"Jacobs. He seems pleased with the turn of events."
"He should," agreed Phil nonchalantly. "He just won a major battle. He's got security back under his thumb. A nice politi- cal coup."
"No, not that," Henry said cautiously. "It's just that I think he's acting too much the part of the renegade. Do you know what I mean?"
"No, not at all," laughed Phil. "He's just playing it his way, not anyone elses. C'mon, now, you know that."
"I guess . . ."
"Besides, Henry," he said glancing at his watch. "It's getting to be that time." They agreed to watch the speech from the sidelines, so they could see how the President's comments were greeted by the press.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, the President of the United States." An assistant White House press agent made the announcement to the attendant Washington press pool. The video was picked up by the CNN cameras as it was their turn to provide a feed to the other networks. Sunday evening was an odd time to call a press confer- ence, but everyone had a pretty good idea that the subject was going to be computers. Thus far, government comments on the crisis had come from everywhere but the White House.
The President rapidly ambled up to the podium and placed his notes before him. He put on his glasses and stared at the camera somberly. It was speeches that began this way, without a prean- nounced subject matter, that caused most Americans who grew up during the Cold War to experience a sinking feeling in their stomachs. They still thought about the unthinkable. As usual the press corps was rapt with attention.
"Good evening," the President of the United States began slowly. "I am speaking to you tonight on a matter of great concern to us all. A subject of the utmost urgency to which we must address ourselves immediately.
"That subject is, information. The value of information.