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Authors: Richard Herman
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declaration and estimate of value to pay customs.”
Shanker shook his head. “It doesn’t look like salvage to me.”
“What does salvage look like?” Eric asked.
“I imagine that customs doesn’t really care what it looks like,” Turika said, “as long as it is declared salvage and they have an estimate of value.”
“I can provide that,” Liz said.
“We can’t ask you to do that, Liz,” Seagrave said. “You’re taking too much of a chance declaring it salvage, giving us an estimate, and then sitting on the letter while we abscond with the goods.”
“Not to worry,” she replied. “Since when has one bureaucracy talked to another?” She gave them a radiant smile. “Cheated death again, yes?”
The Pentagon
Colonel Roger “Ramjet” Priestly was not a happy man as he reread the lengthy memo from the secretary of defense’s office. He was unhappy because his name was not on it and Lieutenant Colonel Michael E. Stuart’s name was. He threw down the memo in disgust and buzzed his secretary. “Peggy, I want Stuart in here on the double.” He didn’t wait for a reply before breaking the connection. He checked his watch. Exactly forty-five seconds later Stuart presented himself in Ramjet’s office. Peggy had warned him, and not even his glasses could hide his worry. Ramjet threw the memo at Stuart. “I suppose you’ve already seen this?”
Stuart scanned the memo. “No, sir. This is all news to me.”
Ramjet came out of his chair, his palms flat against his desk, his arms rigid, and leaned forward. “In a pig’s ass! This has got your pecker tracks all over it. Tell me a major initiative coming from the National Security Council and forwarded to me from the Sec Def, that directs”—he grabbed the memo and jabbed a forefinger at the opening paragraph to quote—“‘A comprehensive review of the Strategic Petroleum Reserve to include movement and distribution affecting defense commitments’ isn’t tied to your tail.” His face turned beet red.
Stuart tried to be rational. “We do this type of thing all the time, sir. I don’t see the problem.”
Ramjet fell back in his chair. “The problem is that I’m totally out of the loop. It looks like I was asleep at the switch. From now on you will back-brief me after every meeting you attend. Also you will submit nothing, and I mean nothing, without my signing off on it first.”
Stuart tried to explain. “Any top-to-bottom review is going to involve the heavy hitters. I’m just one of the troops buried on some subcommittee doing the legwork.”
“Remember who you work for and you won’t have a problem. Forget where your first loyalty is and I’ll be the one who buries you. Do you understand everything I’ve said?” Stuart nodded. “Good,” Ramjet said. “One more thing: I’ll hang you out to dry if you ever make an end run around me like this again. Dismissed.”
Stuart decided that protesting his innocence was a waste of time, and he hurried out of the colonel’s office. Maybe Hurricane Andrea wasn’t so bad after all, he thought.
Peggy Redman waved a blue memo slip, stopping him before he could escape. “First meeting this afternoon,” she told him.
He skidded to a halt. “I was lucky to get out of there alive. He hates my guts, and I don’t know why.”
“He hates himself,” Peggy replied. “He doesn’t need a reason.” She sighed. “I’ve seen it before. It’s very sad.”
“Not when you’re the target,” Stuart groused. He read the memo and let out a groan. “The meeting’s at the NSC across the river. He’s not going to like this.” The NSC was the National Security Council, and across the river meant the other side of the Potomac and the Old Executive Office Building across the street from the White House. For Ramjet Priestly that was much too close to the president. Stuart had a distinct image of being sent up the river and not across it.
“I’ll tell him,” Peggy said.
He gave her
Shanker shook his head. “It doesn’t look like salvage to me.”
“What does salvage look like?” Eric asked.
“I imagine that customs doesn’t really care what it looks like,” Turika said, “as long as it is declared salvage and they have an estimate of value.”
“I can provide that,” Liz said.
“We can’t ask you to do that, Liz,” Seagrave said. “You’re taking too much of a chance declaring it salvage, giving us an estimate, and then sitting on the letter while we abscond with the goods.”
“Not to worry,” she replied. “Since when has one bureaucracy talked to another?” She gave them a radiant smile. “Cheated death again, yes?”
The Pentagon
Colonel Roger “Ramjet” Priestly was not a happy man as he reread the lengthy memo from the secretary of defense’s office. He was unhappy because his name was not on it and Lieutenant Colonel Michael E. Stuart’s name was. He threw down the memo in disgust and buzzed his secretary. “Peggy, I want Stuart in here on the double.” He didn’t wait for a reply before breaking the connection. He checked his watch. Exactly forty-five seconds later Stuart presented himself in Ramjet’s office. Peggy had warned him, and not even his glasses could hide his worry. Ramjet threw the memo at Stuart. “I suppose you’ve already seen this?”
Stuart scanned the memo. “No, sir. This is all news to me.”
Ramjet came out of his chair, his palms flat against his desk, his arms rigid, and leaned forward. “In a pig’s ass! This has got your pecker tracks all over it. Tell me a major initiative coming from the National Security Council and forwarded to me from the Sec Def, that directs”—he grabbed the memo and jabbed a forefinger at the opening paragraph to quote—“‘A comprehensive review of the Strategic Petroleum Reserve to include movement and distribution affecting defense commitments’ isn’t tied to your tail.” His face turned beet red.
Stuart tried to be rational. “We do this type of thing all the time, sir. I don’t see the problem.”
Ramjet fell back in his chair. “The problem is that I’m totally out of the loop. It looks like I was asleep at the switch. From now on you will back-brief me after every meeting you attend. Also you will submit nothing, and I mean nothing, without my signing off on it first.”
Stuart tried to explain. “Any top-to-bottom review is going to involve the heavy hitters. I’m just one of the troops buried on some subcommittee doing the legwork.”
“Remember who you work for and you won’t have a problem. Forget where your first loyalty is and I’ll be the one who buries you. Do you understand everything I’ve said?” Stuart nodded. “Good,” Ramjet said. “One more thing: I’ll hang you out to dry if you ever make an end run around me like this again. Dismissed.”
Stuart decided that protesting his innocence was a waste of time, and he hurried out of the colonel’s office. Maybe Hurricane Andrea wasn’t so bad after all, he thought.
Peggy Redman waved a blue memo slip, stopping him before he could escape. “First meeting this afternoon,” she told him.
He skidded to a halt. “I was lucky to get out of there alive. He hates my guts, and I don’t know why.”
“He hates himself,” Peggy replied. “He doesn’t need a reason.” She sighed. “I’ve seen it before. It’s very sad.”
“Not when you’re the target,” Stuart groused. He read the memo and let out a groan. “The meeting’s at the NSC across the river. He’s not going to like this.” The NSC was the National Security Council, and across the river meant the other side of the Potomac and the Old Executive Office Building across the street from the White House. For Ramjet Priestly that was much too close to the president. Stuart had a distinct image of being sent up the river and not across it.
“I’ll tell him,” Peggy said.
He gave her
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