Casing the Colors © Week 7

Casing the Colors © Week 7 • • • CHAPTER 13 • Scott Bennett arrived at the White House at 19 hours with military promptness. He told his driver to take Kate and him across the Potomac to Alexandria. He always enjoyed the seafood at a little Wharf Street restaurant and on this rather cold, damp late winter evening, he hoped there would be few other diners to disturb them. But when their limousine pulled through the White House gate onto Fifteenth Street, photographers pressed their cameras against the car windows, shouting questions. The driver kept moving, rounding the corner onto Constitution Avenue, but the media was close behind. "Head out New York Avenue toward Baltimore," Scott ordered. "Maybe we can lose them." But General Bennett was too hot to be abandoned by the media that pursued him constantly. "Damn, Babe, I thought we'd steal an evening for ourselves. Just the two of us." "Not in this town," Kate said. "Let's go to Dad's," she offered, wickedly thinking of taking Scott to TRACES, the restaurant where she and Stu had had lunch after the Pentagon briefing. "The driveway and perimeters are patrolled. At least we'll be safe from your adoring press. I'll cook dinner." "Okay, but when does the media sleep?" he asked, his voice feigning despondency. "When you stop being the all-star General, and I don't expect that to happen tomorrow," Kate added pointedly. "You seem to be enjoying the notoriety." "Yeah, the same way I enjoy the dentist." General Gordon was still at the Pentagon so they had the house to themselves. Kate started to organize salad and pasta while Scott studied the kitchen wine racks for the right bottle of the General's always expensive, always excellent wine. As Scott opened and tasted one, he thought about General Gordon. Without question, Jim Gordon was first of all a soldier and when he had been assigned to combat zones he truly led his troops, living beside them in infested jungle huts and eating the same rations they ate. They respected him for this because they knew that his family had great wealth and that he could have avoided every hardship tour for the diplomatic niceties of Washington. Scott knew all this, as did every soldier who had ever served under Jim Gordon, but Scott also recognized that Jim was a leader whose troops would obey any command, not only because they knew he would be beside them but because they knew he was the smartest damn soldier they would ever meet. Smart with the finesse of intellect applied to the finest military education, but also smart with the gutter sense needed to survive in the cesspools of war. If they were going to die, his soldiers knew it would not be because some tightass young officer was too stupid to understand the situation and react properly. If any command put them face to face with death, Scott Bennett knew from personal experience that Jim Gordon would be the first to shake death's hand and smile at the bullet. But, when it came to personal comfort, civilian style, including the lovely soft Margaux he was now sipping, Scott also knew that Jim was in a class by himself, never settling for anything but the best. That was, after all, his reason for being a soldier, as he explained it to Scott. America was the best and there was no finer victory than to win for her. It was easy to see where Kate's independent spirit and devotion to country came from. God, he thought, what a soldier she would have made. He took his wine along and started a fire in the two-way fireplace between the kitchen and family room. As he settled into a comfortable chair to watch Kate cook, he asked, "Is Stu going to last over the long haul?" "Are you worried he won't?" she tossed back lightly. "He seemed awfully goddamned jumpy today." "We all were. It was a difficult meeting." "That's the point," Scott persisted. "Things aren't going to get any easier. We haven't even started the real counter-attack yet." "Scott, I'll try to keep Stu on political message," Kate answered impatiently, "and I'll try to keep you and the rest of the military from demanding the impossible of the American public. That's all I can promise." "You're not shouldering this problem alone," he replied, refilling his wine glass. "It's just that I worry about Stu and his ..." "Blackness?" Kate said, finishing his thought. "Don't waste your time worrying about Stu. He's as tough as you are, in his own way," she added, hoping time would prove her assertion to be true. The phone rang, startling them. It was General Gordon calling form the White House. "Can you get here right away, Stu is on his way. Bring Scott with you." "What's wrong, Dad?" "Just get over here," he answered. • • • CHAPTER 14 • When Kate and Scott arrived at the White House, an aide took them into the Cabinet Room. Secretary of State Bill Stevens was there, along with the President, Attorney General George Morrison, Stu Wellford and General Gordon -- all insiders in the American Agenda team. "What's going on?" Scott asked as he and Kate found empty seats at the big oval table. "President Katerinov has been on the phone from Moscow," the President said. "Former Soviet President Tcherenkov has been detained by the Russian parliament." "It was apparently a combined act of the Russian parliament and the satellite Republics, done without the knowledge of Katerinov or the Russian government," Secretary Stevens explained. "The leaders managed to convince the anti-Katerinov members of the Duma to act on their behalf. President Katerinov has assured me that his government is firmly opposed to the action and in full control." "But why now after so many years?" Kate asked, quickly ticking off the darker possibilities inherent in the news. "My guess," Bill Stevens said, speaking softly but emphatically, "is that the Russian Duma at finally feels it has sufficient political muscle to embarrass and then eliminate Katerinov and they're using Tcherenkov as the weapon. I'd say Katerinov is in more political trouble than he's admitting, but I doubt the Republics have forged enough joint political strength to break Katerinov's domination of the political agenda." "What we are sure of," Stevens continued, "is that Tcherenkov is being held incommunicado outside Moscow and that the Republics insist on trying him for crimes against humanity. The Russian parliament says it has taken this long to properly prepare the case against him." "More to the point, he's the last Soviet leader still free," George Morrison said. "All the others are either in prison or dead." "Tcherenkov is a Nobel Laureate," Scott Bennett said. "He's the man who ended the Soviet regime. He's a very old man. To hell with the posturing about crimes against humanity. It'll be the Circus Maximus. Throw a Christian to the lions to keep the hungry masses from thinking about the jobs and food they don't have." Attorney General George Morrison, who was a San Francisco lawyer renowned for his patient, dogmatic pursuit of justice and his inability to be anything but frank with friend and foe alike, laughed cynically. "General Bennett, they can damn well do as they please, can't they? Moscow is a little too far east for American law to apply." "George," Bill Stevens bristled, "we're not debating the fine points of international legal procedure." "I know," the Attorney General said, running his hands over his slicked back wavy hair, "but they'll do whatever they like, won't they? Who's going to stop them?" "What's President Katerinov's reading?" General Gordon asked. "General Bennett's conclusion is close to Katerinov's," Bill Stevens answered. "Katerinov thinks the Republics will drag out all the Soviet atrocities one more time, blame President Tcherenkov because he was in power at the end of the Soviet regime, and then sentence him to life imprisonment with a lot of it as probation in exile." "Great, just great," Scott said, slamming his fist on the table. "A noisy, uncontrollable international crisis while we're knee-deep in our own problems. The timing is perfect. Too perfect. The Soviet hard-liners and their friends in the Republics take one last shot at the West, hoping the United States will be too busy with its own problems to stop them." • • Scott Bennett was right. During the next week, while western governments postured ineffectively, individual Americans and Europeans vented their moral outrage at the events in Moscow. Disbelief that Russia would let the Republics use Moscow for the show trial was mixed with anger at the Russian president's seeming unwillingness to exercise decisive leadership. In truth, President Katerinov was unsure of the real depth of support for his government. Things had gone well when he could promise oil dollars and a thriving economy, but the world economy had shifted, leaving him unsure of his available financial resources. He tried to protect Tcherenkov from the Duma in order to maintain his credibility with his western benefactors, but he wasn't strong enough to keep a majority of its members united behind his call for the release of the last representative of their old enemy. The Duma wanted to eliminate the possibility that Tcherenkov would somehow retrieve sufficient power to combine with Alexei Katerinov and finally confront and defeat their hard-line pro-jihadist policies. Katerinov was outraged that the Russian parliament couldn't see that Tcherenkov was meaningless, an outmoded remnant of a political past with no future to lay claim to and no past to exploit. American cities already overwhelmed by the growing terrorist rebellion had to accommodate large groups of demonstrators demanding American action to gain Tchernekov's release. Europeans, who had always been less in awe of the last Soviet leader, watched dispassionately as events unfolded. Predictably, the Tcherenkov trial became the latest focus of media attention. Every reporter expressed the hope that the former president would escape with nothing more than the humiliation of being tried. Every commentator challenged the western powers to go to his aid in recognition of their debt to his past efforts to break the Soviet grip on Russia. At the trial, Tcherenkov presented his own case, displaying the dignity that had made him popular in America. The arguments of his hard-line accusers were dwarfed by his eloquent responses. But the Republics had found a temporary common ground in his trial. Their ethnic and religious bickering and military clashes, which had begun almost immediately after post-Soviet suppression ended, ceased temporarily as they came together to have their last victory over the remnants of Russian domination. President Tcherenkov was sentenced to life in solitary confinement. The world was horrified but, being accustomed to the victories of quasi-legitimate outlaws in the post-Soviet world, it was resigned to its inability to change the outcome of the trial. • • Finally, Bill Stevens decided to act unilaterally on behalf of his old friend by going to Moscow personally. As acknowledged leader emeritus of the world diplomatic corps after his stunning successes in helping to end the Syrian war and bring a modicum of peace to the Middle East, he had the moral authority to speak on behalf of Europe and most of the Middle East, as well as America. In Moscow, the Secretary met with President Katerinov and the leaders of each Republic, suggesting that the price for continued western economic assistance and critical food supplies was the release of the former Soviet president into the custody of the United States. The Republics protested noisily that the West was interfering in their internal affairs, a position meaked to the media that encouraged malcontents to take to the streets to demand the departure of the American Secretary of State. But Bill Stevens stood his ground. Ultimately, knowing they were cornered by their massive need for western help, the Republics fell silent while Katerinov turned President Tcherenkov over to the American Embassy military police. Katerinov detailed his personal military guard to escort President Tcherenkov and Secretary Stevens to the Moscow airport. The American diplomatic limousine, with the Stars and Stripes on its bumper snapping in the wind and an American Embassy military escort surrounding it, sped through dark early morning Moscow streets enroute to the plane waiting to fly them out of danger. Television cameras reported the event live to a relieved and watching world. A departure at first light was meant to keep Russian observers to a minimum, but many people lined the route, keeping silent watch as President Tcherenkov was once again sheltered by his western friends. Occasionally, a hand would flutter weakly in support, but more often, the crowds directed a sullen palpable hostility toward the man who had freed them from dictatorial political shackles only to let them sink into what they perceived as an even less tolerable and constantly expanding economic and political morass. As the two men mounted the stairs to the official US plane, several rifle shots suddenly rang out in the cold dark early morning. President Tcherenkov staggered, falling against the aircraft's stairway railing. Secretary Stevens was pushed by Secret Service personnel up toward the plane's open door. Half the American military escort formed a barricade, weapons pointed toward the stunned crowd to prevent another round of fire while the rest of the escort dragged Tcherenkov into the plane and then slammed shut the port. The barricading military were left outside on the stairway to deal with the hidden assassins. The pilots wheeled the 747 onto the runway and roared up into the still dark sky above Moscow. As the plane gained altitude, Bill Stevens grabbed the White House hot line. "We're heading for Ramstein," he said. "President Tcherenkov is very badly wounded." President Harper listened, struggling to appreciate the situation. Bill Stevens asked him to alert the German Chancellor, to have airspace over Ramstein cleared and to arrange for doctors, ambulances and a secure area at Ramstein where no media could interfere with the medical team. Suddenly, Stevens was silent. "Are you there, Bill?" the President repeated several times. Bill Stevens answered, his voice cracking with emotion and anger. "President Tcherenkov is dead." The President put the phone down and closed his eyes. Would it ever end.