"Who knows about the North American Treaty besides you?"

"Commander Heidi Milligan, who began the preliminary research after finding the Wilson letter, the Senate historian who uncovered the photographs, my father, and of course, Admiral Sandecker. Since he is my immediate superior I only felt it fair he should know what I was investigating."

"No one else?"

Pitt shook his head. "I can't think of anyone."

"Let's keep it a select club, shall we?"

"Whatever you say, Mr. President."

"I deeply appreciate your bringing this matter to my attention, Mr. Pitt."

"Would you like me to pursue it?"

"No, I think it best if we drop the treaty back in its coffin for now. There is no purpose in damaging our relations with Canada and the United Kingdom. I see it as a simple case of what nobody knows, won't hurt them."

"John Essex would have agreed."

"And you, Mr. Pitt, would you agree?"

Pitt closed his briefcase and stood up. "I'm a marine engineer, Mr. President. I steer well clear of political involvement."

"A wise course," said the President with an understanding smile. "A wise course indeed."

Five seconds after the door closed behind Pitt, the President spoke into his intercom. "Maggie, get me Douglas Oates on the holograph." He settled behind his desk and waited.

Soon after taking up residence in the White House he had ordered a holographic communications system installed in his office. He took an almost childlike interest in studying his cabinet members' expressions, body movements and outward emotions while he visually talked to them miles away.

The three-dimensional image of a man with wavy auburn hair and conservatively attired in a gray pinstripe suit materialized in the middle of the oval office. He was seated in a leather executive chair.

Douglas Oates, the secretary of state, nodded and smiled. "Good morning, Mr. President. How goes the battle?"

"Douglas, how much money has the United States given away to Britain since nineteen fourteen?"

Oates stared quizzically. "Given?"

"Yes, you know, war loans written off, economic aid, contributions, whatever."

Oates shrugged. "A pretty substantial sum, I should imagine."

"Over a billion dollars?"

"Easily," replied Oates. "Why do you ask?"

The President ignored the question. "Arrange for a courier. I have something of interest for my friend in Ottawa."

"More data on the oil bonanza?" Oates persisted.

"Even better. We've just been dealt a wild card on the Canadian solution."

"We need all the luck we can get."

"I guess you might call it a red herring."

"Red herring?"

The President had the look of a cat with a mouse under its paw.

"The perfect ploy," he said, "to divert British attention from the real conspiracy."

The President side stroked to the edge of the White House pool and pulled himself up the ladder as Mercier and Klein came from the dressing room.

"I hope an early morning swim doesn't disrupt your schedules."

"Not at all, Mr. President," said Mercier. "I can use the exercise."

Klein peered around the indoor pool room. "So this is the famous swimming pool. I understand the last president who used it was Jack Kennedy."

"Yes," replied the President. "Nixon had it covered over and held press conferences here. Me, I'd rather swim than face a horde of drooling reporters."

Mercier grinned. "What would the Washington press corps say if they heard you refer to them as a drooling horde?"

"Strictly off the record." The President laughed. "What say we break in the new hot tub? The workmen finished installing it yesterday. "

They settled into a small circular area built into the shallow end of the pool. The President turned on the circulating pumps and set the temperature at 105 degrees Fahrenheit. As the water heated, Mercier felt sure he was being scalded to death. He began to sympathize with lobsters.

Finally the President relaxed and said, "This is as good a place as any to conduct business. Suppose you gentlemen tell me where we stand on the Canadian energy situation."

"The news looks grim," said Mercier. "Our intelligence sources have learned that it was a parliamentary minister, Henri Villon, who ordered the blackout from James Bay."

"Villon." The name rolled off the President's tongue as though it had a bad taste. "He's that double-talking character who bad-mouths the United States every time he buttonholes a reporter.

"The same," replied Mercier. "There's talk he may run for President of the new Quebec republic."

"With Guerrier dead, there is an ugly chance he might win," added Kleii.

A frown crossed the President's face. "I can't think of anything worse than Villon dictating price and supply policies for James Bay and the new oil discovery by NUMA."

"It's frustrating as hell," grumbled Mercier. He turned to Klein. "Is the reserve as vast as Admiral Sandecker predicts?"

"He came in on the low side," Klein answered. "My experts went over NUMA's computer data. It appears ten billion barrels is closer to the mark than eight."

"How is it possible the Canadian oil companies missed it?"

"A stratigraphic trap is the most difficult of all oil deposits to find," explained Klein. "Seismic equipment, gravity meters, magnetometers, none of them can detect the presence of hydrocarbons in that geological state. The only surefire means is by random drilling. The Canadians sank a well within two miles of the Doodlebug's strike but came up dry. The position was inserted on the oil maps with the symbol denoting a dry hole. Other exploration systemns have stayed clear of the area."

Mercier waved the rising steam from in front of his eyes. "It would appear we've made Quebec a very wealthy new nation."

"Provided that we tell them," said the President.

Klein looked at him. "Why keep it a secret? It's only a matter of time before they stumble onto the field themselves. By pointing the way and cooperating in the development, the Quebec government, out of gratitude, will surely sell us the crude oil at reasonable prices."

"A false optimism," said Mercier. "Look what happened in Iran and the OPEC nations. Let's face it, half the world thinks the United States is fair game when it comes to price gouging."

The President tilted his head back and closed his eyes. "Suppose we possessed a piece of paper establishing that Canada belongs to the United States?"

Mercier and Klein sat in bewildered silence, uncertain of what the President had in mind. Finally Mercier spoke the words that were on their minds. "I can't imagine such a document."

"Nor I," said Klein.

"Wishful thinking," the President said, airily waving his hand. "Forget it, we've got more down-to-earth problems to discuss.

Mercier looked into the water. "The greatest danger to our national security is a fragmented Canada. I feel we must do whatever is possible to assist Prime Minister Sarveux in preventing Quebec from going it alone."

"You make a sound case," said the President. "But I'm going to ask you to shelve it."

"Sir?"

"I want you to coordinate a top secret program with the State Department and Central Intelligence to make certain that Quebec independence becomes a reality."