Lethal Trajectories (50 page)

“Where does Prince Khalid fit into all this?” asked the president, mindful of the importance of making this a Saudi operation to the greatest extent possible.

Thompson took a quick look at his notes before answering. “He’ll lead an all-Saudi armored brigade into the city of Riyadh. His brigade will be in the second wave of forces to embark from Bahrain, and he’ll be catapulted to the front once Riyadh is about to fall. Like Charles De Gaulle entering Paris after the Nazis were booted out, Prince Khalid’s all-Arab armored force will be one of the first columns the people of Riyadh see entering the city. This has to be seen as a Saudi-led liberation effort and not a Western occupation.”

“Have the forces been sufficiently briefed on the location of the mosques and other holy sites?” asked Jack McCarty, ever mindful of the diplomatic aspects of the conflict.

“Yes, they have, and for added security, we’ve established a two-hundred-meter buffer zone between any holy site and point of military action. Our commanders will be briefed thoroughly on the importance of avoiding any incident that would provoke or offend the Saudi people. Likewise, we will not be targeting infrastructure like bridges, roads, or power stations needed to support the economy after the war. Our goal is to wipe out Mustafa’s fighting power without destroying the nation’s infrastructure and then to go after him and his henchmen. We have no quarrel with the Saudi people and will come as their friends.”

The next two hours of the meeting were devoted to the logistics of Operation Steel Drum, with a good amount of time spent discussing postwar efforts to follow. After adjourning the meeting and walking back to the Oval Office, Clayton and Jack conferred about the coming operation.

“How do you feel about it, Clayton?” Jack asked with obvious concern, “I noticed that little twitch in your cheek this afternoon, and I wasn’t sure how to read your reaction to the Situation Room briefing.”

Clayton thought a moment before answering as they turned the corner to enter the Oval Office. “We’ve waited a long time for this, Jack, and now that the time has come I’m a little nervous. I guess all commanders must feel this way before a major battle. You think more about the things that can go wrong—stuff like that. I’ve often wondered how Ike felt after making his D-Day decision to go, despite iffy weather in Normandy.”

“That’s understandable,” Jack persisted, “but is there anything specifically that’s troubling to you?”

“There are a lot of things, Jack. It all looks so glitzy and sanitized when Thurmond Thompson shows it on the screen, but I remember how formidable it all looked to me as a ground-pounder in the Gulf War. My perspective as commander in chief is obviously different, but I still have that infantryman’s skepticism.”

“Talk to me, Clayton. This is important. What concerns you most?”

Clayton hesitated, uneasy, but he felt he owed Jack an answer. “Lots of things, Jack. For instance, what if things aren’t as Al Mishari says they are? What happens if some of the oil fields actually go up in a radioactive blizzard? Or, what happens if our electronic warfare people can’t jam the communications like they say, or our Seal teams can’t prevent the detonation of the conventional explosives?”

Jack nodded, then said something that eased the way for the decision that Clayton had all but made.

“Let’s suppose some of these things materialize, Clayton, as they so often do in war. As things stand now, the global economy is strangling for lack of oil, and there’ll be precious little left of any economy to save if this thing continues for another six months. Just look at the mess we’ll be in a couple of weeks from now as our SPR dries up. The question I’d put to you is this: will our actions, if they totally fail, put us in a worse position than the one we’re in today?”

Clayton fell silent as he pondered Jack’s question.
If we do nothing, the oil crisis will worsen. If we do something and it fails, we won’t be any worse off, because we’re not getting the oil anyway. Furthermore, as Jack says, in another six months there’ll be little left to save, so why wait?

“You’re right, Jack. We’re screwed as it is, and it won’t get better. If we don’t do something soon—especially when there’s an opportunity like we have now—there’ll be little left of our economy to save. I’ll talk to Lin Cheng and, assuming there are no objections on his part, I’ll order the attack to commence on April 6. I’ll leave the exact time for our Joint Chiefs of Staff to decide. Thanks Jack,” he said gratefully, feeling better about what he was about to do.

After Jack left, Clayton adjourned to Shangri-la.
Political historians loved to talk about how the president had the loneliest job in the world, but until you’ve been there,
Clayton thought,
you could never realize just how true it was.
He felt with every fiber in his body that an attack was the right choice, but there was still a nagging red flag in the back of his head that he couldn’t identify.
What am I missing?
he thought as he picked up the phone to clear the strike with his friend and ally, Lin Cheng.

“I
just don’t understand it, Hugo,” muttered Tom Collingsworth. “How could things have unraveled so fast? What did
we
do wrong?” The rain beating against the office window matched the pervading atmosphere of despair inside.

“I wish I knew, Senator,” said Bromfield, currently more concerned with his own well-being than that of his nincompoop boss. He had another job offer on his desk from a newer member of the Senate—a demotion, to be sure—but it was starting to look better all the time as he considered how far the Collingsworth star had fallen.

“It simply amazes me,” Collingsworth continued. “The country has never been in such a horrible mess, and the worse it gets, the higher the approval ratings seem to be for McCarty and his cohorts.”

“That’s true, Senator, but what bothers me most is that the better his ratings get, the worse your ratings are. There are powerful forces working to strip you of your chairmanship, and I honestly don’t know if we can fend them off.”

Collingsworth poured himself another stiff double scotch, not offering Bromfield one, and scratched his head in dismay. “Our partnership with Wellington Crane had gone so well for so long, we seemed unstoppable. What on Earth happened?”

“Hard to say, Senator, but for one thing, Wellington’s popularity has plummeted. He’s losing followers and sponsors now that he’s viewed more as a negative voice than a positive influence. Wellington’s gone off the deep end, and I’m afraid he’s taking us with him.”

“He’ll be calling me shortly to talk about his show next week. He wants me to throw a few bombs on McCarty’s handling of the oil embargo and economy. The last three times I’ve been on his show, the mail has been four to one against me.”

“There’s no doubt, Senator, you’re digging your own grave by showing any support for Wellington. I’ve tried to tell you,” Bromfield said with growing anger, “you need to distance yourself from Crane and send a few olive branches the way of the White House. But you refuse to listen.”

“You’re right, Hugo, I know you’re right, but I just don’t know how to sever my ties with Wellington. He’s not one to forget disloyalties, and he’d kill me if I abandoned him.”

At that, the anger and resentments Hugo had swallowed over the past four months erupted in a venomous fury. He lit into his terrified boss like a fighting-mad Marine Corps gunny sergeant tearing into an incompetent new recruit.

“I’ve had it with you, Senator,” he screamed. “I’m fed up with carrying the water for you. I’m tired of crafting positions for you that you don’t follow and doing damage control every time you open your mouth without thinking. Your star is falling, Tom, and I don’t know if I can save you. I don’t know if I even want to. Certainly I can’t save you if you stupidly fail to follow my advice.”

On a roll, Hugo could not control the invective spewing out in waves, and it was obvious that Collingsworth was too stunned to fight back. Finally, emotionally spent and totally dejected, Hugo concluded, “I’m probably the only friend you have left, Tom, and I’m leaving too if you don’t tell Wellington where he can shove it. Your choice, Senator, I’ve had it with you.”

As luck would have it, his secretary tapped on the door at just that moment to tell the senator that Wellington Crane was on the phone. Collingsworth quickly gunned down another double scotch before picking up the phone.

“Yes, Wellington, what can I do for you?”

“I’m calling to nail down talking points for my show next week, Senator, and …”

“I won’t be able to be on your show next week, Wellington,” Collingsworth interrupted loudly as Hugo glared at him with disdain.

“What do you mean you won’t be able to be on my show? Is this some kind of joke?”

“No, it’s ah, it’s not a joke, Wellington, I just can’t make it,” he muttered, obviously feeling the effects of four quick double scotches. “As a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking that maybe it’s time we cool our jets for a while.”

“Who do you think you’re talking to, Senator, some yes-man flunky like Hugo? What do you mean, ‘cool our jets'? What does that mean?”

Looking at a scowling Bromfield, the senator quickly responded, “What I’m saying is that you are a political liability, Wellington, and I’m getting killed because of my relationship with you. I think it’s time we parted company for a while.”

Hugo noticed the stunned silence following the senator’s comment and knew a full-scale retaliatory attack from Wellington was imminent. He wasn’t surprised when, for the second time in ten minutes, the senator took a combat-grade tongue-lashing. Crane blistered him with profanities and accusations of stupidity. He accused him of every disloyalty known to mankind and said that at least Clayton McCarty had the guts to stand up for his positions, unlike a namby-pamby like him and his no-good, gutless Senate colleagues. Hugo could not help but agree with Wellington’s harsh assessment and had absolutely no compassion whatsoever for his beleaguered boss.

Collingsworth slammed the phone down in a rage and poured what looked like a triple. He would have quite a few more before leaving his Senate office.

P
astor Veronica Larson could not believe what she was hearing on the Wellington Crane show. “My friends, I’ve never been afraid to admit when I’m wrong. Fortunately, it’s a rare occurrence, but it does happen. It’s even rarer when I misjudge a man’s character, but alas, it has finally happened. Who am I talking about? Folks, I’m talking about none other than Senator Tom Collingsworth.”

Incredible. Crane and Collingsworth have been in lock-step ever since the crisis began last fall.
Veronica deliberately took a longer route to the church to hear what this was all about.

“Folks, Mr. Collingsworth joined my crusade last fall, but I’ve come to learn it was only to boost his own power and popularity. I took him at his word when he said he embraced my Pax-Americana philosophy, and I was willing to work with him and his number-one stooge, Hugo Bromfield, in this effort.

“Here’s the real scoop, my friends. It starts with the McCarty administration. For reasons I don’t understand, the president’s popularity has climbed despite his failed policies and harm they have inflicted on America and the world. I’ve done everything in my power to call attention to his failures and provide a better way through my Pax-Americana philosophy, and I mistakenly thought Collingsworth was in the trenches with me. I know I’ve lost a few followers and sponsors for doing this, but I’m about the truth. I call ‘em like I see ‘em, and let the chips fall where they may. I know of no other way than the truth, and I despise anyone willing to compromise it for personal gain.

“Now Collingsworth has sensed some opposition to my approach—after all, the truth is not always easy to take. But, instead of sticking to his guns and defending what he was constitutionally elected to defend, he picks up and runs. This man has no character or integrity. He’s a product of the gutless culture in Washington that panders to the worst instincts of the electorate. Let me tell you, Mr. Collingsworth, I’m not a man you want to cross. You have crossed the line, sir, and I’m going to do everything in my power to expose you for the spineless incompetent you are. There’s a move on in the Senate to remove you from your position as chair of the Foreign Relations Committee, sir, and I stand behind those calling for your ouster—regardless of party or politics. America needs real men, not spineless wonders like you, Mr. Collingsworth.”

Wow, that’s incredible,
thought Veronica as she pulled into the church parking lot. The lot was already filling as she walked into the church and greeted Martha Earling. They quickly went over the meeting agenda, and Veronica walked down to her office to think and pray.

The Life Challenges Co-op and its related programs had now become her full-time pastoral assignment. As in any growing organization, the dynamics of Life Challenges had changed to accommodate its growth. With more than twelve hundred members total, the co-op’s Wednesday night meetings were now drawing three hundred people or more. When meetings had grown too large for the intimate discussions of the original format, Veronica had introduced a weekly panel discussion on a timely topic, often supplemented by personal testimony from a co-op member, after which the assembly broke into small groups to discuss the subject. Tonight’s panel session was entitled, “Living with less and liking it.”

After opening with her usual welcome and prayer, Veronica, as moderator, introduced the panel and topic. She directed her first question to the Life Challenges Executive Director Bill Princeton.

“Bill, can you give us the current status of the Life Challenges Co-op?”

“I’d be glad to, Veronica. Welcome, everyone! I don’t need to tell any of you about the personal hardships we’re facing here in Mankato. Unemployment is nearing 30 percent; the retail community has faltered, with almost one out of four businesses closing their doors; gasoline prices are over twelve bucks a gallon, and heating fuel costs are outrageous.”