Casing the Colors © Week 8

Casing the Colors © -- Week 8. • • • CHAPTER 15 • The whole world knew the recalcitrant Republics of the former Soviet Union were responsible for the assassination of President Tcherenkov and there was a clamor for reprisal against them. Secretary Stevens proposed a worldwide economic embargo on the Republics and Russia until suspects were found and turned over to the West for trial. The United Nations quickly agreed, sweeping aside the compromised Russian Security Council veto. Embargoes were the favorite tool of diplomatic coercion after their successes in the early 1990s, and this one, with its overwhelming support, seemed certain to compel compliance from the struggling Republics. Secretary Stevens waited in Germany so that he could accompany President Tcherenkov's widow and her husband's body to Washington. She had requested that he be buried in Arlington, out of reach of the Republics and President Katerinov had agreed, arranging for his personal plane to take her to Germany. In early February 2023, the United States honored the last Soviet president with an American state funeral. Russian President Katerinov eulogized via satellite from Moscow, apologizing for the assassination and asking the American public not to abandon Russia in its search for a democratic resolution of its increasingly hostile confrontation with the Republics. Bill Stevens called a White House meeting of the American Agenda team and the Joint Chiefs the morning after the funeral. "I talked with President Katerinov last night," the Secretary told them. "He's concerned that the embargo will squeeze not only the Republics, but also ordinary Russians. He says that in a matter of days many Russians, especially those in Moscow, will be unable to buy food if we don't guarantee shipments." "President Katerinov supported us during the trial," the President said petulantly. "Isn't there something we can do to help him?" "We had better find a way," the Secretary responded. "President Katerinov told me that marauders from the Republics are using the unrest to attack Russian border stations and villages. The Russian military is gearing up for violence in Moscow. He thinks the Republics are determined to establish their autonomy and crush the union with Russia. Their victory over Tcherenkov has strengthened their resolve." "There are still stockpiles of nuclear weapons left behind by the Soviets in some of the Republics," General Bennett warned. "The Soviet nuclear arsenal deployed toward western Europe contained ICBMs and other warheads with delivery capabilities of more than a thousand miles, even from ground-based firing locations. If we don't support Russia and help her hold central Asia together, the Republics could regain critical territory along the Russian perimeters in Asia, establish islamic states and then turn their attention toward central Europe." "If he wants us to lift the embargo," General Volti asked, "what does he offer in return?" General Volti was a tough Marine, not used to negotiating with anyone, but even he had to accept the merit of talking to the Republics. As he sat listening to the others who were more accustomed to diplomacy, his mind searched for a swift military solution. "To be blunt, General Volti," Bill Stevens responded dryly, "I believe President Katerinov considers himself extremely lucky to be holding Russia together. He doesn't have excess political muscle to use against the Republics. So far, Katerinov is hanging on because the Republics are, as always, without cohesive leadership." "Who do we have at the Embassy in Moscow to give us an on-ground assessment?" General Volti asked. "Republic military intelligence hasn't been a big item for us over the past few years," Secretary Stevens said. "Frankly," General Gordon added, "the ethnic and Moslem groups in central Asia have been so pre-occupied fighting among themselves that we discounted any concerted military effort from them against Russia or the West." "What about sending Kate to Moscow," Bill Stevens suggested. "As the new Assistant Secretary of State for Political Affairs, it would be logical for her to visit the embattled Russian president. She could offer America's continuing support for him and his policies." "She wouldn't be safe," President Harper warned. "I don't want anyone else dead. We have enough to deal with." Kate sat quietly in her chair, eager to volunteer. Her father ignored the President's remark. "I suggest we send General Barber with Kate. He's the only member of the Joint Chiefs who has never been to Russia. He could talk to the Russian general staff and get an estimate of their capability against the Republics, if President Katerinov is willing to set it up." "That's crazy," the President blustered. "An Assistant Secretary of State and a member of the Joint Chiefs. They'd be sitting ducks in Moscow." "They'll be perfectly safe," General Gordon countered. "Why don't we give her a planeload of medicine as a humanitarian gesture toward the Republics?" "Don't worry about me," Kate offered, no longer able to contain her enthusiasm. The President looked to Stu Wellford for reassurance. "All right," he said, "just make goddamned sure they are protected." "General Volti, can you set up a briefing for them," Bill Stevens said. As he got up to leave, General Volti asked if the trip could be arranged for the next day. "The entire situation in Europe is very fluid," he reminded them, "Everyone is worried about what the Republics might do next, and the sooner we get on top of it, the better." Secretary Stevens agreed to organize the trip details with President Katerinov. Then he turned to the Mexican problem. The world's preoccupation with President Tcherenkov's assassination and funeral had given the Joint Chiefs time to prepare their plan for stopping Carlos Miguel and his recruits and Bill Stevens wanted to get agreement on it before anything else could happen in Europe to again derail efforts to deal forcefully with Miguel. "We're ready to launch a full offensive into Mexico and against southwestern American areas occupied by terrorists," General Bennett reported, "but we need presidential authorization for both actions. If we act now before Miguel's army completes its munitions and weapons movement into Texas and Arizona, we may be able to prevent massive civilian casualties in Mexico and save lives on our side of the Rio Grande." "We've pinpointed two areas where weapons are already being cached," General Gordon said, moving to a flip chart to expand on General Bennett's remarks. "One is in the hills south of Naco, a border town west of Douglas, Arizona. The desert around Naco is flat, barren, caked earth. The village is tiny. But there are good highway nets reaching north toward Tucson and west toward California," he added, pointing to the map. "A weapons supply line could be put into place in a matter of hours. We want to saturation bomb the hills where the weapons are hidden." "The other target is north of Monterrey, where the weapons caches are located in populated areas. We'll use our geographical positioning system to hit the storage sites directly. We're pinpointing the targets as carefully as possible and GPS makes it simple to hit them with drones. But there will be significant civilian casualties when the stored munitions explode," General Gordon added as he turned to the President. "Of course, we will also put troops along the sensitive border zones to prevent counter-attacks." "I don't know the area around Naco. How many Mexican civilians will be in danger?" President Harper asked. "The region is desolate. There are two hundred villagers who may be vulnerable," General Bennett said. "Mostly dirt farmers and herdsmen." "Speak to President Allezar, Bill, at least to inform him," the President said. "I do not want any diplomatic crises," he demanded. "Sir," General Bennett interrupted, "that would only give the terrorists time to react." "Are you saying, General, that the president of Mexico is part of the terrorist threat?" President Harper asked angrily. "No Sir, but there have to be sympathizers in his inner circle, otherwise the terrorists couldn't use the port at Campeche to receive significant weapons deliveries from Havana. The number of regular Mexican officers and enlisted men in Miguel's army also indicates Mexican military involvement. We simply see no evidence that the Mexican government is seriously trying to stop Carlos Miguel." "But," Stu countered, "we simply cannot bomb Mexico without warning its government. You don't intend to declare war on Mexico, do you?" "Of course not," General Gordon intervened to stop the squabbling, "but surprise is our most valuable weapon if we want to maximize the destruction of Miguel's armaments. There's another problem in talking to President Allezar. His government is barely able to cope with the rebellious groups in the south and the drug cartels and he may not be willing to take the chance of precipitating additional anti-government activity in Chihuahua by working with us against local populations. We don't want to force President Allezar onto the wrong side of the Mexican equation." "If the terrorists move weapons away from the border while we delay military action to allow time for a diplomatic solution, isn't that what we want anyway?" Stu demanded. "Chances are the weapons would find their way to Tucson and San Antonio or be hidden farther south for use against the Mexican government. We can be certain they wouldn't end up in back in Cuba," General Gordon replied flatly. "I think we have to approach President Allezar before we cross the border," Stu replied, "if only to improve our chances of official Latin American cooperation later against Carlos Miguel." "You're the boss," General Gordon said, straightening his tailor-fitted jacket and turning to face the President. "Give us the orders and we'll follow them. But, we need to clear the Rio Grande area of recalcitrant weaponry and we can't afford the luxury of a long negotiation that goes nowhere while the terrorists finish moving their weapons north." "Give us two days," Stu said. "Will that be enough time for you, Bill?" he asked the Secretary. "I'll prepare a statement and try to convince President Allezar to join the United States in issuing it. I suggest we ask for withdrawal of weapons and army units along a wide but clearly defined sector south of the Rio Grande. If we get no response from the terrorists in twenty-four hours after the joint communiqué, you can implement your plan, gentlemen. Start with Naco. Maybe the few isolated Mexican casualties there will convince the terrorists to consider cooperating." "Yes Sir," General Bennett snapped. "We'll monitor the weapons sites in the interim." Attorney General Morrison had been quiet throughout the meeting, but as the group began to break up, he broke his silence. "I hate to mention legal niceties, but don't we need to inform Congress about our planned action against Mexican and American territory?" he asked. "Christ," the President spit, sinking back into his chair. Bill Stevens sighed, understanding full well the Attorney General's logic. "I'll set up a meeting with the Speaker and try to finesse my way around the need to talk to the key committee chairmen. But, it's only a matter of days until the bombing starts, and when that happens, we're in for a media feeding frenzy, no matter how cooperative the Speaker decides to be." "Bill," the President said, "if you need White House help, go through Stu. Just keep me informed. I'm going to be unavailable for comment for the rest of the day. Stu can handle everything for me," he added, easing his chair against the desk and leaving the Oval Office. Outside in the hall, the Generals re-grouped with Secretary Stevens and Stu Wellford. "What do you make of the President's last remark?" Bill asked. "How in God's name can he simply decide not to be available?" "I don't know," Stu answered. "He's more nervous and distracted every day. I'll stay close and try to manage him." "Right," General Bennett said, "but whatever you do, Stu, keep the President's feet to the fire about the need for military action in Mexico. It can't wait, no matter what the Speaker and his committees think." "President Harper is already acting as if I'm President," Stu said, "but I can't give the orders you need for Mexico, not unless George Morrison forgets he's Attorney General." Kate, who had been listening impatiently to the conversation about the President, interrupted. "Before we break up this tea party, let's talk about Dave Browning. We promised to keep him informed, and I don't think he'd want to read about Mexico in the morning paper or be blindsided by reporters. I'll probably be in Moscow when everything breaks, and I'd like to tell him before I leave. I don't need to say much, just that we're getting ready for our first move against the terrorists and that he can expect an escalation in the next few days." "Good point, Kate," Bill answered. "But, doesn't Dave Browning have business interests in Mexico? I don't want to give him unfair or illegal inside advance warning." "His companies control some large silver and copper mining concessions and he sits on the boards of several major Mexican industrial groups, including the one that controls Monterrey. But, if I ask for his silence," she said, "Dave will cooperate." "He must know President Allezar," Bill Stevens said casually. "Of course," Kate answered, embarrassed for not thinking of it herself. "Shall I find Dave and invite him to come to Washington for the evening? Maybe we can arrange something with him." The Generals left the politicians to organize the contact with Browning. Kate thought Dave would enjoy the cachet of having dinner with the Secretary of State, so Bill Stevens was selected to accompany her. She chose her father's home for the meeting, out of the way of Washington insiders and protected from the media. While the American Agenda insiders were settling on the details of the next step in their plan, President Harper sat in his private apartment, staring blankly into space, imagining a life beyond the White House, free from the group of advisors imploring him for the decisions that he had neither the desire nor the competence to take. • • • CHAPTER 16 • Dave Browning was on his private jet enroute from Denver to New York when Kate located him on his plane telephone. He diverted his flight to Washington where a limousine would meet him at Reagan International Airport to take him to General Gordon's home. Having arranged the evening meeting, Kate called her favorite caterer to have dinner delivered at 7 o'clock, then she went to her dad's home early enough to shower and change. Bill Stevens arrived as Dave's limo was pulling into in the driveway. Kate was waiting at the door in a short red silk dinner dress, showing a long shapely line of tanned leg reaching down to gold evening sandals. She wore a selection of the serious family jewelry that she usually left in her dad's safe. Washington dinners required only the day's business suit but Kate knew Dave would expect more. Kate regarded him with approval as he emerged from his limousine. Dave Browning was not her idea of an eligible bachelor, but rather of an uncle who toyed on the edges of sexual patter just enough to make their friendship interesting without being bothersome. He hugged her while simultaneously handing her a gold and emerald bracelet so casually that one might have mistaken it for a cheap copy. She kissed his cheek appreciatively and asked Dave to put the bracelet on her wrist, then held it out for him to admire. It was a ritual with them, jewelry for his "Kid", as he called Kate. She took them into the living room for cocktails and talk about the American Agenda campaign. After listening politely to their report for several minutes, Dave regaled them with his latest mega-deal. Making money was Dave Browning's passion. It was one of the reasons he was the world's richest and most confirmed bachelor. Dave also had a certain passion for Latin women, who, he often said to Kate, were unlikely to write memoirs or phone their favorite TV reporter, and in his experience they never demanded marriage. He treated them well and paid them to move on when he got bored. Kate rode shotgun in case any of them got ideas about becoming a permanent part of his life, occasionally paying them handsomely to make a quiet exit. Dave had managed to find a perfectly pressed dinner jacket and pale blue evening shirt from somewhere in his traveling luggage, which usually numbered at least six cases to accommodate the trinkets he habitually garnered from every place his plane touched down. The expensive junk found its way to his secretaries, maids and business associates, leaving his cases empty for the next trip. After dinner, Kate settled her two guests in the family room with coffee and a bottle of her dad's favorite single malt. "What's so important that we had to talk tonight?" Dave asked. "You never waste my time. That's why you're my lawyer. What's so damn-all critical?" "We met with the Joint Chiefs and the President today," Kate replied. "We've got one hell of a problem in Mexico. Terrorists are stocking arms along the Rio Grande and building a private army. Carlos Miguel is the patron. Cuba is involved." Dave studied his scotch glass. "Are we looking at an invasion, or whatever your father would call it?" "Maybe," Bill answered, "but we're preparing to intervene before it starts." "Dave," Kate said, "intelligence reports confirm that Raqqa, the Syrian terrorist leader, is directing the American end of the operation from a base somewhere near Los Angeles. Carlos Miguel is supplying the army and weapons. We've assembled a plan to stop them." "They're recruiting young ghetto Americans by offering them cash and convincing them that their future lies with the fundamentalist islamic world. All for Raqqa's and Miguel's greater glory and profit," Bill added. "I understand the guerrilla stuff. There's even precedent for its working over the longer term. But what makes Miguel think he can win a head-to-head battle against the American military?" Dave asked. "Maybe Miguel feels American scruples won't permit the use of massive fire power on our own territory, even if it means we risk losing," the Secretary suggested. "How right is he?" Dave asked. "Naturally, we won't let Miguel and Raqqa win," Bill said, "but strafing San Antonio and Los Angeles won't be the equivalent of a Broadway hit. It's going to be bloody and a lot of Americans won't condone the US military attacking ordinary citizens. You can goddamn well bet the terrorists will use the public's anxieties to try to sell themselves as the saviors of a repressive system." "Jesus, I can understand the need to sweep out the terrorists, but why go after a shabby Mexican army? Can it make it that much difference if we get rid of Miguel?" "We're going after their weapons caches with air strikes," Bill Stevens answered. "We have to keep the Rio Grande border free of hostile weapons." Dave's face went taut. He suddenly felt duped. He looked at Kate. "You're slick, kid," he grinned. "No wonder you're my lawyer. We're going to kill a few Mexicans and decimate part of their country and you want me to break the news to President Allezar. That's why the hell you invited me tonight." "Right the first time, Dave," Kate said. "No way," he said emphatically. "I'm trying to make a buck in Mexico, for Christ's sake." Kate studied Dave. She knew he had the guts to be ruthless, if need be. His sixty-two years were chiseled into a face craggy and weather beaten from his early days prospecting in Brazil and Mexico. Wall Street had finished the job on his face, but in recent years his weathered skin came from skiing at Gstaad and sailing his yacht near Portofino. Dave had started his career in the 1980s with a letter of introduction from his Missouri School of Mines advisor to the general manager of a copper mining company with concessions in Mexico. Forty years later, Dave Browning controlled most of the world's copper and silver production, operating behind well-known international companies and Latin American governments. He was still a tough, hard drinking mining engineer, but along the way he had learned to appreciate Picasso, beautiful women and three-star restaurants. Originally, Stu Wellford had introduced Kate to Dave because he gave a lot of money to Latin American presidents and businesses. She was the lawyer who made sure the gifts were legal and Dave Browning was generous in his payment for her services. "I'll go with you and do the talking," Bill Stevens said, "but we need a cover. If I fly into Mexico City, the whole world will wonder why. We're trying to warn Mexico without tipping off the terrorists or Raqqa." "Cut the heifer dust. What's the message for Allezar?" Dave asked, applying his engineer's precision to the Secretary's jargon. "I want to tell him we're going to issue a statement, preferably a joint statement, giving the terrorists twenty-four hours to begin a retreat south and empty their weapons depots." "Or?" Dave challenged. "Or we start a systematic bombing mission over the suspected depot areas." "Good luck," Dave laughed. "You know damn well that most of northern Mexico is about as stable as quicksand. Allezar can't help. The boys you need live in Monterrey." "Make a suggestion," Bill replied. "That's why we called you." "I don't think my friends are involved, but they'll know who is. Nothing in Monterrey happens without their blessing and appropriate payment to look the other way. Give me a day or two. I'll visit my Monterrey office and make a few phone calls." "Do you want protection?" Kate asked. "Hell, no. My friends may be willing to talk to me, but not while the CIA is holding on to my elbow. Thanks for the thought, kid, but this is strictly a solo flight." "I'll be in Moscow," Kate said. "General Barber and I have a date with President Katerinov. If you need to talk to me, phone Bill." As Dave was getting into his limousine to head back to the airport, he stopped to throw his arms around Kate and plant an ostentatious kiss on her cheek. "Thanks for dinner, kid," he laughed, patting her backside. "It was probably the most expensive one I'll ever have." He was still laughing and waving back at Kate and Bill as his limousine pulled through the security check and disappeared at the end of the driveway. "I'll wait up for Dad and tell him about Dave," Kate offered. "I can sleep on the plane tomorrow." The pair helped themselves to another glass of scotch and tried to relax after the long, exhausting day, but the phone rang. "Damn," Kate said, getting up to go into the kitchen to answer it, "who's calling at this time of night?" A hoarse voice spoke through the receiver. "Hi, Katie, how the hell are you?" "Jack, are you okay?" she asked, surprised to hear the Vice President, who hadn't phoned her since the GOP national committee kicked her out. "Yeah, I'm okay," he answered, with a slight slur. "Can you have lunch with me tomorrow?" "Sorry, I won't be in town tomorrow." "Yeah, I know. You'll be in your way to Moscow. Can I go with you?" Kate was silent. "You're not the only one in town with sources," he continued. "You've been drinking, Jack." "Drinking seems to be the only official duty I have these days." Kate settled down on the tile floor, resigned to a rambling conversation. Bill handed her the abandoned scotch as she motioned for him to stay, mouthing, 'it's the Vice President.' "Kate, I know a special mission when I smell it," Jack Wilson said, "and this one has a real strong odor." "Why would you want to go to Moscow in February, Jack?" she teased. "They're burning old Soviet boots to stay warm." "And why, Katie, would General Barber be going with you, to fly the goddamned plane?" "Jack, you're drunk." She imagined his rumpled polo shirt half out of his trousers. "Get some sleep and I'll phone you when I get back." "Kate, be careful. There's not much going on in Moscow that doesn't spell trouble." "What do you mean? Jack. If you think it's so dangerous, why would you want to come along?" "Shit," he hissed, "I never was any good with you smart-ass lawyers. I need some good press, that's all," he blurted, running his chubby hands nervously through his just slightly too long fine blond hair. "Not with me, Jack. This is a quiet diplomatic trip. The kind you've made a hundred times, to build better bridges. You'll have to find another front page photo op. I don't have one to offer this week." "Will you call me for lunch?" he asked, deflated. "Of course, as soon as I get back." "We used to be friends in the same old, smoke-filled rooms," he sulked. "Right, but the party confiscated my room key, remember?" "Watch out, Kate," he said, his voice trailing off. She listened for a moment and then hung up. The alcohol had put him to sleep. She looked at Bill pensively. "He knew all about Moscow, including Tony Barber. He told me to be careful. He wants to have lunch." "He was just drunk, Kate. Call him in a week or so. Find out what he knows, but I'm guessing it's damn little." "How did he know about the trip and General Barber?" "Maybe he read a flight manifest at Andrews. He's still the Vice President, much as we'd like him to disappear." "Doesn't anybody in this house ever sleep?" a voice shouted from the front door. It was General Gordon. He came into the kitchen holding the bottle of scotch he had scooped up from the coffee table in the family room. "If you're staying up for the late, late movie, I'll join you," he said, pouring a drink. When Kate and Stu reported on their dinner with Dave Browning, the General said, "I'm going to put an undercover unit in place, whether Dave likes it or not. He doesn't have to know. I don't want an American hostage to add to the mess in Mexico. As a matter of fact, an undercover unit might be good for Dave, no matter where he is. He's getting mixed up in a game that's a lot more vicious than he knows." When Kate mentioned Jack Wilson's phone call, her father's antenna went up. "There is no manifest," he said. "Something's going on and I don't like the possibilities." "We can't call off the trip," Bill said. "It's too important and, if Katerinov is right, we don't have time to postpone it." "You're right," General Gordon agreed, "but I'll send a fighter escort with Kate and Tony. Just in case. And I'm going to put a tail on the Vice President, someone who can fit into his Secret Service detachment without being noticed."