Under a Tell-Tale Sky: Disruption - Book 1 Read Online Free PDF Page A

grain shipments we’ve been discussing.”
    The President looked around the room, studying the shocked faces of his cabinet secretaries. He wasn’t encouraged.
    “All right,” Gleason said. “We obviously have to give this more thought. We’ll adjourn now and I’d like you all to begin immediate implementation of the plans we’ve discussed so far. We’ll reconvene here tomorrow at—”
    Doug Jergens, the Chief of Staff, cleared his throat. Gleason shot him an annoyed look.
    “Ah. Sorry to interrupt, sir,” Jergens said, “but the transfer …”
    “Oh, right,” Gleason said. “We’ll meet tomorrow morning at seven o’clock at Camp David.”
    The White House
    Oval Office
     
    Same Day, 6:00 p.m.
    Gleason slumped in the armchair, staring into his glass as he swirled the amber liquid. Oliver Crawford sat on the sofa across from him, sipping from his ever-present bottle of water. Gleason wondered for what must have been the thousandth time whether or not he really trusted a man who wouldn’t take an occasional drink.
    “How many?”
    “Approximately ten million, Mr. President,” Crawford replied, “not counting the military and assuming we have to sustain our civilian core group no longer than six months, eight at the outside. I figured in a small contingency in case the harvest is worse than average or the foreign grain imports are inadequate.”
    “Will that be enough?” Gleason asked.
    “It will have to be. It’s the most people we can keep fed, sheltered, and productive, and the absolute minimum we’ll need to keep the power-restoration project going forward until we get a crop in, along with government workers to administer it all,” Crawford said.
    “What’s the breakdown?”
    “Approximately two hundred thousand government administrative employees and twice that number of security personnel. Everyone else will be dedicated to either power restoration or agriculture, the bulk of them agriculture. There’ll be a lot of manual labor needed there.”
    Gleason nodded and stared into his drink.
    “If I may ask, Mr. President, why are you assigning me these various tasks? I’m happy to take them on, but a lot of them rightly fall under the responsibilities of the other cabinet members. There may be … problems.”
    Gleason looked up. “Because this can’t be run by a goddamned committee, that’s why. I could sense it this afternoon, and I’m sure you could as well. We’ve both been reading people a long time, Ollie, and despite all the ‘Yes, Mr. Presidents,’ I sensed a great reluctance to make the hard choices demanded of us. You’re the only one who seemed to immediately appreciate what we’re up against. I need someone to help me run things.”
    “The Vice President—”
    “The Vice President is on his way to a hole under Cheyenne Mountain, and there he’ll stay.”
    “Yes, Mr. President,” Crawford said, his face impassive.
    Gleason drained his glass and held it out. Crawford leaned over and accepted the glass and rose and walked to the sideboard, where he replenished the President’s drink. He returned and handed the drink to Gleason before resuming his seat.
    “Thank you, Ollie,” Gleason said, “and you know I’m right. How do you think Agriculture will react when he hears we’re nationalizing all grain and seed stocks and all agricultural holdings and farm equipment, or Labor when she hears we’re recruiting our migrant farmworker force out of state refugee camps on a ‘no work—no food’ basis? What’s that name you came up with? The Civilian Agricultural Initiative?” Gleason snorted. “We can pretty it up all we want, but I doubt we’ll fool anyone.”
    “We’re not nationalizing ALL land,” Crawford temporized, “only holdings larger than five hundred acres. Family farmers on smaller holdings will produce fruits and vegetables on the truck gardening model. We’ll even provide starter seed and fertilizer if available, as well as providing