Skyfall

“Yes, of course.” Dillwater stood up, his tall lean form overshadowing that of the little professor. “I must thank you for what you have done, for making the effort to contact us quickly. My thanks to your associates as well.” He nodded, bowed slightly, in the direction of Margaret Tribe and the undersecretary. “I'll bring these facts to the attention of the President at once. He will want to know. Where can I contact you, Professor Weisman?”

“Philadelphia…”

“Not at this time of night,” Dr. Tribe said, firmly. “The professor will be staying at my house. I'll leave the address at the desk.”

“Thank you, thank you very much….”

His words trailed off, interrupted by the distant slam of a door. A slam? Doors weren't slammed in the White House! And running feet. The corridor outside hammered to their sound and a moment later an Army officer with a briefcase, flanked by two MPs, ran by.

“Please excuse me,” Simon Dillwater said composedly, and turned and left. Inwardly he was not composed at all. Something important was happening. He must return to the cabinet meeting at once. He fought back the desire to run and instead walked at a firm and regular pace. There seemed to be a buzz of activity on all sides, something unexpected here after eleven at night. There were extra guards outside the entrance to the executive offices; the captain in command stepped forward and raised his hand.

“Could I see your identification, sir.”

“What — but you just let me out of this door some minutes ago.”

“I'm sorry, sir. Identification if you please.”

Good gracious — his hand was actually resting on his gun butt. Dillwater dug out his identification card, which should have been on his jacket pocket, and handed it over. The officer consulted a list and nodded.

“That's fine, Mr. Dillwater.” He raised his hand as Dill-water started to step forward. “Just one more formality, if you please. Would you tell me your wife's mother's first name.”

“What, why on earth should I?”

“You won't get in unless you do. ASCM. Accelerated Security Check Measures. I've just taken this book from the safe.”

“But… why?”

“I'm afraid I don't know, sir. Just following orders. The name…?”

“Maria.”

“That's correct. Please go in.”

More guards at each door and in the corridors in between until Dillwater finally entered the conference room. He stood, dazed, unbelieving. When he had left short minutes ago the atmosphere had been subdued, everyone too tired to talk, going over the latest reports from Mission Control.

Now it was near to bedlam, Bandin was standing and shouting — and Bannerman was shouting back.

“… I want them up there and the frigging button pressed and everyone scrambled on the alert….”

“Mr. President, you have just got no goddamn business to do that. It might be the very wrong thing. The Hot Line, get on the Hot Line to Polyarni and find out what he knows. Tell him that all we know is that it's not one of ours. Tell him that loud and clear or the missiles could start flying soon.”

“The alert…”

“The Interception Alert has gone. That's all internal and no one on the outside will get their balls into an uproar. But that is all we must do until you talk to Polyarni.”

The President was still upset, too tired to make his mind up. In the brief silence the Secretary of State spoke.

“The General is correct, Mr. President. Everything that should be done at this moment has been done. You must talk with Polyarni, tell him what we know. That our satellites and tracking stations have recorded an atomic explosion in space over the Soviet Union. And it was not one of ours. Period.”

Dillwater sat down heavily, trying to get the facts into perspective. What could this mean, an atomic explosion? The answer came quickly. His through line to Mission Control rang and he answered it automatically. Flax was on the other end and, as he spoke, Dillwater felt his body grow numb, cold. What he heard was impossible — yet he knew it had to be true. He made notes on his pad and, finally, spoke.

“Thank you. Flax. I will tell them, yes, that's right.”

He hung up the phone and rose slowly to his feet. “Mr. President,” he said, but his voice was ignored, unheard. He spoke again, slightly louder, but still no one gave heed. Anger gripped him, he shook uncontrollably and his face grew red.

“SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

They shut. Shocked, by this cry of rage from a man who never raised his voice above a polite conversational level. The whole room was silent for a moment and Bandin was the first to recover. But even as he opened his mouth to speak, Dill-water spoke first.

“Mission Control reports that the atomic explosion was directed at Prometheus. Someone tried to blow it up.”

“Who… why..?” The President spoke for them all.