Chiefs of Staff, ushered out a man de Castro recognized as Field Marshal Carl Ludwig, Welborn’s counterpart in the European Union’s military. Welborn was making placating noises, and assuring Ludwig that he would have dinner with him at the Flag Club that evening.
As soon as the EU’s military chief was gone, Welborn turned on de Castro and snarled. “This better be good. I’ve been getting close to a diplomatic breakthrough with that martinet, and you might have just bollixed it!”
“It is, sir,” de Castro said in a strong voice.
“Follow.” Welborn headed back to his inner sanctum. De Castro followed a pace behind and slightly to Welborn’s left. The two marched along a darkly wainscoted corridor with offices branching off to both sides, toward a wider space at the end, where a navy petty officer sat at a desk working on a comp. Two Marines in dress blues, a first lieutenant and a gunnery sergeant, both armed with holstered sidearms, stood at parade rest flanking the doorway to the inner sanctum. The two came to attention at Welborn’s approach. De Castro couldn’t help but notice that the gunnery sergeant had several more rows of ribbons on his chest than he himself did, and the lieutenant had nearly as many as the gunny. It was obvious that the Marines were from the combat arms.
“Siddown,” Welborn snapped as the petty officer began to stand. She did and returned to her work. “Close it,” he snarled at the Marines. The door to the inner sanctum closed silently behind de Castro when the two swept past.
Inside was an office only slightly less opulent than that of the Secretary of War himself. Its walls were covered with pictures of warships: paintings, engravings, lithographs, photographs, and holograms. Wooden ships: with rams and oars; with sails; with sails and cannon; iron clad with sails; iron clad with sails and steam engines. Steel ships: with guns in turrets, aircraft carriers with and without turrets and missiles. Space-going warships.
Welborn headed for his massive desk and dropped into the leather-upholstered executive chair behind it. “All right, de Castro, what do you have?” He didn’t offer a seat.
“This came in ten minutes ago, sir,” de Castro said as he fingered a crystal out of his right breast pocket. “By your leave, sir?” He made to insert the crystal in the comp to the side of the desk. Welborn grunted assent, and de Castro completed the action. In a second, a report appeared on the console. Welborn quickly read through it.
“Images?”
“They’re garbled, sir. The cryptographer who decoded the message and the watch officer who delivered it from her to me are attempting to clean them up now.”
“Is anybody helping them?”
“Only if they’re disobeying my orders. I instructed them to keep this between themselves, and to discuss it with nobody but me.”
“Good. Instruct your security personnel to quarantine them as soon as they’re done. And I want the images zipped to me the instant they’re intelligible, no matter where I am. Right now, you and I are going to see the Secretary.”
De Castro called in the orders to isolate the cryptographer and the watch officer as he followed the Chairman out of the office. He didn’t even glance at Colonel Fox as he passed through the outer office. Four minutes later, the two were face to face with Richmond P. Hobson, the Secretary of War himself, one of the three most important and powerful people in the entire North American Union.
Hobson seated them in a conversational group of chairs around a small table, and made small talk while a Navy steward poured coffee. De Castro, who had never before been in this office, glanced around. Portraits were hung above dark blond wainscoting that looked like it might be real oak. De Castro recognized enough of the faces in the paintings to know that they were previous NAU Secretaries of War, and the Secretaries of Defense of the old United States, the Canadian Ministers of Defence, and the Mexican Ministers of Defense going back to the beginning of the twentieth century free-trade agreement among the three countries—the precursor of the North American Union.
Hobson took a sip of coffee as the steward exited, then asked, “Well, Ira, what does J2 have that’s so important that you have to bring its director to me on such short notice?”
“Show him,” Welborn said.
“Yes sir.” De Castro looked around for a comp. Hobson pressed a button on the side of his chair and one arose from the side of the