He drove down to the filling station and filled the tank of his rented car, took his change in dimes and carried the transceiver into the curbside booth and set it on the seat by his elbow where he would see the red flasher if it began to blink: from now on, he’d have to watch the radio at all times; if a countermand came he had to be prepared to abort the mission he was now starting.

His first call was to Lieutenant Colonel Fred Winslow at Davis Monthan; it took five minutes for the switchboard to find him for “Colonel Dangerfield” and when he came on the line Belsky barked at him: “Henceforth leave word where you can be reached. They’ve been tracking you down for five minutes. What if this had been a no-notice ORI?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I did leave word but it must have got tangled up.”

Belsky had to talk like an Air Force colonel: there was no reason not to assume there were other ears on the line besides his own and Winslow’s. The enlisted people on the switchboards wouldn’t know there was no Colonel Dangerfield in the chain of command but they would recognize it instantly if Dangerfield didn’t sound right.

He said, “I understand the Wing Commander will be absent from the base for the next seventy-two hours and that means you’ll have command. You’d better keep on your toes, Fred.”

It was meant to sound like a tip-off that the brass was planning to spring a no-notice Operational Readiness Inspection. In actuality it was an instruction: Winslow had to get rid of the Wing Commander for seventy-two hours and take over the wing himself. It was up to Winslow to work out the details.

Winslow said, “I, ah, haven’t been informed yet as to how soon Colonel Sims will be leaving for the, ah, weekend.”

Winslow was unnerved; that was bad.

Belsky said, “Well, I hear he’ll be up in Colorado Springs tonight for a conference with General DeGraff at twenty-two hundred. I guess he’d have to leave there by eight o’clock tonight if he’s flying up to NORAD.”

“Yes, Bud mentioned something about it but it slipped my mind,” Winslow lied. He was doing better now, getting the hang of it.

Belsky said, “It’s too bad you’ll miss the party. It ought to be quite a bash. Half-past six Sunday night. Maybe Colonel Sims will be back by then and you’ll be able to come. We’ll save some Scotch in case you show up late.”

“Yes, I’d hate to miss it, sir. Been a long time since the old gang got together. Christ, do you remember that blowout we had in Darmstadt?” Now Winslow was winging it; the sudden shock had induced a talking jag and Belsky had to cut him off.

“Yeah, that was sure a lulu, Fred. And I wouldn’t be surprised to see a few ICBMs go off right in my living room at this one. Some of the boys can really put it away. I hope you’ll be able to make it.”

“Six-thirty Sunday evening, huh? I’ll sure try, Colonel, and thanks for inviting me.”

“Won’t be the same without you.”

“I’ll find out when Bud Sims plans to get back here.”

“Do that. And don’t forget to bring that gorgeous wife of yours, Fred. You know where the place is.”

“No. That is, it’s been a long time, Colonel. As I recall it’s kind of hard to find.”

“I’ll get a little map of the roads over to you, Fred.”

“That’d be mighty kind, sir. I mean I’d feel like a fool if I got all dressed up and didn’t know where to go.”

“Okay, Fred, I’ll shoot it over to you.” They were talking about the identity of the targets and those could hardly be given by telephone.

“See you, Colonel. And thanks again.”

“Sure enough, Fred.” Belsky broke the connection. Now Winslow knew he had to activate the final firing sequence at half-past six Sunday evening.

Belsky plugged another coin into the phone and made the second of the dozen calls he would have to make. He felt nerveless and unhurried. His only concern was tidiness: the operation had to be performed exactly as ordered.

Chapter Twelve

The broadcast studios of KARZ-TV occupied a low cinder-block building on Drachman Street about a mile north of downtown Tucson. Ramsey Douglass felt edgy and irritable when he parked at the curb and walked to the heavy glass doors. The waiting room inside was freezing cold; the air-conditioning had been built for 120-degree summers and nobody had adjusted it for the 85-degree outside temperature of early April.

The skinny man at the reception desk sat with a telephone against one ear and a finger stuck in the other to block out the piped music that flooded the room like an oil spill. An American flag hung limp on a standard in the corner and above it, suspended from the ceiling, an animated color cartoon flickered on the screen of a television monitor, without sound. Douglass waited for the receptionist’s attention; finally the man at the desk hung up the telephone.

“My name is Douglass, to see Miss Lawrence. It’s important.”

“I’ll see if I can locate her.” The bow tie bobbed up and down at his throat.

Douglass said, “You could hang meat in here.”

“I know. Mr. Burgess likes it cold.”

“Look, it’s on the urgent side.”

“Yeah. You wanted Nicole Lawrence?” The man picked up his telephone and pushed buttons. “Hi, Gene. Nicole back there? … Well did she come in yet? … Guy out here wants to talk to her, says it’s real important. Okay, if she isn’t, then she isn’t.” He hung up and tipped his head back. “She came in a little while ago but she’s not here just now. You want to wait?”

“Not particularly. No idea where she went?”

“You might try the coffee shop around the corner on Stone.”

Douglass left without thanking him and walked down to the corner. There was a motel coffee shop down the block, the only one in sight; he found Nicole at the counter brooding over a glass of tea full of crushed ice. When she saw him in the mirror she made a face and spoke without turning her head. “One if by land and two if by sea.”

“Let’s go.”

“My if we aren’t manly and domineering this morning. I’m busy.”

“Come on, we’ve got things to do.”

Nicole sighed and turned her small creased face toward him. Since when has anything had any importance for you before eleven o’clock in the morning? Whence cometh thy serious mien?”

Douglass dropped a quarter on the counter and took her elbow. When he had steered her outside she laughed aloud. “The waitress must have taken that for a lovers’ quarrel.”

“My car’s around the corner,” he said and took her up the walk, still gripping her arm. “We’ve got a little disciplinary problem and that’s supposed to be your department.”

“Has Fred Winslow been wetting his bed or what?”

“We’ll talk about it in the car.” They turned the corner and he went around to the driver’s side without opening the curb-side door for her. When Nicole got into the Volkswagen she said, “Someday you really should take a few lessons in elementary etiquette.”

“I always adjust my manners to the company I’m in.” He turned the key and the engine started with a pop and a hum.

“Where are we going?”

“To the courthouse.”

She nodded. “I thought we’d get around to that—it’s time we straightened her out. You’d have thought she’d have learned her lesson the first time.”

“Apparently not.”

“And those who do not learn from history,” Nicole drawled, “are doomed to repeat it. But this time we could hardly leave him behind a bowling alley with his head crushed in.”

He circled the block and made the left turn into Stone Avenue. “Actually it’s a little late in the day for her personal entanglements to matter. If it were just that I’d let it ride. But somebody’s got to get to Forrester and persuade him to quit meddling at Davis Monthan for a while.”

“She doesn’t know about the activation yet, does she?”

“No, I tried to reach her but she was at Forrester’s ranch and they must have taken the phone off the hook.”