The Titicaca Effect

by Richard N. Tooker

  “Of course, you’ll have to live in Bolivia,” Maldonado said.

  “Well, actually that sort of solves a problem for me.”

  “Miss Montoya.”

  “Yes, Alicia. She’s really quite special, you know.”

  The two men had started walking together down the corridor to the lobby of the CNN facilities. Maldonado placed his hand on Freeman’s shoulder and said, “I know. You can hire her, too, if you wish. This operation is going to require someone who can translate.”

  “Maybe,” Freeman laughed. “That might be a good idea, and it might not. We’ll have to talk it over. I’m not sure I want to be her boss.”

  As they neared the glass doors to the lobby of the building, Freeman’s cell phone rang. He extracted it from his coat pocket and answered, “Tyler Freeman.” The two men stopped walking as Tyler listened. “Right.” Another long pause, then, “No problem. We’re on our way. Thanks for calling.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Better than all right,” Freeman grinned. “That was the White House chief of staff. President Truesdale wants to see us tonight, just as soon as we can get to Washington. They have an Air Force jet waiting for us.”

  “Excellent.”

  As they exited the lobby to hail a cab, Freeman said, “You know, Mr. President, I’d have taken one percent.”

  “And I would have offered three,” Maldonado replied. “We met in the middle. Not a bad way to start a business relationship.”

  Chapter 13: The White House

  President William Truesdale rose to greet his guests as they were ushered into the oval office. “President Maldonado,” he said as he extended his hand, “I’m so glad you could come in the middle of the night, and on such short notice. Nice to meet you. Please, come in and have a seat.” He shook the Bolivian president’s hand warmly, then turned to greet Tyler Freeman. “And you, Tyler. We meet in person at last.”

  Freeman shook the president’s hand and sat on the couch next to Maldonado. “Yes Sir, Mr. President. Thank you for seeing us.”

  Truesdale remained standing as the door to the oval office opened again and three men entered. “My pleasure, Tyler. Mr. President, I’d like you to meet the other players here tonight.” Maldonado and Freeman stood again to greet the three new arrivals as Truesdale introduced them.

  “Mr. President, allow me to introduce Mark Roberts, head of the Federal Aviation Administration, James Freitag, my chief of staff, and Ken Harris, my science advisor. I’m sorry the secretary of state was not available on such short notice. She’s in the Middle East. Gentlemen, say hello to President Alberto Maldonado of Bolivia.”

  The five men shook hands and exchanged greetings as they took their seats. Freeman eyed Mark Roberts warily, anticipating trouble.

  Truesdale had taken his traditional seat in the chair between the two facing couches. Freitag, sitting to the president’s right, opened the conversation. “Well, Mr. President,” he looked at Maldonado and smiled, “You’re certainly the man of the hour. We saw your interview on Larry King this evening. Quite a surprise, I must say.”

  “In what way?” Maldonado responded, feigning a surprised look. He knew the answer, of course, but he wanted to gain the advantage of getting the chief of staff to play the first hand. The Bolivian understood power and knew how to use it.

  “Well, we were hoping for a chance to talk with you about the Titicaca Effect before you made any public announcements,” Freitag answered. “Our countries have a long history of friendship and cooperation.” He paused, waiting for Maldonado to respond.

  Maldonado simply stared at him expectantly, saying nothing. He was determined to lead this dance. The silence grew heavy in the room.

  The Chief of Staff finally cleared his throat and gave in. “Uh, the thing is, Mr. President, we’re not very happy about the fact that you plan to let just anybody who wants it to have access to the spaceport. We would have expected you to discuss it with us first.”

  Maldonado smiled. “Ah, I see” he responded, then turned to face the U.S. President. “To what end, Mr. President? It would have gained you nothing. The United States will have full access to Espaciopuerto De La Titicaca. In fact, I expect that with your financial resources, you will be using the spaceport as often as you wish to further your own goals for the peaceful use of space.” He had carefully made no mention of Freitag’s oblique reference to other nations.

  Truesdale leaned back in his chair, an exasperated look on his face. He glanced at Freitag and frowned.

  Freitag, taking the cue, interjected, “President Maldonado, the fact of the matter is that we question whether or not it is wise to give governments bent on world domination access to such a powerful tool. We think that’s a serious mistake.”

  Tyler Freeman, who had been silently watching the sparring until this point in the conversation, interrupted. “President Maldonado, if I may?” He looked to the Bolivian President for permission to enter the conversation.

  “Of course, Tyler.”

  Mark Roberts interrupted. “Tyler, this conversation is between two governments. I hardly think that an FAA field worker would have anything meaningful to add at this point in the conversation. Why don’t we let these two men work?” The FAA chief was still angry about his last conversation with Freeman, and it showed.

  “Mr. Freeman speaks for the Bolivian government in this matter,” Maldonado said.

  “What do you mean?” Roberts asked, surprised.

  “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you about this, Mark,” Freeman said. “I’m resigning from the FAA. President Maldonado has asked me to take charge of the development of Espaciopuerto De La Titicaca, and I’ve accepted.”

  Flustered, Roberts almost shouted. “You can’t do that!”

  “Ah, but he can, Mr. Roberts.” Maldonado leaned forward to make his point. “As you Americans say, it’s a free country.” He looked at Truesdale. “Is that not so, Mr. President?”

  “Yes.” Truesdale answered. He didn’t seem surprised. “Tyler has every right to work for the Bolivian government if he wants to.”

  Roberts’ face had turned beet red. “But….” He sputtered, then fell silent, sulking.

  Freitag picked up the conversation. “I suppose we should be happy that you’ve picked someone we already know to run the spaceport. Someone friendly to the United States and its interests.” He turned to look directly into Tyler Freeman’s eyes. “You are friendly, aren’t you, Tyler?”

  Freeman, recognizing a chance to get the upper hand, met the chief of staffs stare without blinking. “Certainly, Mr. Freitag. I’m an American. But I think you’d agree with me that an even-handed implementation of the Bolivian government’s policies would serve the best interests of everyone concerned, including the United States, especially since those polices guarantee access to the spaceport for anyone who wants to use it for peaceful purposes.”

  “I suppose so.” Freitag said, “As long as you can enforce that policy.” He turned to the Bolivian president. “President Maldonado, I formally offer the assistance of the United States in maintaining security at the site.”

  “I was hoping you would,” Maldonado said. “I accept your offer, as long as you understand that your people will be part of a multinational security team.”

  “To include whom?” Truesdale asked.

  “Every country with a stake in keeping the spaceport open,” Freeman answered. “The Russians, the French, and of course, the Chinese. We will also consider anyone else who volunteers resources for the task.”

  “The Chinese?” Roberts sputtered, his face getting even redder. “For Christ’s sake, Tyler, you can’t let the Chinese have a say in the security arrangements. Are you nuts? They can’t be trusted!”

  “That’s an odd thing to say, Mark,” Freeman said. He had the look of a man who wasn’t about to be bullied. “Especially since the United States has been planning an invasion of Bolivia without so much as a phone call to President Maldo
nado.” He turned to face Freitag. “You’ll forgive my saying so, Mr. Freitag, but that hardly seems appropriate, given the ‘long history of friendship’ you mentioned earlier.”

  The room fell silent while the chief of staff, caught off guard, cleared his throat and looked at his feet while he searched for the right response. Finally, he responded, “Well, we’re just conducting military exercises.” There was another long pause as the tension in the room grew. Freeman had sprung a well-laid trap, and Freitag was embarrassed. “Oh, hell,” he finally said. “How did you know/”

  “I have friends in the Air Force,” Freeman answered. “All those years working on plane crashes. The point is, is the invasion still on? Because if it is, we’ve got big problems.”

  “What do you mean?” Truesdale asked.

  “Evidently, Mr. President, you haven’t yet read President Maldonado’s letter regarding the bidding process. It was delivered to the White House this afternoon.”

  “I haven’t seen it.” Truesdale glared at his chief of staff accusingly, then crossed over to his desk and shuffled through the papers in his inbox. He found a multi-page document written on Bolivian “Office of the President” stationery. “Here it is. Looks like it’s at least a dozen pages. Care to give us the Cliff Notes version?”

  “If anyone attempts to invade the site before the multinational security force is in place, it will be destroyed,” Freeman answered.

  Freitag looked stunned. “What? What do you mean, destroyed?”

  “Just what I said. The site will be blown up, including enough of the mineral deposit to make it stop working, forever. There won’t be any more Titicaca Effect. The failsafe mechanisms are already in place, and once they’re triggered, there will be enough time to get our people off the island, but there will be no way to stop the countdown.”

  “You wouldn’t do that. You can’t!” Ken Harris said. The science advisor’s eyes betrayed the panic he was trying to mask in his voice.

  There were a few seconds of uncomfortable silence until the U.S. President resumed the conversation.

  “A doomsday defense,” he smiled, unable to conceal his admiration at the elegant simplicity of the solution that Freeman had devised. “Not bad, Tyler. How is it triggered?”

  “That information is classified,” Freeman answered, keeping his voice unemotional. “With all due respect, it’s enough that you know only that it exists, Mr. President.” There were another few seconds of silence while Truesdale assessed the implications of what he had heard.

  Finally, he stood and said, “Would you gentlemen mind waiting in the outer office? I have some urgent business to attend to. It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes, and then we can reconvene.”

  “Certainly, Mr. President,” Maldonado stood and then headed for the door to the oval office, the rest of the group falling in behind him. As soon as they reached the hallway, Roberts, Freitag and Harris excused themselves and disappeared into an empty office about thirty feet down the hall, leaving President Maldonado and Freeman to fend for themselves.

  “There’s an interesting group dynamic playing out here,” Freeman remarked to his new employer. “They’ve gone off to strategize”.

  “What do you suppose the president is doing in there, Tyler? That ‘urgent business’ seems to have come up quite suddenly.”

  “I think he’s calling off an invasion.”

  “Ah,” Maldonado said. “When you told me what the American military was up to, I wasn’t sure I believed you. Obviously, your sources are good.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President. It seems we’ve accomplished what we came here to do. We’ve stopped the invasion, secured American assistance in keeping the site secure, and as a bonus I got to tell Mark Roberts to his face that he doesn’t have Tyler Freeman to kick around anymore.” Freeman grinned in satisfaction. “Life is good.”

  “I hardy think…..” Maldonado began to reply when he was interrupted by the door to the oval office clicking open. The president of the United States stood in the doorway, looking stricken. “Gentlemen, we have a problem. Please come in.”

  As the three of them went back into the oval office, Freeman asked, “Should we get the others?”

  “Not just now,” Truesdale answered grimly. “We need to talk. As you probably guessed, I’ve been on the phone with the Joint Chiefs of Staff. I ordered them to call off the invasion, but it looks like it might be too late. The troops have already begun to move, and there seems to be some kind of communications problem. We haven’t been able to reach the field commander.” He sat down, looking grim.

  “Shit!” Freeman exploded. “Just what we need.” Then, realizing where he was, he apologized, “I’m sorry, Mr. President, I didn’t mean to swear.”

  “It’s all right, Tyler. There’s been swearing in the oval office before. Didn’t you hear about Nixon and Watergate? It was in all the papers.”

  Freeman laughed, releasing the tension that had been building all night. His mind raced. “Mr. President, I’m not sure I can stop my people from triggering the explosion when they see your troops coming. It depends on whether or not I can reach Roger Malloy or Thaddeus Stout by phone. It’s the middle of the night, and they may have their cell phones turned off. If I can’t get to them, our only option is to send a helicopter out to the island.”

  “That won’t work, Tyler,” Truesdale said. “The American military isn’t going to allow any air traffic in an operation like this. They’ve already begun troop movements, and the island will be sealed tight.”

  “Then all I can do is try. Is there an office I can use?”

  Truesdale stood, crossed the room and opened a side door. “Use my study. Just tell the operator who you are and what number to call. I’ve already alerted the communications office that they’re to help you in any way they can.”

  Freeman started through the door with Maldonado right behind him. He stopped and looked intently into Truesdale’s eyes. “Mr. President,” he began, “do I have your word….”

  “Absolutely, Tyler,” Truesdale answered before he could complete the question. “The operation will stop just as soon as we can get through to the field commander. And if I’m not able to stop it, you have the word of the President of the United States that we’ll immediately give back any territory we capture. Now, get to work. We can’t let that island explode. I’ll be in the situation room. If you need me, the Secret Service agent will find me.”

  Chapter 14: Doomsday

  Thaddeus Stout jolted awake. Groggy, he looked into the dimly-lit face of the Bolivian soldier who was prodding him.

  “What the hell are you doing? I’m trying to sleep here!”

  “So sorry, Dr. Stout,” the soldier said. “General Linares asked me to wake you. There are soldiers.”

  “Soldiers? What do you mean, soldiers? Where?” Stout rubbed his eyes and blinked.

  “Everywhere, Dr. Stout. General Linares says for you to come quickly.”

  The two men emerged from the tent, Stout with a blanket draped over his shoulders to ward off the intense cold. The altiplano itself was always chilly at night, but the temperature on the small island in the middle of the huge lake was at least ten degrees colder. Stout had requested that his tent be set up in an indentation on the leeward side of the island, away from the rest of the personnel and the prevailing winds. He thought it might be warmer, and since he was a light sleeper he wanted to be far away from the other tents to avoid the night noises associated with a military encampment that was never fully asleep.

  As they topped the ridge, Stout could hear shouting and gunfire. Instinctively, both men dropped to the ground.

  “What’s happening?” Stout grunted.

  “I don’t know. I was with the general in the command tent and we heard gunshots coming from the shore on the other side of the island. The general sent me to get you.”

  Stout could see flashlights sweeping the terraced hillside in the hands of a dozen soldiers who were coming toward th
em. He couched lower, then scrambled off the trail, trying to find a place to hide. The sparse vegetation on the Island of the Moon, consisting mainly of stubby clumps of grass, didn’t provide much by way of cover. When one of the flashlight beams found him, he froze, hoping to avoid detection by staying still. It was a futile effort.

  “Stay where you are! Stand up and keep your hands behind your head!” The shout came from one of the advancing soldiers. It had a distinctly American accent.

  Stout rose slowly, his fingers interlaced behind his neck. “Who are you? What’s happening here?”

  “Are you Dr. Stout?” The soldier had come into full view now. The flashlight was aimed at the ground and in the reflected light Stout could see that he was an American marine, a lieutenant, armed with a mean-looking automatic weapon he could not identify. Night vision glasses had been pushed up onto the soldier’s forehead.