ask him to come over.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
The general’s voice on the phone was clipped and tense. “No way. Even if we could get them there in time, planes or helicopters couldn’t work effectively in that smoke cover. They really couldn’t work at all. Too dangerous lifting someone out of a fire you can’t see properly. And they’d be burned themselves, as well as the Vice-President. I’ve checked with the Coast Guard; they’ve ruled out hydrofoils. They’d be useless in slick even if they could get near the fire, which they couldn’t.”
As Jean relayed the information, the President sat down. For an instant, he looked very anxious.
Clara Sutherland sat quietly in her White House study overlooking the tall, white, floodlit Washington Monument, waiting patiently for the phone to ring. He had not even told her about Elaine Horton’s being trapped. Had it not been for an aide, she still wouldn’t have known. She knew better than to call down to the Operations Room at a time like this, yet she had hoped that somehow he would need her. But the phone in her study remained silent. It did not occur to her to feel self-pity, but she did feel lonely. She gained no comfort from the warm feeling she usually experienced in the study which she had decorated in soft, autumnal shades of red and russet brown.
As the night darkened even further, she turned on the lamp in the mahogany stand near the balcony overlooking the still, light-bathed lawn. She opened a book, but try as she might she could not concentrate. Perhaps, she thought, he would ring later; perhaps they might have supper together. She pressed the remote TV control, changing channels only to see the same pictures of the fire reappear.
Back in the Operations Room the President, somewhat shamed that his attention had been almost entirely centered on Elaine’s welfare, asked, “How about our agents down on the boat? How many are there besides the Vice-President?”
Jean Roche had been fearing this question, for although she was as upset as anyone else about the situation, she thoroughly disapproved of the Vice-President’s behavior as reported by a distraught Miller from Sitka. She was afraid her disapproval might show. “None, Mr. President—only the captain, I believe. The Vice-President refused to have agents along on this trip.”
The President made no comment though he instinctively felt angry that someone he loved had unnecessarily exposed herself to danger. And yet he realized, in her defense, that he, too,
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