2 - The Call

2 - The Call - 2
Sunday Morning 0432 Hours
IT WAS 4:32 AM, THAT MORNING, when the call came from Harland Watkins, the director of the CIA. It wasn't the phone that had wakened him for he had almost expected it to ring. Something else had stirred him from his usual sound sleep. It reminded him of the sound of a Cruise missile, or the roar of a low flying jet, or the description given by people who have experienced the sound of a tornado. He couldn't put his finger on it but his wife too had wakened, and asked sleepily, "Mannie, did you hear that? What was that?" As he turned to glance at the red numerals on the digital clock on his night stand, the phone rang, the message was short and cryptic, "Mannie this is Watkins, better alert the NSC, the China thing has exploded."
Mannie pressed number 1 on the automatic dialer and after one ring -"Good morning, the White House."
"This is Burgarino, 62309." He looked at the clock, mentally adding an hour and a half, "Please execute call program three for 0600 in the Situation Room. Oh yes, and would you have a driver pick me up at my home at 0530?"
Thank you, Mr. Burgarino, Call Program three at 0600 in the Situation Room, and I will inform the driver to be there at 0530.
The White House operators were so efficient that Mannie knew that by the time he had finished brushing his teeth all the members of the National Security Council would have received the message. Only the President, Vice President and Secretary of State received personal invitations. He was responsible for informing the President and Emory Prescott informed the Vice President and Secretary of State. Call program three instructed the White House operators to call Secretary of Defense, Morrissey; NSC director, Halperin; Chief of Staff, Smathers; and Watkins at the CIA. Their message was short; "A meeting of the National Security Council has been called for 0600 hours, today, in the Situation Room." As he drew the shower curtain he heard the noisy stair tread creak as his wife descended for the morning ritual of coffee.
Christine Burgarino was accustomed to the drill. Late night calls, another crisis, another trip to the White House, another night of working late. Her husband's job as press secretary was romantic only for those infrequent times at cocktails or teas when curious society matrons used Mannie's job to begin conversations - "It must be thrilling to be soooo close to the action." She rarely knew what was going on. This morning was no different, as she padded down the circular staircase her terry-cloth robe pulled tightly around her.
She shivered; somehow the house seemed cold this morning. She touched the thermostat and it clicked back as if to say, "I was just ready to go on." The coffee maker was all set to brew, filled the night before, a habit that she had gotten into shortly after Mannie took his job at the White House. Christine was not a morning person; as a result, her final chores at night were designed to make the next morning at least bearable. She always felt it was important to be up when Mannie left for work. She might not be the most glamorous White House wife but she was there for him - when he needed her.
Their house was just a half block from the Old Stone House and M Street. At 1239 30th Street NW, it had the unique distinction of being the narrowest house in Georgetown. Only eleven feet wide, its gleaming white front and sunken doorway made it easily recognizable to the walking tour tourists.
The lower floor included an entryway, the circular staircase to the second and third floor, a formal dining area that Christine had furnished with an antique plank table. In the rear of the house, the kitchen, and a small water closet. The best feature of the house was the rear windows facing the small fenced in garden area, which now looked drab, dull and uninviting. But soon the warm spring sun would cause the perennials to begin their resurrection from the dead and once again liven that view.
It was small and quaint, the guidebooks referred to it as livable. The entire house had been remodeled; the second floor now included a beautiful living room, a front sitting room that looked out on 30th Street through four vertical windows. At the back of the house, a charming garden room with a view of the garden, and the neighbors. The third floor included a study in the front with a five windowed bay where Mannie would work when he had time, and their bedroom area at the rear of the house. The guidebooks called the narrowest house, livable, but it was much more than that, it was their home, their sanctuary from the Washington hustle.

She punched the button on the radio, already tuned to WTOP, the all news station.
"- ...Department revealed yesterday that Chinese troops are massing along the border with Russia. Secretary of State James Adams is due to fly to Beijing this week to confer with top Chinese leaders.
The Pentagon reported yesterday that there will be more cost over-runs on the avionics retrofit of the 21 plane fleet of the B-2 Stealth Bomber. The latest estimates for the retrofit are eight billion higher than the original estimate. The cost of each Stealth Bomber is over two billion dollars. Secretary of Defense Morrissey has demanded an explanation from the prime contractor of the B-2, Northrop Corporation.
On Monday, Maine Congressman, Mitchell George, is expected to throw his hat in the ring and announce his candidacy for the Presidency. Congressman George has been the House Whip and was expected to take the reins of the powerful House Ways and Means committee upon the retirement of Chairman Burgess.
California and the Western states continue to have drought conditions causing reservoirs and streams to be at their lowest levels in 50 years. Fire crews have been successful in striking down a number of brush fires that have threatened the areas around Malibu, Santa Barbara County and San Luis Obispo.
We'll be right back with a look at traffic and the three day forecast, WTOP news time 4:47."
The radio droned on. Sunday morning was not a big news day. The sound of her husband's footsteps brought Christine back to consciousness. She reached for his mug, pouring a cup of the rich black brew. He went to the refrigerator, removed the milk and poured a healthy portion, making the coffee immediately drinkable.
"Anything new on the news?" he asked.
"I guess I wasn't paying attention, Mitchell George is suppose to announce that he's running for the Presidency. I'm not awake yet." she answered, embarrassed. He always expected a recap of the news and this morning she failed him, again.
"Nothing about China?" he inquired.
"I just turned the radio on, uh, there was something about Adams going to China," Somehow, subliminally she had absorbed what had been said.
"I don't know what time I'll be home," he said, as he drained his cup.
The radio continued -
"TOP News instantly, WTOP news time 4:52. We interrupt this news broadcast with a special bulletin.
The National Earthquake Information Center in Golden, Colorado has reported that a major earthquake has struck the California coastal area. We have on the line with us now, Mr. Waverly J. Person. Mr. Person, can you tell us any information that you may have concerning this earthquake?
'The preliminary reports indicate that a strong earthquake hit the Hayward area of California at 1:32 AM Pacific Daylight Time. First indications are that the magnitude 8.2 earthquake is centered in the San Francisco Bay area. We have no reports of injuries at this time as communications to the area have been severed.'
Mr. Person, how would this earthquake compare with the 1989 World Series earthquake in California?
'The October 17, 1989 earthquake, centered in Loma Prieta, California, which is about 75 miles south of San Francisco, occurred on the San Andreas Fault, the magnitude of that earthquake was 7.1. Preliminary reports indicate that this earthquake is centered in the East Bay area near Hayward, California. Oh, my God, there is another earthquake coming in right now that is centered in the same general area. I'm sorry I have to leave the phone.'
On a related matter, this just in from San Francisco. A United Parcel Service Boeing 747 has reportedly crashed on takeoff. The plane, a cargo transport is reported to have a crew of three. We have no reports of casualties."
Mannie kissed Christine on the forehead, and turning without a word walked out of the house taking the steps, two at a time. A black Lincoln facing north was double parked, its motor running.
"Tune your radio to AM 1500 WTOP, I want to hear the news." His voice had a tone that was uncharacteristically sharp.
The driver drove North to N Street, turned right for one block and then turned right again onto 29th, he accelerated down the hill to the stop sign at M Street. M and 29th was the intersection of Pennsylvania Avenue, a straight shot to the White House. As they turned at the intersection of M and 29th, Mannie noticed an Elite D. C. Cab resting against the front of the Biograph Theater. The front of the cab had crashed through the window, there were tire marks extending five feet behind the cab's rear wheels. There was no one in the driver's seat.

"Did you see that?" the driver asked, "must be something going on with the cabbies, on the way over I noticed a Capitol Cab in the middle of Washington Circle."
Turning left onto Pennsylvania Avenue the flashing lights of two squad cars announced the fact that DC's finest were investigating. As they drove the circle and passed the scene the driver had just described, Mannie's attention was diverted by the news of the disaster in California. He thought, "Crisis two, better get Interior involved."
At 5:47 AM he arrived at the White House and immediately went to the president's quarters on the second floor. He knocked. The President appeared, dressed in sweats.
"Mannie! You decided to go jogging with me!"
Mannie blushed, embarrassed, for the President more than himself, "Uh, no sir, Watkins called at 4:30. The Chinese have invaded Russia; we've called an NSC meeting for 0600. Did you hear about the earthquake in San Francisco, sir? Did you want me to call Riley at Interior, to join us later?"
"No, let Smathers handle that, well, I guess there will be no jogging this morning." Turning away, John Barry lifted the sweatshirt over his head and retreated to his dressing room. He dismissed his press secretary with a sigh, "I'll see you in ten minutes in the SIT Room." The buoyancy that Mannie had noticed only a minute ago had been replaced with a demeanor of sadness and seriousness.