“General,” Manuel said as they drove to one of the neatly positioned tents, “I’m a transmitter jockey—an audiovisual engineer. Been in the TV business most of my life. But I’m curious how I rate all this personal attention from the secretary of defense.”

“Well, sir,” General Gladstone replied, “you and your family are personal eye witnesses to the greatest natural disaster in American history. We couldn’t be happier that you made it through alive. And the secretary wants to talk to you about it, himself.”

“Secretary Augustus?” Manuel asked.

“That’s right.”

“Did he plan this relief effort?”

“Yes, sir, he initiated the effort,” General Gladstone replied. “He was three steps ahead of everybody on this deal. But then, he usually is three steps ahead! We’ve never had a secretary of defense like him. He’s a hero of mine, I’ll tell you.”

The van stopped in front of the headquarters tent. “We’ve got a C-130 headed for Albuquerque in about sixty minutes. There are tents like this at the airport where you and your family can stay. If you can find better accommodations, be sure to leave a telephone number where we can reach you. But your contact in Albuquerque will be Master Sergeant Anthony O’Reilly. He’s the best we’ve got. Whenever I need anything special, I call Sergeant O’Reilly.”

“General,” Cathy Quintana spoke up as everyone was piling out of the van, “I hope this Sergeant O’Reilly can help us find someplace to get a shower. We are all filthy.”

“Ma’am,” Archie Gladstone replied, “we haven’t had time to rig up showers here, but if it’ll help I can sure get you a couple of buckets of hot water, some soap, and towels. Maybe even a razor for your husband. But if you can wait until you get to Albuquerque, Tony O’Reilly will show you where you can get hot showers, new clothes, and even spending money! Come on now and have a cup of hot coffee, some doughnuts, and some soft drinks for the boys, all courtesy of the United States Air Force.”

Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

WHEN THE BUZZER sounded on the desk of Percy DuVal, the head of the office of White House personnel, he responded abruptly. “Yes, Miss Kaminsky,” he said. “I’m here.” What now? he wondered. Since Ted Rust had been named president, there had been a flurry of resignations.

“Mr. DuVal,” said his secretary, “do you have time to take a call from Mr. Haddad?”

DuVal sighed heavily. As much as he wanted to, he could not refuse to take this call. “Yes, Marsha,” he responded. “Put him on.”

Then, lifting the receiver, he spoke in even, mellow tones, “Tauriq, my good friend. To what do I owe this pleasure?”