Disaster Among the Heavens - Don E Peavy Sr (best books for students to read .TXT) 📗

of you here.” The President looked around the room and looked each man in the eyes. He stood up and walked over to a nearby window and looked out.
“Yes, Mr. President. I pray we never have to implement such a plan,” said the Air Force General. He walked over to join The President at the window and the two men returned to a more subdued conversation as the noise level of the room increased.
“Now, General, can we get in touch with the Assistant?”
“Yes, sir, we have both radio and telephone communication.”
“Good. I want you to contact him and confirm that he is not going to launch those missiles until after our 48 hours are up. See if you can get us a few more days.”
“Yes, sir,” responded the Air Force General, maintaining the hushed tone of The President. “I’ll get on it right now.” The Air Force General started towards the exit door.
“General,” called The President in a louder voice which was heard though not understood by all those in the Oval Office, “keep that Blackbird in the air. Remember, this is top secret. You report directly to me. We can do this. We must do this!” The President turned away from the window and now faced the crowd again.
“Yes Sir, Mr. President,” said the Air Force General as he exited the Oval Office.
“Mr. President, Mr. President!” several of those present tried to get the attention of The President. It was the Chief of Staff who succeeded.
“I have the Speaker on the line, Mr. President.”
“Good,” said The President as he walked over to his credenza and accepted the telephone from the Chief of Staff. He raised his free hand to motion for silence.
“Hello, Mr. Speaker, sorry to disturb you during your summer recess, but we have a crisis here. Listen, I’m sending a helicopter over for you in about an hour. I want you dressed and packed. I need you here at the Capitol. I may have to call the Congress into special session.”
While The President talked on the telephone, a commotion erupted at the door leading from the Oval Office. A group of reporters were trying to get in to see The President and the men in the room were trying to keep the door closed until a military detachment could arrive to take control of the matter.
“Okay, Mr. Speaker, we can do this. I’ll have a personal message with more details delivered to you in flight. Have a pleasant trip. Goodbye and Godspeed.”
The President hung up the telephone and turned his attention to his Press Secretary who entered the room and ran to his desk, gasping for breath.
“Mr. President, we have to tell the Press something. All hell has broken loose!” shouted the Press Secretary. He gasped for breath between words.
“Calm down before you give me a heart attack,” said The President in a jovial way. He smiled for the first time since the commotion started and continued, “Assemble them in the East room. I’ll be there in a few minutes,” he concluded.
“What can they expect, Mr. President?”
“That I will issue a statement. That’s all they or you need to know at this time.”
“Mr. President, are we going to war?” persisted the Press Secretary. “Are we about to launch nuclear missiles?”
“All in good time, Mr. Press Secretary. Calm down, we can do this. If you display anxiety, then the Press will be anxious. If the Press is anxious, so will be the American people. And we cannot have that, can we? Now, get that conference ready.”
“Yes, sir. Oh, Mr. President,” continued the Press Secretary risking The Treatment. “The FBI Director called and wants to meet with you. Shall I ask your Chief of Staff to set it up?”
The Press Secretary saw the deadly look on The President’s face at the mentioning of the FBI Director. He remembered that was one acronym whose use was forbidden in the presence of The President who hated the man with a deep and ever growing passion. Without waiting for an answer, the Press Secretary hurried from the room. Again, some of the men present had to forcefully keep members of the Press Corps from breaking into the room. They locked the door behind the Press Secretary.
“Mr. Secretary of State, I’m surprised you’re still here,” observed The President as he noticed the Secretary of State had not left for his trip.
“The Prime Minister is expecting you right away.”
Either not sensing the urgency of the matter or suffering from temporary cognitive slippage, the Secretary of State was admiring the Frederick Remington painting next to the fireplace where he stood. It was the famous work, “A Dash for Timber,” on loan from the South-western Museum of Art. The President had the painting hung where the portrait of George Washington had once hung over the mantle.
The Secretary of State now shifted his attention to The President. He rubbed his right hand over his receding hairline as he inched his way toward where The President sat at his desk.
“Mr. President, Sir, I urge you to reconsider,” whispered the Secretary of State.
“My daughter is enrolling in college tomorrow and I plan to accompany her. Sir, this is a once in a lifetime experience.” He tried desperately to persuade The President of the urgency of his situation without the others in the room hearing what he had to say.
“Mr. Secretary,” counselled The President, standing up and moving toward the Secretary where he placed his right hand on the Secretary’s left shoulder, “I sympathize with your position. But unless you get to England, there may not be a college for your daughter to attend. These difficult times demand that those of us who are the guardians of America make difficult sacrifices. Today, we must be leaders not fathers. Or, rather we must be fathers of all the world’s children and not just our own,” corrected The President.
Like a grandfather, he looked long and lovingly into the Secretary’s eyes without revealing the contempt he felt for this man being so selfish at a time when his country needed him desperately. “I’m sorry, but you have to go to London. It’s up to you whether or not you take your family along.”
The Secretary of State was about to raise additional points until he saw The President reclaim his seat and give his attention to two generals who were pointing to something on a map. He knew that any further efforts to dissuade The President would be futile; and, realizing that he had just received a milder form of The Treatment, did not wish to risk the stronger version.
Dejected, knowing that he would not be able to take his family with him, he made his way slowly out of the room en route to his home and then on to Europe. As critical as his role as father was to him, he knew that even his resignation would have no impact on The President’s decision. The President would merely fail to accept the resignation until he completed his assigned task.
“Mr. Chief of Staff,” called The President to the Chief of Staff who was standing near the exit door talking to the Secretary of the Army, “get me a secretary in here. One who can type.” He did this without making any allowances to the Generals who were talking to him.
“Yes, sir, Mr. President.” The Chief of Staff rushed out of the room and returned just as quickly with a young lady carrying a shorthand notebook and a pen. He then walked over to where The President sat and pulled up a chair next to his desk for the secretary to sit.
As soon as the secretary sat down, The President turned to his Chief of Staff and said, “I want you to get in touch with Dr. King. Tell him I want him and his family to accompany the First Lady on a tour of Africa. Be persistent and don’t take no for an answer. He’ll be leaving tomorrow. I am sending an airplane to pick them up.”
“Africa?” asked the Chief of Staff. “What on earth for, Mr. President?”
“We need to show the world we are carrying on business as usual. We don’t want to throw everybody into a panic. I don’t know what that damn Assistant might do. If he explodes one of those missiles, I want as many of our leaders as far away from here as possible. Mr. Chief of Staff, you and I are saving a nation. We can do this. We must do this. Can I count on you?” The President placed his right hand on the Chief of Staff’s shoulder. He tried to hide the weariness that had overtaken him.
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Good. Once you’ve talked to Dr. King, arrange someone to pick him up and then notify the First Lady’s staff so they can have her ready. I want them out of here as early as possible in the morning. You and your staff can put together an itinerary. Keep them in Africa for at least a week. One more thing, once the First Lady is airborne; I want you to personally find out for me how England and the Soviet Union knew that our missile silos were open, and more importantly, how the hell the Press knew.”
“Yes, Mr. President. Do you need my assistance for the Press conference?”
“No, one thing you learn early in politics. That’s how to talk to the Press without telling them anything. Okay, you go to work. I can do this. I must do it.”
“Yes, Sir, I’m on it.” The Chief of Staff dashed from the room.
“Mr. President, Mr. President!” Several more of those present tried to get The President’s attention as the Chief of Staff left the room. The President ignored them. He focused his attention on the telephone on his desk that was ringing.
“Hel-lo,” The President answered in his deep Texas drawl.
“Mr. President, this is the General of the Air Force. Sir, we have confirmed with the assistant that the missiles will not be launched until the 48 hours have expired. He would not agree to any type of an extension. Not even for one minute! I could not get him to say anything else other than he wants you to add females to his request.”
“Females?”
“Yes, Mr. President. He wants provisions made for females as well as Negroes. He said that Negro women are twice oppressed.”
“Females? How the hell can I do anything for Negro females without including all females?” The President’s voice grew in intensity.
“Sir, I’m sorry for the bad news. I tried to dissuade him. He would not bulge. In fact, he was downright persistent.”
“We have got to get that bastard outta NORAD before he turns our country into a damn jungle,” said The President. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
“Mr. President, we are doing all that we can to remove him. Don’t worry, sir. We can do this. We’ll get him.”
“Okay, thank you, General. Keep that bird in the air and let me know if there are any further developments. In fact, General, I’d feel much better if you were at NORAD. I don’t want some foolhardy idiot making a decision that gets us blown