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Minor Detail By: Jack Sharkey (1931-) |
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MINOR DETAIL By JACK SHARKEY
The Secretary of Defense, flown in by special plane from the new Capitol
Building in Denver, trotted down the ramp with his right hand
outstretched before him. At the base of the ramp his hand was touched, clutched and hidden by the
right hand of General "Smiley" Webb in a hearty parody of a casual
handshake. General Webb did everything in a big way, and that included
even little things like handshakes. Retrieving his hand once more, James Whitlow, the Secretary of Defense,
smiled nervously with his tiny mouth, and said, "Well, here I am." This statement was taken down by a hovering circle of news reporters,
dispatched by wireless and telephone to every town in the forty nine
states, expanded, contracted, quoted and misquoted, ignored and
misconstrued, and then forgotten; all this in a matter of hours. The nation, hearing it, put aside its wonted trepidations, took an extra
tranquilizer or two, and felt secure once more. The government was in
good hands. Leaving the reporters in a disgruntled group beyond the
cyclone fence and barbed wire barriers surrounding Project W, General
Webb, seated beside Whitlow in the back of his private car, sighed and
folded his arms. "You'll be amazed!" he chortled, nudging his companion with a bony
elbow. "I I expect so," said Whitlow, clinging to his brief case with both
hands. It contained, among other things, a volume of mystery stories and
a ham sandwich, neatly packaged in aluminum foil. Whitlow didn't want to
chance losing it. Not, at least, until he'd eaten the sandwich. "Of course, you're wondering where I got the idea for my project," said
"Smiley" Webb, adding, for the benefit of his driver, "Keep your eyes on
the road, Sergeant! The WAC barracks will still be there when you get
off duty!" "Yes, sir," came a hollow grunt from the front seat. "Weren't you?" asked General Webb, gleaming a toothy smile in Whitlow's
direction. "Weren't I what ?" Whitlow asked miserably, having lost the thread of
their conversation due to a surreptitious glance backward at the WAC
barracks in their wake. "Wondering about the project!" snapped the general. "Yes. We all were," said the Secretary of Defense, appending somewhat
tartly, "That's why they sent me here." "To be sure. To be sure," General Webb muttered. He didn't much like
tartness in responses, but the Secretary of Defense, unfortunately, was
hardly a subordinate, and therefore not subject to the general's choler.
Silly little ass! he said to himself. Rather liking the sound of the
words albeit in his mind he repeated them over again, adding
embellishments like "pompous" and "mousy" and "squirrel eyed." After
three or four such thoughts, the general felt much better. " I thought the whole thing up, myself," he said, proudly. "I wish you'd stop being so ambiguous," Whitlow protested in a small
voice. "Just what is this project? How does it work? Will it help us
win the war?" " Sssh! " said the general, jerking a quivering forefinger perpendicular
before pursed lips. "Security!" He closed one eye in a broad wink and wriggled a thumb in the direction
of the driver. "He's only cleared for Confidential material," said the
general, his tone casting aspersions on the sergeant's patriotism,
ancestry and personal hygiene. "This project is, of course, Top
Secret !" He said the words reverently, his face going all noble and
brave. Whitlow half expected him to remove his hat, but he did not. They drove onward, then, in silence, until they passed by a large field,
in the center of which Whitlow could discern the outlines of an immense
bull's eye, in front of a tall, somewhat rickety khaki colored reviewing
stand, draped in tired bunting... Continue reading book >>
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Literature |
Science |
Short stories |
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