In the adjacent staff/secretarial area, secretaries with Compaq laptop computers were hard at work, while several staff members shuttled between the presidential staff area and the other sections of the plane, delivering messages and retrieving memos. A steward had just brought coffee and dessert rolls from one of Air Force One's two kitchens and had departed. The presidential staff lounge could hold twelve, but with three senior Cabinet members on-board they took the room all to themselves for the entire trip.

"The President mentioned in his speech tonight sending a verification team to inspect military bases in the Commonwealth republics to check the destruction of nuclear weapons,"

Russell said to Curtis. "How soon can we get a team together?"

"I can have one ready to brief by tomorrow afternoon," Curtis replied.

He then looked at his watch and smiled sheepishly: "I mean, later on this afternoon. I'll need State to draw up diplomatic passports, travel visas for the individual republics, arrange security, get access privileges .

"The Commonwealth promised they'd cooperate," George Russell said. "I'll get a briefing from you at... what? Three?"

Curtis nodded.

"I'll brief the Old Man at three-thirty. How does that sound, Case?" asked Russell.

"Three-thirty's no good," the Chief of Staff said, checking the President's itinerary on a small electronic notebook. "I can squeeze you in at three-fifteen or it'll have to wait till five. The President's meeting with the Congressional leadership on the inspection at four. It'll have to be three-fifteen."

"Squeeze me in, then," Russell said. "I'll need your briefing as soon as you can get it, Wilbur."

General Curtis nodded. "I'll need a rep from the DCI's office in the meeting with the inspection team," Curtis suggested. "Any idea who that will be?"

Russell gave some names of persons in the office of the Director of Central Intelligence who were experts on the disposition of nuclear weapons in what used to be known as the Soviet Union, which was now just an amalgamation of rival states and confederations. Curtis had his aide make the calls for him from Air Force One's communications center.

"Speaking of the DCI," Curtis said, "there was something I wanted to ask you about, George."

"Shoot."

"There was a project run not too long ago that I heard about that I wanted to get an update on."

The National Security Advisor took a sip of coffee, put a napkin on his lap, and reached for a roll. "Can you be a bit more specific?"

"Sure." Curtis affixed Russell with a cold stare: "REDTAIL HAWK."

Russell was reaching for a sweet roll but stopped midway. His eyes returned Curtis's glare with one just as cold, then shifted over to Chief of Staff Timmons, who saw the sudden exchange and needed no prompting-he murmured some contrived excuse and left the room along with the aides.

After the door to Air Force One's living room was shut, George Russell said, "All right, Wilbur, who the hell told you about that?"