can't get you a secure connection to the White House in that short a time. All I could offer is a radiophone. Unsecured. And we'd have to go to antenna depth, which will take a few-"
"Do it! Now!"
67
The White House telephone switchboard was located on the lower level of the East Wing. Three switchboard operators were always on duty. At the moment, only two were seated at the controls. The third operator was at a full sprint toward the Briefing Room. In her hand, she carried a cordless phone. She'd tried to patch the call through to the Oval Office, but the President was already en route to the press conference. She'd tried to call his aides on their cellulars, but before televised briefings, all cellular phones in and around the Briefing Room were turned off so as not to interrupt the proceedings.
Running a cordless phone directly to the President at a time like this seemed questionable at best, and yet when the White House's NRO liaison called claiming she had emergency information that the President must get before going live, the operator had little doubt she needed to jump. The question now was whether she would get there in time.
In a small medical office onboard the U.S.S. Charlotte, Rachel Sexton clutched a phone receiver to her ear and waited to talk to the President. Tolland and Corky sat nearby, still looking shaken. Corky had five stitches and a deep bruise on his cheekbone. All three of them had been helped into Thinsulate thermal underwear, heavy navy flight suits, oversized wool socks, and deck boots. With a hot cup of stale coffee in her hand, Rachel was starting to feel almost human again.
"What's the holdup?" Tolland pressed. "It's seven fifty-six!"
Rachel could not imagine. She had successfully reached one of the White House operators, explained who she was and that this was an emergency. The operator seemed sympathetic, had placed Rachel on hold, and was now, supposedly, making it her top priority to patch Rachel through to the President.
Four minutes, Rachel thought. Hurry up!
Closing her eyes, Rachel tried to gather her thoughts. It had been one hell of a day. I'm on a nuclear submarine, she said to herself, knowing she was damned lucky to be anywhere at all. According to the submarine captain, the Charlotte had been on a routine patrol in the Bering Sea two days ago and had picked up anomalous underwater sounds coming from the Milne Ice Shelf-drilling, jet noise, lots of encrypted radio traffic. They had been redirected and told to lie quietly and listen. An hour or so ago, they'd heard an explosion in the ice shelf and moved in to check it out. That was when they heard Rachel's SOS call.
"Three minutes left!" Tolland sounded anxious now as he monitored the clock.
Rachel was definitely getting nervous now. What was taking so long? Why hadn't the President taken her call? If Zach Herney went public with the data as it stood-
Rachel forced the thought from her mind and shook the receiver. Pick up!
As the White House operator dashed toward the stage entrance of the Briefing Room, she was met with a gathering throng of staff members. Everyone here was talking excitedly, making final preparations. She could see the President twenty yards away waiting at the entrance. The makeup people were still primping.
"Coming through!" the operator said, trying to get through the crowd. "Call for the President. Excuse me. Coming through!"
"Live in two minutes!" a media coordinator called out.
Clutching the phone, the operator shoved her way toward the President. "Call for the President!" she panted. "Coming through!"
A towering roadblock stepped into her path. Marjorie Tench. The senior adviser's long face grimaced down in disapproval. "What's going on?"
"I have an emergency!" The operator was breathless. "... phone call for the President."
Tench looked incredulous. "Not now, you don't!"
"It's from Rachel Sexton. She says it's urgent."
The scowl that darkened Tench's face appeared to be more one of puzzlement than anger. Tench eyed the cordless phone. "That's a house line. That's not secure."
"No, ma'am. But the incoming call is open anyway. She's on a radiophone. She needs to speak to the President right away."
"Live in ninety seconds!"
Tench's cold eyes stared, and she held out a spider-like hand. "Give me the phone."
The operator's heart was pounding now. "Ms. Sexton wants to speak to President Herney directly. She told me to postpone the press conference until she'd talked to him. I assured-"
Tench stepped toward the operator now, her voice a seething whisper.