Lethal Trajectories (42 page)

“How will you explain this in policy terms, Mr. President?’ asked Tony Mullen.

“I’ll frame this as our strategic response to the perfect storm. I’ll tell them it’s a work in progress and that we’ll fill in the pieces as we work our way through it. I want them to feel—deep in their gut—the urgency of the challenges and the necessity to meet them immediately and forcefully. I’ll remind them we must coordinate our efforts so that in fixing one part of the quadrant we don’t increase problems in the other quadrants. As the docs say, do no harm.”

“What will you say, Mr. President, in reference to our foreign policy and expectations we’ll have of our allies?” asked Secretary of State Cartright.

“Thanks, Elizabeth. I’ll be highlighting a few things: first, that America and its allies will oppose the Saudi oil embargo with all means available. I’ll also reinforce our position that an attack on Israel will be considered an attack on the United States. Hopefully, I’ll be able to emphasize our new alliance with China and what it will mean with respect to the Saudi crisis and our ability to work through global rationing and longer-term economic and climate-change challenges.

“I’ll reiterate America’s commitment and willingness to ‘pay any price and bear any burden,’ to quote JFK, to resolve the global challenges we face in cooperation with all nations of the world.”

“It’s an aggressive plan, Mr. President,” asked the skeptical Secretary of Defense, Thurmond Thompson. “How will you get Congress to go along with it?”

“You’re right, Thurmond, it is an aggressive plan. I’ll work with Congress to the extent possible, but I won’t hesitate to invoke the wartime and emergency powers of the presidency to implement the hard decisions. We can’t let this get picked to pieces; we need to push it through as a package.”

Sensing Thompson’s concern, Clayton continued.

“I know it sounds harsh, but we’re on the receiving end of problems that have festered and been passed on from one administration to the next for decades. It’s time to pay the piper; there’s simply nowhere else to go. It’s not just about Saudi Arabia and energy. It’s also about climate-change and our debt-laden economy and entitlement programs we can no longer afford—any one of these problems could bury us. This may be our last real opportunity to get things back on track. That’s the message I want everyone to hear.

“There’s also a message of hope in all this that shouldn’t be forgotten. The very things it’ll take to transition to a new economy—like building new energy systems and infrastructures—will create broad new engines of economic growth. I see this as a way out for us. With our technological prowess, we can once again be exporters of new technologies and energy systems. There’s a brighter future for America, but it’ll take some unpleasant medicine to get there.”

For the next two hours, the council challenged and debated the president’s plan and approach. Clayton was encouraged to see that the strategic blueprint was coming together—albeit sketchily—as the considerable powers of the White House rallied to make Safe Harbors a reality. At the conclusion, the admiral summarized the highlights and dished out assignments.

As Clayton gathered up a sheaf of reports and notes, he found himself preoccupied with a gnawing concern that China’s Politburo wouldn’t buy into the deal worked out in Geneva.
We’re really going to be screwed if Lin Cheng can’t deliver the deal to his Politburo, and I’m going to be in a horrible spot if I can’t tell Congress and the American people that China is in this with us.

It was going to be another long night of guessing at outcomes of an event that was beyond his control.

I
t was a warm Monday evening, and Clayton McCarty was gearing up for the biggest speech of his life. Sequestered in Shangri-la, he reflected on his speech and everything riding on it.

He was nursing a sore ankle from an overly aggressive game of hide-and-seek with his daughters on the second floor of the White House over the weekend, and he rubbed it as he thought about the hectic collection of events leading to this moment.

It had started early Friday morning, when Lin Cheng called to advise him that the Politburo had agreed to the Geneva plan … with one notable exception. He also appreciated Lin Cheng’s willingness to issue a strong statement of support following his speech. The exception, however, concerned him.

“You mentioned an exception, Cheng?” he had asked.

“Yes, Clayton, I did. The Politburo had significant concerns with the oil-rationing plan and the ceding of China’s authority to a global gas station run by the IEA, but I was able to overcome them. I was not, however, able to push through the across-the-board 10 percent contingency oil reserve requirement on our domestic production.”

“What were you able to come up with?” Clayton asked, hardly able to disguise his disappointment.

“Old habits die hard, Clayton, and they thought the flat 10 percent assessment would greatly disadvantage China vis-à-vis the United States. They would agree to a bracketed reduction whereby the first two million barrels of production was assessed at a 5 percent reserve level and amounts over that would be assessed at 10 percent. Not a huge difference, but the best I could get. I’d also add that they will not allow any of China’s pooled contingency reserve to go to Japan. What do you think, Clayton?”

Clayton did a quick mathematical calculation and thought it was palatable. Still, by making the concession he had hoped to get something in return.

“If that’s what it takes to get a deal, we can live with it. I’ll take some heat for the arrangement, but so be it. Though there is something you can do for me that would help soften the blow, Lin Cheng.”

“Yes, Clayton. Tell me what it is, and I’ll do my best to make it happen.”

“In the statement of support you plan to make after my speech, it would be most helpful if you could put in a special plug for your support of Israel—however you care to express it.”

“Yes, I will do that, Clayton. Good luck with your speech.”

“Thank you, Cheng. I’ll be sending you a copy Monday morning.”

That particular request was prompted by his previous conversation with Israeli Prime Minister Yakov Nachum. He had assured Nachum of America’s unequivocal support of Israel, and the prime minister had gratefully assured him that Israel would not take any precipitous actions in the immediate future—unless provoked. The added support of China, he knew, would help Nachum keep his hawks from pushing an attack. Secretary of State Cartright was also working the phones with foreign governments, and he was pleased that most were supportive of his approach.

President Burkmeister had also called with some practical suggestions for addressing Congress—something Clayton was grateful to have. Clayton advised the former president that he would open with a special tribute to him, and Burkmeister asked that he greet the American people on his behalf.

The logistics of preparing for the speech had been a blur of meetings with his speechwriters, endless tiny tweaks to language and delivery, rehearsals, and a complete dry run indicating that his speech would take fifty-one minutes to deliver, exclusive of interruptions for applause and so forth. Maggie had been briefed on where she and the kids would be sitting, and he was delighted that her mother would be able to join her.

The media frenzy had already reached unbelievable levels. Some pundits had predicted that viewership would exceed even that of Burkmeister’s tragic press conference, with billions of people watching it either live or in replay. And yet, here he was, less than an hour away from showtime, reflecting on the day and praying for the strength to pull it off. Just then he heard a tapping on the door, and his secretary softly said, “Mr. President, your limo is ready to take you to the Capitol.”

Clayton, Maggie, her mother, and their two young daughters boarded the limo for the short drive down Pennsylvania Avenue for his 8:00 p.m. address to the nation. As they drove, Melissa told a riddle she had heard in school, and Clayton appreciated the distraction and reassurance of time with his family. Upon arriving at the Capitol, his family headed for their seats in the gallery, and Clayton walked over to the staging area outside the House of Representatives chamber to await the call that would catapult him into the arena.

The wait was interminable. He tried a few deep breaths to quiet the butterflies in his stomach, then laughed quietly. Same old nerves, just like giving his first speech in the high school auditorium, though his audience of two billion or more world citizens was a bit larger than usual. He managed a few more deep breaths before the familiar call of the sergeant at arms rang out: “Mr. Speaker, the President of the United States.”

As he made his slow walk to the speaker’s rostrum, pausing often to shake hands and listen to well-wishers amidst a thundering round of applause, he remembered the advice Burkmeister had given him: “Take your time, Clayton; smile often, and act as though you’re in complete control, no matter how anxious you feel.” It took him several minutes to get to the rostrum and quiet the audience.
Judging by the level of quiet chatter, they’re almost as nervous as I am,
he thought.

He looked around at the overflowing chamber and then slowly, in a firm and confident voice, began a speech that would ignite the world in a multitude of ways.

“Mr. Speaker, members of Congress, distinguished guests, my fellow Americans, and citizens of the world …”

“G
reetings my brothers!” Mustafa proclaimed to his assembled team. “Today we meet in anticipation of the next phase of our war against the infidels. Phase I has gone well, but we are not getting the reaction I had hoped for from the international community and OPEC. Perhaps that will come, but for now I want to leave nothing to chance.”

The group, having become wary of Mustafa’s volatile mood swings, waited for him to clarify his position before commenting.

“We knew that Iran and Iraq would remain neutral,” Mustafa said angrily, “but frankly I expected more from our Middle Eastern and African neighbors. Still, with Kuwait, Qatar, and the UAE at least partially honoring our embargo, we’ve reduced the supply of oil to the global market by over 20 percent. Unfortunately, I don’t know how long they’ll stick with us.”

Sensing Mustafa’s direction, Prince Ali Abdullah Bawarzi jumped in, saying, “We’ll soon be in a position to invade them, King Mustafa, if that is your wish.”

“Thank you, Prince Bawarzi. The ground and air preparations that you and General Ali Jabar have made will no doubt ensure our success. Militarily, I know we can take them out, but the thought of Arab fighting Arab and the message it sends is appalling to me.”

“I quite agree with you, King Mustafa, but what do you wish us to do?” asked the obsequious General Ali Jabar.

“For now, nothing, General, but let me tell you of a new development. If you will recall, I advised you last week that I would meet with emissaries of Kuwait, Qatar, and the UAE to discuss the necessity of them entering into a protectorate alliance with Saudi Arabia. Over the last few hours, each has called to confirm their willingness to enter into this arrangement, and …”

A loud cheer went up at Mustafa’s confirmation, but he motioned their silence with a slight smile on his lips.

“Their respective military staffs will come to Riyadh next week to work out the logistics with you. I am not interested in a full occupation of these countries—only key roadways and facilities near our border. We will also request they expel all Western military forces from their countries, but we must cut them some slack if the infidels refuse to leave as requested.”

“And what will this accomplish?” asked the mullah. “I am not a military man and do not understand such matters.”

“Several things, my dear friend,” Mustafa replied patiently. “First, it keeps the Gulf countries abutting our borders in our sphere of control without a military intervention. As a protectorate, they retain their sovereignty but cede control of their foreign policy and other domestic considerations—such as the amount of oil they may export—to us. In turn, we protect them from allied invasion and agree not to lace their oil fields with dirty bombs.”

The mullah beamed with delight at Mustafa’s great political acumen.

“Second,” Mustafa continued, “we’ll need them later as proxies to sell some of our oil, should the infidels continue to hold out against our embargo. Thus we could gain oil revenue and make it look as though it is our partners who have benevolently agreed to sell
their
oil—not us. We must never give the appearance that our resolve is weakening. By doing so, we can generate enough revenue to hold out indefinitely against the infidels.”

“I am most troubled,” Mustafa continued, “by the apparent coalition forming between the United States and China. My hope was to drive a wedge between them and pick off their respective allies one by one, forcing them to honor our demands in return for oil. I had even thought about lifting our embargo on China in hopes of turning them against the American infidels, but China’s statement in support of Israel is an outrage. That idea is off the table now.

“What we really need is total support from OPEC and our Arab allies. If they would agree to take their oil off the market, even for a short time, oil prices would soar to astronomical levels, causing the Chinese to see the folly of aligning themselves with the Americans.”

The mullah interjected, “Like you, I am also concerned that our Arab brothers have not all joined us in our holy crusade against the infidels, and I am surprised the nations of the world have not denounced the Zionists.”

“It is surprising indeed” Mustafa replied. “We need something to remind them of the predatory nature of the Zionists. The best thing that could happen to us is an Israeli attack on a Saudi target. It would immediately galvanize all Arab nations behind our cause and create, perhaps, a new divide between the Americans and Chinese.”