The Orion Protocol Read Online Free Page B

been only minutes before: his head held slightly higher, his eyes clear and steady with what seemed an effortless and irreducible self-confidence. An echo of the Right Stuff.

3
    Once through the Oval Office door and the President’s busy anteroom, the national security adviser had headed directly for the antiquated White House cage elevator, his face as blank as a fresh plaster cast.
    “Shit,” Winston said, under his breath.
    Beneath the impervious self-possession, he was upset. Not so much with the decision-making style of the new Occupant of the Oval Office, irritating as it was. No, what was bothering him was the President’s subtly reproachful tone, especially when he had insisted on knowing “everything that might bear on this decision.” He punched at the elevator button three or four times.
    “Everything . . .”
    Of course POTUS had been implying that the NSA, CIA, FBI, the Defense Intelligence Agency, and national security advisers like Winston might presume to keep some categories of “sensitive” information under wraps despite requests from their Commander in Chief. Which, historically, they had done and did do: it was practically part of the job description.
    “Christ.” Winston gave up on the balky elevator and took the stairs down to the parking garage.
    Customarily, nothing stamped ABOVE TOP SECRET was ever divulged, even to the President of the United States, except on the strictest need-to-know basis. This policy had evolved for many reasons, chief among them to protect the republic and the office of the President by preserving the President’s crucially important ability to credibly lie about whatwas known by his government and when it was known. And if a man doesn’t know he’s lying, he’s more likely to be convincing.
    Withholding information, cynical as it might seem, was also a prophylactic against the plain fact that some politicians were better public liars than others. At the highest levels of government, deniability was more than a term of art. The strategic preservation of one’s own ignorance and/or the ignorance of superiors had become a basic survival skill. But it required at least tacit cooperation.
    What is the correct course of action when faithfully executing a presidential order is a certain prescription for disaster?
    Clanging down the interior metal stairs to the White House parking level, Winston imagined himself retired to an emeritus professorship, lecturing about his current dilemma to government students at Yale. Fact was, there were some things about defending the republic, not to mention political survival, that you could only learn by doing.
    Once through the parking-level doors, he flashed his White House pass at a young white-gloved Marine who had already recognized him and began calling for his car.
    As he waited, Winston became concerned that perhaps he was being maneuvered into an untenable position on purpose: if the new President was at all naive, his staffers certainly were not.
    So, what the fuck is really going on, then?
    Breathing the claustrophobic monoxide-heavy air of the underground garage, he tried to step back and see the big picture.
    What was the President playing at? A realignment of executive-branch power? A hidden agenda he wasn’t picking up on? Some kind of loyalty litmus? Or was this just yet another professional challenge in the finessing of conflicting vital interests in the environment of White House intrigue?
    Winston wondered for a moment if this particular Occupant was simply oblivious to how conflicting interests between the intel community and the Office of the President were supposed to be handled.
    No, no. It’s a test, he decided. The partisans on the White House senior staff who had opposed Winston’s carryover appointment would be looking to seize on any arguable failure and use it against him.
    He mentally addressed his imaginary students again.
    The question then is: Where does your duty lie if your Commander inChief