"So what?" the President scoffed coldly. "The longer I keep Congress in disarray, the more I can accomplish. A few deaths are a small price to pay."

Fawcett looked at him uneasily. This was not the same man who solemnly swore during his campaign for the Presidency that no American boy would be ordered to fight and die under his administration. It was all he could do to act out his role of friend and adviser. After a moment he shook his head. "I hope you're not being overly destructive."

"Getting cold feet, Dan?"

Fawcett felt trapped in a corner, but before he could reply Lucas entered the room carrying a tray with cups and a teapot.

"Anyone care for some herbal tea?" he asked.

The President nodded. "Thank you, Oscar. That was very thoughtful of you."

"Dan?"

"Thanks, I could use some."

Lucas poured and passed out the cups, keeping one for himself.

Fawcett drained his almost immediately.

"Could be warmer," he complained.

"Sorry," said Lucas. "It cooled on the way up from the kitchen."

"Tastes fine to me," the President said, between sips. "I don't care liquid so hot it burns your tongue." He paused and set the cup on the writing desk. "Now then, where were we?"

"Discussing your new policies," Fawcett said, deftly sidestepping out of the corner. "Western Europe is in an uproar over your decision to withdraw American forces from NATO. The joke circulating around Embassy Row is that Antonov is planning a coming-out party at the Savoy Hotel in London."

"I don't appreciate the humor," the President said coldly.

"President Antonov has given me his personal assurances that he will stay in his own yard."

"I seem to remember Hitler telling Neville Chamberlain the same thing."

The President looked as if he was going to make an angry retort, but suddenly he yawned and shook his head, fighting off a creeping drowsidess. "No matter what anyone thinks," he said slowly, "I've diffused the nuclear threat and that's all that matters."

Fawcett took the cue and yawned contagiously. "If you don't need me any more tonight, Mr. President, I think I'll head for home and a soft bed."

"Same here," said Lucas. "My wife and kids are beginning to wonder if I still exist."

"Of course. I'm sorry for keeping you so late." The President moved over to the bed, kicked off his slippers and removed his robe.

"Turn on the TV, will you, Oscar? I'd like to catch a few minutes of the twenty-four-hour cable news." Then he turned to Fawcett. "Dan, first thing in the morning, schedule a meeting with General Metcalf, I want him to brief me on his troop movements."

"I'll take care of it," Fawcett assured him- "Good night," In the elevator going down to the first floor Fawcett looked at his watch.

"Two hours should do it."

"He'll sleep like the dead and wake up sicker than a dog," said Lucas.