Lethal Trajectories (33 page)

“In that case, I would very much like to discuss it further with you. I’m particularly interested in the role you see me filling in the cabinet, as well as a discussion of job boundaries considering my current position and the plans for Safe Harbors. Your schedule will be busier than mine, Clayton. Can you propose a meeting time? I hope you know that I’m extremely interested in this offer.”

“Thank you, Elizabeth. I’ll get back to you tomorrow, but let’s count on meeting within forty-eight hours. I don’t need to tell you that your nomination would have to be approved by Congress, and that process involves a certain amount of contentious drudgery—but you’ve been through the confirmation process before as secretary of state and know how that game is played.”

“I understand and have no problem with that. On a personal note, Clayton, I’d also like to tell you I appreciate the tremendous pressure you are under. You’re in my thoughts and prayers.”

“Thanks, Elizabeth. I appreciate that very much. And thanks for your time tonight—it’s late, and I’ll leave you to sleep on my question. See you tomorrow.”

He walked her to the door. Jack was talking to Maggie in the kitchen, and Clayton stuck his head in and asked his brother to join him in the den.

“Before we debrief,” Clayton said as Jack plopped down on a cushy leather chair, “I promised the president I would give him a call. Will you sit in while I make that call?”

He dialed the president’s direct number and was surprised to be put through to Dr. Toomay.

“Doc, what are you doing there? Is everything all right?”

Jack’s concerned look mirrored Clayton’s as the vice president listened to the doctor. Clayton asked a couple of questions, and at the answers his expression became even more bleak.

“Thanks, Doc,” he finally said. “Look, will you please call me if there are any changes in the president’s condition? Thank you.” He hung up, frowning.

“What happened, Clayton? Did something happen to the president?”

“He’s resting comfortably in the White House now, but he was apparently stricken with severe stomach pains around seven thirty tonight. The pain didn’t respond to medication, so they called Dr. Toomay, who got him settled down with the help of some powerful painkillers. The doc’s with him now and said he was stable.”

“It’s really getting to be a day-to-day thing, isn’t it? I really feel for the guy,” Jack said with sadness in his voice.

“Likewise, Jack. I couldn’t begin to tell you the courage and dignity I’ve seen in that man since his diagnosis. Someday I hope the historians capture the true character of Lyman Burkmeister—particularly in these last days.”

Clayton struggled to stay focused on his logistical debrief with Jack, but his mind kept returning to the president. The thought of losing Burkmeister’s guiding counsel engendered a feeling of loneliness he had not felt in many years, not since the loss of his parents in an airplane accident. Would Burkmeister be able to make it to the succession date?
One day at a time,
he thought as he walked Jack to the door a few minutes before midnight.

L
in Cheng and Wang Peng were emotionally spent as they trudged out of their second PSC meeting since returning from Camp David. Today’s meeting, though challenging, had gone far better than the first one. Both were deep in thought as they walked back to Lin Cheng’s office.

Once there, Lin poured the obligatory cup of tea and then plowed into the business at hand.

“What was your general impression of the meeting, Peng?”

Wang thought carefully before answering. The Politburo Standing Committee members were still in a foul mood, but progress had been made. He admired the way his boss had stood his ground, recognizing that any wavering would be interpreted as a weakness to be exploited later.

“It was better than Monday’s meeting,” he responded, “but still tough going. They were fuming about our lack of progress on Chunxiao and seemed more interested in settling scores with Japan than addressing the Saudi crisis.”

“Yes, yes,” Lin replied with an edge to his voice, “but when did you start to see the turn in their thinking?”

“Actually, I think it got worse before it got better,” Wang answered cautiously. “They were still unhappy with the idea of collaborating with the Americans on anything. Frankly, I saw little hope you would turn their thinking on these issues.”

“Peng, answer the question,” Lin said with uncharacteristic sharpness.

“Yes, Mr. Chairman, I am sorry to digress. I think the tide started to turn when you shared the CIA report with them. The translation of the report you walked them through was useful. It helped them think beyond our borders and understand the full impact the Saudi crisis would have on China.”

“Were there any particular points that resonated more strongly than others?”

This is classic Lin Cheng: focusing on leverage points and probing for weaknesses,
Wang mused before speaking.

“I think when you shifted the focus to oil supply as it impacts China, rather than on cold war polemics, they started to appreciate what was at stake.”

“Do you think they understood the implications of the asymmetric approach suggested in the CIA report?” Lin asked, probing, it seemed, for the golden nugget.

“Initially, no; I think their most immediate reaction was that China shouldn’t cut a deal with the Americans but rather look to make a deal with the new Saudi regime. They felt that the Saudis do not dislike China as they do the United States and the Western powers, and they thought we could work with them. You made two points that turned their thinking around, Mr. Chairman.”

“And they were?” Lin asked.

“Well, first, you reminded them we operate in a global economy and rely on imports of foreign raw materials to manufacture the finished goods we export to other countries. You challenged them to think about where we would be if the global economy collapsed, removing the markets for our finished goods. When you predicted the increase in unemployment and civil disobedience that would follow if this chain were broken, the lights went on. Suddenly, this was more than an abstract cold war issue; it was a crisis that would impact them in their own districts.”

“And what is your second point, Peng?”

Taken aback by the tone and manner of his boss’s questions, Wang replied, “Your suggestion that it would be most difficult to do business with the new rulers of Saudi Arabia got their attention. It was important to remind them that the ideological Saudis had lumped China together with the Western powers, and that negated any goodwill leverage we might have had.”

“What about the ideologues in our Politburo? What positions do you believe they will take?”

“There are probably a couple who will never agree with your recommended approach, Mr. Chairman, but most are pragmatic enough to know that political realities trump ideology when one’s back is up against the wall. Even Chairman Mao opened the door to the West with President Nixon’s visit back in the 1970s.”

“I hope you’re right. Do you think they grasped the opportunities we might create by collaborating with the Americans?”

Wang paused, not to ponder the question, but rather to slow his boss down.
It was similar,
he thought,
to the old Stanford baseball games where the catcher went out to the mound to calm his stressed-out pitcher.

“I liked the way you tied this in with the Chunxiao issue—specifically, tabling Chunxiao for now, with the understanding that America would use its influence to call the dragons off our back. More importantly, your suggestion of engaging the Americans later in support of China’s definition of the exclusive economic zone was a compelling reason to deal with Chunxiao later. I think our comrades understood the value of this proposition, but the truth is in the details—many of which are unknown at present.”

“Yes, you are right. It’s all in the details, and I rather like the idea of you and Jack McCarty taking charge of those details. Jack seemed like a reasonable and pragmatic person—willing to bend a little to get a little.”

“How do you propose to proceed from here, Mr. Chairman?”

Lin paused. Wang suddenly realized the tough part—convincing the PSC—was behind them. Lin now controlled the tempo and tone of China’s upcoming decisions.

“The first thing I’ll do is call Clayton McCarty,” Lin mused, appearing more relaxed. “I’ll tell him China is interested in collaboration, but I’ll stop short of fully committing to it. I’ll share some of the PSC’s concerns and remind him it would be helpful if America could demonstrate its commitment in some way.”

“That’s an excellent starting point, Mr. Chairman,” Wang replied, pleased with his boss’s calm response. “I think Clayton understands that. You might even consider asking him what China can do to promote the détente and sate the appetites of his opposition. My guess is he’ll also need something concrete before addressing Congress.”

“Yes, indeed. Let me ask you, Peng, if I were to suggest to him that you and Jack, and whatever staff you deem necessary, meet somewhere prior to Clayton’s address to Congress, would you be ready to go on a moment’s notice?”

“Indeed I would, Mr. Chairman,” Wang replied, trying hard to disguise his excitement.

“Good, very good; I will suggest this to Clayton, but it must be done quickly.”

Wang nearly laughed with relief at the way events were unfolding. Even a week ago, it would have been unthinkable that the chairman of the People’s Republic of China would be on a first-name basis with the leader of his nation’s greatest adversary.
Fascinating how adversity and common interests can bring even adversaries together in a common cause,
he mused.

“When do you intend to call Clayton?”

“Let’s see, it’s 12:15 here, so it’s, ah, quarter after midnight in Washington. We still have a few things to work out on the PSC meeting, but if you would join me for dinner, Peng, perhaps I’ll have a call put through to Clayton McCarty at about eight o’clock tonight our time. Would that work for you?”

“I would be pleased to have dinner with you, Lin Cheng, and if I know Clayton McCarty, he’ll already have been working for an hour or so by the time you call. My guess is he has his hands full these days.”

P
rince Khalid ibn Saud’s stomach churned as the nondescript sedan pulled up to the back door of a nearly deserted office park building. His security chief assured him that the reporters from Al Jazeera, BBC, and SNS had been escorted here in the utmost secrecy. They would not be identified, and this location would be kept secret even though he would be gone long before the tapes were aired. While not thrilled with his demand to be allowed to edit the taped interview, the news services had agreed to his terms. As his guards cleared him to enter the building, he found no sign of the reporters’ arrival. But when he stepped into the dusty back room of the deserted office, he found all three reporters waiting, their backs to the skeleton camera crew already prepared to film.

Khalid moved directly to the desk arranged for him and sat down. “Gentlemen,” he said, facing the three reporters, “I would first like to read a prepared statement, and then I will answer your questions.” He raised an eyebrow, and the camera operator motioned for him to begin.

“Citizens of the world,” he began, “the government of Mustafa ibn Abdul-Aziz is a fraud. He and other members of his regime brutally murdered our beloved king and members of the royal family to gain power illegitimately. The overthrow was
not
perpetrated by the CIA or Zionists as claimed. Instead, it was a ruthless bid for power disguised as an attempt to save the very government that Mustafa was, in fact, overthrowing.”

“In short order, Mustafa has undone everything the royal Saudi government stood for in its relationship with Arab nations and the world. Saudi Arabia has been blessed with the largest oil reserve in the world, and has long considered itself to have a special responsibility to stabilize the oil markets and encourage peace in the Middle East. In less than a week, Mustafa has turned this oil blessing into a weapon of mass destruction against the economies of the world. He has coerced our Gulf neighbors and threatened to use nuclear weapons not only against other countries, but even against our own people, in the form of his dirty-bomb mines.

“While I find no common cause with the Zionists, I’m deeply outraged by Mustafa’s threats against our Arab neighbors. His actions serve only to heighten dissent between the Shiite, Sunni, Monotheist, and other sects—Arab against Arab. Who would gain from such a move?

“The Mustafa regime is a menace to all peace-loving Arabs as well as our global neighbors. It must be wiped out before he destroys Saudi Arabia and brings down the Middle East with it, subjecting our brothers and sisters to untold physical and economic hardship in his wake. Left unchecked, Mustafa will invite military action from desperate nations watching their economies collapse for lack of oil. And it is not he who will suffer in that case: no, it is the very people he claims to protect who will suffer and die as a result of his actions.

“That concludes my prepared remarks. I shall now take your questions, gentlemen, but ask that you not identify yourselves other than to state the news network you represent prior to each question.”

The three reporters, stunned by the vehemence of Prince Khalid’s remarks, quickly regained their journalistic composure.

“Al Jazeera, Your Highness: What makes you so sure that King Mustafa’s claims of Zionist and CIA involvement are untrue?”

“Think about it, if you will. Renegade forces took over multiple cities and ports
simultaneously
using brigade-sized armored units and entire fighter squadrons—even the Royal Saudi Guards—from the beginning. Hundreds of leaders were located and assassinated within hours. Do you really think a handful of foreign insurrectionists could execute something of this magnitude? Could they have marshaled an entire army while escaping notice by our internal security forces? Of course they couldn’t. This was an inside job perpetrated by trusted servants inside the government. They are traitors to our people.”