Vortex (43 page)

SEPTEMBER
15-
NATIONAL
SECURITY
COUNCIL
MEETING
,
THE
WHITE
HOUSE

It was one of the fine, crisp mid-September mornings that made summer in the District of Columbia bearable. If you could somehow hang on through the sticky steam-bath days of July and August, a cool, clean breeze was bound to come along to drop the temperature and blow away the smog.

The change in the weather was invigorating, and even two floors below ground level its effects could be seen in the faces of the men and in their conversation as they waited for the Vice President to arrive.

Their upbeat attitudes masked underlying worry. Although this was a regularly scheduled
NSC
session, there was only one topic on the agenda-the situation in southern Africa. The unspoken sense of crisis was reflected in the names and ranks of those present. WM the sole exceptions of the secretaries of state and defense, all of the NSC’s principal members had come themselves-each accompanied by a small entourage of aides.

The secretary of state was in Europe, consulting directly with America’s

NATO
allies over events in southern Africa. The secretary of defense was tied up on a more prosaic task-touring a series of West Coast military bases earmarked for closure and sale. Flying either man home in time for the meeting would only have created unwelcome media attention.

Nevertheless, the majority of the administration’s brain trust sat around a crowded table in the Situation Roomassembled two floors below the green lawns and rose gardens of the White House in an effort to try to unscrew the inscrutable.

A low buzz of conversation and muttered speculation died instantly as

Vice President James Malcolm Forrester strode past the Marine sentries at the door. His manner was hurried as he took his seat and pulled a thick manila folder from his leather portfolio.

“Sorry for the delay, ladies and gentlemen, but I’ve just received additional guidance from the President about the Namibian war and our response to it. ” He turned to the short, bearded man seated across the table.

“Ed, why don’t you bring everybody up-to-date? No sense in going ahead until we’ve all got the same information. ”

“Yes, sir.” Assistant Secretary of State Edward Hurley looked collected and organized as he rose from his chair and leaned forward to turn on an overhead projector.

Forrester ignored a disappointed frown from the deputy secretary of state. Whitworth might be Hurley’s immediate superior, but he didn’t have the detailed knowledge necessary to handle the briefing. Besides,

Forrester had long suspected that the State Department’s number two man was one of those “highly placed officials” who enjoyed leaking stories that made him look bad.

An aide near the door dimmed the lights slightly.

Hurley placed his first slide on the glass. Though clearly put together at the last minute, it was also well laid out and clear-a rare quality in Washington, D.C.

“This slide lists

important events that have occurred since our meeting a week ago. As you can see, only three of the fourteen involve military incidents in Namibia.

The rest are political events, guerrilla attacks, or serious civil disturbances.”

Jesus. Forrester scanned the chart while Hurley rattled off a quick summary of each event. At first glance, the fighting in Namibia seemed almost a sideshow compared to what was happening inside South Africa’s own borders. South Africa’s population was at war with itself. Between guerrilla bombings, black-on-black power struggles, and the government’s

I I security measures,” hundreds of people were dying every week.

Hurley replaced the chronology with a map, labeled Top
SECRET
.

“According to all available sources, this is the present disposition of Cuban and

South African forces in Namibia. Essentially, the military stalemate continues. There have been no significant advances or retreats for weeks.

Just a steady series of artillery bombardments and small-scale, but costly, infantry assaults. ”

Forrester nodded somberly. He’d seen the South African casualty estimates produced by the Defense Intelligence Agency. Forty-five dead and more than one hundred and fifty wounded in the past week alone. That didn’t sound like much of a war. Not until you remembered how small South

Africa’s white population really was. On a proportional basis, Pretoria’s

Namibian losses over the last seven days were the equivalent of more than 2,200 dead and 7,500 wounded Americans.

He stared at the unit symbols shown on the map-most clustered in the mountains south of Windhoek. South Africa’s mechanized and motorized battalions were nearly immobile -forced to remain in place while an inadequate logistics system tried desperately to stockpile the fuel reserves needed for a renewed offensive.

In the meantime, both sides were continuing their troop strength buildups. Total South African strength in Namibia had climbed by nearly a brigade-an increase matched by the Cubans. Castro, unworried by any serious external threat,

evidently felt able to commit an even greater share of his reserves to the region.

Hurley placed another chronology on the projector.

“These are events in the region that either affect or are affected by the war in Namibia. All of the front line states-Mozambique, Zimbabwe, and Botswana-are being forced to cope with dramatically increased guerrilla activity. Most are insurgencies we know are supported by Pretoria. ” He pointed to a separate heading near the bottom.

“Unita has also been very active, almost certainly at South

Africa’s request. Unita guerrillas have been attacking Angolan rail lines and bridges, trying to slow down any Cuban reinforcements on their way south to Namibia.”

Forrester scowled and made a note. Unita’s de facto support for South

Africa’s Namibian adventure was a sore point in Washington. The anticommunist Angolan guerrilla movement happened to be supported by both the United States and South Africa-one of the few places where the foreign policies of the two countries coincided-much to Washington’s chagrin.

Unita’s willingness to complicate Cuba’s troop movements into Namibia was understandable. The guerrillas rightly viewed Castro’s troops as an occupying army. But that didn’t make their aid for South Africa’s invasion any more palatable or wise. Not given the current situation.

Some of the left-wingers in Congress were using the situation to scream for an immediate end to U.S. support for Unita. Forrester snorted. As if that would solve anything. Abandoned by the United States, Unita wouldn’t have any choice but to do everything its sole remaining backer, South Africa, asked. Instead, the
CIA
had been working behind the scenes, urging Unita to stay neutral in the Namibian conflict. So far, though, all attempts at persuasion had failed. Castro’s troop trains and tank flatcars were targets simply too tempting to pass up.

Hurley’s fourth and final slide showed a grainy, news agency photo of Karl

Vorster at an
AWB
rally. Every surface was covered with banners

emblazoned with the AWB’s three-armed swastika.

“At home, Vorster continues to integrate members of the
AWB
and other radical right-wing groups into South Africa’s governmental structure. We don’t have precise numbers, but there have clearly been a tremendous number of personnel changes at all levels-national, provincial, and local. The results are equally clear. Vorster has gained undisputed control over all levels of government. In other words, ladies and gentlemen, he has consolidated his power base and will no longer have to move so cautiously.” The last sentence was heavy with irony.

The room lights came back up as Hurley switched the overhead projector off and slid back into his chair.

Forrester nodded his thanks and looked around the table.

“Right. Even with

Pretoria’s news blackout, smuggled video makes it clear that things over there are bad. Very bad.”

He frowned.

“Let’s not mince words, people. This is killing us politically here in the States. The American people want us to act. They feel that if this administration can’t stop the violence in South Africa, it’s our fault, too. Everyone with an ax. to grind is getting a free fide out of this thing.”

The other members of the
NSC
nodded sagely. Congressional leaders such as

Steven Travers, press commentators, and other “I told you so” specialists were on the airwaves day in and day out-all hammering away at administration “inaction.” Technically,
NSC
meetings didn’t revolve around domestic political concerns. In practice, though, domestic politics was all too often inseparably intertwined with national security issues.

Forrester leaned forward.

“That’s bad enough. What’s worse is that Cuba and the other communist states are getting a lot of good press out of their aid for Namibia. They’re sure as hell expanding their influence in the region.”

He fixed his eyes on the small cluster of dark-suited intelligence-agency representatives and uniformed military officers at the other end of the table.

“Now what the President wants to know is, how much worse can we expect this situation to get? Are there any signs that the fighting in

Namibia could escalate?”

“Mr. Vice President, I have some new information on that point. ”

Forrester looked at the speaker. Christopher Nicholson, director of the

CIA
, looked as smoothly self-confident as ever.

“Yes, Chris?”

Nicholson signaled a junior aide, who stepped up to the table and began handing out copies of a two-page document.

“The first page is a report from our people in Israel. They report several C-130 Hercules aircraft are missing from Hatzor airfield, an Israeli Air Force transport base. And we’ve also heard that the Israelis are making discreet enquiries in other countries operating the C-130, looking for spare parts or even surplus aircraft. They’re offering payment in gold. ”

Everyone in the room knew where that gold was coming from-Pretoria’s central bank. South Africa and Israel had a long history of joint arms transactions and weapons research programs. Neither country especially liked the other, but both were adept at justifying their relationship on the old “the enemy of my enemy” principle.

Forrester shook his head. Trading gold for needed transport planes made sense, but it would cut dangerously into South Africa’s on-hand reserves.

And that was a good measure of Pretoria’s growing desperation.

“But South Africa isn’t the only one looking for help. Cuba’s out in the arms marketplace, too.” Nicholson flipped to the next page.

“The data on this second page comes from signals intercepts and from satellite photos taken over Libya. Our
SIGINT
group in Italy has been picking up increased activity at all Libyan Air Force bases, and we’re now seeing only a fraction of the transport planes nonnafly stationed at those bases. ”

Nicholson rocked back in his chair, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

“Naturally, that aroused our curiosity. So I ordered a satellite pass over

Libya’s military equipment storage areas, especially the one southwest of

Tripoli. Qaddafi’s always had more hardware than he has troops or pilots hardware he keeps parked out in the desert. ”

The
CIA
director tapped the table with a single, fleshy finger.

“My imagery analysts tell me there are definite indications that equipment is disappearing out of those storage areas. We are still trying to determine exactly how many tanks, APCs, and artillery pieces are missing, but it could be quite a lot. ”

Forrester sighed. Somehow Libya’s Colonel Qaddafi always managed to poke his nose into every world hot spot. Bombing raids, attempted coups, and diplomatic isolation nothing seemed to faze the bastard.

“Could the Libyans simply be scrapping obsolete equipment?”

Nicholson shook his head, snatching away that faint possibility.

“Unlikely.

Qaddafi’s a lunatic, but he’s not a wasteful man. He’s much more likely to have sold these missing weapons or to have sent them where they could cause the most trouble. ”

“Someplace like Namibia?”

Nicholson nodded.

“Exactly. What little we’ve been able to confirm indicates the missing gear was all second-or third line equipment-T-62s,

BTR-60s, and the like. Precisely the kind of hardware the Cubans are using in Namibia. ”

Forrester felt his frown slide into a grimace.

“Wonderful. So both the

South Africans and Cubans are making new friends. Is anyone else getting into the act?”

Nicholson looked suddenly uncertain. It wasn’t a look Forrester was used to seeing on the
CIA
chief’s face.

“I don’t have anything definite…”

“But you have other information?”

“We’ve identified some other possible weapons shipments, Mr. Vice

President, but the data could support several different conclusions. I’d prefer not to confuse the issue until we’ve been able to obtain confirmation.”

Forrester stared right into Nicholson’s eyes.

“I’ll keep the caveat in mind, Director Nicholson, but I think we should hear what you’ve got. ”

“The data is extremely sensitive, sir, and we have no way of knowing if it’s related to the Namibian crisis or not.” Nicholson twisted slightly in his chair. He was uncomfortable with ambiguities and liked to have everything he presented tied up in a nice, neat, typed package. He also hated to be wrong.

“Sensitivity is obviously not an issue here. Please fill us in. ”

Although Forrester used the word please, his harsh tone made it clear that he wasn’t asking, he was ordering.

Several of the other
NSC
members coughed lightly or turned away, hiding sudden grins. Nicholson’s innate Ivy League arrogance often rubbed his colleagues the wrong way.