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FIVE

As his wife drove him to the airport, Arne Haugen couldn't help wondering again what this was all about. Could Cromwell want him to take on some electronic project? He had no experience in weapons development, had never done anything for the Pentagon except pay taxes.

Maybe they'd gotten wind of the GPC.

When the DOD's executive jet arrived to pick him up—a beautiful little Rockwell T-39 without military markings—he found it was being flown by a bird colonel, and that really piqued Haugen's curiosity. A bird colonel detailed to shuttle a private businessman!

A brain-picking session maybe? Or did they want him as a technical advisor? But surely he didn't have that kind of reputation; he didn't even have a master's degree. And besides, this would be a strange time for Washington to have much attention on anything other than the domestic emergency. Except maybe Iran.

Maybe they had learned about the GPC. He'd just have to wait and see.

And why the secrecy?

After they'd taken off, he turned on his seat light and took Spider Robinson's latest novel from his small bag. He was a rapid reader; it would just about last him to Washington.

***

In Duluth, the October evening had been clear, with the promise of a hard freeze. Washington, by contrast, was under a miles-thick blanket of soggy cloud, and when they broke through the ceiling at Washington National Airport, it was raining hard.

The plane didn't taxi to the terminal; it stopped at the edge of a taxi strip. The copilot, a captain, came aft, picked up Haugen's larger suitcase, and carried it to the door, which he opened. Damnedest redcap he'd ever seen, Haugen decided. On the streaming concrete outside, a young man in civvies was waiting with a large umbrella. He took the suitcase from the captain, then promptly held the umbrella over the disembarking Haugen, in the process exposing himself to the rain.

They walked rapidly to a service entrance of the terminal. Inside the building, there were remarkably few people except for employees mostly standing around looking worried, as if they thought they might all be laid off. Haugen supposed they knew plenty who had been. The young man took him to a plain gray government sedan parked in a no-standing zone, and drove him through the downpour to the Airport Hilton. There he led him past registration without registering him.

Curiouser and curiouser, Haugen thought. They got off the elevator on the fifth floor and went to a room. By that time, Haugen wouldn't have been surprised at anything. The young man brought forth a key and opened the door.

Actually it was a suite. Jumper Cromwell, wearing civvies, was standing inside, waiting.

"Good evening, Arne. Using the expression loosely. Have a chair, it's your room."

"Don't mind if I do. Jumper, what the hell is this all about?"

The general looked at the young man who'd just put down Haugen's large suitcase. "Thanks, Steinhorn," Cromwell said. "Wait in the lobby. I may be here awhile."

Steinhorn saluted, about faced, and left.

"Arne," Cromwell said when the door had closed, "how's your health these days? I should have asked you when I had you on the phone earlier, but I was just assuming you were as healthy as when I'd last seen you."

"My health? Fine. Jumper, you didn't answer my question. What is this?"

Cromwell took a deep breath. "I guess the best way to tell you is to start at the beginning."

***

He took a few minutes to get to the big question,

describing and explaining his way there and rationalizing his evaluation of the kind of person needed, under the circumstances. All he left out was that he, Cromwell, would probably end up with the job if Haugen refused it. He didn't want to indicate any options at all. When he finally asked the question, he did so in an indirect way, hopeful of forestalling a quick negative. "You're the one I decided on, Arne. To be appointed vice president. I'll need your answer no later than tomorrow afternoon."

Haugen simply stared at him, unable at the moment to deal with it.

"Here's a copy of the enabling legislation," Cromwell added, handing him an envelope. "It's surprisingly short and concise. It'll give you an idea of the powers and potential you'd have in the job."

Haugen looked at the envelope in Cromwell's hand as if it might hold scorpions, then took it anyway, drew the two sheets of paper from it and began to read. Jumper Cromwell realized he'd been holding his breath, and exhaled covertly. He may do it, Cromwell thought. He's considering it. Otherwise he wouldn't be reading the Emergency Powers Act.

Haugen skimmed it once, then read it more carefully. The powers were granted until Congress repealed them, but for no longer than one year unless extended by the Congress.

When he'd finished, Haugen put the sheets back in the envelope and looked at the general.

"This is for real, isn't it?" He shook his head slowly, not in the negative, but in amazement. "My god, Jumper, it's hard to believe this is happening to me. Or to anyone!"

"You don't need to answer now," Cromwell said. "Sleep on it if you'd like. And keep the envelope, in case you want to look at it again."

Haugen nodded slowly. "I will. Sleep on it. But one thing more: Why me?"

Cromwell smiled slightly. "First of all, Arne, there's the matter of time. I was only given two days; that's not time enough to do a big search. And beyond that, it seems to me you're as good a choice as any."

Haugen frowned. "Jumper, supposing I say no. You've sure as hell got an alternative in mind. Who is it?"

Cromwell exhaled gustily. "The option is... The option is me. Donnelly named me as vice president. I asked him for two days to find someone else. I don't think the people would go for me as president; not with this kind of power. People would be remembering every damn military dictator they'd ever heard of, most of them bad.

"Besides, the idea of it scares me silly. I wasn't that scared jumping behind Communist lines in Laos, twenty-five years ago."

SubliminaJly, Haugen's mind was sorting factors; he could feel it working. "And you actually think I can handle it?"

The general nodded soberly. "I really think you can."

"I've got no experience in government. Or politics."

"You're going to find government a lot less complicated to work with, with these emergency powers. And I'll get Donnelly's staff and cabinet to stay on long enough to brief you and teach you the ropes. Then you can bring in your own people if you want. Besides, like I said earlier, not having been involved in politics should be an advantage with the public. You can make it one, anyway.

"But you don't have to decide tonight. Sleep on it. I'll get your answer in the morning."

Cromwell had remained standing. Now he turned and disappeared into a dressing room. Haugen heard a refrigerator door close, and the general reappeared with a pint of Cutty Sark on a tray, along with two glasses and ice. "I remember you liked Scotch," he said, then put the tray down and poured two short drinks.

Silently they sipped. Then Cromwell got up again and gestured toward a closed door. "That's your bedroom in there." He stepped over to it, opened it, and spoke. "Sergeant Kearney, come out here."

Haugen stared, puzzled. A man emerged, of rather ordinary size and wearing civilian clothes, but Haugen knew at once this was no one to pick a fight with. Even in his youth, he told himself, he'd hardly have had a prayer, fighting Kearney.

"Yes sir, general," Kearney said.

"Meet an old friend of mine, sergeant. Arne Haugen. Arne, this is Sergeant First Class James Kearney."

Haugen took the proferred hand and shook it. "Glad to meet you, Jim," he said.

"Glad to meet you, sir." Haugen doubted the man's words meant anything beyond military courtesy.

"Sergeant Kearney will be your bodyguard tonight," Cromwell went on. "I'll come by at 0700. If it's a yes, we'll go to the Pentagon for breakfast; it's only about a mile from here. After we've eaten, we can go see the president from there."

Cromwell shook Haugen's hand and left, Haugen staring at the door as it closed behind him. Then, saying nothing more, he picked up the tray and went into the bedroom, coming back a minute later for his suitcases.

"Have a good night, sergeant," he said, and disappeared into the bedroom again.

***

Arne Haugen didn't go straight to bed however. Or have another drink right away. Instead he dialed long distance. Lois answered.

"Babe," he said, "they've offered me a job here.... That's right, in Washington. A house goes with it, and it won't last longer than a year, maybe less.... I can't tell you on the phone, honey; it's top secret. But it's important, and I have to say yes or no in the morning, so I need to know if you'd be willing to live here for a while....

"Well, I'm not sure. I think I might. It sounds really interesting.... Good. Thanks, Babe. I'll call you sometime tomorrow and tell you what I've decided.

"And Babe, I love you.... You do, eh? I kind of thought so. Talk to you tomorrow."

He hung up then, poured another drink, and leaned back thoughtfully in the chair. Controlling the violence, he thought, would be the easy part. If he took the job. It seemed to be pretty much controlled already. The hard part would be getting things running right again. If he couldn't do that, nothing else he might accomplish would matter.

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Framed