Chương 78: Book 3 - Chapter 11 A

Once I was looking presentable they put Matt and me in a limo with our luggage and drove us to the White House.

"I recognize you from my last visit," I told the Secret Service member riding in the limo with us to the White House.

"I'm Nick Mendez," he agreed.

"I took your roll of bulletproof cloth."

"Is the President upset about the delay? I really needed to freshen up." He gave me a big smile.

"He thought it was very funny. There is no issue, Ambassador Cook."

"I'm relieved," I told him and Matt nodded in agreement. At the White House, Matt was asked to debrief separately while I was questioned by another intelligence officer. I was able to give word-for-word reports of all the conversations I overheard, as well as a translation. I gave my impressions and my prediction that the accident was going to seriously hurt Ukrainian-Russian relations. When I was asked about the cooperation I seemed to get, I handed a diamond to the man.

"I expected the need to offer bribes. It made everything easier. Can you get me a Dr Pepper?" He looked at the diamond for a bit, set it on the table and left. He didn't come back with a Dr Pepper. He could have kept the diamond if he had. I was tired and thirsty. The next person I saw had Matt with him. He left us together for a bit, where we each gave a quick assurance that all was well. Then I was invited to speak to the President. President Reagan shook my hand.

"Congratulations on an excellently performed mission of mercy. You've done a tremendous service for us all, Ambassador Cook."

"I'm happy to serve, Mr President," I told him.

"It was a fun adventure, all things considered, and I made some good contacts and friends in Ukraine."

"It's been a terrible tragedy. A tragedy that reminds us of the dangers inherent in that particular Soviet system. We fortunately haven't had anything like that happen since Three Mile Island. My advisors tell me that the Russians were using backward technology and that there is no similar danger here."

"They are right, Mr President. They were using a particular type of reactor, the RBMK, that is fundamentally flawed and we don't use it. Our pressurized water reactors are safer. I've been thinking about nuclear safety after all of this and when I get back to San Diego I'm going to get General Atomics to start working on a new super safe nuclear power generation system."

"Isn't our nuclear power already safe, John?" he asked, leaning in with a smile that crinkled the corner of his eye.

"It can be safer, Mr President. It's like the difference between a luxury car from the 1950s and a modern luxury car. Both were safe, for their time. The modern car is much safer. Our current nuclear power is reliable, but the key to intrinsic safety is a design that is passively safe—one that can't fail, even if the operators try." The President nodded thoughtfully, putting a hand on my shoulder.

"I know the voices out there are saying we should just shut them all down. They're worried, and I don't blame them. But tell me, how do we reassure the American people that our nuclear power is safe, and that we still need it?"

"We need much more than we have, Mr President. The key is finding a design that's both safe and much cheaper to build than we have now. If we can do that, we can cut pollution levels across the country and ensure our energy security."

"What about these hot spots you mentioned in your press conference?"

"Groundwater won't be affected by the contamination. It's all coming from rainfall dropping the radioactivity picked up by a few clouds. When the rain falls, it gets absorbed quickly by the grass, which is then eaten by grazing animals like cows and sheep. A hot spot will stay that way for years but it is easy enough, especially in the UK, to just put a fence around it and keep the grazing animals out. Those clouds won't reach the US. Where it does rain a hot spot will form, but not all rain will create a hot spot.

So it's an issue but negligible if well managed. What did your Science Advisor say?" President Reagan chuckled, a deep, easy sound.

"Well, you know how these eggheads are. They give me all these charts and graphs, but never give a definitive answer. Your simple explanation seems to cut right through the fog. That's what the American people need to hear." When we were done I was escorted to another conference room. There I met with a State Department officer who asked me, "Dr Cook, how do you feel about going on TV and talking about your trip?"

"Who wants me to come on their show?" I asked with excitement. He smiled widely at my visible reaction.

"Good Morning America and the Tonight Show."

"I will need to call home first to get permission from my parents. I'll also need to try to convince my Mom that I'm not glowing in the dark, but sure. It sounds like fun." The White House put me up at the Watergate, which made me happy. When I got checked in, I called home.

"Are you back?" Mom immediately asked.

"Yes, I just got out of the meeting with the President." If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

"Of the United States?" she asked.

"Yes, him."

"Why did he want to talk to you? Did you cause a problem?" she asked, sounding upset with me.

"Mom! He's the one who sent me. He sent me a letter telling me to go and he made me a Special Ambassador just for the trip. He wanted to hear how it went and then he thanked me for doing such a good job."

"That's nice, when will you be home?" she asked, concentrating on the only part that mattered to her, me.

"Not soon enough! He's asked me to go on TV and talk about the trip."

"Really? When?"

"Soon I think. They said Good Morning America and The Tonight Show."

"Johnny Carson?" she said, sounding like she didn't believe it.

"Probably. Good Morning America is in New York and Carson is in LA. I'm going to have to fly across the country before I can come home."

"Well, hurry home, I miss you," she said.

"I miss you too, Mom. I need to call Grandpa next to see about getting the plane here."

"Oh, he's right here. I'll put him on the phone."

"Hi John!" he answered happily.

"Hi Grandpa! I need a plane to pick me up in Washington or New York and fly me across the country to Los Angeles."

"I'll see what I can do," he promised.

"Thanks, Grandpa. I'll check back in when I know more."

"Okay, good job out there. Your Grandma's been clipping all the newspaper articles about you."

"Give her my love."

"Will do. Oh! Mary wants to talk to you again," Grandpa said.

"Johnny?" my Mom asked.

"Yes Mom?" I asked, knowing what was coming next. I had talked to Grandpa just to give her time to get her thoughts together.

"I've decided that you need to come home after Good Morning America."

"If that's what you want, Mom, that's what I'll do," I told her.

"You're such a good boy. A few days at home and then you can go be on Carson."

"Thanks, Mom. I'll let the people here know."

"Good night, Johnny. Don't stay up late watching TV."

"I won't, Mom. Love you," I told her, happy that I'd won a victory and forgiveness.

"Love you too, bye bye." The next morning, Matt and I, along with a four-person security detail, boarded the train for New York City. The trip itself, while long, offered a peaceful break.

"This is better than flying," Matt admitted, stretching out in the plush, private compartment.

"No lines, no tight seats."

"I agree," I said, looking out at the blurring landscape of the Mid-Atlantic states through an oval window. The gentle, rhythmic rocking of the train was almost hypnotic.

"We've spent too much time in airplanes during the last week." The compartment, the Club-Dinette, had been booked by security. We had the first class space in it's entirety, allowing me to relax and just watch the scenery out the window. Matt, meanwhile, was engrossed in one of his books as he rode in the aisle seat next to me. Mr Riley was gone, off to wherever he really worked.

His White House replacement was using the time to brief the security team on our itinerary and the high-profile nature of the upcoming TV appearance. I just ignored the talk and watched the scenery for the three hour trip. When we finally pulled into Penn Station, the change in atmosphere was immediate and intense. The platform was a chaotic crush of humanity, but we were immediately shielded by a new layer of protection as we exited from the rear of the train onto the platform.

Three additional security personnel, clad in dark suits and carrying themselves with the distinct, watchful stillness of professionals were already deployed.

"Ambassador Cook," the leader, a large man with an earpiece, nodded curtly.

"My name is Wade Garrison. We'll be handling the New York detail." They moved with practiced efficiency, forming a tight, impenetrable V-formation around us as we navigated behind the throng into the baggage elevators. Garrison had a knack for creating an open space and then moving through alternate routes. We were whisked through a private exit and into a black Suburban waiting in an underground driveway. The ride through the city was a sensory overload of noise and towering architecture.

We arrived at The Carlyle Hotel, a classic fixture of Upper East Side luxury. The security presence was immediately evident: the three new men stayed with us, while the original team took up surveillance points on the street and in the lobby. We were led to a massive, three-bedroom suite. Garrison quickly inspected every closet and blind, while Matt checked out the living area.

"Look at this view, Boss! Central Park!" he exclaimed, pressing his nose to the window.

"Last days of luxury, Matt. No telling how long I'll get grounded for when we get to Tulsa. Better enjoy it. For now the only thing I am going to worry about is being on time tomorrow for Good Morning America." Tuesday morning, May 6, 1986. The call time for the studio was absurdly early. We were driven downtown to the ABC studios, arriving before the sun had fully broken over the skyscrapers. The energy inside the Good Morning America studio was a tightly controlled, frantic ballet.

The air smelled of burnt coffee and hairspray. Cables snaked across the floor, covered in yellow mats, and harried production assistants rushed past us, whispering into headsets.

"Keep a close eye on the Ambassador," I heard Garrison instruct his team.

"He moves fast." I was led to a green room, but I didn't stay put. My curiosity was too strong. I slipped out, using the noise and chaos as cover, and stood discreetly behind a bank of monitors near the control room. I watched the hosts, David Hartman and Joan Lunden, getting their makeup touched up, running lines with producers and exuding an almost unsettling cheerfulness for 645am. It was fascinating to see the polished, intimate broadcast machine from the inside.

As the show went live, the national and global headlines rolled across the screen, a clear snapshot of the world's current anxieties. The primary news, of course, was the ongoing fallout from the Chernobyl disaster. The USSR was still being secretive, but the sheer size of the cloud and the rising death toll were undeniable. The Rogers Commission report on the Thiokol revelation was still dominating domestic headlines.

The country was in the middle of a massive national reassessment of NASA's safety and management protocols as a result. Challenger had flown safely, a day later than planned at a warmer ambient temperature, and returned safely as well. But all future flights had been put on hold as the outrage from the investigation continued to build.

There was a brief discussion about Mikhail Gorbachev's push for 'acceleration' (Uskoreniye) of the Soviet economy, noting that the Chernobyl disaster had been a huge setback for his transparency initiatives. A mention of the upcoming Indianapolis 500 preparations and the continuing season of Major League Baseball provided the necessary light relief. The segment right before mine focused on European food safety, specifically the contamination of reindeer meat in Scandinavia.

"Ambassador Cook, you're on deck in two minutes!" a production assistant hissed, finally tracking me down.