Power curve, p.34
Power Curve, page 34
Martini was still in a foul mood when he stomped into the command post. Pete Townly was waiting and recognized the symptoms immediately. A strong sense of self-preservation warned him to disappear, but he felt suicidal. “Sir, I’ve got something you need to see.”
“Can it wait?” Martini growled.
“It’s perishable, sir.”
Martini stiffened. What did Townly have that made him so adamant? “This had better be good,” he muttered, following him into the Intel vault. He was not disappointed, and four minutes later, he charged out of the vault and into the command post. His vice commander saw him coming and vacated his seat in the Battle Cab. Martini dropped his helmet and flak vest and flopped into the chair. “Gentlemen, Intel claims we have a window of opportunity. The battle is hanging by a hair and can go either way. Townly thinks that all we need to do is close the runway on Kumejima. That should deprive the Chinese of air cover and allow Japanese fighters to get within range of the Chinese fleet and use their standoff missiles. I believe him. But we got to act now.”
He turned to his Operations Group commander. “I think our Strike Eagles can do it. Get the Forty-fourth working on a package while I see if I can get permission.”
Washington, D.C.
Bender picked at his salad and pushed it aside. It was late Tuesday evening, and he was sitting in his office trying to think like a national security advisor. Think big picture, he told himself. Although he had a moral and intellectual view of the world order, he accepted that his job was to help Maddy Turner realize hers. But how did she see the world? He chastised himself for not knowing and never asking. And where did he get off thinking of the president of the United States as Maddy?
Out of frustration, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the battle in the East China Sea. It’s midnight here and two o’clock Wednesday afternoon there, he calculated, and they’re still going at it. The Jedis in the Pentagon, that elite group of wizards who looked into the future of warfare, had predicted that naval warfare would be the nautical cousin of modern land war—short and very exciting. But they were wrong. This was turning into a prolonged slugging match where maneuver and speed over a large piece of ocean was life. His secure phone rang, bringing him back to the moment and his cage.
It was Hazelton calling from the Situation Room. “CINC PAC wants to attack the Chinese airfield on Kumejima. He says it is urgent and wants an immediate answer. Mr. Shaw is here and won’t disturb the president. He says she’s exhausted and has left specific instructions not to intervene unless we are under direct attack.”
Bender stood up and bit off the profanity that was forming on his lips. Instead, he slammed his left hand down on the desk, venting his frustration. The tips of his fingers caught the salad fork, and it flipped up, peppering his tie with salad dressing. “I’m on my way,” he said. He rushed out of his office, dabbing at his tie with a napkin.
Hazelton was waiting for him at the door of the Situation Room. She handed him the hard copy of CINC PAC’s message and waited while he read. “How do you read this?” Bender asked.
She walked him through the latest message traffic. “It all tracks. For the next ten to twelve hours, Kumejima is the key. If we can shut the airfield down, the Japanese can get in range of the Chinese fleet to use their standoff missiles. If we can also neutralize some of those Silk Worm missile batteries on Kumejima, it should be decisive. But the president needs to decide now.”
“Why can’t it wait?” Shaw asked, his southern drawl thick and sweet. “They’ve been going at it for over twelve hours and don’t seem to be doing much more than scarin’ each other.”
“To be exact,” Bender said, “they’ve been fighting for sixteen hours. That’s a long time.” He glanced at the TV monitor. “And six ships sunk, four burning or dead in the water, five submarines down, over thirty aircraft destroyed, is far beyond ‘scarin’ each other.’”
“So why is it so damn important for us to get involved now?” Shaw demanded.
Bender chose to ignore him. “Contact the NMCC and see if General Overmeyer is available. We need to speak to him.” He turned to Shaw. “Wake the president. We’re going to need a decision.”
Shaw’s face was unreadable. “This is the first chance she’s had at some rest since Monday.” He cocked his head to one side and looked at Bender’s tie. “Have a nice dinner there?” Shaw smiled when he saw Bender’s blush.
“Sir,” Hazelton said, “General Overmeyer is on the line. I can put him on the loudspeaker.”
“Don’t bother,” Shaw said. “We all got our marching orders, and I’m not about to wake Maddy over some dumb-ass request from an admiral who wants his fifteen minutes of fame.”
Bender stepped between Shaw and the door. “Wake the president,” he said, packing his voice with all the punch he could muster.
But Shaw had experienced it before and was not moved. “No.”
“Then I will,” Bender said.
Shaw smiled. “You go on the second floor of the residence tonight and I’ll have the Secret Service all over you like a pit bull on a French poodle in heat.”
Hazelton’s eyes grew wide in the silence. It was more than two male egos butting heads for supremacy; it was a contest for power and who had access to the president of the United States. A grin flicked across Shaw’s mouth before retreating into some dark hiding place deep inside his psyche. “Do believe me on this, son.” Bender stood aside and let him pass. Hazelton dropped her eyes, afraid to look at Bender. He had lost.
“Sir,” she said, “General Overmeyer is still on the line.”
Bender hit the monitor button so she could hear the conversation and asked for his evaluation. “I concur with CINC PAC,” Overmeyer said. “But we got to do it within the next few hours, preferably at night, before the Japanese have to withdraw for refueling and resupply. We need a decision. Now.”
“I can’t get to the president,” Bender said.
“What the hell is going on over there?” Overmeyer demanded.
“I can’t get past Shaw,” Bender admitted.
“We won’t get a chance like this again.”
“I know,” Bender said. “Look, we still have some time. Plan the strike and have everything ready to go. I’ll try to get her permission in the morning when she’s awake.” He broke the connection and told Hazelton to go home. “I’ll watch it,” he said. “I hope we didn’t miss the one chance we had to end this with a minimum of bloodshed.”
“I think we did, sir.” She picked up her bag and briefcase and left, leaving Bender alone in the Situation Room.
He collapsed into a chair and clasped his hands between his knees, his head bowed. “Sir,” a military aide said, “we have an update on the battle.” Bender knew he was tired and needed rest. But he had to do this. He looked up at the TV monitors and forced himself to concentrate as information from satellites, reconnaissance aircraft, over-the-horizon radars, and communication monitoring sites filtered in.
Maybe, he thought, just maybe, we’ve got more than ten hours. He knew what he had to do. “Colonel, I’m going to sack out in an office down the hall. I want you to wake me in four hours.” He called a valet for a pillow and blanket and went to his old office, which was still unoccupied. Within minutes, he was stretched out on the floor and sound asleep.
Turner took her seat in the Situation Room at exactly 6:30 Wednesday morning. She looked rested and fresh after a good night’s sleep and nodded at the men. “Good morning, gentlemen, I hope you have some good news for me.”
“Not exactly, Madam President,” Overmeyer said. He hit the remote control button and the TV monitors scrolled with the latest Intelligence reports as he briefed her. He finished by saying, “The battle has reached a critical point and could go either way within the next few hours. The key is Kumejima. If we can neutralize it, the Japanese can prevail.”
“How do we do that?” she asked. Overmeyer outlined the strike that was planned and ready to launch on her command. “I see,” she said.
“Twelve F-15E Strike Eagles are loaded and ready to launch at Kadena,” Overmeyer repeated. “We need to hit Kumejima now, while the Japanese still have the capability to exploit the advantage.”
“Have the Chinese threatened or attacked our people?” she asked. Overmeyer confirmed that the battle had not reached Okinawa. She turned to Bender. “Robert, how will the Chinese respond if we attack Kumejima?”
“Militarily,” he answered, “they can’t since they are preoccupied with the Japanese. I’d expect a great deal of diplomatic howling and saber rattling but little else.”
“Can we be sure of that?” she asked.
“No, ma’am, we can’t” This from Barnett Francis, the secretary of state. The DCI agreed with him.
“In that case,” Turner said, “we will do nothing. This is not our war.”
Overmeyer stiffened. “Madam President, I beg you to reconsider. We will be drawn into this conflict sooner or later. Better sooner and under our terms.”
“My decision is final,” she said. The meeting was over, and she walked out of the room.
Bender shook his head in frustration. “I’m going outside for some air,” he said. He walked slowly up the stairs and into the Rose Garden, his head bent in frustration.
A gardener he recognized from what seemed years ago walked past. “Good morning, General.”
“Good morning, Stan,” he replied automatically. Did I remember his name right? Bender thought. The smile on the man’s face told him he had. He clasped his hands behind his back and dropped his chin as he walked. So close, he thought, so close. But inaction, the failure to strike at an opportune moment, had guaranteed the deaths of countless more men. He couldn’t make a difference when it counted. Was it time to quit?
Mazie Hazelton stepped out of the White House and walked quickly toward him. “General Bender,” she called, “you’re needed inside. General Overmeyer has resigned.”
20
Washington, D.C.
Turner burst into the Oval Office and stood behind her desk, glaring at Bender. “That bastard,” she said. “He’s playing politics. His resignation couldn’t have come at a worse time.” She stared at her advisors, daring them to speak. Only Shaw had seen her in a rage and had sampled the gale-force intensity of her anger. The only safe course of action was to wait for the storm to blow through.
Bender accepted the challenge. “Madam President, he resigned because he disagreed with your decisions not to support the Japanese as, I might add, we have pledged in the past.”
“He did it at the exact time I need the unqualified support of the military.”
“You still have the full support of the military,” Bender replied.
“So I have it now—when I didn’t have it before?”
Now it was Bender’s turn to be angry. But nothing in his voice betrayed the emotion he felt. “The Department of Defense has supported you and been as responsive to your will as any branch of your administration.”
“Really,” she spat. “As I recall, the only advice I received from the Pentagon was to act; we have a plan for this—implement it before it’s too late. Pardon me? What makes a goddamned plan so sacrosanct? Why is speed everything?” Her anger whipped at Bender and he did not answer. This was a side to Madeline Turner he had never suspected. He expected to see tears, but her eyes were a perfect reflection of the anger and determination in her voice. “I love the way the military works,” she said. “Pass the buck up the chain of command until it stops at my desk. You’re only good soldiers following orders. You’re not the ones responsible for the lives of your people. I am.”
“General Martini will be glad to learn that,” Bender said in a low voice.
“What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded. “Are you trying to say a one-star general is—”
“What I’m saying, Madam President, is that a one-star general has repeatedly made the right decisions to protect his people while everybody else was sitting on their thumbs. He never hesitated to act nor has he tried to pass the so-called buck. There’s one other thing, Madam President. He will do exactly what you tell him to do, he won’t complain, and he won’t go running to the press when it gets tough. He understands loyalty, which is something you can’t say about everyone on your staff.”
Shaw’s head came up. Where’s Bender taking this? he thought. Does he know about the group? Have the Pentagon’s boys in the basement been digging around in my closet? Or has Leland double-crossed me? Shaw caught himself hyperventilating and forced his breathing to slow as he calculated the odds of Bender knowing that he had given Maddy up. I’ve given her up, he repeated to himself. He calmed. At best, Bender could only suspect. He had covered his tracks too well.
“Don’t lecture me on loyalty,” Turner said. Her anger was gone, and she sat down behind her desk. “So tell me, what do I do with Overmeyer? I don’t need a public discussion of why he resigned, not at this time.”
Secretary of Defense Elkins cleared his throat to gain her attention. “General Overmeyer is bound by the constraints of his office. He will remain at his desk and dispose of routine matters until you accept his resignation. Then he will be on terminal leave while his retirement orders are processed. During that time, he won’t discuss it. Afterward, well, he will be free to go to the media or write a book.”
“They all want to write a book,” Shaw muttered, sotto voce. “Throw him a bone, Mizz President. Issue a press release that you ‘reluctantly accept his resignation,’ Spread some bullshit around about him being ‘a fine officer acting in what he believes are the best interests of the service.’ I’ll get the word to him that if he goes public anytime in the next twelve months, I’ll serve him up like grilled chicken liver.”
“That would be a mistake,” Bender said.
“We’re playing in the major leagues here,” Shaw replied. “There’s a penalty when you rat on the president.”
“More important,” Turner said, “who replaces him?”
“I’ll get a short list to you as soon as I can,” Elkins said. “How far do you want me to go down the list?” The men waited for her answer. It was not unusual for a president to reach down the seniority list to find a chairman for the Joint Chiefs of Staff who was politically attuned to the administration.
“Go as low as you need to find a general who will support my policies,” she told them.
“May I suggest,” Bender said as Jackie Winters entered the office, “that Dr. Elkins start with the current Joint Chiefs?”
“Look lower,” Turner snapped, cutting off any further discussion.
“Madam President, your next meeting is in three minutes,” Jackie announced. “You are meeting with the Council of Economic Advisors and the chairman of the Federal Reserve Board to discuss tax reform.”
“Thank you, Jackie,” Turner said. She rose and left the room.
Liz Gordon stood in front of Lafayette’s statue and raised her microphone when the Betacam’s red light came on. “Lafayette Park is quiet now, the peace drummer and the demonstrators gone. But like the shot at Concord that was heard around the world, the echoes from the aftermath of the attempted assassination on Vice President Kennett are still being heard. Did President Turner violate the law when she cleared the park early Tuesday morning? Congress wants to know, and the Senate, at the urging of Senator John Leland, has initiated a full-scale investigation.”
She paused so a clip of Leland filmed earlier could be inserted in the studio. The senator was most eloquent in condemning Turner’s violation of the demonstrator’s constitutional rights and demanding the Department of Justice appoint an independent prosecutor. Ben, her cameraman, keyed her to continue. “Meanwhile, the crisis in the Far East took a new turn as General Tennyson Overmeyer, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, tended his resignation early this morning. Reliable sources claim General Overmeyer resigned in protest over the president’s handling of the crisis. Many insiders are privately asking the question, Has Madeline Turner lost her grip on the reins of power? This is Elizabeth Gordon, CNC-TV News, reporting from the White House.”
“That’s a good one,” Ben said, shutting off the camera. “Who are the insiders you mentioned?”
“I made it up. But it’s a safe bet someone’s asking the question.”
Shaw reverted to profanity when he couldn’t find the private road that led to the farmhouse in the Virginia countryside. Shaw was good at many things, but not at navigating. Much of the snow had melted from his first visit and everything was different. He cursed fluently and wished he had kept the directions from his first visit. But that was a piece of paper he didn’t want surfacing at the wrong time in the wrong hands. A black Jaguar convertible flashed by him going in the opposite direction and he caught a glimpse of a blond mane of hair. Once, that would have been a distraction but not now.
He peered into the night and tried to remember the directions from his first visit. That was less than a month ago, he moaned to himself, and I can’t remember a gawddamn thing. Fast moving headlights approached from his rear and flashed. He pulled over to let the car pass. The same black Jaguar convertible pulled alongside and slowed. It was Jessica, his contact with the group. They stopped, and her window lowered. “Lost?” she asked.
He gave her his lopsided grin and followed her to the farmhouse. How many other people saw me flailing around out here? he wondered. One of Leland’s dark-suited young aides opened his door and directed him into the house. He entered the same rustic den. But this time, the room was full of people. It was a council of war. “So this is the group,” he said.
Leland stood up, and they shook hands, honorable enemies currently erstwhile allies, a convenience of politics. “I believe you know everyone here,” the senator said.
Shaw froze. Sitting next to Gwen Anderson, the secretary of health and human services he had trashed in her bid to be vice president, was Dr. John Weaver Elkins, the secretary of defense. “Gawddamn,” he muttered. “People are hopping from bed to bed so fast I can’t tell who’s buggering who without being there myself.”
