Vortex (57 page)

A cold, driving rain soaked the capital’s parks and public buildings, puddling on oil-slick streets and knocking dead and dying leaves off the trees onto the pavement. One by one, the city’s streetlamps flickered on-triggered by simpleminded sensors that believed the dull-gray half-light must signal the approach of night.

In the Situation Room, two stories below the White House grounds, a shift from pitchers of iced lemonade to hot coffee marked the only concession made to Washington’s worsening weather. There were differences, though. The

Situation Room might remain untouched by the passing seasons, but it did reflect the changing world scene. On one wall, a map of sub Saharan Africa had replaced that of the Soviet Union. And the faces of the men and women seated around the room’s single table were as gloomy as the weather above.

The sardonic amusement generated by listening to a replay of Vorster’s rabid speech had died quickly after the secretary of commerce’s terse reminder that South Africa’s president might well be as mad as a hatter, but his policies were still wreaking havoc on the economies of the world’s industrialized nations.

The shadows and new lines on Hamilton Reid’s handsome face showed his fatigue and concern.

“Strategic minerals prices are rising even faster than we expected.” He shook his head wearily.

“Frankly, I think it’s likely we’ll see the cost of chromium, platinum, and the others tripling by the end of the month ”

Christ. Vice President James Malcolm Forrester forced himself to nod expressionlessly as others around the table showed their dismay. All of those minerals were essential to a wide range of industries, and the drastically higher prices being paid for them meant a surge in inflation and interest rates around the world. The fact that it had been predicted earlier was no comfort. It still spelled disaster for the nation’s economy.

Edward Hurley leaned back, the Situation Room’s overhead lighting momentarily reflected in the thick lenses of his tortoiseshell glasses.

“It’s only going to get worse, Mr. Vice President. We’ve all seen the latest intercepts and smuggled video footage. South Africa’s falling apart faster than anyone ever dreamed it possibly could.” He shrugged.

“Vorster seems to be on the verge of losing all control over the country’s major ports. The equation’s pretty simple-no ports means no exports. And no minerals exports coming out of South Africa means panic-buying around the world as companies and countries scramble to make up the difference elsewhere. ”

Forrester nodded and looked toward the paunchy, whitehaired man sitting uneasily at the opposite end of the table.

“Can you cast any further light on all of this, Chris?”

Christopher Nicholson, director of the
CIA
, shook his head

reluctantly-chagrined at being caught out in front of his peers. His subordinates were already taking bets about which of their colleagues’ heads would roll because of the fiasco.

“I’m afraid all my data has been overtaken by events, Mr. Vice President. My people had been trying to confirm the Blue Train massacre story aired by this reporter, but Vorster told the whole world last week that he did it and he’s not sorry. ”

The
CIA
director paused briefly and then passed two documents down the table to Forrester.

“Other than that, we have an updated list of arms shipments to both sides in the Namibian war, and a bio of Sheffield, the reporter who actually broke the story.” Nicholson’s embarrassed tone made it clear that he considered the information less than useful.

Forrester sat back, idly scanning the papers, then half-threw them down.

“Any further word on this Sheffield character?”

Nicholson shook his head again.

“I’m afraid not. We don’t think the South

Africans have him in custody, because they’re still maintaining a round-the-clock surveillance on our embassy in Pretoria, Based on that, we think he’s still hiding out somewhere in Johannesburg. ”

“Any chance of helping him get out of the country?”

Nicholson opened his mouth, but Hurley beat him to the punch.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea, Mr. Vice President.” The short, bearded assistant secretary of state tapped his pen lightly against his glasses, thinking aloud.

“Vorster’s security boys have our intelligence assets inside South Africa pretty closely watched. If they spot us making a move toward Sheffield, they’d be bound to use that to bolster some kind of claim that he’s nothing more than an American spy ”

“So you’re proposing that we just leave this guy dangling out there all alone?”

Hurley nodded somberly.

“I don’t see what else we can do, sir. We’re not likely to be able to help him, and even the attempt to find him could draw South African security forces to his real location.” He paused.

“Wherever that is.”

“Very well.” Forrester looked down at his hands, feeling suddenly tired and a lot older than his years. As usual, Hurley reasoning was impeccable, but that didn’t make the decision any more palatable.

Well, so be it. Even though the buck ultimately stopped with the

President, a lot of the spare change landed on his own desk. Making unpalatable decisions went with the territory. Forrester smiled inwardly, remembering his relatively carefree days in the U.S. Senate. Only congressmen had the luxury of speaking and acting out of both sides of their mouths at the same time.

In the meantime, the President expected concrete recommendations from this
NSC
session and he expected them soon. Forrester looked up, encompassing the entire group in one sweep of his eyes.

“Okay. Let’s move on to the broader problem: just what the hell are we going to do about this mess?”

He was answered by silence.

The Vice President frowned. Perhaps it was time for a small prod.

“Come on, folks. The American people aren’t paying us to sit around on our behinds.” He pointed toward the map.

“Now we know what’s happening in

South Africa is going to hurt us and hurt us badly. So what can we do about it? Ed?”

Hurley fiddled with his glasses, polished them quickly, and then slipped them back on his nose-plainly stalling for time. Finally, he shrugged.

“Our people at State could draft a statement for the President’s signature demanding that Vorster resign and schedule new elections under their constitution.”

Forrester hid his disappointment. He’d expected something more direct and forceful from Hurley. Still, the suggestion was worth considering as a first step.

“Vorster will simply ignore it,” Hamilton Reid interjected.

“Of course he will!” Hurley shot back.

“But we need to tell the world just where we stand before we go any further.”

That was true, Forrester thought. A clearly worded call for Vorster’s resignation would also help take some of the political heat off the administration. Even more importantly, it would commit the U.S.

government to finding some way to pressure Vorster out of power. He said as much to the group.

Reid persisted, “Maybe so, but how much can we really

do? Directly interfering in the internal affairs of a legitimate government…” The secretary of commerce paused, realization dawning on his face.

“My God, they aren’t a legitimate government. They grabbed power illegally!”

Nicholson continued the thought.

“And Vorster was kind enough to tell everyone that on worldwide television.” He turned to Forrester.

“Mr. Vice

President, I move that we recommend that the President withdraw our recognition of South Africa’s government until voters there have elected new leaders according to their own somewhat lopsided constitution. ”

Forrester felt a little life returning to the group and smiled slightly.

“We may reword the last bit of that, but I agree that we should explicitly label Vorster’s government illegal and break off our relations with it.”

He leaned forward and lowered his voice.

“But let’s face hard facts. We all know that Vorster won’t capitulate or hand over power simply because we say he should. In fact, we may just be giving him more propaganda ammunition for the home folks. What the President needs to know is this exactly what can we do to push the son of a bitch out of office?”

The secretary of commerce raised a hesitant hand.

“I still think South

Africa’s economy offers the best avenue for attacking him. If enough of his white supporters see their livelihoods and businesses going down the drain, they’ll try to pull the plug on Vorster themselves.” Reid grimaced.

“But conventional sanctions take a long time to work. And anyway, I’m not sure we can do anything that would wreck South Africa’s economy faster than Vorster’s own Namibian war and crazy security crackdowns.”

Forrester frowned.

“What about using a wider range of measures?”

“How wide?” asked Reid. Other heads around the table nodded, agreeing with the commerce secretary’s push for a clearer definition. Few people were willing to commit themselves to any concrete recommendation without some firmer indication of the President’s intentions.

Fair enough. It was time to drop a small bombshell, Forrester thought.

“The President has authorized us to consider anything short of open war.

”

A deep bass baritone from near the end of the table cut through the stunned silence.

“Then it’s a blockade.”

Forrester looked at the tall, lantern-jawed man in an Air Force uniform.

Combat service ribbons and decorations added splashes of different colors to his dark blue jacket.

“A blockade, General?”

Gen. Walter Hickman, chairman of the Joint Chiefs, nodded once.

“We can move a carrier battle group down from the Indian Ocean and cut off South

Africa’s seaborne commerce. ”

Nicholson was shocked and didn’t bother concealing it.

“Use the military?

That’s insane! A blockade on South Africa’s imports and exports would send world commodity prices into the stratosphere! And that’s precisely what we’re trying so desperately to stop!”

Others around the table muttered their agreement.

Forrester held up his hand for silence and got it. He tapped Reid’s economic report.

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do to stop these price increases, Chris. As long as those bastards in Pretoria are in power, we’re going to be in trouble. So maybe it’s worth some short-term pain to get rid of what would otherwise be a long-term problem.”

Nicholson changed tack.

“What if Vorster decides to retaliate against

U.S. citizens still inside South Africa?”

“Highly unlikely, Mr. Director.” Edward Hurley reentered the fray.

“Vorster’s already at war with the Cubans, the Narnibians, and at least four-fifths of his own population. I doubt he’ll want to add us to the list.”

The bearded State Department official pushed his glasses back up his nose before continuing.

“In any event, there aren’t many Americans left in

South Africa as targets. Fewer than three or four hundred as near as we can tell. ” He flipped to a page near the back of his briefing binder.

“We’ve been tracking the numbers on a day-by-day basis. Most tourists left after we posted the travel advisory, and companies still

doing business inside the
RSA
have been shuttling their American executives home for weeks. Plus, we’re already down to a skeleton staff at the embassy.”

“All right. But what if their navy tried to stop us?” Nicholson seemed determined to find reasons to scuttle the proposed blockade.

Hickman snorted.

“The South African Navy has a few short-range missile boats, three old submarines, and no naval air capability. They’re a fourth-rate naval power. ” He shook his head.

“Hell, Libya’s a bigger naval threat! Our ships can patrol well out to sea-beyond their range-and block a merchant ship traffic into and out of the country.”

Nicholson purpled.

“I don’t doubt that we could establish such a blockade,

General. That’s not my point.” He turned to Forrester.

“The key question is, should we do such a thing in the first place?”

“What’s your alternative, Chris?” Forrester asked, curious to see what the

CIA
director had in mind.

Nicholson opened his mouth and then shut it again, taken aback.

“I’m not saying there’s any kind of a guarantee that a blockade will force the South Africans to dump Vorster and act more reasonably,” Hickman explained, “but it would sure as hell boost the pressure on their economy.”

“Just how much pressure?” Forrester directed his question to a still-stunned Hamilton Reid.

The secretary of commerce rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Quite a lot, Mr.

Vice President. South Africa could still export by air and ground of course, but those are awfully narrow ‘pipelines’ for their major products.”

He nodded toward the map.

“And some commodities, especially oil, have to come by sea. In fact, oil imports are their biggest Achilles’ heel. It’s about the only mineral resource South Africa doesn’t have in ridiculous abundance.”

Hurley frowned.

“I’m not sure that’s quite right, Mr. Secretary. Last time

I checked, Pretoria was supposed to have a five-year strategic petroleum reserve stashed away.”

“A five-year reserve in a peacetime economy,” General

Hickman pointed out.

“But there’s a war on down there, and wars burn gas at a helluva rate.”

Forrester nodded slowly.

“True enough. And imposing a blockade on South

Africa’s imports would send a pretty goddamned strong shot across

Vorster’s bow-one he couldn’t shrug off or just ignore. ” He felt a small, tight smile spread across his face. Even thinking about doing something real, something concrete, about the mess in South Africa made him feet better.

He looked at Hickman.

“How soon could that carrier group reach South

African waters?”

“We could have a carrier, her escorts, and eighty-six aircraft in range in eight days, Mr. Vice President.”