Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 02 (55 page)

 
          
“Isn’t
worth what? That aircraft is the most advanced in the world. We can’t just
build a thing like that and then hand it over to the Soviets to study, for
God’s sake. I don’t care if they only have it for a few days, it is still too
damn long.”

 
          
“DreamStar,
as I understand it, is twenty-first-century technology. The Soviets are having
their problems with 1980s technology—”

 
          
“And
that
is a 1960s stereotype, sir,”
Elliott shot back. “We all learned, or I thought we did, what a fallacy that
was. Ever hear of Kavaznya, Mr. Secretary? Sary Shagan? Since the late
seventies the Russians have repeatedly proved that they can keep pace with any
other western nation in technology, and that includes the
United States
. And don’t forget Sputnik . . .”

 
          
“My
recommendation stands, Mr. President,” Stuart said.

 
          
“I’m
surprised by Bill’s position on this matter,” Dennis Danahall, the Secretary of
State, said during the pause that followed Stuart’s remarks. Danahall was
considerably younger than others on the Cabinet and, like Deborah O’Day, a
recent White House appointee—widely thought of as a political asset to attract
the support of younger voters. “I thought he’d opt for a stronger stand. But
until I heard some better options I must agree with him, Mr. President. I think
a strongly worded letter, perhaps from the Oval Office itself, combined with
some face-to-face between myself and the Soviet Foreign Minister or their
ambassador could expedite things.”

 
          
“As
I said, Secretary Danahall,” Elliott interrupted, “in any other circumstance I
would not favor a military response. But time really is of the essence here. We
must
act quickly.”

 
          
“I
agree,” Deborah O’Day said. “My staff is working on an interagency report, sir,
but I’m forced to go by what little General Elliott has told us about the
XF-34. We can’t allow the Russians to walk off with it... A small-scale
military response just may be necessary.”

 
          
The
President looked briefly at O’Day, then turned away.

 
          
“Any
other inputs?” When he heard none he summarized: “Two suggestions to take the
diplomatic route only, confront the Soviets and demand our property back. One
to intervene directly. Frankly, I don’t see how far a military response would
get us. As I said before, the damage has already been done here. Whether or not
the Soviets give our jet back or even admit they have it is a moot point—the
fact is, we lost it and this government—and I believe the Congress—is not about
to start a fight to get it back . . . Therefore I am directing Secretary
Danahall to draft a letter for my signature, using the strongest diplomatic language
possible, demanding the return of our aircraft immediately. I’ll follow this up
with more direct communications with the Soviet government, if necessary.”

 
          
The
President now looked at Elliott. “Our business in this matter is closed. I want
to reopen the previous agenda in the time remaining. General Elliott, our
business is concluded. Please wait for me in my outer office.”

 
          
“Yes,
sir.” Elliott stood, masking his disappointment with an expressionless stare.
The Cabinet watched as the tall, thin veteran of two wars and a mission to
Russia
that was still only spoken of in whispers
limped out of the conference room.

 
          
Cesare
had alerted the President’s receptionist that Elliott was on his way, and he
was quickly and politely shown into the waiting area outside the Oval Office,
given a cup of coffee and asked to wait.

 
          
Never,
Elliott thought, had he felt so damn helpless. He was getting no support from
the Air Force Chief of Staff, he had just been in an argument with the
Secretary of Defense, and the President of the
United States
apparently thought he was some nut-case
hawk. Even Deborah O’Day, who must have been the one who leaked the information
about DreamStar and Maraklov to the press, didn’t act supportive. Well, she
said be ready with a presentation to knock the President’s socks off, and he
had clearly failed to do that. And if he couldn’t support his own cause, he
could hardly expect her or anyone else to do it for him.

 
          
He
sat in the outer office for nearly an hour, jotting down occasional notes to
himself on how to best organize HAWC for the upcoming investigation. There was
a telephone in the outer office, and he considered using it to find out how
Wendy Tork . . . now McLanahan . . . was doing, but decided against it. He’d do
it on his way out. He had made a note to stop by

 
          
San Antonio
and
Brooks
Medical
Center
on his way back to Dreamland when the door
to the Oval Office opened and Paul Cesare, wearing a grim face, opened the door
for Elliott. “This way, General.”

 
          
When
he was shown into the Oval Office he was surprised at the people assembled
there. Deborah O’Day was standing beside the President, hands folded in front
of her. Secretary of the Air Force Wilbur Curtis, the former Chairman of the
Joint Chiefs of Staff, was there along with generals Kane and Board; only
Curtis had a welcoming smile for his old friend. The other surprise addition
was Speaker of the House Van Keller, the ranking Democrat in Congress. All but
Curtis and O’Day were tight-faced as he made his way into the Oval Office.

 
          
“Great
to see you, Brad, you old throttle jockey,” Curtis said. “Sorry I couldn’t be
here earlier, they had me in
Europe
inspecting some old Russian missile silos.”

 
          
“Good
to see you too, sir.”

 
          
“Can
the ‘sir’ stuff, Brad. I’m wearing a suit now, and it’s not a blue suit,
either. And don’t look so down in the mouth. We’ve just begun to fight.”

 
          
The
President took a seat at the big cherry desk, and the others found seats around
him. Curtis sat beside Elliott, arranged so that he could watch both him and
the President.

 
          
“I
don’t have a lot of time,” the President said. He turned to his National
Security Adviser. “Deborah, go ahead.”

 
          
“As
you know, Mr. President, the story broke a few hours ago. Along with questions
aimed at this administration and myself, the media focused in on the
Soviet Union
. It was very well prepared—they had
statements from our own FAA air traffic controllers, Mexican controllers, a few
of our low-level military sources and local police authorities dealing with the
F-15 crash near
Yuma
. They even got statements from air traffic controllers at
Managua
. The press has damn near re-created the
whole sequence of events, and in very short order.

 
          
“But
when asked directly, the
Soviet Union
still denies any involvement in the incident, denies that they have an American
plane, denies they had a secret agent working in Dreamland, denies everything
about James ... Maraklov. But I’ve just received the preliminary report from
Rutledge. His CIA confirms that the aircraft that flew through
Honduras
into Nicaraguan airspace did land at Sebaco
Airbase.”

 
          
“So
we’ve traced it from Dreamland to a KGB airfield in

 
          
Nicaragua
,” Curtis said, “and the Russians are
denying it ever happened.”

           
“It’s not going to be another
Belyenko incident,” O’Day said. “The Russians aren’t going to admit they have
it.”

 
          
“I
agree,” Speaker Van Keller said. “This is no disillusioned young pilot flying
his jet out of the country. If they admit they have the XF-34, they admit to an
international criminal act, an act of war, in effect ...”

 
          
“It
looks to me like we have no choice anymore, Mr. President,” Curtis said. “It
would be a political and military disaster to allow them to get away with this.
Even if they should later admit it, we must do something
now.
”

 
          
“Never
mind the politics, Wilbur, that’s my business. As for the military, what were
the Air Force and the DIA doing when this Soviet agent was planted, then
allowed to exist so long in a place he gets to be the top pilot in our most
advanced experimental aircraft? All right, I need a plan of action.” He looked
at Elliott. “General?”

 
          
“Yes,
sir . . . we need to do two things immediately: first, verify exactly where
DreamStar is at Sebaco, and second, show the Russians that we know that
DreamStar is there and that we’re prepared to do something strong about it. I
propose a flyby of Sebaco by a single high-performance reconnaissance aircraft.
No weapons except for self-protection. No ground- attack arsenal. It—”

 
          
“I
want no weapons at all,” the President said. “Unarmed. If the thing crashes in
Nicaragua
I don’t want to see pictures of Nicaraguan
fishermen dragging American missiles out of the water with their nets. Can you
do it without weapons?”

 
          
“It’ll
be more difficult, but it can be done.”

 
          
The
President looked skeptical and irritable. This thing was more and more taking
on the risks and implications of the Cuban missile crisis . . . “How? A
high-altitude jet? I want
one
aircraft,
remember—no escorts, no waves of aircraft—”

 
          
“One
aircraft,” Elliott said. “And it will be at low altitude. We want there to be
no question that the Soviets know we mean business.”

 
          
“Not
another damned B-52?”

 
          
“The
thought had crossed my mind,” Elliott admitted, “but
Managua
is very heavily protected, and this would
have to be a daylight mission. We would probably lose a B-i or even a B-2
Stealth aircraft. No, no bomber aircraft.”

 
          
“How
do you expect one aircraft to do the job and still survive?” Van Keller asked.
“Use an unmanned aircraft? A drone? A satellite?”

 
          
“No,
a single aircraft but a very special one,” Elliott said. “Twice through Sebaco
on photo runs, in and out, perhaps sixty seconds over the base and five minutes
in Nicaraguan airspace. We’ll have what we need.”

 
          
Paul
Cesare moved closer to the President: “Mr. President, our meeting with the
Foreign Relations Committee . . .” “All right, Paul,” the President said.
“Wilbur, General Elliott, this is what I want: a single aircraft, unarmed, not
more than five minutes over
Nicaragua
. This will be the only chance you’ll get,
so it had better be done right the first time. Wilbur, you have command
authority. Brief me tonight.

 
          
“One
more thing. If you people screw this up I won’t wait until after the election
to clean house.”

*
 
*
 
*

 
          
As
Curtis and Elliott left the Oval Office for the elevators down to the White
House garage, Curtis turned to Elliott and said, “I knew the Old Man couldn’t
ignore you, Brad.”

           
“Thanks for the support. I haven’t
seen much from the White House lately.”

           
“There’s more than you think,”
Curtis said. “And I’m not just talking about the National Security Adviser.”

 
          
Elliott
looked at Curtis. “What about her?”