Casing the Colors © Week 14

Casing the Colors © Week 14 • • • CHAPTER 25 • • The next morning at precisely 06:45 EST, United States Air Force bombers headed south from bases in Phoenix and San Antonio. Thirty minutes later they delivered their first payloads along the Mexican side of the Rio Grande from Matamoros to Nuevo Laredo. The world would soon learn that the United States had attacked Mexico. General Gordon maintained constant contact with the southwest sector, through sector commander General Carlson, as well as General Bennett, who was moving along the Rio Grande to give visible support to positioned troops. Secretary of State Bill Stevens was on the phone, wakening Mexican President Allezar, who at first insisted that he had misunderstood the Secretary's words. In the White House Press Room, the press secretary began his briefing, speaking to sleepy young reporters assigned to the graveyard shift. His first sentence caused a near- panic as they ran out, punching numbers into their mobile phones. When the press room was again full a half hour later, the press secretary was facing most of the seasoned veterans of the White House press corps, eager to dig into the breaking story of a mini-war involving US troops. The President, unaware that the military had implemented his executive order, was peacefully asleep, enjoying drug- induced dreams. His doctor dozed fitfully in the hall outside his bedroom, the door ajar so he would hear any change in the President's breathing. Three thousand miles away, unprepared Mexicans were dying as screaming shells slammed into their last hour of sleep. Local teams of mainstream media rushed to the bombing scenes to bring the carnage to the world in early morning color. They swarmed around General Bennett, the hero they had created, to record his front line explanations. He was much better copy than the President, who would be unavailable until nine that evening anyway, giving them twelve undisturbed hours to devote to their all-American General. They wanted to capture his flamboyant courage for their audiences, and perhaps find a chink in his shiny armor, something they were intuitively beginning to dig for in their automatic quest to uncover the story that sooner or later would be required before ratings tumbled in step with America's attention span. They were searching for the way to end the media honeymoon with General Bennett by beginning a negative analysis of his life and work. Europeans, eating lunch as the first news of the Mexican invasion reached them, were surprised but unworried by the latest border clash. They lived in a smaller but politically more violent world and had grown used to such events. That the invader was the United States made them wonder what Mexico could have done to provoke such a response, but they quickly went back to their meals. In the early evening, their governments would tell them that the Mexican dispute involved Europe as well. They would then begin to pay attention to the names of Mexican towns they had never before heard of. In Moscow, President Katerinov, who had sufficient intel to guess when the United States would begin its response, paced in his office, reading military and intelligence updates. He started to draft a diplomatic note, but tore it up and picked up the red phone on his desk. In the Oval Office, the President's chief of staff answered the corresponding red phone, gave the President's identifier and passed the phone to Assistant Secretary of State Kate Gordon. She was rather surprised to be greeted by Alexei, who asked, politely but formally, if the United States had prepared its answer to his proposal. "It is most important that the United States and Russia agree on a partnership soon," he reminded her. "We have an answer," she said. "I'm leaving for Moscow after the President's address to the nation tonight." "That means I will see you tomorrow," he replied. "I will be waiting at the airport," he said, his voice tone neutral. The conversation ended with little having been exchanged except diplomatic business, leaving Kate wondering whether Alexei had cooled or was merely automatically cautious after his years in the Soviet system. Her thoughts were interrupted when Stu Wellford asked her to go with him to the White House communications center to get the latest reports from the battle front. The TV images were unnerving. The Mexican border towns looked like they had been hit by an earthquake. Stucco and block buildings cracked and crumpled as the bombs struck, trapping families in their beds, killing those who ran into the streets seeking escape from the explosive noise and collapsing walls. Burned bodies and bleeding children were spread before America's breakfast tables by cameramen determined to show the world the US military's morning handiwork. If the media hoped to stop the bombing by arousing popular reaction, they were mistaken. The TV images had the opposite effect on Americans who, able to watch the military action unfold because it was early morning, could at last see their country taking the offensive to protect the United States. Conversely, the media images had their intended effect on Stu Wellford and Kate Gordon, who, as they watched the attack, took more and more blame into themselves for what was happening. General Gordon tried to fortify them for what he knew would follow in the weeks ahead. He explained the need to stop Miguel and Raqqa and reminded them of the American lives being saved by the morning's action. "War," the General said, "all war is at bottom murderous. Only its purpose absolves it. Duty demands that we act to save the United States," he said, "and with duty comes the burden of decision, and its consequences." Scott Bennett, as he had been in the November riots, was the popular coalescing force. He explained to America crisply and with conviction the actions being taken. "If we don't stop Carlos Miguel now," he told a group of reporters who were following him as he toured troop lines along the Rio Grande, "we will be enmeshed in a long costly guerrilla war with well-armed mercenaries. We offered Miguel his chance to turn back and he refused. Now, we are defending our position with force. We want him to hold no illusions about his future." The media served it up to a zealous America. The first sampling of phone calls into the White House and congressional offices showed that Americans overwhelmingly supported General Bennett and his tough no-nonsense military stance. They were frightened by Miguel and Raqqa, and Scott Bennett eased their fears. They repaid him with enthusiastic devotion. Skirmishes along the Rio Grande proved that General Bennett was having an impact. When Miguel's American sympathizers tried to hit the rear of the US troop line with isolated rifle fire and grenades, they were routed by the stunning fire power of the US military, only to be met by hostile American civilians who took them captive, if they were lucky, or shot them on the spot. General Carlson ordered a strategic combined air and ground attack on Naco, the tiny village in the Mexican Sonoran Desert, just south of the Arizona border. The first foray originated from Fort Huachuca, an old cavalry post which had become in the 1960s a technical installation working on stealth planes, drones and other high tech weaponry. Watching Central America and Mexico was the Fort's other standing order. As Air Force planes from Phoenix were layering the hills south of Naco with bombs, an infantry unit from Fort Huachuca which had quietly left the Fort during the night, rolled into the village, halting on the American side of the border at the northern end of the dusty street stretching from the customs station to the highway south of the town. It was the only real street in Naco, lined on both sides with flat-roofed adobe buildings the same color as the desert grit blown against their exposed walls. The infantry unit broadcast a warning in Spanish and then began a systematic artillery shelling of the village, destroying buildings as their inhabitants fled into the desert. The canteen, post office and statue of Pancho Villa, rifle in hand, facing north to guard the village from the gringos, fell in the artillery barrage. There had been no sniper activity in Naco and the media was bewildered by the US Army's lethal action. Watching the destruction of Naco on television from the White House, Stu Wellford angrily turned on General Gordon. "What in the hell does General Carlson think he's doing?" he demanded. "General Carlson is carrying out his orders," the General snapped. "Killing innocent people," Stu replied. "Christ in heaven, do you want the media to run the war?" General Gordon shouted in exasperation. "Of course not, Jim," Stu answered, "but Naco isn't part of Miguel's force. Why destroy it?" The General, digging deep for patience, explained once more the nature of guerrilla warfare. "We are dealing with civilians, innocent and not so innocent, on both sides, a mix of victims, partisans and propaganda tools. We've hashed out everything before, Stu. It is not going to be pretty, and this morning is only the first chapter." As General Gordon spoke, the television screen in front of them lit up, at first bright orange, then gray-orange as a blast hurled dust clouds upward into the clear morning sky above Naco. An artillery shell had hit a rebel storage depot near the south end of the village, blowing up rifle shells, fuel drums and explosives hidden by Miguel's army. The blast made further work by the US Infantry unnecessary, as a fire ball and the blast shock thundered north and south along the street, searing everything in its path, engulfing the customs post and killing American soldiers and villagers in a common fury that enveloped all of them. What had begun as a search for rebel weapons caches ended by simultaneously destroying both the hunters and their prey. "Jesus Christ," General Gordon whispered slowly. "Jesus Christ. There is your quiet village, Stu, just innocent peasants storing fireworks for Cinco de Mayo." Stu turned away from the horrorific sight. "Let's take a walk," Jim Gordon said, taking Stu's arm. "We both need a break." While they were talking to Kate and George Morrison in a quiet corner of the communication center, Jim Gordon received his first report from General Carlson. "Most of the infantry unit is dead, Sir," Phil Carlson reported into his scrambler helicopter telephone. "The survivors are badly burned. A med-flight team is on its way to begin evacuating the injured, both Army and villagers, to hospitals in Tucson and Phoenix." "I thought the President was just weak when he couldn't take the scene in Atlanta," Stu said to no one in particular, "but I'm beginning to understand." "Nobody likes what we just saw," Kate said. "But, think how many people would have died if Raqqa had gotten his chance to use those explosives in the United States. General Gordon took a call from the Pentagon and then asked Stu and Kate go back to the Oval Office with him. They followed obediently, almost afraid to ask what was going on. • • It was just after 9 a.m. when General Gordon closed the door to the President's office and delivered the bad news that he had always known would present itself. "We've got trouble in New Orleans and Miami," Jim announced. "Several unmanned drones attacked chemical tanks and oil storage depots along the Mississippi south of New Orleans. The resulting explosions and fires are taking out other storage tanks. So far, there has been no damage to the city proper. I don't have a body count yet for the target area." "How could it happen?" Stu asked, already considering the political damage and wondering what to do next. "The drones apparently flew in low, not more than a hundred feet or so above zero altitude to avoid radar detection. They undoubtedly came from Cuba, judging from the strike pattern. We're waiting for the full report. We've already scrambled planes from bases in Alabama and Florida. They're patrolling the Gulf of Mexico at low altitudes. We've also priority-activated our satellite surveillance in the region. It won't happen again." "Drones," Kate repeated. General Gordon said, "Cuba has several systems. What is important is that they got through. New Orleans has asked for federal help. Military units will be deployed by noon." "What about Miami?" Stu asked. "Miami is a different story," the General said. "Terrorists from Hispanic and black neighborhoods have begun a rampage through white residential areas. They're throwing grenades and fire bombs. The area around Biscayne Bay has been worst hit. There also seems to be light artillery fire coming from offshore. We're locking in on the coordinates so we can respond. GPS will let us target the boats and eliminate them with small payload missiles. I've ordered General Bennett to Miami to take charge. Ranger units are on their way to the Miami airport to meet him." "I thought we were talking about a threat to the southwest," Stu said. "What's going on? What the hell is going on," he demanded. "Miguel seems to be sending the message that we are vulnerable, at least once, almost anywhere. Black and hispanic districts in Miami are excellent recruiting areas for him and Raqqa. It's easy to supply arms from Cuba and Mexico. But they know they won't get the chance in most places to launch the second round of drones. Street violence will be the real problem for us. Raqqa is moving his campaign to white neighborhoods where we can't blast away in response without harming the Americans whose support we need. He knows how tough that would be for us, politically. We need to hit Cuba and the Yucatan to take out their supply bases." "No," Stu answered automatically, his mind still reeling from the images of the Naco action. The General moved toward the closed door, ignoring Stu's last remark. "I'll get back to you when I have the New Orleans report." "Jim," Stu said, "give New Orleans and Miami whatever they require. You don't need to ask." "I know that," General Gordon said flatly as he opened the door. "We have a lot of diplomatic fences to mend before we think about attacking Cuba," Stu continued, understanding for the first time in practical terms the scope of the executive order the President had signed. "Don't use the executive order outside the US, except for Mexico, without telling me. We need to contain our diplomatic losses." "Of course," the General said. "That's your job." When General Gordon met Bill Stevens in the doorway, he turned around and followed the Secretary back into the office. "President Allezar has asked for an emergency meeting of the UN Security Council," Bill reported. "He wants the United States to support his position that Mexico is threatened by Miguel and Raqqa as much as America is. I agreed, contingent with White House approval. He is waiting for the President's answer." "What will he ask the Security Council to do?" Kate asked. "He wants a peacekeeping force deployed along border areas where Miguel is operating. He wants our air raids to stop once the force is in place. He will emphasize that the threat is not from the US but from Miguel." "What about Raqqa?" General Gordon asked. "He won't be constrained by a UN resolution." "I spoke with Allezar about that," Bill said. "He is willing to let us patrol Gulf ports to stop the weapons flow into Mexico. But he says he can't keep Miguel from recruiting in Mexico or from moving men into the US unless the peacekeeping force receives authority to do it." "Would the UN agree to using US troops as peacekeepers?" "The problem is Allezar. He can't ask openly for US troops without jeopardizing his own political position, but he wouldn't try to stop us. I can guarantee that Mexico would not object if we made the proposal." "I've also been talking to Europe," Bill said. "Britain, France, Germany and Italy are going to tell their citizens this evening about the terrorist demand for European territory. They will continue to give the United States a free hand in this hemisphere. The French president will activate naval patrols along the French Mediterranean coast and ground patrols along the French-Italian border." "I'll get an alert order out to NATO and the US Southern European Task Force in Vicenza, Italy," General Gordon said. "We can support them with the US fleet in the Mediterranean, but we need a NATO okay to use planes for European patrolling." Bill Stevens listened as he stared out the window overlooking the White House grounds. The morning was sunny, promising a perfect early spring day in Washington. Ironic, he thought, feeling more as if he were enduring a cold winter night. He turned to face the group in the Oval Office. "I think we ought to bomb the hell out of Cuba and the Yucatan, now before we get any unwanted help from the Security Council. I would feel a lot better if Cuban air strength were eliminated before we start negotiating with the UN. If anyone complains, we can give a rather stark account of the last month." "Have you two planned this," Stu Wellford asked, looking from Secretary Stevens to General Gordon, "or am I being overly sensitive?" "I haven't talked to anyone," Bill said. "It simply makes sense to neutralize Cuba." "Exactly my point," General Gordon said. "Before the President's speech or after?" Stu asked wearily. "Before," the General said. Secretary Stevens nodded in agreement. "Do we know if the President will be able to give a speech tonight?" Kate asked. "He'll be okay for five minutes or so," Stu answered. "Then Bill can take over with a detailed explanation." "Good," General Gordon said, wanting to end the conversation before anyone got cold feet. "Let's go. I'll get back to you in two hours, with a plan for Cuba and the Yucatan." Kate grabbed her coat and followed her father and Bill Stevens out of the Oval Office. "I think it's time to land Pete Lowell and the GOP," she said turning back toward Stu. "Kate," Stu said. "Are you all right?" she asked, hearing the strain in his voice. "I've lost America to the military and you to the President of Russia. I'm not sure why I'm involved in all this anymore." "We haven't lost America, Stu. We're putting it together again. Dad won't let anything awful happen." "I hope you're right about America. But how do I deal with Alexei Katerinov." "Stu, please forgive me," she replied, bracing herself for the conversation she had irrationally hoped to avoid. "Try to understand that if you and I could have had any chance to be together, Alexei would never have happened. I couldn't go on hiding behind Scott just to have an hour with you now and then. You told me that yourself." Kate stopped, hearing Sheila Wellford's words becoming her own. She looked at the man she had loved so passionately and wondered if that could ever be completely erased. "You're right, Sweetie," he said, "but it doesn't make me proud to have to give you up because I'm too damned weak to stand up to the political consequences of going public. Just as I'm too damned weak to put a stop to what we've unleashed with the military." "Stu," she said, struggling with the tears welling up in her eyes, "we have a job to do and our personal feelings can't jeopardize our chances of succeeding. It's too important." He hugged her and then quickly held her at arm's length to avoid the pain of her body's closeness. "As usual, my dear, your logic is impeccable," he said, searching for his habitual composure. "Let's get on with it." • • • CHAPTER 26 • • Kate Gordon found Pete Lowell sitting alone at GOP headquarters, watching the TV coverage of the US attack on Mexico. 'Jack Wilson for President' campaign posters still covered all the walls in his office and his secretary's desk chair had 'Wilson for President' balloons tied to its back. It had the aura of a loser's office the morning after a national political convention. "Are you looking for recruits for Mexico or is it time to talk politics?" Pete asked as Kate dropped into a chair in front of his cluttered desk. "I want to offer you a job, but the up front payment is big." "I don't even have a candidate, for Christ's sake. What makes you think I can buy a job?" "The job is in the White House," she replied, brushing aside his sarcasm. "Chief of Staff or Counselor to the President. You pick it." "Jesus," he whistled, turning off the TV set. "What makes me so goddamned important all of a sudden?" "We want you on board, but you need to bring a deal with you." "I'm listening," Pete Lowell said, settling back smugly to find out how important he really was to American Agenda. "Pete, I need your absolute promise of silence. This involves the President." "Which one, Stuart Wellford or the clown we elected?" "We need to get the President out of Washington and Stu into the Oval Office as soon as possible." "Right," he laughed in amazement, "and you've decided I'm the key to your success. Kate, could you be a little more specific. I haven't read the script yet." "Do I have your word, Pete? No talking, no leaks, even if you decide to opt out." "You have my word. Now, what the fuck are you talking about?" "The President wants out. His nerves are shattered and he says he's going to resign." "Terrific, just terrific," Pete complained. "My guy gets himself shot out of the sky and now you tell me he was within a month of becoming President of the United States." "Your guy," Kate answered savagely, "was selling information to the terrorist leader, Raqqa. He was taking money for his campaign from the fundamentalist bastard. Save the pious laments. Somebody knew the money was coming from something slimy. Your committee had to figure out how to report it." "Wait a goddamned minute, Kate. I'm not the campaign treasurer. I don't count the loose change. What the hell are you talking about?" "Jack Wilson was selling military information to Raqqa in return for money and votes. Raqqa promised to deliver the ghettos to Jack," she said, hammering home every word. "Get real, Kate. Jack didn't know anything worth selling. You and your friends made sure he was out of the loop at the White House. It's pure shit." "It's straight, Pete. Whoever blew up Jack's plane did it to keep him from naming his source, someone close to the President who was feeding information to Jack for Raqqa. We don't know who it is, but the President has panicked and he's going to resign, no matter how big a mess he leaves behind for us and the country." "Jack," Pete Lowell muttered, "that no good lying son of a bitch. I thought he was just stupid." "I can prove what I'm telling you, Pete. Think it over." "You don't like the idea of the Speaker moving into the Oval Office. Am I getting warm?" he said, watching her eyes for a reaction. "If the Speaker and the rest of the succession list will stay in line...." "You appoint Stu Vice President, the President resigns and American Agenda wins the White House without a vote being cast. It's so goddamned wild that it just might work," Pete said. "I always knew you were gutsy." "Will you help?" Pete, she repeated. "There's nothing left here for you and if we let the Grand Old Party into the White House in the person of the Speaker, the country's had it. Stu Wellford is the only politician I know who may be able to hold America together while we clean out the sewer rats. Damn it, Pete, use your head. It's the best offer you're ever going to get." "Yeah," he sighed, "and who gets to play Vice President in this paradise on the Potomac?" "We can deal. Tell your people they can have a veto over the choice for Vice President. Find out what else they need." "What happens to the Republican Party?" "That's up to them. You know where I stand." "On rather shaky ground," Pete said. "But, what the hell, at least it's the ground at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue." "Pete, I'll use whatever I have to, including going public about Jack singing to the terrorists." "That fucking bastard," Pete swore, as the truth sank in and he realized Kate had him trapped in a position with no political future except to take her offer. "Ain't love grand," he finally chuckled. "Okay, Katie, one for your side. Count me in. I'll get back to you tomorrow." "Seven tonight, Pete. Come to the White House. I need to know before the President speaks to the nation at 9 p.m." "You're not announcing anything tonight, are you?" he asked, scrambling to keep up with her. "We're not announcing anything, ever. I'm going to Moscow tonight after the speech. I need to know if we have a deal before I leave." "I'll try. The White House, 7 p.m.," he repeated and suddenly laughed. "Black tie?" "Right. Bring your dancing shoes. You're going to need them." "Christ," Pete said, "how are we going to deal with the voters? Who's going to sell the deal to them?" "Pete, my dear boy, why do you think I'm asking you to join the party? Stu Wellford and Scott Bennett can sell it to America, and I know of nobody better than you to tee them up." "I suppose you love the guy," Pete answered, "but Scott scares the shit out of me. We need to keep a short rope on him." "You can have the job. The rest of us are working full time just to stay close behind his next move," she laughed. "Come on, Pete, don't worry about Scott. He's just mega-dosing on media vitamins. My father will keep him in line. It's the President you need to focus on. When you see him, you'll understand. See you tonight," she waved as she left him sitting at his desk.