by Dale Brown
Hershel finally turned toward her guest, undocking her head from her thumb but staying back in her chair. “The president has made his views clear, Mr. Martindale,” she said. “The Turkmen government hasn’t asked the United States for help.” Martindale was about to speak, but Hershel quickly said, “We know about the Taliban and their moves on the oil and hydroelectric facilities. Even so, the president does not feel that this insurgency is a threat to any vital national interests—”
“Not a threat!” Martindale retorted. “If this doesn’t qualify as a threat, I’m not sure what would.”
“The insurgents haven’t taken anything,” Hershel said calmly. “TransCal is paying the leader of that Taliban group to leave the pipelines alone and functioning — protection money — and that’s exactly what they’re doing. Product is flowing; TransCal is still making money. In fact, with the current spike in oil prices with no corresponding decrease in production, I would say TransCal is enjoying some substantial windfall profits. Their stock has gone up by seventeen percent in the past month, if I’m not mistaken — although why their dividend predictions have gone down so drastically is still a mystery. Less than a dollar a share in dividends from a company making record profits and hasn’t paid below a dollar a share in almost ten years?”
“I would guess that they’re preserving capital to keep their business afloat if those pipelines are destroyed.”
Maureen said nothing, just studied Martindale over her cigar and nodded noncommittally, wondering if he’d gotten that information directly from the horse’s mouth. TransCal may have already spoken to Martindale about supporting his run for the presidency in exchange for his promising more protection for their overseas ventures.
“The point, Maureen, is that our government should be doing more to protect the interests of Americans overseas, including business interests,” Martindale said. “We shouldn’t have to pay ‘protection money’—we should be doing whatever is necessary to ensure that foreign governments and businesses live up to their contracts and promises.”
“Mr. Martindale,” Hershel said, letting the pungent smoke stream out of her mouth slowly and seductively, “the president feels, and I agree, that if we tried to enter this conflict with military might, the insurgents would destroy the pipelines, just as the Iraqis did as they were forced to withdraw from Kuwait.” She put down the cigar after taking another long draw. “But in any case, even if the United States was able to wipe out all the insurgents without causing any damage to the pipelines, what then? The Turkmen government is obviously not strong enough to protect the pipelines. If another group of Taliban came in, we’d be faced with the same dilemma. Do you suggest the United States set up a permanent presence in Turkmenistan to protect the pipelines?”
“If that’s what it takes, yes!”
“Mr. President… Kevin, you should realize that’s not possible,” Hershel said calmly. The more wound up Martindale got, the calmer and more introspective Maureen made herself. “The United States is not in the business of providing mercenary services for the benefit of private companies.”
“No one is asking the United States to supply mercenaries,” Martindale argued. “The United States should use its military power and influence to restrain other outside powers from disrupting the business of the legitimate government. We had a deal with President Niyazov. TransCal spent almost eight billion dollars to build those pipelines and infrastructure—”
“Kurban Gurizev is in power now.”
“Gurizev is a Russian stooge,” Martindale said acidly. “He was against the TransCal deal right from the start. He wants to increase his own wealth and prestige by getting the Russians back into Turkmenistan so they’ll back him as president. Then TransCal will be forced to renegotiate the contract with the Turkmen government.”
“That sounds very likely,” Hershel said matter-of-factly.
Martindale stared wide-eyed at the deputy secretary of state. “I’m glad you find favor in my analysis,” he said sarcastically. “Does that sound fair to you, Maureen?”
“From TransCal’s point of view, I shouldn’t think so,” she replied. “From Gurizev’s perspective it sounds like a perfectly reasonable and rational idea.” She could see Martindale getting angrier by the second. “Kevin, I’m sure TransCal knew what they were getting into when they made this deal. I’m sure they knew that Turkmenistan was and still is a virtual dictatorship. TransCal knew about Gurizev and all his close ties to the Russian government, they knew that the Russians still extracted huge amounts of oil and gas from the country, and they knew that the Russian army still had a large presence there. They knew the risk — as did your government, sir. Yet you met with President Niyazov and brokered this deal for TransCal.”
Hershel’s staff had definitely done their homework before this meeting. He wondered if Maureen Hershel had even touched cigars until this meeting was set up.
“Why isn’t the CIA keeping you better informed on what’s happening out there?” he asked, hoping to change the subject quickly.
“We have assets everywhere, as you know,” Hershel said, “but we can’t see everything. However, I’m sure TransCal was briefed and fully understood the risks when they signed the deal with President Niyazov.”
“Frankly, Maureen, we were able to sign a deal back then because my government made it very clear that it would enforce the law, no matter where in the world it was violated,” Martindale said acidly. “If Thorn showed even a fraction of the backbone my government had, we probably wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“I can’t comment on that.”
“Well, I can, and that’s how I see it.” Martindale paused for a moment, then sat back, picked up his cigar and puffed it to life again. “Tell me, Miss Hershel,” he asked, “what happened to Secretary Kercheval?”
“Nothing has happened to Secretary Kercheval,” she replied.
“There’s a rumor around that he’s taking medication for Parkinson’s disease.”
“He was given a completely clean bill of health in his last physical. He hasn’t told us a thing about Parkinson’s.”
“There’s also a rumor that he’s extremely displeased with President Thorn’s overall handling of foreign affairs and that he may retire rather than continue to serve in this administration.”
“I’ve heard nothing of the kind.”
“There seem to be an awful lot of ugly rumors circulating around all of a sudden, Miss Hershel — and they correspond closely to your frequent appearances at the White House recently. How do all these rumors get started, Maureen?”
“You should know, Kevin.” She shifted slightly, an amused glimmer in her eyes. “You talked about it on Crossfire last week, remember?”
“Will Secretary of State Kercheval resign over the Turkmenistan issue?”
She retrieved her cigar and sat back in her seat, her eyes riveted on his. She knew he was trying to interrogate her, and she sent up a cloud of cigar smoke as a screen in front of her. “No,” she replied.
“Are you being considered to replace Kercheval, like it says in the press?”
“I’ve been asked to spearhead a State Department position paper on Central Asian affairs for Secretary of State Kercheval,” Hershel replied. “I retain my position as deputy secretary of state. Mr. Kercheval is still in charge of the State Department, a valuable member of the administration, and a trusted adviser and friend of the president. That’s all.”
“Sounds like a carefully scripted talking point — as if you were preparing for the Sunday talk shows,” Martindale said.
Hershel said nothing, only stared at him through the cloud of pungent smoke.
“You have been with the State Department for seven years, but the FBI Counterintelligence Operations Office for twelve. Why did you leave that office?”
“Counterintelligence — like the military, I believe — serves diplomacy,” Maureen replied. “I preferred to be on the policy side of diplomacy rather than on the operations sid
e.”
“But you were a good spy-catcher, Maureen — one of the best, according to my sources,” Martindale said.
She did not respond — except with her eyes. Those very blue eyes suddenly adopted what soldiers called the “thousand-yard stare,” as if she were reliving some event triggered by his question, watching the replay as if it were being projected onto the back of Martindale’s skull and she was looking right through him at it. The cloud of Lars Teten smoke only served to heighten the sense of mystery and danger.
“You miss it, don’t you, Maureen?” Martindale asked in a low, almost seductive voice.
Again she did not reply — but he could see his response in her eyes.
“Maureen,” he went on, “what sorts of efforts has the president directed the State Department to pursue on the diplomatic front in regard to Turkmenistan?”
“My study is one response,” Maureen said. “But the president usually doesn’t direct anyone to do anything. He tells the cabinet what he will support and what he expects, and they go forth and do the job.”
“The chief of staff doesn’t coordinate efforts between the cabinet members…?”
“The vice president acts as chief of staff, and, yes, he does have meetings and coordinates activity via e-mail, but the cabinet officers call the shots and then report directly to the president.”
“I’m curious, Maureen: How does the cabinet know if what they’re doing is what the president wants done?”
“It’s not that kind of organization, Kevin. The president just lets the cabinet members do their jobs. They listen to the president, he tells them what he’s thinking, and… they leave and go back to their offices and do what they think needs to be done.”
“How does that system work for you?”
“I’m new at this, but it seems to work just fine, every day.”
“It doesn’t seem to be working fine now, does it?” Martindale commented. “And it didn’t work in Egypt, or Libya, or Kosovo, or Russia. It seems like Thorn’s foreign policy is a hopeless mess.”
“That’s not an accurate characterization at all.”
“So I’ll rephrase my question, Maureen: What are you doing about the Turkmen situation?”
“I’m in daily contact with the foreign minister from Turkmenistan and delegates from the United Nations,” she replied. “We are also in contact with representatives of all the other parties involved, including the Taliban, who are represented by the Saudi Arabian embassy.”
“And?”
“And we’re trying to get an official sense of exactly what the different factions have in mind before we issue a policy statement to the American people,” Hershel replied. “The president believes in carefully studying a situation; getting official, nonofficial, and intelligence information; and reaching a consensus with his advisers before making a decision.”
“Sounds like a fancy way of saying Thorn’s not sure what he wants to do and he’s stalling for time.”
“Again I disagree with your characterization.” She paused, then asked, “If I may ask, sir, what’s your opinion regarding this matter?”
“I believe the United States is the greatest nation on earth and the protector of liberty, freedom, justice, and democracy for the rest of the world,” Martindale said. “I also believe in concepts as simple as ‘a deal’s a deal.’ If Gurizev thinks he can hand over control of eight billion dollars of American pipe and petroleum infrastructure to the Russians, or if these Taliban insurgents think they can disguise their invasion of Turkmenistan as a fight for freedom and take American pipelines, they’re seriously mistaken.”
“First of all, Kevin, the Americans don’t own those pipelines — the people of Turkmenistan own them,” Hershel said. She held up a folder that had been sitting on the table beside her. “TransCal takes forty percent of all the income they earn from crude, refined products, flowage, duties, transshipment, storage, and even futures, for the next fifty years, in exchange for the cost of building and maintaining that system. A pretty sweet deal. According to the IRS, they’ve already recouped half their investment in Turkmenistan’s oil industry in just three years, and by the looks of it they’ll move into the black in less than two years.”
“And I’d like to make sure they have a chance to make it there,” Martindale said.
“With the help of the U.S. military,” Hershel said.
“Like you said, Maureen, the military is an important extension of foreign policy.”
“May I ask you, Kevin, if the CEO of TransCal Petroleum, William Hitchcock, has decided to spearhead your reelection campaign?”
“Bill Hitchcock and I are old friends. He’s a successful businessman and strategist, and he’s supported me and the party for years,” Martindale said. “If he offered, I would consider myself lucky to have him in my corner, in a variety of capacities. But I’m not here discussing Turkmenistan because TransCal’s pipelines are in great jeopardy — although they are. I’m here because intervening on their behalf is the right thing to do. The military is supposed to protect the American people.”
“The people, yes — not their bank accounts.”
Martindale just stared at Maureen without commenting.
“Speaking for myself, Kevin, I don’t see that many differences between my opinion of President Thorn and your position. President Thorn wants justice and freedom, too, but he doesn’t believe in using the military in every conflict, especially overseas. What do you think you’d be doing right now?”
“I certainly can’t speculate on that, because I don’t have access to the information you have.” He saw Hershel smile. It was well known that Martindale kept himself actively involved in foreign affairs, even to the point of supporting a quasi-mercenary group known as the Night Stalkers to perform clandestine paramilitary operations all over the world. “But I think I’d be taking a much more active leadership role — conferring closely with allies, sending high-ranking officials to Turkmenistan to talk face-to-face with those involved, and speaking more openly and forcefully on the subject to the American people at every opportunity. I think President Thorn has his work cut out for himself just winning back some allies. He’s done practically everything possible to destroy our alliance structure.”
“So you think I should be on the plane right now to Turkmenistan?”
“I think if President Thorn cared at all about American business and American prestige overseas, not to mention the faith and trust the American people have in him and his government, he should have put you on a plane to Turkmenistan last month.”
Hershel nodded, then turned and called, “Isadora?”
A moment later a tall, dark-haired woman appeared, dressed in a business outfit every bit as nice as Maureen’s. Martindale leaped to his feet as if propelled by a hydraulic lift — he couldn’t take his eyes off the woman.
“Mr. Martindale, may I present Assistant Deputy Secretary of State Isadora Meiling. Izzy, this is Kevin H. Martindale.” He aimed his People magazine smile at her, drinking in her deep, dark eyes. “Let’s get authorization and clearance for that SAM flight to Ashkhabad, Turkmenistan, right away.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She favored Martindale with a mind-blowing smile and hurried off.
As mesmerized as Martindale was, his attention was drawn away by the shock of Hershel’s order. “You… you’re going to Turkmenistan? Now?”
“Right now.”
“What about your preparation? Don’t you have security arrangements to make, briefings to organize, meetings to set up with foreign office officials, communiqués to the embassies, coordination of agreements and position papers…?”
“The planning for this trip was already in the works,” Hershel said. “I’m sure we’ll overnight in Washington, maybe meet with the director of Central Intelligence and get the latest situation reports. That’ll give the staff a day or two to organize. But it’s a long flight to Turkmenistan. I imagine we’ll be busy the entire way.”
“What about
your appearances scheduled for the West Coast?”
“I think this is much more important, don’t you?” Hershel asked sincerely, watching Martindale carefully.
Martindale did not—could not — answer. He would never pass up any large political rallies or appearances, especially with major West Coast media involved, in favor of going to a shithole like Turkmenistan with virtually no press and the possibility of considerable personal danger involved. But if he said it wasn’t important, he would be contradicting himself.
He didn’t need to answer. Maureen Hershel could see the dilemma in his face. Instead of replying, he asked, “How do you know the Turkmen government will even allow you into the country?”
“You’re right. They might not like a State Department official poking her nose into their backroom dealing.” She looked over at Martindale. “But there’s one way to entice them to agree to see us.”
“What’s that? Offer them financial assistance?”
“Even better than that — I should bring you along. Would you like to accompany us, Kevin?”
“Me? Go to Turkmenistan with you? Now?”
“I’m going to make the last scheduled appearance here in San Francisco, but right after that we’ll be off,” Hershel said. “I figure in about three hours. What do you say?” Martindale hesitated. “I’m sure Miss Meiling will be busy, but I think she’d enjoy your company.”
He could think of a dozen things he had on his schedule that couldn’t be missed, and with no prep and no real agenda, the trip would likely be a total flop. There wasn’t even a guarantee that Hershel would be allowed to meet with any of the principals involved. But the opportunity to get a glimpse of the inner workings of Thorn’s foreign-policy team in action couldn’t be missed either. And, naturally, the happy thought of spending some time with Isadora Meiling sealed the deal. “Of course, Miss Deputy Secretary. I’d be happy to accompany you.”