Minute Zero

by Todd Moss

  Parker paused to let the staff accept his appreciation. It wasn’t every day that these people had a special audience with the Secretary of State’s chief of staff.

  “I asked you all to come here this morning because Dr. Ryker has been doing some special analysis on elections which may be relevant for your planning in Egypt. After the unfortunate events in Turkey, Azerbaijan, and Venezuela, we all need to be cognizant that elections, even those we support, are potential flashpoints for instability. The elections themselves have become action-forcing events that too often spark riots, violence, and political instability. We obviously can’t have this. We certainly can’t have it in Egypt. That’s why Dr. Ryker’s insights will be useful for you. Dr. Ryker, the floor is yours.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Parker,” said Judd, standing up. “Some of you may have heard about the Golden Hour. In emergency medicine, it’s widely accepted that the chances of saving a trauma patient rise significantly if they receive medical care quickly. The human body can withstand a lot of force, but it can only maintain itself for so long. The rule of thumb is sixty minutes. That is the Golden Hour. Conversely, if medical intervention is delayed beyond that hour, the chances of survival decrease rapidly. In other words, waiting too long can kill the patient.”

  Judd had given this talk dozens of times. To keep his energy high, he paced in the front of the room.

  “My work, analyzing data on wars and coups, has shown the Golden Hour phenomenon also applies to international crises. If there is a quick response, such as military intervention or active diplomacy, chances of success are high. A slow response usually means failure. The Golden Hour is the basis for the creation of the Crisis Reaction Unit about a year ago. It’s why I came to the State Department.”

  “Yes, I think everyone knows about S/CRU, Dr. Ryker,” interrupted Landon Parker. “Tell them about Minute Zero.”

  “Right. Minute Zero. In analyzing cases of major political shock, there’s another critical moment. Immediately after an upheaval, there can be a very short period of breakdown. In the minutes after a coup d’état, the death of a leader, a highly disputed election, or even a natural disaster, there is often a brief moment of extreme uncertainty. A window of chaos. No one knows what comes next, anything can happen, and the entire political system, even one that seems highly stable, is suddenly up for grabs. I call this window of chaos Minute Zero.”

  Judd checked his audience for signs of recognition. A few nods, but some blank faces, too.

  “Okay,” he continued. “Has anyone here read Leviathan?”

  An eager young woman, Judd guessed probably a first tour desk officer fresh from grad school, put her hand up. “Hobbes, the state of nature.”

  “Correct. Thomas Hobbes wrote about what life would be like without a government, without order.”

  “Nasty, brutish, and short,” said the desk officer.

  “Exactly,” said Judd. “Hobbes believed that, without government, there was total freedom but also total chaos. And without some order imposed by a political system we would all die quickly and violently. Nasty, brutish, and short. Without a strong government, bellum omnium contra omnes.”

  “The war of all against all,” the young woman said, nodding.

  “Precisely. The war of all against all. Chaos.”

  “Excuse me,” interrupted an older man at the back of the room. “But what does Hobbes have to do with the Egyptian election? That’s why we’re here.”

  “Good question,” Judd said. “It’s true Hobbes wrote Leviathan in 1651. But he was right about what happens when order breaks down. Everyone turns on each other. The war of all against all. Now, this is relevant to Egypt because a moment can arrive after a political shock. Egypt could reach Minute Zero. That’s what I’m trying to convey.”

  “I don’t get it,” said the man at the back. “I’ve been in the Foreign Service for twenty-eight years and I haven’t seen anything like that.”

  “What would happen if Egypt’s president died suddenly and the elections were canceled?”

  “The army would take over,” he responded.

  “No, I don’t think so,” said a woman at the table.

  “Yeah, neither do I,” said someone else. “I would expect the parties to regroup and form an alliance.”

  “No chance,” said the older man at the back. “That failed before. They won’t try it again.”

  “The Muslim Brotherhood would rise up and take advantage. I think it’d be a bloodbath,” said another staffer.

  The room suddenly erupted in debate as the Near Eastern Affairs staff argued over what might happen next.

  Judd sat back and smiled.

  “Okay, people,” interjected Landon Parker, quieting down the room. “Let’s save the hypotheticals for later.”

  “See? There’s great uncertainty,” said Judd. “If the Middle East experts in this room have no idea what would happen next, then there’s probably plenty of uncertainty among the Egyptian political class, too. That’s Minute Zero. That’s your opportunity.”

  “That’s NEA’s opportunity,” added Parker, hitting his fist on the table.

  “So Minute Zero is a good thing?” asked the staffer at the front.

  “It could be,” answered Judd. “In most situations, we want to prevent Minute Zero from arriving. If we prize stability over everything else, then no, Minute Zero is a bad outcome. In most situations we never want a window of chaos to open. We want to be prepared to close the window as soon as possible.”

  “To be ready to kill the baby in the cradle,” said Parker, hitting the table again.

  Judd winced, then continued. “However, on the other hand, if U.S. policy is to shake things up, if we want to instigate change, then some creative destruction might be a good thing. There are instances where we might want to spark Minute Zero.”

  “Regime change,” said the desk officer in the front.

  “Perhaps,” said Judd. “There are places where we need Minute Zero to move forward. Or at least we need to create the perception of it.”

  “You’re talking about deception. PSYOPs.”

  “Psychological operations might be part of the strategy. It depends. The point is that if we want to break a logjam, we need enough people to believe that the world is ending. If they believe it, then it becomes true.”

  “Deception becomes reality,” a staffer said.

  “Like we did in Libya,” said another.

  “Exactly. Once the Libyan people were convinced that Qaddafi’s reign was over, he was dead,” Judd said. “But here is the critical thing about Minute Zero: It’s only a minute. It’s fleeting. It doesn’t take long for events to sway in one direction and then realignment happens in an instant. People quickly choose sides and then a new equilibrium is established. The opportunity, and the challenge, is to influence events during Minute Zero. That means being ready and willing to act quickly to shape history. If we wait too long, the window closes. Preparation and speed are everything.”

  “Two things the United States government is not very good at,” Parker said.

  “We can do better,” Judd said.

  Someone at the back guffawed. Several heads shook.

  “So what exactly does this mean for our preparations for the Egyptian elections?” asked the veteran.

  “If we want to shape events in Egypt, we should first be looking for early warning signs of Minute Zero.”

  “Which are?”

  “Politicians suddenly changing sides. Or asking us what outcomes the American government might find acceptable. Anything that hints things may be turning and no one knows what is going to happen next.” Several nods around the table.

  “And then what, Dr. Ryker?” Landon Parker asked.

  “And then you prepare. If Minute Zero arrives, who’s the ambassador calling first? Who’s on our side? Who’s untou
chable? You can’t wait for the crisis and then expect to have time to answer these questions back here in Washington.”

  “If you were advising NEA on Egypt, Dr. Ryker, where would you start?” Parker asked.

  “I would start mapping the actors, the potential hotspots, and the leverage points. I’d have at least a dozen contingency plans in place and locked down. This should all be happening now, months ahead of the vote. You can’t wait for the last minute. The worst position for the U.S. is to sit back and watch and then just pronounce judgment on the outcome.”

  “Why?”

  “That only gives us a thumbs-up or thumbs-down option. If we do that, we would be just witnesses, not shapers of history.”

  “What about the voting?”

  “If we believe there’s serious cheating, we need to act before the vote. And definitely before election results are ever announced. Afterward it’s just too late.”

  Judd paused to let people take notes.

  “One thing we’ve learned from reviewing events during Congo’s civil war and after the Haitian hurricane,” he continued, “is the U.S. embassy is in a unique position. If there are riots on the streets, or no one knows who is in charge, then the public looks to the foreign embassies for signals.”

  “Or refuge,” added Parker. “We’ve got over a hundred people camped out right now on the grounds of our embassy in Jordan.”

  “Yes, that’s true. Refuge, too. But if Minute Zero arrives, the ambassadors of the big powers can influence events. And no one is bigger than the United States. It’s a platform we don’t use nearly enough. If the United States ambassador goes on the radio with a declaration, we can make it true by just saying so. The streets are under control. There is no fuel shortage. The president has lost the election and will step down. The message to the army, to the police, to the politicians can be clear: The tide is turning and you better get on the right side of history. This is how the United States can shape events if we know what we want and are prepared to act swiftly. Otherwise we are just bystanders.”

  Landon Parker glanced at his watch. “Okay, people. Thank you for coming. Thank you, Dr. Ryker. I think your Minute Zero concept is a useful one and I hope it will inform NEA’s planning for Egypt. Meeting closed.”

  Parker grabbed Judd’s arm. “Thanks, Ryker. Very interesting. Can I have a word?”

  “Of course.”

  “Walk with me, Ryker,” he said, gesturing for Judd to follow.

  The two left the conference room and strolled down the long hallway, illuminated with flickering fluorescent light.

  “You know I’ve always been a champion of S/CRU, right?”

  “Yes, sir. I appreciate your support,” Judd said.

  “You know I stuck my neck out to create your whole goddamn office in the first place, right?”

  “Yes, sir. I know that.”

  “I did it because I want the Secretary to have a legacy. I want to be able, when we are all done here, to point to a few things and say: We. Did. That. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, of course. That’s why I’m here, too.”

  “Then we are on the same page.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So I need you to help me.”

  “Of course.”

  “Actually, Ryker, to be precise, I need you to help me to help you.”

  “Sir?”

  “The Mali coup worked out a few months ago. President Maiga is back in power, Senator McCall has his daughter home safely, and we’ve been able to restart our counterterrorism operations in the Sahara Desert. It’s a good outcome all around. As far as I’m concerned, our success in Mali is a credit to you and to S/CRU.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But not everybody agrees with me on that, as I’m sure you know. There’s been blowback right here inside the building. People are complaining to the Secretary about S/CRU, about your office encroaching on their issues. No one wants that.”

  Judd nodded.

  “To put it bluntly, Ryker, no one wants you.”

  “I realize S/CRU is still new and some people are resistant to a new way of doing things.”

  “It’s the goddamn State Department, Ryker. Of course they are going to resist. It’s part of the DNA of the bureaucracy. It’s just part of the culture. It’s in their blood.”

  “So what do you want me to do, sir?”

  “We need a win for S/CRU. Something big that no one can ignore. We still have to prove the concept. It’s been, what, a year?”

  “Coming up on fifteen months.”

  “Okay, fifteen months. The budget is up for review, and if we are going to keep S/CRU afloat, I’ve got to justify it to the Secretary. She’s supportive, don’t get me wrong. But she’s got a lot of requests on her plate, and the budget office is desperate to cut something. It doesn’t help to have her senior staff bitching about your office. It puts a big fat target on your back.”

  “What you’re saying is S/CRU is facing its own Golden Hour.”

  “Exactly, Ryker. I knew you’d get it.” Parker placed a hand on Judd’s shoulder. “And that’s why I wanted you to brief the NEA team on the Egyptian elections. To get them to seize the initiative. To get them excited about Minute Zero. It’ll help make the case to give S/CRU more time. Got it?”

  “Yes. So you’d like me to join the Egypt team and help them with election planning.”

  “Hell, no, Ryker!” Parker withdrew his hand with a laugh. “The NEA Bureau won’t let you anywhere near Egypt. It’s too damn important. The White House is breathing down their necks. I’d be all for it. But, frankly, it’s not a fight I want to have right now. More importantly, if you wait for Egypt, I don’t think S/CRU will still exist by the time the election rolls around. I’ve got a budget meeting in ten days. We need a big win for S/CRU right now.”

  “How about Cuba? I’ve been doing some new analysis on weak links in the Cuban communist party. I have a new approach that could blow it wide open.”

  “No, not Cuba.”

  “So what exactly do you have in mind, sir?”

  “You’re about to find out. I need you to clear your schedule and get to a task force meeting that starts in”—Parker paused to check his watch—“nine minutes. Can you do it, Ryker?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Good.”

  “But what’s the issue?”

  “Saving democracy.”

  “What country?”

  “Zimbabwe.”

  4.

  Harare, Zimbabwe

  Thursday, 3:00 p.m. Central Africa Time

  Just as the Westminster chimes antique clock struck three, the president’s tea arrived. For as long as anyone could remember, it had been this precise ritual every day. At that very hour, Winston Tinotenda, President of the Republic of Zimbabwe, sat in his tapestry-upholstered chair by the window. At exactly three o’clock a butler would appear with a silver tray bearing a silver pot of Earl Grey tea, a small silver pitcher of heavy cream, and a bowl of local cane sugar crystals. The president would assemble his favorite concoction and stir it daintily with a matching silver spoon. He would then gaze out the window at his garden, watching for the Goliath herons his official bird keeper had brought from the Zambezi river valley. After a few moments he would take a healthy sip.

  “Oh, that’s a lovely cup of tea,” he would declare to the assembled staff, who always responded with enthusiastic agreement. At 3:15 the president would be refreshed and ready to accept visitors.

  President Winston Tinotenda was known to everyone as simply “Tino.” No one called him that to his face, of course. Within earshot he was addressed only by his official name: His Excellency, Father of the Nation, and Warrior of the People, President Winston H. R. Tinotenda. Soon after becoming president, Zimbabwe’s parliament passed a law forbidding public speculation on the tr
ue meaning of his middle initials.

  The president’s face had begun to sag, long vertical lines pointing from his eye sockets to the end of his chin. His heavy eyes were still scarred yellow from childhood malnutrition. One of his doctors in Singapore had offered an experimental treatment to re-whiten his eyes, but he’d dismissed it as uncivilized. In truth, he worried that the injections might be an assassination plot.

  A private barber ensured the president’s head and facial hair were kept tight and clean, while abundant moisturizer was flown in from Switzerland to keep his face supple. The newspaper reports of his vigorous daily exercise were, however, mere plants by the Ministry of Information. The president had long ago given up the battle with his waistline. For special occasions, such as state dinners or his annual four-hour address to the nation, he had taken to wearing a slimming girdle. Mentioning this in the press was also punishable with a lengthy prison sentence.

  One thing Winston Tinotenda had certainly not given up was a taste for fine men’s clothing. A great irritant of his diplomatic jousting with Her Majesty’s Government in London was the curtailment of his shopping trips to Savile Row for hand-tailored suits and Jermyn Street for silk shirts. Several years earlier the British government had revoked his travel visa after complaints about one thing or another.

  Human rights? Vote fraud? Elephants? He could never remember.

  It nevertheless irked him every time he was forced to send one of the few serviceable Air Zimbabwe jets to London to fetch his tailor. “The Prime Minister has lost his bearings,” the tailor assured him. “The Queen never would have allowed it in my day.”

  On this day, just two days before he stood for reelection for a historic seventh term, President Tinotenda was pondering the past. With the weight of history on his shoulders, he was reflecting on those great leaders who’d created the nation of Zimbabwe. The names of the Shona kings of the Monomotapa Empire and Great Zimbabwe had mostly been lost in oral history, but their ruins remained standing.