He replied: 11:45. MINE. REB IS WITH MOTORCADE.
I sent that information off as an FYI to London. Ian had little more
that was new, but he paged on several paragraphs of background.
John Hyatt, the general news manager, came in from his office. He read
the latest and said, "Good stuff. Have you got enough bodies?"
"We're not overstaffed, John, but we're all right for now."
"Okay. We can haul a few people in from Chicago if necessary. And let
me know if you need another hand here today. I think I can still bang
the old mill."
"Thanks, John."
World Wide has found that if you saturate the field with first-rank
outside men you need only two or three men on the desk. Too many bodies
have a tendency to get in each other's way.
Reb Sylvester had wangled a limousine with a radio-telephone and was
dictating a running story on the short drive from Burning Tree to the
White House.
The aliens, about a dozen of them, were wearing the heavy,
rough-looking cloaks which Eurydice Playfair had described yesterday.
They were accompanied by more than twice that number of Secret Service
men, Maryland state police, State Department security guards and
Washington police.
The cavalcade sped along River Road, then into Wisconsin Avenue and
through Georgetown. There hadn't been time for many people to hear
about it on the radio and few crowds gathered.
But then the cars went past the White House gates without entering. Reb
said he couldn't find out what was going on. The cavalcade was headed
in the general direction of the National Press Building at 14th and F
Streets. That's where we have our Washington bureau, as does almost
every other news organization. I could imagine Ian rushing to his
window for a glimpse of them.
The cars came to a stop on F Street, strung out in front of the Press
Building and the Capitol Theater, where they immediately snarled auto
and street-car traffic. The cloaked aliens got out, as did the security
men in their neat suits.
It looked as if the aliens were deliberately snubbing the President;
as if they intended to keep him waiting while they held a press
conference. They couldn't have picked a better place, if that was their
intention. There are more reporters per square foot at 14th and F
Streets than anywhere else in the world.
But the aliens didn't enter the Press Building. Instead they crossed F
Street, which by now was clogged with crowds of curious people ignoring
the _Don't Walk_ signs and clustering around the aliens, who politely
pushed through them and went into the Young Men's Shop.
They came out twenty minutes later, dressed in neat, conservative suits
which made them indistinguishable from the security men.
They got back into the limousines and circled back the few blocks to
the White House, where they arrived on the dot of 11:45 A.M.
* * * * *
"And then what happened?" my wife asked me at supper.
"My God, Mae, you must have heard it on the radio. And they televised
the press conference."
"I saw that, Sam. But what's the good of having a husband in the news
game if he won't give you an eyewitness account?"
"It's not a game," I told her for the hundredth time. "And you don't
get an eyewitness view from the desk."
"You know what I mean," Mae said. "Robert E. Lee Sylvester was there."
That's Reb's full name and my wife likes the sound of it. "What did he
say? You know, off the record?"
"Not much. The meeting with Gov and Marriner lasted about two hours.
Then they all came out and all they said was that they were going over
to State. They talked there for another hour or so. Then they came out
and posed for pictures and Ells said they'd had a useful exchange of
views."
"Who's Ells?"
"George Ellsworth, the State Department spokesman. Josh said just about
the same thing in a statement later. That's Joshua Holcomb, the White
House man."
"I know him. He gets more publicity than Gov himself. Doesn't it
confuse people to call the President 'Gov'? What do they call the
Governor?"
"Washington doesn't have a governor. It's a city, not a state.
Honestly, Mae...."
"All right, Sam. I suppose I should know these things. What happened
after everybody exchanged views? Did they sign that treaty?"
"Things don't happen that fast. The aliens went to Blair House for the
night. They'll have more talks tomorrow morning and in the afternoon
they may come up and see Nils."
"Nils Nilsen, the Secretary-General of the UN. I know him."
"Good for you," I said.
"They look like nice boys," Mae said. "They're all so young and
handsome. I hope we can get along with them."
"So do we all."