by Tom Clancy
On the President's right was his Chief of Staff, Arnold van Damm. This was, after all, a political assembly, and political advice was of paramount import. Next to van Damm was Elizabeth Elliot, the new National Security Advisor. She looked rather severe today, Ryan noted, dressed in an expensive suit with a wispy cravat knotted around her pretty, thin neck. Beside her was Marcus Cabot, Director of Central Intelligence, and Ryan's immediate boss.
The second-rank people were farther away from the seat of power, of course. Ryan and Adler were at the far end of the table, both to separate them from the President and to allow their fuller visibility to the senior members of the conference when they began speaking.
“This your year, Dennis?” the President asked the SecDef.
“You bet it is!” Bunker said. I've waited long enough, but with those two new linebackers, this year we're going to Denver."
Then you'll meet the Vikings there,“ Talbot observed. ”Dennis, you had the first draft pick, why didn't you take Tony Wills?"
“I have three good running backs. I needed linebackers, and that kid from Alabama is the best I've ever seen.”
“You'll regret it,” the Secretary of State pronounced. Tony Wills had been drafted from Northwestern. An academic All-American, Rhodes Scholar, winner of the Heisman Trophy, and the kid who had almost single-handedly resurrected Northwestern as a football school, Wills had been Talbot's prize student. By all accounts an exceptional young man, people were already talking about his future in politics. Ryan thought that premature, even in America 's changing political landscape. “He'll kick your butt, third game of the season. And then again in the Super Bowl, if your team makes it that far, which I doubt, Dennis.”
“We'll see,” Bunker snorted.
The President laughed as he arranged his papers. Liz Elliot tried and failed to hide her disapproval, Jack noted from twenty feet away. Her papers were already arranged, her pen in its place to make notes, and her face impatient at the locker-room talk at her end of the table. Well, she had the job she'd angled for, even if it had taken a death — Ryan had heard the details by now — to get it for her.
“I think we'll call the meeting to order,” President Fowler said. Noise in the room stopped cold. “Mr. Adler, could you fill us in on what happened on your trip?”
“Thank you, Mr. President. I would say that most of the pieces are in place. The Vatican agrees to the terms of our proposal unconditionally, and is ready to host the negotiations at any time.”
“How did Israel react?” Liz Elliot asked, to show that she was on top of things.
“Could have been better,” Adler said neutrally. “They'll come, but I expect serious resistance.”
“How serious?”
“Anything they can do to avoid being nailed down, they'll do. They are very uncomfortable with this idea.”
This was hardly unexpected, Mr. President," Talbot added.
“What about the Saudis?” Fowler asked Ryan.
“Sir, my read is that they'll play. Prince Ali was very optimistic. We spent an hour with the King, and his reaction was cautious but positive. Their concern is that the Israelis won't do it, no matter what pressure we put on them, and they are worried about being left hanging. Setting that aside for the moment, Mr. President, the Saudis appear quite willing to accept the plan as drafted, and to accept their participatory role in its implementation. They offered some modifications, which I outlined in my briefing sheet. As you can see none of them are substantively troublesome. In fact, two of them look like genuine enhancements.”
“The Soviets?”
“Scott handled that,” Secretary Talbot replied. “They have signed off on the idea, but their read also is that Israel will not cooperate. President Narmonov cabled us day before yesterday that the plan is wholly compatible with his government's policy. They are willing to underwrite the plan to the extent that they will restrict arms sales to the other nations in the region to cover defensive needs only.”
“Really?” Ryan blurted.
“That does clobber one of your predictions, doesn't it?” DCI Cabot noted with a chuckle.
“How so?” the President asked.
“Mr. President, arms sales to that area are a major cash cow for the Sovs. For them to reduce those sales will cost them billions in hard-currency earnings that they really need.”
Ryan leaned back and whistled. “That is surprising.”
“They also want to have a few people at the negotiations. That seems fair enough. The arms-sales aspect of the treaty — if we get that far — will be set up as a side-bar codicil between America and the Soviets.”
Liz Elliot smiled at Ryan. She'd predicted that development.
“In return, the Soviets want some help on farm commodities, and a few trade credits,” Talbot added. “It's cheap at the price. Soviet cooperation in this affair is hugely important to us, and the prestige associated with the treaty is important for them. It's a very equitable deal for the both of us. Besides, we have all that wheat lying around and doing nothing.”
“So, the only stumbling block is Israel?” Fowler asked the table. He was answered with nods. “How serious?”
“Jack,” Cabot said, turning to his deputy, “how did Avi Ben Jakob react to things?”
“We had dinner the day before I flew to Saudi Arabia. He looked very unhappy. Exactly what he knew I do not know. I didn't give him very much to warn his government with, and —”
“What does 'not very much' mean, Ryan?” Elliot snapped down the table.
“Nothing,” Ryan answered. “I told him to wait and see. Intelligence people don't like that. I would speculate that he knew something was up, but not what.”
“The looks I got at the table over there were pretty surprised,” Adler said to back Ryan up. “They expected something, but what I gave them wasn't it.”
The Secretary of State leaned forward. “ Mr. President, Israel has lived for two generations under the fiction that they and they alone are responsible for their national security. It's become almost a religious belief over there — and despite the fact that we give them vast amounts of arms and other grants every year, it is their government policy to live as though that idea were true. Their institutional fear is that once they mortgage their national security to the good will of others, they become vulnerable to the discontinuance of that good will.”
“You get tired of hearing that,” Liz Elliot observed coldly.
Maybe you wouldn't if six million of your relatives got themselves turned into air pollution, Ryan thought to himself. How the hell can we not be sensitive to memories of the Holocaust?
“I think we can take it as given that a bilateral defense treaty between the United States and Israel will sail through the Senate,” Arnie van Damm said, speaking for the first time.
“How quickly can we deploy the necessary units to Israeli territory?” Fowler wanted to know.
“It would take roughly five weeks from the time you push the button, sir,” the SecDef replied. The 10th Armored Cavalry Regiment is forming up right now. That's essentially a heavy brigade force, and it'll defeat — make that 'destroy'—any armored division the Arabs could throw at it. To that we'll add a Marine unit for show, and with the home-port deal at Haifa, we'll almost always have a carrier battle-group in the Eastern Med. Toss in the F-16 wing from Sicily, and you've got a sizable force. The military will like it, too. It gives them a big play area to train in. We'll use our base in the Negev the same way we use the National Training Center in Fort Irwin. The best way to keep that unit tight and ready is to train the hell out of it. It'll be expensive to run it that way, of course, but —"
“But we'll pay that price,” Fowler said, cutting Bunker off gently. “It's more than worth the expenditure, and we won't have any problems on the Hill keeping that funded, will we, Arnie?”
“Any congressman who bitches about this will have his career cut short,” the Chief of Staff said confidently.
“So, it's ju
st a matter of eliminating Israeli opposition?” Fowler went on.
“Correct, Mr. President,” Talbot replied for the assembly.
“What's the best way to do that?” This Presidential question was rhetorical. That answer was already delineated. The current Israeli government, like all which had preceded it for a decade, was a shaky coalition of disparate interests. The right kind of shove from Washington would bring it down. “What about the rest of the world?”
“The NATO countries will not be a problem. The rest of the UN will go along grudgingly,” Elliot said, before Talbot could speak. “So long as the Saudis play ball on this, the Islamic world will fall into line. If Israel resists, they'll be as alone as they have ever been.”
“I don't like putting too much pressure on them,” Ryan said.
“Dr. Ryan, that's not within your purview,” Elliot said gently. A few heads moved slightly, and a few eyes narrowed, but no one rose to Jack's defense.
“That is true, Dr. Elliot,” Ryan said, after the awkward silence. “It is also true that too much pressure might have an effect opposite from what the President intends. Then there is a moral dimension that needs to be considered.”
“Dr. Ryan, this is all about the moral dimension,” the President said. “The moral dimension is simply put: there has been enough war there, and it is time to put an end to it. Our plan is a means of doing that.”
Our plan, Ryan heard him say. Van Damm's eyes flickered for a moment, then went still. Jack realized that he was as alone here in this room as the President intended Israel to be. He looked down at his notes and kept his mouth shut. Moral dimension, my ass! Jack thought angrily. This is about setting footprints in the sands of time, and about the political advantages of being seen as The Great Peacemaker. But it wasn't a time for cynicism, and though the plan was no longer Ryan's, it was a worthy one.
“If we have to squeeze them, how do we go about it?” President Fowler asked lightly. “Nothing harsh, just to send a quiet and intelligible message.”
“There's a major shipment of aircraft spares ready to go next week. They're replacing the radar systems on all their F-15 fighters,” Secretary of Defense Bunker said. “There are other things, too, but that radar system is very important to them. It's brand-new. We're just installing it ourselves. The same is true for the F-16's new missile system. Their Air Force is their crown jewel. If we are forced to withhold that shipment for technical reasons, they'll get the signal loud and clear.”
“Can it be done quietly?” Elliot asked.
“We can let them know that if they make noise, it won't help,” van Damm said. “If the speech goes over well at the UN, as it should, we might be able to obviate their congressional lobby.”
“It might be preferable to sweeten the deal by allowing them to get more arms instead of crippling systems they already have.” That was Ryan's last toss. Elliot slammed the door on the DDCI.
“We can't afford that.”
The Chief of Staff agreed: “We can't possibly squeeze any more defense dollars out of the budget, even for Israel. The money just isn't there.”
“I'd prefer to let them know ahead of time — if we really intend to squeeze them,” the Secretary of State said.
Liz Elliot shook her head. “No. If they need to get the message, let them get it the hard way. They like to play tough. They ought to understand.”
“Very well.” The President made a last note on his pad. “We hold until the speech next week. I change the speech to include an invitation to enter formal negotiations in Rome starting two weeks from yesterday. We let Israel know that they either play ball or face the consequences, and that we're not kidding this time. We send that message as Secretary Bunker suggested, and do that by surprise. Anything else?”
“Leaks?” van Damm said quietly.
“What about Israel?” Elliot asked Scott Adler.
“I told them that this was highly sensitive, but—”
“Brent, get on the phone to their Foreign Minister, and tell them that if they start making noise prior to the speech, there will be major consequences.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“And as far as this group is concerned, there will be no leaks.” That Presidential command was aimed at the far end of the table. “Adjourned.”
Ryan took his papers and walked outside. Marcus Cabot joined him in the hall after a moment.
“You should know when to keep your mouth shut, Jack.”
“Look, Director, if we press them too hard—”
“We'll get what we want.”
“I think it's wrong, and I think it's dumb. We'll get what we want. Okay, so it takes a few extra months, we'll still get it. We don't have to threaten them.”
“The President wants it done that way.” Cabot ended the discussion by walking off.
“Yes, sir,” Jack responded to thin air.
The rest of the people filed out. Talbot gave Ryan a wink and a nod. The rest, except for Adler, avoided eye contact. Adler came over after a whisper from his boss.
“Nice try, Jack. You almost got yourself fired a few minutes ago.”
That surprised Ryan. Wasn't he supposed to say what he thought? “Look, Scott, if I'm not allowed to—”
“You're not allowed to cross the President, not this one. You do not have the rank to make adverse advice stick. Brent was ready to make that point, but you got in the way — and you lost, and you didn't leave him any room to maneuver. So, next time keep it zipped, okay?”
“Thanks for your support,” Jack answered with an edge on his voice.
“You blew it, Jack. You said the right thing the wrong way. Learn from that, will you?” Adler paused. The boss also says 'well done' for your work in Riyadh. If you'd just learn when to shut up, he says, you'd be a lot more effective."
“Okay, thanks.” Adler was right, of course. Ryan knew it.
“Where you headed?”
“Home. I don't have anything left to do today at the office.”
“Come along with us. Brent wants to talk to you. We'll have a light dinner at my shop.” Adler led Jack to the elevator.
“Well?” the President asked, still back in the room.
“I'd say it looks awfully good,” van Damm said. “Especially if we can bring this one in before the elections.”
“Be nice to hold a few extra seats,” Fowler agreed. The first two years of his administration had not been easy. Budget problems, added to an economy that couldn't seem to decide what it wanted to do, had crippled his programs and saddled his tough managerial style with more question marks than exclamation points. The congressional elections in November would be the first real public response to their new President, and early poll numbers looked exceedingly iffy. It was the general way of things that the President's party lost seats in off-year elections, but this President could not afford to lose many. “Shame we have to pressure the Israelis, but…”
“Politically it'll be worth it — if we can bring the treaty off.”
“We can,” Elliot said, leaning against the doorframe. “If we make the time line, we can have the treaties out of the Senate by October 16th.”
“You are one ambitious lady, Liz,” Arnold noted. “Well, I have work to do. If you will excuse me, Mr. President?”
“See you tomorrow, Arnie.”
Fowler walked over to the windows facing Pennsylvania Avenue. The blistering heat of early August rose in shimmers from the streets and sidewalks. Across the street in Lafayette Park, there remained two anti-nuclear-weapons signs. That garnered a smirk and a snort from Fowler. Didn't those dumb hippies know that nukes were a thing of the past? He turned.
“Join me for dinner, Elizabeth?”
Dr. Elliot smiled at her boss. “Love to, Bob.”
The one good thing about his brother's involvement with drugs was that he had left nearly a hundred thousand dollars cash behind in a battered suitcase. Marvin Russell had taken that and driven to Minneapolis, where he'd bought pres
entable clothes, a decent set of luggage, and a ticket. One of the many things he'd learned in prison was the proper methodology for obtaining an alternate identity. He had three of them, complete with passports, that no cop knew anything about. He'd also learned about keeping a low profile. His clothes were presentable, but not flashy. He purchased a stand-by ticket on a flight he expected to be underbooked, saving himself another few hundred dollars. That $91,545.00 had to last him a long time, and life got expensive where he was heading. Life also got very cheap, he knew, but not in terms of money. A warrior could face that, he decided early on.
After a layover in Frankfurt, he traveled on in a southerly direction. No fool, Russell had once participated in an international conference of sorts — he'd sacrificed a total identity-set for that trip, four years previously. At the conference he'd made a few contacts. Most importantly of all, he'd learned of contact procedures. The international terrorist community was a careful one. It had to be, with all the forces arrayed against it, and Russell did not know his luck — of the three contact numbers he remembered, one had long since been compromised and two Red Brigade members rolled quietly up with it. He used one of the others, and that number still worked. The contact had led him to a dinner meeting in Athens where he'd been checked and cleared for further travel. Russell hurried back to his hotel — the local food did not agree with him — and sat down to wait for the phone to ring. To say he was nervous was an understatement. For all Marvin's caution, he knew that he was vulnerable. With not even a pocketknife to defend himself — travelling with weapons was far too dangerous — he was an easy mark for any cop who carried a gun. What if this contact line had been burned? If it had, he'd be arrested here, or summoned into a carefully prepared ambush from which he'd be lucky to escape alive. European cops weren't as mindful of constitutional rights as the Americans — but that thought died a rapid and quiet death. How kindly had the FBI treated his brother?
Damn! One more Sioux warrior shot down like a dog. Not even time to sing his Death Song. They'd pay for that. But only if he lived long enough, Marvin Russell corrected himself.