Free Power Curve by Richard Herman Page A

moving quickly, and within minutes, he was walking in the River Entrance of the Pentagon where an Air Force lieutenant colonel was waiting for him. “General Bender, you’re wanted in the Tank.” He escorted Bender to the second floor and through the double doors into the JCS section. Judging by the number of aidesfloating in the corridor, the meeting was going to be an oil burner.
    Six pair of eyes, the entire Joint Chiefs of Staff, turned on him when he entered the conference room, greeting him with silence. Not the best of beginnings, Bender decided.
    “Gentlemen,” General Charles, the Air Force chief, said, “I think you all know General Bob Bender.” The cold stares were not reassuring. “Bob, we’re waiting for the secretary of defense. He’s in his office with the service secretaries and will be here in a few moments.” Charles paused, considering his next words. “We just got word from the OMB”—the Office of Management and Budget—“that the president is going to slash the defense budget thirty percent over the next two years. Apparently, Shaw has lined up congressional backing—quite a bit.”
    “So what the hell is going on across the river?” General Overmeyer growled.
    “This is the first I’ve heard about it,” Bender said. “I’ve been a persona non grata since I blew the whistle”—he paused, not sure how much the other chiefs knew.
    Overmeyer waived an unlit cigar at the room. “They know. You stirred the pot, no doubt about that, and this is the fallout.” He snapped the cigar in two and threw it into a corner. “She dropped the budget cut on Secretary Elkins without any warning. Thirty fuckin’ percent! This is turning into fuckin’ Bloody Wednesday! But it doesn’t stop there, she’s going through us with a meat ax. All special forces, with the exception of Delta Force, gone. The boys in the basement, gone.” He jammed a fresh cigar into his mouth. “It turns out the DCI had never told her about the boys, and she’s really in a snit.”
    “I told her,” Bender admitted.
    More silence. Then, from the chief of Naval Operations, “I thought you enjoyed a special relationship with the president.”
    “I don’t know what’s special about it,” Bender replied. “I’m a hangover from her staff when she was vice president.” The look on Overmeyer’s face and the condition of the cigar warned him that he was on dangerous turf. “I haven’t talked to her since briefing her last Thursday,and the letter requesting my immediate transfer is on Shaw’s desk.”
    “Has the letter gotten past Shaw?” Overmeyer asked.
    “I don’t know.”
    “Fact,” Overmeyer growled, “she’s not talking to us. Fact, she does listen to you.”
    “She may be listening,” Bender said, “but I seriously doubt if it’s doing any good.” Come on , he thought. Get me out of there .
    “Pull the letter,” Overmeyer said.
    Bender looked around the room in shock. They were all staring at him and not even Charles looked friendly. An image of a lamb being led into a slaughterhouse flashed in front of him. “There is no reason for me to stay there,” he protested.
    “You’re the only voice of reason we got over there,” Overmeyer growled. He gestured at the door, and Bender didn’t need any other encouragement to leave.
    Overmeyer was right , Bender thought. This is turning into Bloody Wednesday .
    The same lieutenant colonel was waiting for him. “Sir, the chief asked that you hang around in case the chairman wants to talk to you again.” He looked at his watch. It was past 7 P.M. “The Secretaries’ Dining Room is open for dinner. Would you care to join me?”
    Bender nodded. “When did you come to work?” he asked, leading the way to the fourth floor.
    “Five this morning,” came the answer.
    “Been a busy day?”
    “It’s been a madhouse—Pearl Harbor and Hiroshima rolled into one.”
    “I can believe that,” Bender replied. His day had been a total waste, and he