The Prodigal Daughter

by Jeffrey Archer

  “There’s an intelligence report that the Russians are mobilizing.”

  “Where’s the President?” was Florentyna’s immediate reaction.

  “I’ve no idea. I saw him leaving the White House by helicopter about three hours ago.”

  Florentyna reopened her file and stared back down at the cables while Janet remained standing in front of her desk.

  “Well, who will know where he is.”

  “You can be sure Ralph Brooks does,” Janet said.

  “Get me the Secretary of State on the line.”

  Janet left for her own office while Florentyna checked through the reports again. She quickly went over the salient points raised by the American ambassador in Islamabad before re-reading the assessment of General Pierce Dixon, the chairsan of the joint chiefs of staff.

  The Russians, it was reliably documented now, had ten divisions of troops on the Afghanistan-Pakistan border and their forces had been multiplying over the past few days. It was known that half their Pacific fleet was sailing toward Karachi, while two battle groups were carrying out “exercises” in the Indian Ocean. General Dixon had directed an increased intelligence watch when it was confirmed that fifty MIG 25s and SU 7s had landed at Kabul military airport at six that evening. Florentyna checked her watch: 7:09.

  “Where is the bloody man?” she said out loud. Her phone buzzed.

  “The Secretary of State on the line for you,” said Janet. Florentyna waited for several seconds.

  “What can I do for you?” asked Ralph Brooks, sounding as if Florentyna had interrupted him.

  “Where is the President?” she asked for a third time.

  “At this moment he’s on Air Force I,” said Brooks quickly.

  “Stop lying, Ralph. It’s transparent, even on the phone. Now, tell me where the President is.”

  “Halfway to California.”

  “If we have an increased intelligence watch because the Soviets are on the move, why hasn’t he been advised to return?”

  “We have advised him, but he had to land to refuel.”

  “As you well know, Air Force I doesn’t need to refuel for that length of journey.”

  “He isn’t on Air Force I.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  No reply came.

  “I suggest you level with me, Ralph, even if it’s only to save your own skin.”

  There was a further pause.

  “He was on his way to see a friend in California when the crisis broke.”

  “I don’t believe it,” said Florentyna. “Who does he think he is? The President of France?”

  “I have everything under control,” said Brooks, ignoring her comment. “His plane will touch down at the Colorado airport in a few minutes’ time. The President will immediately transfer to an air force F15 and will be back in Washington within two hours.”

  “What type of aircraft is he on at this moment?” asked Florentyna.

  “A private 737 owned by Marvin Snyder of Blade Oil.”

  “Can the President enter the secure National Command Network from the plane?” asked Florentyna. No reply was forthcoming. “Did you hear what I said?” she rapped out.

  “Yes,” said Ralph. “The truth is that the plane doesn’t have complete security. We have the same problem George Bush had when he had no choice but to return to Washington in a private plane at the time Reagan was shot.”

  “Are you telling me that over the next two hours any ham radio operator could tune in to a conversation between the President and the chairman of the joint chiefs of staff?”

  “Yes,” admitted Ralph.

  “I’ll see you in the Situation Room,” said Florentyna, and slammed down the phone.

  She came out of her office almost on the run. Two surprised Secret Service officers quickly followed her as she headed down the narrow staircase past small portraits of former Presidents. Washington faced her at the bottom of the stairs before she turned into the wide corridor that led to the Situation Room. The security guard already had the door open that led into the secretarial section. She passed through a room of buzzing Telexes and noisy typewriters while yet another security man opened the oak-paneled door of the Situation Room for her. Her Secret Service men remained outside as she marched in.

  Ralph Brooks was seated in the President’s chair giving orders to a bevy of military personnel. Four of the remaining nine seats were already occupied—around a table that almost took up the whole room. Immediately to the right of Brooks sat the Secretary of Defense, Charles Lee, and on his right the director of the CIA, Paul Rowe. Opposite them sat the chairman of the joint chiefs of staff, General Dixon, and the national security advisor, Michael Brewer. The door at the end of the room that led into the communications area was wide open.

  Brooks swung around to face her. Florentyna had never seen him with his coat off and a shirt button undone.

  “No panic,” he said. “I’m on top of everything. I’m confident the Russians won’t make any move before the President returns.”

  “I don’t expect that’s what the Russians have in mind,” said Florentyna. “While the President is unexplainably absent, we must be prepared for them to make any move that suits them.”

  “Well, it’s not your problem, Florentyna. The President has left me in control.”

  “On the contrary, it is my problem,” said Florentyna, firmly refusing to take a seat. “In the absence of the President the responsibility for all military matters passes to me.”

  “Now listen, Florentyna, I’m running the shop and I don’t want you interfering.” The gentle buzz of conversation between personnel around the room came to an abrupt halt as Brooks stared angrily at Florentyna. She picked up the nearest phone. “Put the attorney general on the screen.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said the operator.

  A few seconds later Pierre Levale’s face appeared on one of the six televisions encased in the oak paneling along the side of the wall.

  “Good evening, Pierre, it’s Florentyna Kane. We have an increased intelligence watch on our hands and for reasons I am not willing to discuss the President is indisposed. Will you make it clear to the Secretary of State who holds executive responsibility in such a situation?”

  Everyone in the room stood still and stared up at the worried face on the screen. The lines on Pierre Levale’s face had never been more pronounced. They all knew he had been a Parkin appointment, but he had shown on past occasions that he thought more highly of the rule of law than of the President.

  “The Constitution is not always clear on these matters,” he began, “especially after the Bush-Haig showdown following the attempt on Ronald Reagan’s life. But in my judgment, in the President’s absence all power is vested in the Vice President and that is how I would advise the Senate.”

  “Thank you, Pierre,” said Florentyna, still looking at the screen. “Please put that in writing and see that a copy is on the President’s desk immediately on completion.” The Attorney General disappeared from the screen.

  “Now that that’s settled, Ralph, brief me quickly.”

  Brooks reluctantly vacated the President’s chair, while a staff officer opened a small panel below the light switch by the door. He pressed a button and the beige curtain that stretched along the wall behind the President’s chair opened. A large screen came down from the ceiling with a map of the world on it.

  Charles Lee, the Secretary of Defense, rose from his chair as different-colored lights shone all over the map. “The lights indicate the position of all known hostile forces,” he said as Florentyna swung around to face the map. “The red ones are submarines, the green ones aircraft and the blue ones full army divisions.”

  “A West Point plebe looking at the map could tell you exactly what the Russians have in mind,” said Florentyna as she stared at the mass of red lights in the Indian Ocean, green lights at Kabul airport and blue lights stretched along Afghanistan’s border with Pakistan.

  Paul Rowe then co
nfirmed that the Russians had been massing armies on the Pakistan border for several days and within the last hour a coded message from a CIA agent behind the lines suggested that the Soviets intended to cross the border of Pakistan at ten o’clock Eastern Standard Time. He handed her a set of decoded cables and answered each of her questions as they arose.

  “The President told me,” said Brooks pointedly when Florentyna had read the final message, “that he feels Pakistan is not another Poland and that the Russians wouldn’t dare go beyond the Afghanistan border.”

  “I think we are about to find out if his judgment is sound,” she said.

  “The President,” he added, “has been in touch with Moscow during the week, as well as the Prime Minister of England, the President of France and the West German Chancellor. They all seem to agree with his assessment.”

  “Since then the situation has changed radically,” said Florentyna sharply. “It’s obvious that I’ll have to speak to the Russian President myself.”

  Once again Brooks hesitated. “Immediately,” Florentyna added. Brooks picked up the phone. Everyone in the room waited while the circuit was linked. Florentyna had never spoken to President Andropov before and she could feel her heart beating. She knew her phone would be monitored to pick up the slightest reaction she unwittingly displayed, as it would be for the Russian leader. It was always said that it was this device that had enabled the Russians to run roughshod over Jimmy Carter.

  A few minutes later Andropov came on the line. “Good evening, Mrs. Kane,” he said, not acknowledging her title, his voice as clear as if he were in the next room. After four years at the Court of St. James the President’s accent was minimal and his command of the language impressive. “May I ask where President Parkin is?”

  Florentyna could feel her mouth go dry. The Russian President continued before she could reply.

  “In California, no doubt.” It didn’t surprise Florentyna that the Russian President knew more about Parkin’s habits than she did. It was now obvious why the Russians had chosen ten o’clock to cross the Pakistan border.

  “You’re right,” said Florentyna. “And as he will be indisposed for at least another two hours you will have to deal with me. I therefore wish you to be left in no doubt that I am taking full Presidential responsibility in his absence.” She could feel small beads of sweat, but didn’t dare to touch her forehead.

  “I see,” said the former head of the KGB. “Then may I ask what is the purpose of this call?”

  “Don’t be naive, Mr. President. I want you to understand that if you put one member of your armed forces over the border with Pakistan, America will retaliate immediately.”

  “That would be very brave of you, Mrs. Kane,” he said.

  “You obviously don’t understand the American political system, Mr. President. It requires no ‘bravery’ at all. As Vice President I am the one person in America who has nothing to lose and everything to gain.” This time the silence was not of her making. Florentyna felt her confidence growing. He had given her the chance to continue before he could reply. “If you do not turn your battle fleet south, withdraw all ten army divisions from the border with Pakistan and fly your MIG 25s and SU 7’s back to Moscow, I shall not hesitate to attack you on land, sea and in the air. Do you understand?”

  The phone went dead.

  Florentyna swiveled around.

  By now the room was abuzz again with professionals who had previously only played “games” in this situation and now waited like Florentyna to see if all their training, experience and knowledge were about to be tested.

  Ralph Brooks held a hand over the mouthpiece of his phone and reported that the President had landed in Colorado and wanted to speak to Florentyna. She picked up the red security phone by her side.

  “Florentyna? Is that you?” came from the phone in a broad Texas accent.

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “Now hear me, lady. Ralph has briefed me and I am on my way back immediately. Don’t do anything rash—and be sure the press doesn’t get to hear of my absence.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.” The phone went dead.

  “General Dixon?” she said, not bothering to look at Brooks.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said the four-star general who had not spoken until then.

  “How quickly can we mobilize a retaliatory force into the battle area?” she asked the chief of staff.

  “Within the hour. I could have ten squadrons of Fills in the air, out of our bases in Europe and Turkey, but it would take me all of three days for the Mediterranean fleet to make contact with the Russians.”

  “How long would it be before the fleet reached the Indian Ocean?”

  “Two or three days, ma’am.”

  “Then issue the order and make it two, General.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said General Dixon again, and left the Situation Room for the Operations Room.

  Florentyna didn’t have to wait long for the next report to come up on the screen. It was the one she feared most. The Russian fleet still plowed on relentlessly toward Karachi while more and more Soviet divisions were missing at Salabad and Asadabadon on the Afghanistan border.

  “Get me the President of Pakistan,” said Florentyna.

  He was on the line in moments. “Where is President Parkin?” was his first question.

  “Not you as well?” Florentyna wanted to say, but in fact replied, “On his way back from Camp David. He will be with us shortly.” She briefed him on the actions she had taken to date and made it clear how far she was still willing to go.

  “Thank God for one brave man,” said Murbaze Bhutto.

  “Just stay on the open line and we’ll keep you briefed if anything changes,” said Florentyna, ignoring the compliment.

  “Shall I get the Russian President back?” asked Ralph Brooks.

  “No,” said Florentyna. “Get me the Prime Minister of Britain, the President of France and the Chancellor of West Germany.”

  She checked her watch: 7:35. Within twenty minutes Florentyna had spoken to all three leaders. The British agreed to her plan, the Germans were skeptical but would cooperate, while the French were unhelpful.

  The next piece of information Florentyna received was that Russian MIG 25s at Kabul military airport were being prepared for takeoff.

  Immediately she ordered General Dixon to place all forces on standby. Brooks leaned forward to protest, but by then all those present had placed their careers in the hands of one woman. Many of them watched her closely and noted she showed no emotion.

  General Dixon came back into the Situation Room. “Ma’am, the F111s are now ready for takeoff, the Sixth Fleet is steaming full speed toward the Indian Ocean and a brigade of paratroopers can be dropped at Landi Kotap on to the border of Pakistan within two hours.”

  “Good,” said Florentyna quietly. The Telex continued to rap out the message that the Russians were still advancing on every front.

  “Don’t you think we should renew contact with the Soviet President before it’s too late?” asked Brooks. Florentyna noticed that his hands were shaking.

  “Why should we contact Andropov? I have nothing to say to him. If we turn back now it will always be too late,” said Florentyna quietly.

  “But we must try to negotiate a compromise, or by this time tomorrow the President will look like a jackass,” said Brooks, standing over her.

  “Why?” asked Florentyna.

  “Because in the end you will have to give in.”

  Florentyna made no reply but swiveled back in her chair to face General Dixon, who was standing by her side.

  “In one hour, ma’am, we will be in enemy airspace.”

  “Understood,” said Florentyna.

  Ralph Brooks picked up the ringing phone by his side. General Dixon returned to the Operations Room.

  “The President is preparing to land at Andrews Air Force Base. He’ll be with us in twenty minutes,” Brooks told Florentyna. “Talk to the Russians and tell
them to back off until he returns.”

  “No,” said Florentyna. “If the Russians don’t turn back now you can be certain they will let the whole world know exactly where the President was at the moment they crossed the Afghanistan border. In any case, I am still convinced they will turn back.”

  “You’ve gone mad, Florentyna,” he shouted, rising from his chair.

  “I don’t think I have ever been saner,” she retorted.

  “Do you imagine the American people will thank you for involving them in a war over Pakistan?” asked Brooks.

  “It’s not Pakistan we’re discussing,” replied Florentyna. “India would be next, followed by Turkey, Greece, Italy, Britain and finally Canada. And you, Ralph, would still be looking for excuses to avoid any confrontation even when the Soviets were marching down Constitution Avenue.”

  “If that’s your attitude, I wash my hands of the whole affair,” said Brooks.

  “And no doubt you will receive the same footnote in history as the last person who carried out that ignominious act.”

  “Then I shall tell the President you overruled me and countermanded my orders,” said Brooks, his voice rising with every word.

  Florentyna looked up at the handsome man who was now red in the face. “Ralph, if you’re going to wet your pants, can you please do it in the little boys’ room and not the Situation Room.”

  Brooks stormed out. General Dixon returned.

  “Twenty-seven minutes to go and still no sign of the Russians turning back,” whispered the chairman of the joint chiefs. A message came through on the Telex that the fifty MIG 25s and SU7s were taking off and would be in Pakistan airspace within thirty-four minutes.