Free Retribution by Dale Brown Page A

misinformation this morning. I suppose we can’t blame them. I didn’t tell them exactly how we stopped the weapons, and there are a great many people who distrust us.”
    Jed hadn’t seen any of the actual news reports, but had read the daily classified CIA summary before coming up to see the President. Martindale had said only that the U.S. used “new technology” to bring down the nuclear weapons launched by Pakistan and India; the news media, without much to go on, speculated that he was referring to antiballistic missiles launched from Alaska and satellite weapons that didn’t actually exist.
    What they couldn’t quite understand was why power had gone off across the subcontinent. Some analysts had concluded that this meant at least a few of the nuclear weapons had exploded and created an electromagnetic pulse. Others simply ignored it. Given the President’s desire to seize the warheads, ambiguity was definitely in their favor, and theWhite House had issued orders forbidding anyone—including the official spokesmen, who actually knew very little—from addressing the matter.
    Adding to the confusion was the fact that the T-Rays had wiped out communication with practically all of Pakistan and a vast swath of India. The media was starved for information, though obviously that situation wouldn’t hold for very long.
    “I hate sending people into war,” continued the President. “Because basically I’m sending them to die. It’s my job. I understand it. But after a while…after a while it all begins to weigh on you…”
    His voice trailed off. Jed had never seen the President this contemplative, and didn’t know what to say.
    “We’re going to recover the warheads,” Martindale said finally.
    He turned, walked across the office to the credenza that stood opposite his desk, and paused, gazing down at a bust of Jefferson.
    “Some people call Dreamland my own private air force and army. Have you heard that, Jed?”
    Having heard that said many times, Jed hesitated.
    “You can be honest,” added Martindale. “That’s what I value about you, Jed. You’re not involved in the political games.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Dreamland is too important a command to be run by a lieutenant colonel. The Joint Chiefs want it folded back into the regular command structure. And I have to say, they make good arguments.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “We’re going to appoint a general to take over. A two-star general for now—Major General Samson. He has an impeccable record. An enviable one.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “What’s your opinion of that?”
    “I think whatever you want to do, sir—”
    “I haven’t used it as my private army, have I?”
    “No, Mr. President, absolutely not.”
    “This has nothing to do with you, Jed,” added the President. “Or with Colonel Bastian, for that matter. I still have the highest regard for him. I want him involved in the warhead recovery. Him and his people—they’ll work with the Marines.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “But it makes more sense—this whole mission has shown the real potential. We can double, maybe triple their effectiveness.” Martindale looked at Jed. “General Samson will handle informing the Dreamland people. Understood?”
    “I shouldn’t tell them?”
    “The news should come from the general, and the joint chiefs. That’s the way I want it. We’re following the chain of command. Dreamland is not my private army.”
    The joint chiefs—and especially the head of the joint chiefs, Admiral Balboa—had been fighting to get Dreamland back under their full control since early in Martindale’s administration. With the end of Martindale’s term looming—and the very real possibility that he would lose the election—the chiefs had won the battle. It certainly did make sense that Dreamland, as a military unit, should answer directly up the chain of command, rather than directly to the President through the NSC.
    In theory, Jed realized, he was losing some of his