Parallelogram : Day Two : Chapter 43
Five Days, Fourteen Hours, Five Minutes
"Sir, the Pentagon has come under attack!"
Ethan Stoddard glanced up from the mess of papers spread out on the conference room table in front of him. To his left, Travis McGinty dropped his cup of coffee. To his right, Nathan Ramsey reacted with cat-like reflexes, throwing the napkin from his lap toward the dark caffeinated liquid threatening to stain all of the written intelligence they had been reviewing.
"What did you say?" the chief of staff tried, rising from his chair.
"Sir, from what I understand, the Mallathorn Installation is completely offline," Leonard 'Match' Thomkins explained.
"What does that mean ... exactly?"
"A commando squad of military men broke the external perimeter over thirty minutes ago. The installation support staff is heavily armed and more-than-adequately trained. They managed to hold their ground for as long as they could. However, Pentagon Security notes that the entire surveillance system to the subterranean chamber just went dark."
Stoddard was furious. Angrily, he shoved his chair out from behind him and took several angry steps to his right. "These men broke the perimeter thirty minutes ago ... and we're hearing about it now?!"
Slowly, Thomkins glanced around at the expectant faces. After a pause, he concluded, "Sir, with all due respect, I'm only the messenger."
"How the hell does this happen in Washington of all places?"
"Take it easy, sir," McGinty tried, rising and brushing the coffee from his slacks. "It very well may be the fault of the White House."
"What are you talking about?"
"Procedure," the man continued. "After all, we did order all internal communication systems to go dark after the attack on Trace Hightower. Like it or not, Ethan, it's the protocol. You know that, as well as I do. We don't want to let anything slip unnecessarily to the media, nor do we want certain pieces of information to land in the hands of an unsupportive senator, aide, or House Representative. You know what's happened in the past. Some fool could have issued a foolish 'unsubstantiated' statement to the press about an internal government weakness. Unfortunately, as history as shown, we're not always equipped to deal with unanticipated contingencies."
"Unanticipated contingencies?" the chief squawked. "Travis, what the hell country do you serve that you support this kind of intelligence failure?"
Quickly, Ramsey stood, ignoring the spilled coffee. "Sir, I think all the colonel was trying to say was that now is hardly time to brainstorm better strategies to avoid these kind of failures in the future."
To his surprise, the White House Chief of Staff whirled on him with a glare that could've melted steel.
"Right now, sir," Ramsey pressed gently, "I think we'd better get someone over to the Pentagon to get the straight dope on what's happened to the Mallathorn."
Still, the chief glared at Ramsey.
"Sir, I'm not trying to quarterback your team here," Ramsey offered. "I'm only trying to work the problem. That's what my years of service to this country has taught me to do. That's what BackStep has taught me to do. That's what Bradley Talmadge has taught me to do." With some unease, he added, "And ... in fact, failing to work the problem subject of much heated debate between Director Talmadge and I at my last performance review ... sir ... so I happen to know more about it than I'd honestly care to admit."
Stoddard placed his hands firmly on his hips.
"I'll go," Ramsey offered, hoping that he'd at least be granted a reprieve from the man's steely-eyed glare.
"No," the chief interrupted quickly. "No. It's all right. I understand your point, and it's well taken. Besides, I'll need you for something else, Nathan." Turning, he said, "Travis, I want you to get yourself to the Pentagon as fast as humanly possible, and I want you there thirty minutes ago ... if you catch my drift."
Slowly, McGinty's lip curled into a smile. "Yes, sir."
Stoddard gestured toward the secret service agent in the doorway. "And, for God's sake, take Match there with you. He's one of the best we have, and that has to count for something."
"Yes, sir."
"Colonel?" Ramsey offered as the uniformed man turned to leave in a rush. "Keep in mind that Frank Parker is there. If you'll pardon me for saying so, this new crisis sounds exactly like something that would happen any time that man is around."
McGinty stopped. "Are you saying that Parker has something to do with this attack on the Mallathorn?"
As shameful as it felt, Ramsey denied the reality that the thought of Parker's guilt had, in fact, crossed his mind. Granted, he hadn't served with Parker – well, he'd never served with this Parker, damn the temporal mechanics – for quite some time, but unpredictability and Frank Parker went hand-in-hand. Still, he didn't want the colonel or the White House Chief of Staff to misunderstand.
"No, sir," he finally said, clearly his throat. "Frank Parker is many things. He's a maverick. He's a loose cannon. He's stubborn as hell. He's insubordinate. He's ... well ... as I said, he's many things unfortunately to many people. I think if you review my logs of BackStep Operations you'll find that the record's clear: I've never been what you would call 'fond' of Frank ... but he's no traitor to his country." Something about giving his long-time, oft-maligned adversary a much-deserved compliment refreshed Nathan Ramsey. "As a matter of fact, I'd be willing to bet my salary that Frank's probably in the thick of it right now ... and he's probably fighting for our side." Reluctantly, he tucked his hands into his pockets. "You have to forgive this old dog, colonel. What I meant to say was ... watch your back. Unfortunatley, bad things happen where Frank Parker goes, and I'd hate to see anything bad happen to you ... or to him."
With a knowing smile, McGinty nodded. "Thanks for the advice, Nathan."
"Yes, sir."
Ramsey watched as the colonel disappeared through the door. He desperately wanted to go along. He desperately wanted to find himself part of the action again. The BackStep Program – since Frank Parker's untimely demise – had turned into a government-sponsored utility. Channing Michelson was a good sport: he accepted any mission, he went back in time, and he worked hand-in-hand with the BackStep personnel to insure the success of any mission. Michelson was almost clinical in his efficiency, and Nathan Ramsey had secretly found himself almost wishing for the adventurous sense of the unpredictability that accompanied Frank Parker. Time travel had become a time clock, punched in and punched out with almost dreadful state-ordered efficiency. Where had the fun gone? Where had the spirit gone? Sure, the program was a whopping success, but ... was it fun any more?
Could he admit it to himself?
Could it possibly be that Ramsey actually missed Parker?
He shook his head.
"Giving Frank Parker a few kind words was, almost, for you," Stoddard observed, "wasn't it, Nathan?"
Ramsey bit his lip.
"You have no idea, sir."
END of Chapter 43
