Vortex

  Behind him, a clock softly chimed three times, signaling the passage of as many fruitless hours since they’d begun debating Fidel Castro’s astounding call for the direct invasion of South Africa. He rapped the table sharply with a pencil, interrupting a heated exchange over the KGB’s failure to give them advance warning of Castro’s intentions.

  “Comrades, please, we’re not getting anywhere with this squabbling. Time is short. We should confine ourselves to the matter directly at hand.”

  In theory, this discussion was unnecessary. In theory, he held more personal power than any Soviet leader since Joseph Stalin. In theory, he could simply impose his will on these five men, and through them on the

  USSR’s still potent instruments of political power-the military, the secret police, and the bureaucracy. The President laughed inwardly. As usual, theory meant little in the real world.

  The members of the Defense Council couldn’t topple him from power. He had that much security. But their opposition to his policies could render him an ineffective figurehead. He’d seen it happen to other Soviet leaders as illness or repeated mistakes robbed them of their authority. Orders could be misinterpreted or simply shunted to the wrong place within the USSR’s vast, unresponsive bureaucracy. Directives could either be simply ignored or put into action with crippling slowness.

  No, he needed a consensus from these men.

  Castro’s proposition had hit them hard. Accepting it would mean dramatically altering the USSR’s established national security policy.

  No one knew that better than he did.

  Under his guidance, the Soviet Union had turned inward in the late 1980s-no longer interested in costly “foreign adventures. ” The change hadn’t come out of the goodness of his heart. It had come as part of a desperate attempt to head off total economic collapse.

  By cutting its losses overseas, the USSR had been able to reduce its military spending-freeing more resources for the production of the consumer goods increasingly demanded by Soviet citizens. Those sweeping changes in foreign policy had been accompanied by equally sweeping changes at home-changes symbolized by the terms glasnost and perestroika.

  But both glasnost and perestroika were foundering. Too many of the USSR’s constituent republics were clamoring for full independence. And too many of perestroika’s economic reforms were being smothered by the dead weight of a Soviet system unable to tolerate individual initiative and private enterprise.

  The President shook his head.

  So now Cuba, which had rejected and condemned his reform program, and which cost billions of rubles in military aid and price supports for its sugar crop, wanted to involve the Soviet Union in a war at the end of the world!

  On the surface, it would seem easy to refuse Castro’s request. And yet, there were certain possibilities … The foreign minister’s elegant, carefully modulated voice broke into his private train of thought.

  “I tell you, comrades, Castro’s plan is simply too costly. I’ve seen the reports. Just supplying Cuba’s army in Namibia is draining our hard-currency reserves and absorbing a substantial portion of our transport aircraft and ships. We cannot afford to expand our involvement in this conflict.”

  “I disagree, Alexei Petrovich.” The head of the KGB leaned forward in his chair, his deceptively kindly face creased by a frown.

  “We’ve gained important international

  goodwill by helping the Narnibians-goodwill we may yet be able to translate into trade and technology agreements.”

  That was unlikely, the President knew. Goodwill and words of praise were cheap. Trade and technology agreements were costly. So far, the West’s leaders had proven extraordinarily adept at avoiding serious commitments.

  And while it was pleasant to be portrayed as being on the side of freedom and human progress, kind words were no substitute for the material aid the

  USSR desperately needed to revitalize its deteriorating economy and its aging industrial infrastructure. No substitute at all.

  The foreign minister turned sideways in his seat to face his rival.

  “These agreements you speak so glowingly of will not materialize in the aftermath of an embarrassing defeat, Comrade Chairman! And that is precisely what this Cuban proposal will produce. ” He looked toward the minister of defense.

  “Isn’t it true, Dmitri, that South Africa’s army remains the most powerful on that continent-despite being stalemated in Namibia?”

  “True. ” The defense minister paused, pouring a tiny dram of vodka into a newly emptied glass.

  “Military logic argues that this invasion Castro plans would be doomed before it began. “

  For the first time during the debate, Marshal Kamenev, the chief of the general staff stirred.

  The President glanced curiously at him. Unlike his superior, the defense minister, Kamenev had a proven combat record-both in the Great Patriotic

  War and in Afghanistan.

  “Yes, Marshal? You have a comment?”

  Kamenev nodded slowly.

  “Yes, Comrade President. I agree that South Africa’s armed forces appear on paper to be immeasurably superior to those of its current enemies. But appearances can be deceiving, no?”

  The President was intrigued.

  “Go on, Nikolai.

  “Much of Pretoria’s strength is tied down within its own borders holding the blacks and other races in check. If they strip the interior of enough men to crush Castro’s invasion force, South Africa’s whites risk leaving their own homes defenseless. I don’t believe that’s a risk they’ll be willing to run.”

  Kamenev shrugged.

  “As matters stand, I believe we see an equal correlation of forces in southern Africa-superior South African ground strength matched by weakness at home. And under those circumstances, Castro’s plan could succeed. ““But at what cost?” the foreign minister countered.

  “Do we want to provoke American intervention on South Africa’s side? Do we want a direct military confrontation with the United States? Now? That could well be the result of helping Cuba escalate this war!”

  “Calm yourself, Alexei Petrovich.” The KGB’s chairman smiled sardonically.

  “Washington would not dare aid Pretoria’s racist regime.

  Such an imperialist move would outrage its own people, its allies, and all the world’s ‘nonaligned’ nations.

  “And even if the Americans were foolish enough to involve themselves,

  Cuba’s plan does not require direct action by our troops or aircraft, merely political support and logistical backing. The risk of direct contact or combat losses is minimal!”

  The foreign minister’s face turned a dangerous shade of red.

  “Nevertheless, comrades, we have nothing to gain and much to lose!”

  The embarrassed silence surrounding this outburst was broken by the sound of a throat being nervously cleared. The President looked to his right.

  “You have something to add, Professor Bukarin?”

  His economic advisor nodded slowly.

  “Yes, Comrade President.” He turned to the beet-red foreign minister.

  “Your statement was not quite accurate,

  Comrade Minister. Between us, South Africa and the USSR produce substantial portions of some of the world’s most important strategic minerals.”

  “I’ve seen the trade figures,” the foreign minister said curtly.

  Bukarin nodded politely.

  “My point is this, comrades. The previous South

  African government once asked us to join them in a world gold cartel. It was an idea with some merit.

  And would not a friendlier, more accommodating South African government be eager to join a broader cartel-one controlling the world’s strategic-minerals market? Surely that would be a logical development-a small price to be paid for our support?”

  So it would. Much of what the young man said made perfect sense. The

  President stroked his chin reflectively. De facto cont
rol of South

  Africa’s resources would give the Soviet Union a vital economic edge in its bargaining with the West. Soviet state export companies could match any price increases initiated by a new “revolutionary government—greatly increasing the flow of needed hard currency into Moscow’s treasury. And at the same time, those higher prices would greatly retard the West’s economic growth-giving the USSR a chance to close the gap. That would also prove to the world that the rumors of the Soviet state’s impending demise were greatly exaggerated.

  Slowly forming smiles on several of the faces around the table showed that many of his colleagues saw the same advantages. But not all. Both the foreign minister and the defense minister looked unconvinced.

  The President frowned. Consensus still eluded him, Very well, perhaps he could offer them a face-saving compromise. He rapped the table briskly.

  “Comrades, I think we have discussed this issue long enough. What I propose is this: we will back Cuba’s preliminary military buildup while withholding final approval for the invasion itself. That can await further developments in Namibia and in South Africa itself. And we shall insist on absolute secrecy. In that way, we can keep our options open.”

  He locked glances with the foreign minister. “if nothing else, such a troop buildup might give us a stronger bargaining position in any negotiations to end the Namibian conflict. True, Alexei?”

  The foreign minister bowed his head slightly, acknowledging the point.

  “Good. Then this matter is settled. We’ll inform President Castro that his plans can proceed-though with the conditions I’ve outlined. Clear?”

  Heads nodded around the table, some with enthusiasm, others with evident reluctance.

  Keys rattled in the corner as one of the Defense Council’s secretaries typed the President’s decision into the electronic record. Fidel Castro would get the ships, planes, and supplies he needed to prepare his counter stroke against Pretoria.

  CHAPTER

  Whirligig

  SEPTEMBER 15-NATIONAL SECURITY COUNCIL MEETING, THE WHITE HOUSE

  It was one of the fine, crisp mid-September mornings that made summer in the District of Columbia bearable. If you could somehow hang on through the sticky steam-bath days of July and August, a cool, clean breeze was bound to come along to drop the temperature and blow away the smog.

  The change in the weather was invigorating, and even two floors below ground level its effects could be seen in the faces of the men and in their conversation as they waited for the Vice President to arrive.

  Their upbeat attitudes masked underlying worry. Although this was a regularly scheduled NSC session, there was only one topic on the agenda-the situation in southern Africa. The unspoken sense of crisis was reflected in the names and ranks of those present. WM the sole exceptions of the secretaries of state and defense, all of the NSC’s principal members had come themselves-each accompanied by a small entourage of aides.

  The secretary of state was in Europe, consulting directly with America’s

  NATO allies over events in southern Africa. The secretary of defense was tied up on a more prosaic task-touring a series of West Coast military bases earmarked for closure and sale. Flying either man home in time for the meeting would only have created unwelcome media attention.

  Nevertheless, the majority of the administration’s brain trust sat around a crowded table in the Situation Roomassembled two floors below the green lawns and rose gardens of the White House in an effort to try to unscrew the inscrutable.

  A low buzz of conversation and muttered speculation died instantly as

  Vice President James Malcolm Forrester strode past the Marine sentries at the door. His manner was hurried as he took his seat and pulled a thick manila folder from his leather portfolio.

  “Sorry for the delay, ladies and gentlemen, but I’ve just received additional guidance from the President about the Namibian war and our response to it. ” He turned to the short, bearded man seated across the table.

  “Ed, why don’t you bring everybody up-to-date? No sense in going ahead until we’ve all got the same information. “

  “Yes, sir.” Assistant Secretary of State Edward Hurley looked collected and organized as he rose from his chair and leaned forward to turn on an overhead projector.

  Forrester ignored a disappointed frown from the deputy secretary of state. Whitworth might be Hurley’s immediate superior, but he didn’t have the detailed knowledge necessary to handle the briefing. Besides,

  Forrester had long suspected that the State Department’s number two man was one of those “highly placed officials” who enjoyed leaking stories that made him look bad.

  An aide near the door dimmed the lights slightly.

  Hurley placed his first slide on the glass. Though clearly put together at the last minute, it was also well laid out and clear-a rare quality in Washington, D.C.

  “This slide lists

  important events that have occurred since our meeting a week ago. As you can see, only three of the fourteen involve military incidents in Namibia.

  The rest are political events, guerrilla attacks, or serious civil disturbances.”

  Jesus. Forrester scanned the chart while Hurley rattled off a quick summary of each event. At first glance, the fighting in Namibia seemed almost a sideshow compared to what was happening inside South Africa’s own borders. South Africa’s population was at war with itself. Between guerrilla bombings, black-on-black power struggles, and the government’s

  I I security measures,” hundreds of people were dying every week.

  Hurley replaced the chronology with a map, labeled Top SECRET.

  “According to all available sources, this is the present disposition of Cuban and

  South African forces in Namibia. Essentially, the military stalemate continues. There have been no significant advances or retreats for weeks.

  Just a steady series of artillery bombardments and small-scale, but costly, infantry assaults. “

  Forrester nodded somberly. He’d seen the South African casualty estimates produced by the Defense Intelligence Agency. Forty-five dead and more than one hundred and fifty wounded in the past week alone. That didn’t sound like much of a war. Not until you remembered how small South

  Africa’s white population really was. On a proportional basis, Pretoria’s

  Namibian losses over the last seven days were the equivalent of more than 2,200 dead and 7,500 wounded Americans.

  He stared at the unit symbols shown on the map-most clustered in the mountains south of Windhoek. South Africa’s mechanized and motorized battalions were nearly immobile -forced to remain in place while an inadequate logistics system tried desperately to stockpile the fuel reserves needed for a renewed offensive.

  In the meantime, both sides were continuing their troop strength buildups. Total South African strength in Namibia had climbed by nearly a brigade-an increase matched by the Cubans. Castro, unworried by any serious external threat,

  evidently felt able to commit an even greater share of his reserves to the region.

  Hurley placed another chronology on the projector.

  “These are events in the region that either affect or are affected by the war in Namibia. All of the front line states-Mozambique, Zimbabwe, and Botswana-are being forced to cope with dramatically increased guerrilla activity. Most are insurgencies we know are supported by Pretoria. ” He pointed to a separate heading near the bottom.

  “Unita has also been very active, almost certainly at South

  Africa’s request. Unita guerrillas have been attacking Angolan rail lines and bridges, trying to slow down any Cuban reinforcements on their way south to Namibia.”

  Forrester scowled and made a note. Unita’s de facto support for South

  Africa’s Namibian adventure was a sore point in Washington. The anticommunist Angolan guerrilla movement happened to be supported by both the United States and South Africa-one of the few places where the foreign policies of t
he two countries coincided-much to Washington’s chagrin.

  Unita’s willingness to complicate Cuba’s troop movements into Namibia was understandable. The guerrillas rightly viewed Castro’s troops as an occupying army. But that didn’t make their aid for South Africa’s invasion any more palatable or wise. Not given the current situation.

  Some of the left-wingers in Congress were using the situation to scream for an immediate end to U.S. support for Unita. Forrester snorted. As if that would solve anything. Abandoned by the United States, Unita wouldn’t have any choice but to do everything its sole remaining backer, South Africa, asked. Instead, the CIA had been working behind the scenes, urging Unita to stay neutral in the Namibian conflict. So far, though, all attempts at persuasion had failed. Castro’s troop trains and tank flatcars were targets simply too tempting to pass up.

  Hurley’s fourth and final slide showed a grainy, news agency photo of Karl

  Vorster at an AWB rally. Every surface was covered with banners

  emblazoned with the AWB’s three-armed swastika.

  “At home, Vorster continues to integrate members of the AWB and other radical right-wing groups into South Africa’s governmental structure. We don’t have precise numbers, but there have clearly been a tremendous number of personnel changes at all levels-national, provincial, and local. The results are equally clear. Vorster has gained undisputed control over all levels of government. In other words, ladies and gentlemen, he has consolidated his power base and will no longer have to move so cautiously.” The last sentence was heavy with irony.

  The room lights came back up as Hurley switched the overhead projector off and slid back into his chair.

  Forrester nodded his thanks and looked around the table.

  “Right. Even with

  Pretoria’s news blackout, smuggled video makes it clear that things over there are bad. Very bad.”