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Gambit

Page 9

by Karna Small Bodman


  During the break between dinner and dessert, the orchestra began to play a familiar Gershwin song. A few moments later, Cammy heard a voice over her shoulder, “Do you have a spot on your dance card for me?”

  She whirled around and saw the smiling face of Jayson Keller. All conversation at her table stopped as nine other pairs of eyes focused on the vice president’s choice of dance partners.

  Across the room, the reporter for the Style Section of the Washington Post strained to get a closer look and tripped over a tripod set up by the Washington Life photographer. Melanie sat still, enraptured by the proximity of so much power.

  Jay held her chair as Cammy got up from the table. He took her arm, leading her to the dance floor as other guests parted to let them through. He took her in his arms, and she easily followed his lead. “I must say you’re looking lovely tonight, Dr. Talbot.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she replied evenly.

  “Please. It’s Jay. I saw you sitting over there and thought it would be nice to talk to you about something other than stealth missiles,” he said with a smile.

  “I know all of us have been preoccupied with the crashes. I haven’t been able to think of anything else. Though I guess it’s all right to take a break once in a while to support a good cause.”

  “Absolutely. Even though the market is going to hell in a hand-basket, and we’ve got every single one of our sixteen intelligence agencies working overtime on this problem, we still have to look like we’re carrying on. We can’t let the bastards totally run our lives.”

  “I know you’re right. But on your investigations, I was curious. Have you come up with any new leads about the terrorists, or whoever they are?”

  “We do have one situation we’re checking out in South America.”

  “South America?” she questioned.

  “Yes. I know it sounds odd, but our station chief in Brasilia has a line on an aerospace company down there that’s already put a missile defense system on their new planes. He’s got a notion that they may be trying to create a market for their aircraft by saying they’re safer.”

  “But they wouldn’t shoot down innocent people just to sell some airplanes, would they?” Cammy asked in an astonished tone.

  “We don’t know. But we’ve sent Col. Daniels and Claudia Del Sarto down there to find out.”

  At the mention of Hunt’s name, Cammy had stiffened and missed a step. “Oh, sorry,” she said, averting her gaze. Recovering quickly, she asked, “Who’s Claudia Del Sarto?” She wanted to know, but she was trying not to sound too interested.

  “She an NSC specialist on South America. Bright gal. Raised down there. I heard her father headed up operations in a couple of those countries for one of our oil companies. So she went with Hunt as an investigator and interpreter.”

  “Oh,” Cammy said, wishing she weren’t so curious about Hunt’s traveling companion.

  The vice president noticed her reaction immediately. He had brought up Hunt’s name on purpose. He was a pretty good judge of character, and this woman’s response made it rather clear that something had happened involving the Lt. Col., though he had no idea what it was.

  When she had asked about Claudia he had been tempted to tell Cammy that the woman was an extremely attractive brunette who spoke four languages. But he couldn’t quite work that into the conversation.

  As for Cammy’s relationship with Hunt, he wondered if it was ongoing or a thing of the past. He was curious, but he was more interested in developing a relationship of his own than finding out about some previous affair, if that’s what it was. He had never had to compete with another man for a woman’s affections before. It was a new revelation.

  Jay held Cammy closer and caught the faint scent of vanilla in her hair. At this point he wished they weren’t in such a pubic place with everyone staring, including reporters, members of Congress, and various cave-dwellers, as the old-line Washingtonians were called.

  He’d like to spirit her off on his sailboat for a private cruise, even though he knew that wherever he went, his Secret Service detail would be shadowing them. He’d have to think about that.

  The song ended and Jay escorted Cammy back to her table. “Thank you very much, Dr. Talbot,” giving her a slight bow for the benefit of the onlookers. Then he added in an undertone, “If anything comes up in your work on the laser or anything else where I can help, you’ll call me, won’t you?”

  She gave a slight nod, smiled and slid back onto her chair.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  STERLING, VIRGINIA

  Nettar Kooner hung up the phone. Another call from the Department of Homeland Security! Another demand that they fast-track their technology. Another confrontation with that usually obsequious little secretary, a man Kooner usually had in his expansive back pocket. After promising that they were moving at full speed on the airport project, he now wanted to concentrate on his other contract. The one where he was certain of a built-in profit, if only they could advance that timetable as well. With a sense of irritation, he reached for his telephone again.

  He dialed an internal extension and barked into the phone, “Can you get down here ASAP? Yes, it’s about that system for Taiwan.” He slammed the phone down once more and sifted through some contracts on his desk.

  The government in Taipei was pressing for delivery of several complete missile defense systems. He had made some initial shipments, but a few key elements hadn’t hit their port yet. He mentally calculated how long they would take to arrive, how long it would take for their payments to be wired and how long it would be until his board of directors was so pleased with this deal that they’d grant him another set of stock options.

  He heard a quick knock on the door, and then his chief of staff, as he liked to call the man, stepped inside the spacious office with sleek black leather couches and Eames chairs surrounding a low glass coffee table.

  His number two ignored the couches and took his usual seat in an arm chair across from Kooner’s desk. “Yes, sir. You needed to see me?”

  “Damn right. I want to know the status of our agreement with that facility in China that’s making our chips for the ballistic defense system.”

  The chief of staff leaned forward, his eyes guarded. “I’m concerned about that situation, Nettar.”

  “I know,” Kooner snapped. “You made that clear when I negotiated the deal in the first place.”

  “It’s just that outsourcing those chips to that Chinese manufacturer could run afoul of ITAR.”

  “You think I don’t know that too?”

  “Yes, but then why …”

  “Why do I want a second round of their chips? Isn’t that rather obvious? We are saving a ton of money by having them made over there. You’re well aware of our bottom line on that project. We had to find ways to cut our costs. And letting them do what they do best, make those chips, seemed like the best way to get the line out on time and on budget.”

  But if we get caught violating Section 38 of the Arms Export Control Act …” his chief speculated with a worried look.

  “I’ve read the regs. I know the International Traffic in Arms Regulations as well as you do. They may be there on paper somewhere, but since when does the American State Department have the time or the balls to try and enforce that piece of crap? And don’t tell me there aren’t tons of other companies doing the same thing.”

  The other man shook his head and replied. “I don’t want to rain on your parade, boss …”

  “Then don’t,” Kooner declared. “We all know that ever since we had those chips made overseas, the whole system has performed flawlessly. Right here, not only in the Atlantic but also in our Pacific test ranges.”

  “I know, sir, but …”

  “No buts, damn it. Just re-order the chips and put a rush on them. We’ve got to get that system up and running in Taiwan fast. Those folks are petrified that some of the rumors about China hardening their position toward them might pan out one day and they’re
all running scared. And with some eight hundred Chinese missiles of various kinds pointing at them, I can hardly say I blame them. And that’s to say nothing about the crazy North Koreans who are mucking around in the same part of the world. So get about it.”

  Kooner swiveled his chair around and added, “And if you can’t keep those chips coming in, I’ll find somebody who can.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  OVERSEAS

  The general chairing a meeting of his most trusted aides quickly read the story he had just printed out from his computer and announced, “The American Dow Jones Average is down a thousand points so far. And with only three attacks on three airplanes. Think what will happen when our people strike again.”

  They were gathered around a small folding table at one end of a large hangar. Morning light filtered through a few high windows, but two metal goose neck lamps provided most of the illumination for the gathering. A colonel spoke up. “Yes, but it is unfortunate that we had to kill hundreds of innocent people just to get the Americans distracted”

  “Shut up, you fool. Over three-thousand innocent people died on 9/11. What’s a few hundred when it comes to our grand scheme? Look at America now. Not only is their market way down, they can’t focus on any other issue. Not domestic policy. Not foreign policy. Not trade policy. Nothing, because all anybody in their media wants to talk about is the safety of their airplanes, the pilots’ demands and the specter of a strike by their air traffic controllers. Everybody knows that Congress and their feckless president concentrate on whatever the media concentrates on. No, we have them exactly where we want them.”

  “Speaking of the media,” another officer interjected, “it’s being reported that the president has appointed his national security advisor and his vice president to handle the investigation of the airliner attacks and figure out their next steps.”

  “Yes, I know. These are crafty men.” He turned to the aide on his right. “If we don’t stop that man, Keller, soon, make a note to start siphoning contributions to his likely opponent in their upcoming presidential race. That Senator Winters. We can’t have a hard-liner like Keller in the White House for another four years.”

  The aide looked puzzled and asked, “How do we get around their laws against foreign contributions?”

  “Were you asleep every time we did this in the past?” the general barked. “We have ways. Many ways. Just get it done and done right.”

  He turned back to the colonel. “Now then, we have to concentrate on our own upcoming military exercises which will camouflage our real plans. Be sure we have enough amphibious craft available for a final assault if we need them, and contact our trusted friends at the missile sites to be ready to launch.”

  The colonel made several notes. “And as for those two Americans,” the general continued, “the ones who are trying to foil our plans, I suggest we craft another of our special messages.”

  “You mean to eliminate the crafty ones?”

  The general stroked his goatee and flicked a speck of dust off the row of medals across his chest. “Precisely.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE WHITE HOUSE

  Austin Gage walked into the Oval Office to join the vice president and the director of national intelligence for their usual early morning briefing. The president came around his desk and joined the others on the two couches and high back chairs in the middle of the room.

  “So gentlemen, where are we on the investigation?”

  The DNI pulled out his summary. “First of all, Mr. President, we believe the missiles that struck our airplanes could have been made in Pakistan, China, Egypt or the old Soviet Union. Or, of course, right here in America. We’re not sure why they didn’t show up on radar. They may have been modified. Right now we’re focusing on places we know have thousands of shoulder-fired missiles. Ones that should have been rounded up or destroyed, but which are still floating around, available to the highest bidder.”

  “Who are your most likely candidates?” The president asked.

  “At this point we’re focusing on three places. First, in the Middle East, we know that during Saddam Hussein’s time, he accumulated some 5,000 of the things. Only about one-third of them have been recovered, even with our troops searching the country. Trouble is, they don’t weigh much. They’re less than six feet long.”

  “They could fit in a golf bag,” Jay observed.

  The intelligence director continued his report. “In Russia, the defense minister of the Ukraine has now admitted that several hundred decommissioned surface-to-air missiles are unaccounted for. They could have been destroyed, but no records were kept. He was probably referring to S-75 air defense missiles. We call them SA-2’s. And they were sold to any number of countries.”

  “But those are pretty old. Isn’t that the same type of missile that brought down Francis Gary Power’s U-2 spy plane over fifty years ago?” the president asked.

  “You’re right about that. And since these recent attacks are so mysterious, we doubt that the Russian missiles were used, unless, as I said, they’ve been modified in recent years. So we’re continuing to check their updated versions. And as you’ve asked many times, where’s their motive? Our agents in Moscow and the other major cities are scouring their sources.”

  “And what’s your third concentration?”

  “Nicaragua,” the DNI replied. “We figure they’ve got about two-thousand SA-7’s and even later models kicking around. The president of Nicaragua says he will destroy them. But nobody gives that much credence.”

  “What about missiles with stealth technology?” The vice president asked.

  “We haven’t been able to pinpoint any new research programs with stealth. At least not yet,” the DNI replied. “And as for terrorist groups who might have such weapons, we’re still searching and trying to analyze which ones could have that level of sophistication. It’s tough right now, but we’re on it. Also, NSA has increased their wiretaps and internet surveillance as you ordered, Mr. President.”

  “Anything new?”

  “Not yet. If the group responsible is clever enough to have some sort of weapon our radar can’t see, you can be sure they’ve also figured out clever ways to communicate. But we have some new programs in place that are analyzing thousands of messages a second. So we’ll keep you posted.”

  “We’ve sent Col. Daniels down to South America with a small team to check on that aerospace company, you know,” Jay ventured.

  “Yes, I’m anxious to hear if they uncover any links,” Austin said.

  “Meanwhile, we’re working with Dr Talbot on a new laser approach for the airlines,” the president said. “The other systems in the pipeline would be so damned expensive, I can’t see our airlines being able to afford them, even if they work.”

  “You’re right,” Jay interjected. “At last count, for the sixty-eight hundred aircraft we have flying right now, the cost could be anywhere from ten to forty billion. On the other hand if Cammy’s, uh, Dr. Talbot’s system proves out, it might be more economically feasible.”

  “Yes, that looks like the one bright spot in this whole bleak scenario,” the DNI said.

  The NSC advisor checked his watch, got up and announced, “Sorry, Mr. President, speaking of bleak scenarios, as I mentioned earlier, I’m going to have to leave to catch a plane.”

  “Yes, I know. Your daughter. Damn shame. I hear that reports of her accident have already hit the wires,” the president said. “It was a drunk driver, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir, it was. Happened two nights ago when she was biking home from the library there at Duke. The idiot lost control of his car. Now she’s in the hospital. At first we thought she’d come through all right. My wife flew down yesterday to stay with her. But then she took a turn for the worse. She’s in surgery, so I’m taking the first flight out of Dulles. At least the planes are still flying. Some of them anyway.”

  “We could have arranged a special flight, Austin,” Jay said.


  “I know, but this is personal, not official business. Besides, we agreed in that Cabinet meeting that we’d all try to fly commercial, try to offer some assurances …” His voice trailed off.

  “Go on. Get out of here,” the president said with a wave of his hand, “and keep us posted on how she’s doing, will you?”

  “Of course, Mr. President.” He gathered up his papers and hurried out of the Oval Office through a side door.

  After the others had gone, the president continued his busy schedule, endeavoring to keep up a good front in the face of another day of falling stock prices. The director of Asian Affairs came in to brief him on the latest developments in Ulan Bator and he took a phone call from the head of the EPA who was concerned about the extension of the Endangered Species Act.

  “What’s the matter with that one,” the president asked.

  “There’s a provision about alligators.”

  “Why? They’ve been killing dogs, even people in Florida for God’s sake. Get them off the list and tell ’em to make more belts,” he said and hung up the phone.

  He shuffled some more papers until his press secretary and chief of staff came in to report that the networks were all showing video of the wreckages of the downed airplanes along with interviews in airports with nervous travelers, shaky flight attendants and pilots who were discussing how they might go out on strike in sympathy with the controllers if they decided to walk. The president told his spokesman to try and hold the fort until they had more information.

  The press secretary went back to his office to conduct the first briefing of the day while the chief of staff stayed to go over a list of new problems.

  “In addition to your preparations for the visit of the president of Mongolia, we’ve got a problem up at the UN. They’re planning to name Zimbabwe to head up their Human Rights Council. Our ambassador may want a word with you on that one.”

  The president gave a slight groan as his aide leafed through a number of scheduling requests. “Let’s see, we need to add a couple quicker things today.”

 

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