Drone Threat (6 page)

9

EISENHOWER EXECUTIVE OFFICE BUILDING

WASHINGTON, D.C.

The specially marked VIP security badge on Pearce's lanyard raised a few eyebrows, but he passed easily through a series of security checkpoints. It was the slow ride up the windowless elevator to the fourth floor that nearly got him in trouble. His claustrophobia was getting worse lately. A flashing memory of a man cut to ribbons in the blood-soaked elevator car didn't help. His breathing shortened and quickened, but the doors slid open to a wide corridor before the panic struck.

The stone floors were a diagonal black-and-white checkerboard with cast-iron baseboards and stately pilaster columns lining the walls. He'd been in the enormous building only a few times but had always been impressed with its French Second Empire architecture. The building was a perfect fit for the broad avenues of Paris and the decadent colonial French empire of the nineteenth century, which is when it was built. Now it served as a vast complex of government offices for many of the senior administrative executives, including the vice president, who enjoyed an extraordinarily large and ornately decorated ceremonial office here. Was he the only one who caught the decadent empire metaphor? Probably not. He pushed the thought aside.

Pearce was ushered into Vicki Grafton's interior office by her secretary. He was surprised how utilitarian it was. He assumed that a woman with Grafton's personal style would want to be surrounded by something equally ornate. But then again, the eye would be naturally drawn to her in the rather spartan office. Only the grand view of the interior
courtyard below and the dozens of framed photos of Grafton posing with power elites in politics and business on the walls competed for attention.

Grafton was on the phone. She winked and nodded at Pearce and motioned for him to sit while she finished up.

“Sorry about that. Senators are like babies. When they cry, you've got to whip out the boob or else.”

“How many kids do you have?” Pearce asked.

“None, thank God. Can I get you anything?”

“I'm fine, thanks.”

“All ready to get started?”

“That's why I'm here.”

“Yes, of course. Did you get a chance to read the brief I e-mailed you?”

“Cover to cover.”

“Any questions?”

“Nope.”

“Really? The brief covered quite a bit of ground. I would think—”

“You did a great job laying everything out. Besides, you're going to be there tomorrow anyway, aren't you?”

“Of course.”

“Then if I get stuck, I do that thing”—Pearce mimicked covering a microphone with one hand and leaning sideways to whisper to an aide—“and you can bail me out.”

She smiled, amused. “It was a lot of information, wasn't it?”

“President Lane and I already share of lot of the same views. It wasn't like trying to learn Greek grammar.”

“Still, it's important that we present a united front. Some of the senators are looking for a weapon to use against the administration. If you get off script, you might hand them the dagger they need.”

“Won't be a problem. Worst-case scenario, I'll plead ignorance and offer to get back with them.”

“You might not get away with that.”

Pearce offered his first smile. “That's what I have you for.”

“Did the vice president tell you how I came to be his chief of staff?”

“No. But he has a great deal of confidence in you. That's good enough for me.”

“Thanks. But for the record, I used to work for the DoD, and that's how I first met him, when he was chairing the subcommittee. I was giving testimony. He gave me one hell of a grilling. I can still feel the burn marks.”

“But you must have passed with flying colors.”

“Yeah, I did. It wasn't long after that he offered me a job on his staff, and when he got on Lane's ticket, he brought me along.”

“How long did you work for the Seven Rivers Consortium?” Pearce asked.

Grafton smiled defensively, pretending not to be surprised that Pearce had done his homework. “Six years. Five before I went to work for DoD, one after.”

“The SRC is the world's largest lobbying firm, isn't it?”

“That's what I hear.”

“And you were putting together defense contracts?”

“That's how I started on the Hill. Earned an MBA from George Washington. Interned at Lockheed-Martin. But you already knew that, didn't you?”

“So, Seven Rivers, DoD, Seven Rivers, and then Chandler?”

“And you do math. Very impressive, Mr. Pearce.”

“I can scramble eggs, too. And a few other tricks you might never have seen.”

Pearce tried to hide his disgust. Not so much with her as with the whole damned system. Washington's famous revolving door between government service and the lobbying agencies made him sick to his stomach. More than a hundred formerly registered lobbyists now served on congressional staffs, many of them chiefs of staff like Grafton. Worse, more than four hundred former congressmen and senators were now highly paid registered lobbyists, leveraging their congressional relationships and influence into multimillion-dollar second careers—as if their gold-plated, full-salaried retirement plans didn't already put them in the top 5 percent of American income earners.

Grafton leaned back in her chair, folding her manicured hands in her lap. “Is my work history going to be a problem for you?”

“You're clearly more than qualified for the babysitting job Chandler handed you. If this is what it takes, well, it's what I signed on for, isn't it?”

She flashed another smile, nodded. “Faint praise, Mr. Pearce, but good enough for me. Let's get to it, shall we?”

Pearce leaned back in his chair. “Fire away.”

“Your first hurdle is going to be Senator Floyd. He's practically a hood ornament for the aerospace industry. He'll try to wear you down by playing stupid—which he isn't, I assure you—and he'll start with some innocuous question like, what is Drone Command exactly?”

“Drone Command is a new unified combat command within the Department of Defense. Its purpose is to oversee the acquisition of all new drone and drone-related systems for both military and civilian applications within the DoD and all other federal agencies. Though Drone Command is technically a Defense Department entity, it would be the only unified command headed up by a civilian.”

“I.e., you.”

“Yes.”

“Good answer.”

“Of course it is. You wrote it. I just loaded it in here.” Pearce tapped his forehead.

“From there Floyd will start drilling down into the minutia of the organizational plan, personnel, et cetera, et cetera. I strongly recommend you just refer him to the appropriate addenda included in the same report I sent you.”

“Works for me.”

“But that's the easy stuff. It's the ‘why' of Drone Command that will be the heart of the battle.”

“The ‘why' is because those money-sucking vampire squids won't do the right thing on their own. An independent, autonomous agency with the sole authority for development and acquisition is the only way we're going to avoid the massive maldistribution of scarce resources.”

“Let's steer away from ‘vampire squids' and lean more toward ‘efficiency, economy, and efficacy.'”

“What part of ‘to tell the truth, the whole, truth, and nothing but the truth' does ‘money-sucking vampire squids' not satisfy?”

Grafton sighed, shaking her head. “You're not going to make this easy, are you?”

“Didn't realize that was part of my job description.”

She pursed her lips. “No, I suppose not. But it would help me do mine better.”

Pearce shifted in his chair, studying Grafton's frozen stare. “What else do you need from me?”

Grafton pulled up a page on her laptop computer. “I did a little digging myself—legally. I've managed to find a few public statements you've made over the years.”

“Such as?”

“Foreign policy stuff.” She looked away from her computer screen and back toward Pearce. “I'm surprised a fighting man like you would be an isolationist.”

“I'm not. But either you're all in to win or you're out. You can't take the middle ground.”

“And in regard to the Middle East?”

“Like I said, all in or all out. Since we won't commit to all in, I think it's better to get out.”

“But you're a smart guy. A master's degree in security studies from Stanford. You know we can't withdraw from the world.”

“I didn't say withdraw from the whole world. But maybe it's time to let that part of the world take care of its own problems and spill its own blood.”

“We're the strongest military power on the planet. Who else can stabilize the region?”

“After nearly twenty years of military intervention, do you seriously believe the Middle East is more stable and secure than before we went in? That
we
are more secure?”

Grafton's frozen stare betrayed nothing.

“But we have important allies in the region. The Saudis are vulnerable. They can't possibly defend themselves without our help.”

“The Saudis are a royal dynasty teetering on the edge of collapse.”

Grafton shrugged. “Desperate allies are more reliable.”

“They don't share our values. It's practically a dictatorship.”

“Sounds like you're channeling Jimmy Carter.”

“They're not our friends. They've been the power behind the OPEC cartel, screwing with our economy and politics for decades.”

“They pursue their own national interests, just like we do.”

“You know that ISIS sells a lot of its sex slaves to Saudis, right?”

“All the more reason to take out ISIS as quickly as possible.”

“Why not stop the Saudis from buying them?”

“We've already raised the human trafficking issue with them. It just can't be the top priority right now.”

“It would be if you were the sex slave.”

She shrugged. “I'm sorry. I guess I'm just a realist.”

“So are the women being trafficked, believe me.” Pearce sighed, frustrated. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

Pearce leaned forward. “If fifteen of the nineteen terrorists that took down the World Trade Center had been ethnic Russians, do you think we would have given the Russian government a pass? Called them friends and allies in the War on Terror?”

Grafton's face hardened.

“Me neither.”

“The Saudis have powerful friends on the Hill, and especially on the committee. If you say anything like this to them, you're dead in the water.”

“I won't lie if I'm asked.”

“Then it's my job to make sure they don't ask, isn't it?”

Pearce nodded. “Guess so.”

Grafton was feeling cramped in her spacious office. “Speaking of the Saudis, Senator Kelly will want to know your position on Saudi drones,” Grafton said.

“It's a bad idea.”

Grafton drew a measured breath, clearly trying to calm down. “One of the biggest drone manufacturers in the country is headquartered in his state and they've been approached by Riyadh. A ten-year, billion-dollar contract for MQ-9 Reapers.”

“Anything we sell to the Saudis will eventually wind up in the wrong hands. If an internal rebellion doesn't overthrow the princes, the Iranians will overrun them eventually with Iraqi help, and maybe even the Russians.”

“Warts and all, the fact remains the Saudis are our most important ally in the region right now.”

“Don't you mean Israel?”

“Israel can't help us stabilize the situation. You know the reasons.”

“The ‘reasons' are why our Mideast foreign policy has been a Hungarian cluster dance for the last forty years.”

“If the Saudis are on the edge of falling, doesn't that prove we need to bolster them?”

“Drones won't be enough to save them.”

“You do realize that Saudi Arabia is one of our largest defense customers? Their defense purchases put a lot of Americans to work.”

“Especially high-dollar lobbyists.”

Grafton threw up her hands. “I don't get you.”

“Maybe you're not supposed to.”

Her features softened but her eyes were searching. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

Pearce shrugged. “Sure.”

“You and the vice president have a history. Care to fill me in?”

“He's an asshole.”

“Vice President Chandler is the second most powerful man in the world.”

“Then that makes him the single most powerful asshole in the world.”

“If Chandler heard you say that, he'd run you out of D.C. on a rail.”

“Call him. I'm happy to repeat it. Hell, I'll even draw him a picture if that's easier for him.”

Grafton laughed. Her eyes raked over him again, sizing him up. “I'm starting to like you.”