Plant quickly wrote a reply on his note-board and handed it to the president, who read it with all the gravity he could muster.
"I have not yet given up hope that General Hayes can be peacefully dissuaded from his present course. But be assured, one way or the other, he will be brought to justice."
"And let me assure YOU, Mr. President, that our patience is at an end.
You have thirteen days to return me a better answer, or the Soviet
Space Republics will deal with the Third Fleet ourselves."
Stone paused, but the words were his own. "You know I can't let you do that."
Whether these last words were heard or not, there was no reply. The channel was closed. Luther Bacon, White House Chief-of-Staff, was then brought in and apprised of the situation.
The next day, after receiving Hayes' bullet and trying (unsuccessfully) to keep its contents from the press, the three held their council. Bacon paced thoughtfully. Plant, seated, touched his fingertips lightly together while Stone, disconsolate, felt the walls crumbling around him. Half an hour before, despite all their efforts, he had received a phone call from a member of the New York Press Corps friendly to the administration, informing him that a duplicate pouch had been received by its members, and that the news was spreading like wildfire.
Finally the President exploded. "What are we going to DO? We have less than two weeks to answer the Russians, and it will take nearly that long to send and receive one more message from Hayes."
"Quite right," said Plant, the unspoken leader of the three. "Luther, if you'll come with me to my office, we'll begin work on our reply to General Hayes. I'm afraid it's time to take strong measures against him."
"That son of a bitch!" fumed Stone, hurling a vase at the wall. "That son of a BITCH."
"That won't help this time," said Bacon. "Believe me."