Lethal Trajectories

by Michael Conley

  In fact, Wang was surprised that his dinner with Jack was still on. Given Jack’s new assignment and the logistics, time, and clearances required to make it happen, this had to be more than a casual dinner between old friends. Perhaps, like his boss, the Americans found value in personal connections with foreign power structures. His unique relationship with Jack was something neither side wanted to fritter away. Deep in reflection on these unusual possibilities, Peng exploded from his chair when he heard a knock on the door. He opened the door with glee.

  “Peng, old friend, someone told me I might be able to get a couple of free beers up here. Is that right?” Jack McCarty said with an impish grin.

  Wang laughed and hugged his old friend, and for the next several minutes they forgot about the world and set to renewing their friendship with an ease that suggested they had never been separated.

  “Jack, I’m so sorry to hear about President Burkmeister’s illness. We had—excuse me—we have the highest regard for him and have been particularly appreciative of the fair and balanced approach he has taken with respect to the Chunxiao Incident.”

  “Thanks, Peng, I appreciate that. Clayton told me the president had not been feeling well over the past few weeks, but no one—not even the president—had any idea how sick he really was. It’s still hard to believe.” Jack helped himself to one of the Heineken beers Peng had on ice and lobbed one at Wang.

  “You know, Peng, you mentioned the president’s position on Chunxiao, and I’ve got to tell you a little secret. Clayton felt you had something to do with it.” Wang looked at him quizzically but had the good sense to remain quiet.

  “Your boss really impressed the president with his calm and reasoned approach on the Chunxiao matter. The president shared parts of his conversation with Lin Cheng with his national security advisors, and Clayton thought at the time that you might have had something to do with the reasonable approach your boss had taken.”

  “You give me way too much credit,” Peng said, smiling, “but thanks for your comment anyway. Lin Cheng really is a thoughtful and reasonable man and usually approaches every situation with an open perspective. I might have suggested that he merely be himself, but whatever he said, it was him and not me. I’m glad to hear this though, because he really feels the crisis has to be worked out in a rational manner.”

  Feeling ill at ease given his surreptitious mission, Wang changed the subject. “How about you and Clayton, how are you two doing with everything that has happened in the past couple of days?”

  “Well, Clayton’s no stranger to big challenges. He’s been close to the president since before the election. Burkmeister treated Clayton as far more than a ceremonial vice president, and Clayton was involved in almost every domestic and international decision-making effort involving the White House. He’s no novice in these matters, but still, your perspective changes when you suddenly become the one with bottom-line responsibility for the welfare of an entire nation. I suspect Clayton is still internalizing all this, but he’s a resilient guy, as you know.”

  “Yes he is, Jack, and I still remember the great discussions the three of us used to have over beer on our front porch. Those were the best days of my life,” Wang said. The thoughtful look in his eyes suggested he wished those days could happen again.

  “Thanks, Peng. I think you know that Clayton and I feel the same way about you.” There was an awkward silence as Jack seemed to struggle with what he was about to say.

  “Peng, I know and respect you too much to not be totally honest with you.” Wang, puzzled, waited patiently for his friend to find the words he needed.

  “We are both in a unique situation, and there’s no precedent for it that I can recall. We’re each close to one of the two most powerful men on Earth, and we represent countries that have not always seen eye to eye. The Saudi situation, however it turns out, could easily widen the gap. Both the president and Clayton thought it was important to maintain a relationship with you that went above and beyond normal diplomatic channels. I guess that, under the rules of full disclosure, I wanted to be up-front with you about that.”

  Laughing loudly, Wang said, “I’m relieved to hear you say that, because my boss had roughly the same thing in mind with respect to you. This was even before he knew about the president’s health and Clayton’s ascendency to presidency. I felt terribly uneasy about it, but it made good sense.”

  With this unspoken barrier lifted, they started to reminisce about the old days. The doorbell rang, and Wang motioned Jack into the other room, knowing that it was the dinner cart.

  Their steaks were great, and the bottle of wine they split made for more intimate conversation on a number of topics. They kept returning to the most recent climate-change data and the world energy crisis, and they adjourned to the easy chairs in the living area after dinner to continue their conversation.

  “Jack, this whole Saudi Arabian thing could get ugly. We both know how precarious the global oil situation is, and if the new Saudi leaders take their oil production out of the equation for any length of time, this will become a very dangerous world.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. This could bring our two countries closer to war than at any other time in history. The last great crisis the United States had with a major adversary was the Cuban missile blockade back in 1962. Cooler heads prevailed, but both nations were on the brink of nuclear Armageddon. Who knows, maybe everyone learned to coexist better after that crisis.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” Wang replied emphatically, “We live in a zero-sum world, I think. Solutions crafted in black-and-white terms produce only winners and losers. In the final analysis, the winners put so much of their national treasury into winning that it becomes, at best, a Pyrrhic victory. Not to throw stones, but what did America really win in Iraq or Afghanistan? For that matter, what will either China or Japan gain from a war over Chunxiao? The truth is, both countries would be far better off sharing the Chunxiao gas, but national pride gets in the way.”

  Jack nodded. “Do you see any way around it, Peng, or are we constrained by the chains of national pride and the heck with everything else?”

  Wang rubbed his eyes as he thought about his question. It was such a relief to be able to share such things openly with a friend others might consider an adversary.

  “I’ve often wondered,” he responded, “what would happen if world leaders sat down in a room like we are now doing, and conversationally approached problems with an eye to finding mutual solutions? Instead, we waste our time playing the game. Your president has to satisfy his Congress and party, and my chairman has a hardline Politburo and party to satisfy. Both sides work so hard to satisfy their own constituencies that they lose sight of the greater, common good that might come about if more time was spent on finding common solutions. Politics, it’s always about politics.”

  They sat quietly for a spell, contemplating their challenges—so similar, and yet so different. It was like being back at Stanford, debating what world leaders should and shouldn’t do—but they were now in a position to take their ideas beyond the debates-over-beer stage. It was all so surreal, and yet it was reality.

  “Peng, you can chalk up what I’m about to say as the product of too much to drink, but do you think there is even a remote chance we could get your boss and Clayton to sit down for a discussion like this one?”

  Stunned by the suggestion, Wang pondered it before answering. He remembered Lin Cheng’s desire to improve relations with the West, but this might be pushing the envelope of his intent.

  “I don’t know, Jack. I honestly don’t know. But we should at least think about the proposition. I have grave fears over what each of our countries might feel compelled to do if the Saudi oil embargo lasts for any length of time.”

  “I agree. I’m probably speaking out of turn, as Clayton’s not even president yet, and I’m not sure how willing he’d be to take on the forces that would oppose it.”

  “Here’s a thought for you, J
ack. Lin Cheng will arrive in New York late tonight for the Chunxiao meetings at the United Nations. My guess is that he’ll be around for a few days and will have a fairly light weekend. Do you think there would be any way for all of us to meet quietly somewhere to kick around ideas? I say this not knowing whether Lin Cheng would be interested, and I certainly realize you are in the same boat.”

  They talked for another hour about the possibilities and logistics of an informal secret summit. The more they talked the more plausible the idea sounded.

  “I know one thing, Peng. If this Saudi oil crisis brings our two nations to the brink of war or worse, as it well might, we could never forgive ourselves—nor expect forgiveness—if we failed to at least bounce it off our bosses. What do you think?”

  “I agree. I will discuss it with Lin Cheng when I meet with him tomorrow morning. Is it fair to say you will do the same with Clayton or Burkmeister?”

  “It’s a deal!” said Jack.

  They gave each other a long, firm handshake, and Jack left for the private jet waiting at the Teterboro Airport to return him to Washington. He was scheduled for an eight o’clock breakfast meeting with Clayton and would drop this interesting piece of news on him. Stranger things have happened, he mused.

  30

  Naval Observatory, Washington, DC

  28 September 2017

  Jack McCarty was operating on pure adrenaline. He was actually a little early for his meeting at the vice-presidential residence, but that would give him a few minutes to play with his two nieces, Melissa and Amy. He wondered how they would adjust to life in the White House and hoped they wouldn’t be hounded by the media like other presidential families. But then, why would they be any different? He was delighted to see Maggie open the front door and wave at him as his limo pulled up the driveway.

  “Hi, Jack, she cheerfully shouted, dressed in a navy blue pinstripe suit, “C’mon in and have a hot cup of coffee. Clayton will be down in a few minutes.”

  “How are you holding up, Maggie?” he replied as they hugged each other and walked through the front door.

  “Life has changed already. The kids just left for school with an added Secret Service detail, and already everything we do seems to be under more scrutiny. Even my closest friends are treating me more deferentially, and I don’t even think they know they’re doing it. The media has called for private interviews, and events I attend—like the one I’m off to today—are more widely attended. How about you, have you noticed any changes since everything happened?”

  “It’s hard to avoid,” Jack said, mentally recalling some of his recent activities. “Even my closest partners and business associates at IEE treat me more like an alien power from another planet than their boss. We discussed transition details for company leadership the other day, and it wasn’t until we were deep in the conversation that things seemed to get back to the way they were. But yeah, I can notice the difference already, and I can’t say I like it.”

  “What don’t you like, Jackson?” asked Clayton as he walked into the foyer.

  “Oh, Maggie and I were just comparing notes on what it’s like living with a rock star. By the way, do you have anything to eat in this joint?”

  They adjourned to Clayton’s den, where a table was set for two and breakfast was served before they could finish their first cup of coffee together.

  “So, tell me about Wang Peng,” Clayton asked with more than a little curiosity in his voice, “How’s he doing, and how did your meeting with him go?”

  Rubbing his eyes, which he suspected were bloodshot from booze and lack of sleep, Jack began a detailed description of the meeting, including the candid admissions that it was more than a casual meeting between old friends.

  “As the night wore on, we had a very serious discussion about the possibility of a low-profile summit meeting between you, Lin Cheng, and us two sidekicks—maybe even President Burkmeister, if you think he might like to attend. Peng and I recalled our bull sessions at Stanford, and that led us to speculate on how productive it might be if the two world leaders met outside the limelight of diplomatic protocols and the press; you know, just two regular guys talking over their concerns on issues that mattered to them. The more we talked, the better the idea sounded. We agreed that he would run it by Lin Cheng this morning and I’d bounce it off you. What do you think, Clayton, any interest—if it could be done?”

  “It’s an intriguing idea, and I think it has a lot of merit, but I can’t imagine the Chinese going along with something as spontaneous as this. If nothing else, the logistical and security issues would be a nightmare.”

  “I know, Clayton, but would you feel comfortable having a small, intimate meeting, devoid of diplomats, position papers, and the like, if it could be worked out?”

  “The short answer is yes, I would be more than interested, but before we go too far, there’s some news I need to share with you.” Jack waited expectantly, enthused by Clayton’s interest in his idea.

  “As you know, we had two Situation Room meetings yesterday over the Saudi Arabian takeover. The coup was carried out by a powerful internal faction with formal ties to a strong Monotheistic sect. They’re well financed, and the leadership includes senior military officers. They’re publicly blaming the Americans and Israel for the uprising and are now calling themselves ‘protectors’ of Saudi society. All hell has broken loose around the world, and we’re calling in every chip we have with Israel in asking them to not launch a preemptive strike before we can get things sorted out.”

  Jack wondered how long they could keep Israel from reacting to what was obviously a threat to their very existence.

  “But, there’s more news: after last night’s meeting, the president pulled me aside for a private conversation. He told me his plan for an orderly transition of leadership may not be working as hoped. He’s seeing leadership confusion in his national security team and even in conversations with foreign leaders, including the Israeli leaders. He was concerned that America may not be speaking with the single voice of leadership required in these difficult times. He felt the Saudi Arabian situation could easily be the crisis of this decade and thought, given his health, and so forth, that the succession should take place before October fourteenth. He asked me to think about it and get back to him.”

  “Wow, that’s some news. How do you feel about it?”

  “I have mixed feelings. I know what he means by the dualistic look it gives the government and the confusing signals it sends, but there’s so much left to do before I take the big job.”

  Jack looked down at his vibrating cell phone to see who the caller was. Fewer than ten people had his number, and they never called unless it was important. The caller ID flashed the name “Wang Peng,” and he showed Clayton the screen. Clayton motioned him to take the call.

  “Hey, Peng, how are you this morning?” Clayton was all ears.

  “I also had a good time, Peng. Dinner was great and the conversation was better. Almost like the old days. It had a more serious ring this time though, wouldn’t you say?”

  “You’ve got an answer from Lin Cheng already? What did he say?” Jack listened carefully and mimed writing at Clayton, who dug out a pad and pen.

  “Well, as a matter of fact, I’m sitting here right now with Clayton, and he was more than a little interested in the idea. Do you really think we can pull it off, Peng? This is simply incredible.”

  “To sum up then, your boss might be interested in a quiet informal meeting if it could be done in secrecy and all necessary security arrangements could be made. He could make himself available on Saturday but would have to have communications access to his chain of command and Politburo, is that correct?”

  “Clayton would also be interested, but as you might have guessed, there are changes in process in our government and we’d have to get our ducks in order. Can you keep this on hold for a couple of hours, Peng, and I’ll get back to you before noon?”

  “Great. Yeah, he’s here. Would yo
u like to say hello to him?” He handed Clayton the phone and scratched out a number of notes as Clayton greeted his old friend. In the meantime, Jack had a brainstorm, and he was happy when Clayton said his good-bye to Wang Peng and hung up.

  “Here’s an idea for you, Clayton. What if you were to call the president about his succession proposition and ask if it could be postponed a few days? Tell him what just transpired here and ask if we could use the most secure and press-free facility in the country—Camp David—for our meeting. Then, with the president highly visible in the White House over the weekend, the hounds would be less likely to sniff out our meeting. This whole Saudi Arabian crisis is going to hinge on how the United States and China react, and if we could form some kind of understanding ahead of time it could make a huge difference in how we approach it on the international stage. As your chief of staff, I’m strongly advising you to pursue this. What do you say?”

  Clayton smiled. They both knew he never had to worry about Jack becoming a yes-man. Summit meetings normally involved months of meticulous preparation, research, position papers, and an agenda hammered out at lower levels. This was madness, and it was amazing that Lin Cheng had agreed to pursue the idea on such short notice. Still, it was a unique situation. Jack could practically watch as Clayton’s gut reaction gradually won over his brain’s logical objections and he made his decision.

  “Jack, this is the craziest idea you’ve ever brought to me and makes me seriously question your sanity, but count me in. Sit tight for a few minutes while I call the president and tell him what we’re proposing. If he thinks we’re crazy, I’d have to defer to his judgment, but I think you know that.” Jack nodded and Clayton made the phone call.

  After fifteen minutes of intense discussion, the president reluctantly agreed that difficult challenges required unique approaches. While this one pushed the envelope, the president told Clayton it was his call to make and he would be fully supportive of it.

  “It works for us, Jack,” Clayton said with excitement. “If Wang and Lin Cheng are agreeable, Camp David is ours for the weekend. Wang can bring along his security specialists to rake the rooms for electronic bugs, and we’ll make sure Lin Cheng has secure communications access to anywhere. We’d need to know the number of people in attendance, but I assume it would be small. We’ll also provide unmarked helicopter transportation to and from Camp David and their departure point.