Pipeline

by Peter Schechter

  “Forget it, Tony,” said Tolberg. “We made a decision. We’re sticking to it. We’re going public. The leak is done. The story is coming out today.”

  Tolberg drew in a breath before continuing.

  “I’ve been here many times before. The CNN woman has our exclusive; it’s airing in twelve minutes. We’ll be ahead of the news cycle. That means that our version of events—the true version—will dominate the news. Neither Packard nor the Russians nor anybody else is going to be able to do much about it. That’s the way Washington hardball works. Whoever has the guts to leak first dictates the debate.”

  Those last two sentences seemed less a statement of fact than an attempt to reassure the big boss. Tony looked the president’s way. If Laurence was in any way worried about how the news story would play out, he sure wasn’t showing it.

  “Tony, bring Blaise Ryan in before the program starts,” ordered the president. “You asked Isaiah to meet her. I want to join in.”

  Tony was grateful to both men. He had asked Tolberg to make five minutes to meet Blaise Ryan. After all, she was the genesis of the Bering Strait tunnel’s defeat. If it hadn’t been for her, nobody would have known of the deceit being perpetrated by Volga Gaz’s robber barons.

  As Tony walked to his office to get Blaise, the president waited until Ruiz was out of earshot to look down over his bifocals to meet Tolberg’s eyes.

  “You think this is going to work, Senator?”

  Raising a hand, Tolberg curved his middle finger over his index and shrugged. “Yes, it should, Mr. President. Fingers crossed.”

  Tony walked back in with Blaise. Introductions were made.

  “Young lady, we owe you a whole heap of gratitude. You went through a lot. How is your friend?” asked Isaiah J. Tolberg.

  “Thanks for making the time to meet me,” Blaise answered, startled to be in the presence of the president of the United States. “Anne-Sophie is fine. She left Russia a few weeks ago. They probably would have let her go anyway, but I told her to take advantage of the confusion surrounding her husband’s death to get out. She is back in Germany with her children.”

  “You stumbled on this only because you were trying to help her, right?” said President Gene Laurence, watching her nod her agreement. “Life’s serendipity is amazing. We’ve learned a lot of hard lessons because of your friend’s ugly marriage.”

  Tony looked at his watch and, gently pulling Blaise with him, started for the door. “It’s nearly eight. We’ll leave you alone. I’ve got a television in my office.”

  “Forget it; stay here,” said Tolberg. “Let’s watch it together.” Hitting the button on the remote to release the television’s sound, he picked up the plate of chocolate chip cookies and made his way to the couches. They all sat around him.

  It was eight o’clock sharp.

  CNN’s logo appeared on the screen as the baritone crescendo of the CNN announcer intoned, “This is CNN.

  “Good evening, I’m Alan Riding and this is Witness to the World. Thank you all for watching. As most of our viewers know, this program’s objective is to bring you in-depth analysis of the week’s top stories, investigative insights, and fresh looks at old subjects. Tonight we will do all three things together.

  “Nearly four months ago, on June twelfth, a national saga began when the first light went out in the state of California. We were all riveted to the tragedy for over three weeks. Throughout those twenty-one days, CNN’s prizewinning Los Angeles correspondent, Anna Hardaway, had the entire world in rapt attention with her detail-laden reporting.

  “The repercussions of the crisis in the nation’s largest state are still not over. Its effects are spreading across America and overseas. Tonight Anna reports a CNN exclusive story. It is a story which will leave each one of us breathless.

  “Anna, over to you…”

  Anna Hardaway appeared on the screen. It was immediately clear that something was out of place. The reporter wasn’t in California. Behind her was an ocean. But the desertlike, deep escarpments in the land were nothing like Southern California’s sandy beaches.

  “Alan, thank you. Today CNN will break two exclusive news stories. Both will point to one inescapable conclusion. The echoes of California will be heard for a long time to come.

  “If you thought California was over, you were wrong. Just ask President Eugene Laurence. Tomorrow President Laurence will deliver a speech outlining a bold new energy proposal to reduce the United States’s energy dependency on foreign nations. And fasten your seat belts; this plan is sure to be controversial.”

  Anna Hardaway was picking up steam now. Her recognizable staccato was forceful and clear.

  “President Laurence’s plan combines a daring set of incentives for alternative energies with stark disincentives for the consumption of fossil fuels. Tomorrow, President Laurence intends to send Congress a thirty-page bill that will turn the U.S. energy economy on its head. But while many of his proposals will be seen as controversial, one item, in particular, is sure to become a national tinderbox. The president is recommending the creation of a cap and trade system on all carbon emissions. Translated: Under the president’s plan, gasoline, natural gas, home-heating oil, diesel, and propane will all become more expensive.

  “Let’s hear just a small part of my interview with the president…”

  Gene Laurence, sitting comfortably on a sofa in the subdued elegance of the Oval Office, appeared on the screen.

  “Anna, we can’t get stuck forever depending on others for our energy. I’m not going to sit and duck any longer. Too many of my predecessors have done that. The buck stops here, as Harry Truman said. We have two duties. One is to lower the greenhouse gases that imperil our environment. The other is to protect our land from foreign dangers—too much of our energy today comes from people who wish us harm. Sacrifice is not something that someone else does for our country. We’re all going to have to be in this together. My proposal is not easy; change is hard. But the time for change is now.”

  Blaise Ryan looked at Gene Laurence. “Thank you, sir, the environmental movement has been waiting two decades for a statement like that one.”

  Laurence smiled back at her. He playfully put his finger on his lips, signaling silence. It was a sin to distract a politician from a news show that contained his image.

  The monitor cut back to Hardaway, in her strange location. Where was she?

  “We will have more of the president’s interview later in the broadcast. The question you may be asking yourself is, ‘What has spurred the president to take such a political risk and why is his proposal so radical?’”

  Hardaway paused for dramatic effect. She wasn’t good-looking in the traditional sense. But she was keenly aware that, on camera, she had a unique magnetism. Hardaway used it skillfully, to her benefit.

  “It’s a good question. The right question.” The reporter’s finger was pointed toward the camera, as if to acknowledge a good student’s response. “And I’ve come far to look for the answer. Today I’m walking along the coastal road in Lima, Peru. If you look behind me, you will see that the word ‘beach’ is a misnomer for this city’s austere, rocky coast. Out there, in the Pacific Ocean just beyond, there are some kids surfing, determined to catch a few after-school waves.”

  As the camera tilted outward toward the surfers, Tolberg muttered something under his breath about CNN’s willingness to have paid the high cost of sending her to Lima.

  “Things may look serene here in Lima. But that conclusion would be a mirage. Because a few weeks ago, a famous Peruvian senator and his assistant were murdered in a hotel not far from this very place. The senator was in charge of approving a project that would have sent millions upon millions of cubic feet of natural gas to the United States for decades to come.”

  Anna Hardaway began to pace, the camera following her closely.

  “What Senator Luis Matta did not know—nobody knew—was that a sham company controlled by Russia was bidding on Peru’s
natural gas. Why Peru? you ask. Don’t the Russians have a lot of gas of their own? Yes they do; Russia is the world’s biggest producer of natural gas. It turns out that Russia’s biggest gas company, Volga Gaz, wanted the gas for the sole purpose of controlling its transportation to the United States.”

  Tony leaned forward to listen closely. He knew the story; after all, Blaise and Ruiz had helped Anna put together the diffuse strands of her narrative. Still, he was captivated, like everyone else, by the tension the reporter created as she asked and answered her own questions.

  “What they intended to do with that control is anybody’s guess. But what we do know is that when Senator Luis Matta found out about Russia’s control of the sham company that was about to win control of his country’s gas, he was assassinated. Shot.

  “If this isn’t interesting enough,” said Hardaway, the Pacific Ocean’s wind whipping through her auburn hair, “there is more. The plot gets thicker.

  “As we reported a few nights ago, Martha Packard, the U.S. national intelligence chief, tendered her resignation, ostensibly for personal reasons. But CNN has now learned that, at the very moment Luis Matta was discovering Volga Gaz’s deceit here in Lima, General Martha Packard was in Moscow negotiating a secret deal with Volga Gaz to expand Russia’s supply of gas to the United States. Nobody knows exactly what was happening in those negotiations, but there are two questions that need answering.

  “Why was the CIA negotiating in Moscow for gas with an entity that clearly had the intention of doing harm to the United States? And why did the CIA not know about what was going on here in Lima?”

  Tony looked over at Tolberg. His eyes were glued to the television, but his face had contoured into a sly smile. His fist was clenched into a punch. It occurred to Tony that he was imagining his own uppercut landing on Packard’s jaw.

  “We will explore those two questions in the next half hour,” Hardaway said, turning to face the camera. Suddenly, her pacing stopped. For the smallest of pauses, she seemed to hesitate. Television magnified even the slightest of mannerisms. And, for that split second, Anna Hardaway looked as if she didn’t want to continue.

  “But first we should be clear.” Hardaway’s delivery suddenly lost its luster. She slowed to a monotone. It was so unusual for her that it left the impression that something important was coming.

  “It is CNN’s policy to protect sources. There is, however, an exception to that rule. If another news organization is reporting the same story with a name attached to it, it is our obligation to give you, our viewers, the widest-angle view possible.

  “We must report, therefore, that the New York Times Web site is tonight running a story sourced to unattributed CIA officials for publication in tomorrow’s newspaper that central intelligence director Martha Packard was not alone in Moscow. According to the New York Times, with her in Russia was Anthony Ruiz, a White House official presently under questioning by his superiors for illicitly passing official information to Russian government officials.”

  The four persons in Isaiah J. Tolberg’s office sat in stunned silence, eyes glued to the television. It didn’t matter anymore what Anna Hardaway was saying. None of them was listening.

  Tony Ruiz looked from the president to Tolberg and back again to the president. Gene Laurence’s hand was in his hair, holding on to the firmament of his scalp. Tolberg never raised his eyes from the floor.

  Tony had warned them, begged them. It had been obvious that a story this big couldn’t be locked away in a box. Not when Martha Packard was the enemy. But they had refused to listen. What was it about this city that made powerful people believe they were impregnable?

  The only one not surprised was Tony Ruiz. He had come prepared. Tony got up and went to his briefcase, parked on the floor next to Tolberg’s office doorway. He took out the red folder and tossed it on the coffee table. Without another word, he turned and walked out, leaving Blaise Ryan in the office with the two men.

  Tony ambled down the hallway toward his office. In a strange way, he was relieved; a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. But he felt sorry for Tolberg and the president.

  They would be the ones to deal with this mess, Tony thought as he followed the cubicle-lined passage to his office. They would be the ones to fight the energy battle with Congress. And with this scandal hanging over the White House, Gene Laurence’s effort to liberate America from its dependency on the fossil fuels of hostile outsiders would become hell on earth. Hand-to-hand combat.

  No, thought Tony. The energy wars were far from over. A new Cold War had just begun. And as Tony made his way toward the White House’s east elevator, he wondered how long he could really stay out. In the past months, he had learned that the coin of leadership had two sides—the beautiful and the unsightly. But Tony Ruiz had now been bitten by the bug of politics. He was hooked. As he smiled at the uniformed Secret Service guard overseeing the traffic at the black-painted, wrought-iron gate, he knew that somehow his role in all this was far from finished.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I write these words with difficulty as they are the first to be drafted such a short time after my mother’s death. My mom was a graceful, wonderful woman; intelligently loving life and her family in ways that I can only hope to emulate.

  It gives me great comfort and makes me enormously happy to know that she still had the time to read the final manuscript before leaving us. Seated in the dark green easy chair—in my old bedroom, now converted into her study—she rolled through the book in three or four days.

  Obviously, she told me that she loved it. Not that she is a fair critic. But now those words of approval sure make a world of difference to me.

  Second novels are notoriously harder than first ones. This book is no exception. The now-adolescent author has gone through the full process at least once. Experience naturally raises the bar and creates higher demands than those imposed on the happy-go-lucky first-time writer. Yet even with these heightened challenges, my own novel-writing experience continues to be one that is enormously fun and fulfilling.

  And so, there are some people to thank for making this experience positive and uplifting.

  As with most things in my life, the first and foremost smile of gratitude and kiss of thanks goes to my wife, Rosa. It is she that has to tolerate my moods and read the countless drafts over and over again. She is the toughest of critics. Yet she always finds a way to say what needs to be said with clarity and mirth. I am the luckiest of men.

  René Alegría is my talented, multifaceted editor at HarperCollins. Part coach, part businessman, part intellectual, and part dramatic showman, René has astutely used his various hats to deliver direction and advice to me throughout the process. At every moment, his wise counsel and teasing cajoling has been spot-on. Thank you, René, for another opportunity to have the benefit of your talents and for your support and confidence.

  Andrea Montejo was my first book’s editor and the close relationship we built has not waned. Though no longer my “boss” at HarperCollins, she was generous enough to continue reading and providing me with her talented advice. As usual, her wise insights were delivered patiently and generously.

  There are a number of dear friends who also deserve my gratitude. To begin, a particular word of appreciation to that special friend, you know who you are, for bringing alive the oft-conflicting poles of Russia’s economic, social, and political reality. Your insights were not only impeccable but they were delivered with uncanny creativity.

  To Miguel and Ornella, who read a couple drafts of the manuscript and gave me their straight and useful opinions, once again you have my deep thanks.

  I try to write about international events affecting our world. In the future, our children’s understanding of what we broadly call “energy” will differ greatly from our own. How we, as citizens, relate to what we use to drive our cars, fuel our factories, heat our homes, and brighten our computer screens will change radically over the next twenty-five years. America�
�s leaders face choices today that will decide whether tomorrow this transition will be traumatic and impoverishing or deliberate and enriching.

  About the Author

  PETER SCHECHTER is the author of Point of Entry, and an international political and communications consultant. A founder of one of Washington’s premier strategic communications consulting firms, he has spent twenty years advising presidents, writing advertising for political parties, ghost-writing columns for CEOs, and counseling international organizations out of crises. He also owns a winery, farms goats, and is a partner in a number of successful restaurants. Schechter has lived in Europe and Latin America and is fully fluent in six languages. He lives in Washington, D.C.

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  ALSO BY PETER SCHECHTER

  Point of Entry

  Credits

  Jacket design by T.H. Nicholas

  Jacket photographs of Washington D.C. by IT Stock International/Jupiter, flag by Jupiter Images

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  PIPELINE. Copyright © 2009 by Peter Schechter. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.