Balance of Power

by James W. Huston

  President Manchester turned to the Director of the CIA and said in a controlled tone, “You ever heard of these guys before?”

  Cary Warner stared at the anchorwoman who was summarizing what they had just heard.

  “No, sir, I’ve never heard of them. Doesn’t mean nobody in my shop has. I’ll get with them right away and find out. I recommend, sir, if you’ll permit me, to contact my counterpart in Indonesia who will, I think, be as concerned about this as we are.”

  “Why do you say that?” Van den Bosch asked.

  “That little speech was meant for Indonesia as much as it was for us. Sinking that ship was perhaps more embarrassing for them because the attack was launched from their territory. This group is implying they are taking over Indonesia, not America. They just want us to keep our noses and our business out.”

  “What a bunch of crap,” the Chief of Staff said. “They’re just thugs, trying to get famous. What are we going to do, Mr. President?”

  “I don’t know,” Manchester said, thinking, rubbing his face. “We still don’t really know much more than we did. We know it was a small group, not a foreign government or a previously known organization. Terrorists, trying to make a point.” He walked around to the back of the desk in the Oval Office and looked out the window. “I need to talk to the President of Indonesia and see what they plan to do about this.”

  “Should we have the Navy take any steps?” the Chief of Staff inquired, trying to hint at what he thought the right answer should be.

  “Like what?” the President inquired, annoyed.

  “They should continue to try to find these guys, and if they find them, they should be prepared to attack.”

  “Sometimes, Arlan, I think you’ve seen too many movies. We’re just going to sit tight, let the information develop, and take appropriate steps as we can.”

  “Shouldn’t we at least tell them to keep looking?”

  “Of course they’ll keep looking! We need to find them regardless of what we finally do.”

  The Chief of Staff nodded, relief showing on his face, a fact that annoyed the President.

  “Well,” said Cary Warner, “I need to talk to some people. I need to find out more information,” he said as he rose.

  “Cary,” the President said, stopping him.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I’d like a brief by your best person on Indonesia as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll send someone in, but since Suharto died, there hasn’t been much trouble. They do have martial law, but it’s not all that different than it was under Suharto really,” he said. He turned toward the door, then turned back, “But I don’t know that we have the whole story either.”

  President Manchester looked at Warner with his lips tightened into a thin line. He had something in mind, but he wasn’t sharing it with anyone—not the National Security Council and not his Chief of Staff.

  “The phones have been ringing off the hook, Mr. Speaker,” Dillon said to the Speaker’s back as he hurried through the outside office. Stanbridge took off his suit coat and threw it onto a peg behind the door.

  “This is unbelievable. I don’t remember the last time anyone challenged the United States so directly. Things happen, sure, we end up in conflicts here and there, but I don’t remember anyone ever thumbing their noses at us like this.” He turned to Dillon. “What kind of calls are we getting?”

  “The outside calls are from voters who think we should act immediately. A few even said we should resort to nuclear weapons.”

  Stanbridge stifled a laugh.

  “One guy thought we should invade Indonesia. They think the whole country is behind it and is paying some terrorists to get them out of a deal they have with us when they didn’t have the nerve to do it on their own.”

  “Anything else?”

  “That’s about it.”

  “I was over talking to Pete Peterson. We’ve decided to go see the President. We need to get our heads together. Make sure we’re on the same page. I don’t want to undercut him, but I want to make sure he starts taking some action now. Starts sending some strong signals.”

  The Speaker turned to Dillon and said, “You know what’s really bugging me?”

  Dillon shook his head.

  “I don’t trust the President’s instincts. I mean, think about it. He was an antiwar protester in the sixties. While I was over in Vietnam getting my ass shot at, he was back in Washington demonstrating against the war. He’s never been in a situation where he’s had to act with the military, and he’s never proven he’s capable of doing it.”

  Dillon wasn’t sure whether the Speaker wanted a response or not. He hesitated to say anything but finally spoke. “I don’t know that there’d be any direct relationship between his antiwar efforts in Vietnam and this.”

  The Speaker nodded. “I know. I just don’t trust him.”

  Dillon looked at a pad he had taken notes on earlier. “Yes, sir. Anything in particular you want me to do now?”

  “Yeah, I want to be the expert on Indonesia. I need a program to keep the players straight. Get me up to speed before I sit down with the President.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The Speaker began examining papers in the middle of his desk. Dillon walked out and headed down the hall and up one floor to his office. He surveyed the myriad of periodicals, computer printouts of research, photographs, and books, and looked at the phone. Someone else was probably doing the same research he was. He picked up the phone and dialed a number from memory. It rang twice on the second floor of the West Wing of the White House.

  “Yes?” Molly said.

  “It’s Jim,” he said.

  “Hey,” she said. “Can you believe those guys? Where do they get their nerve?”

  “I have no idea. But I’ve got a feeling they won’t be quite as confident when this is over.”

  “I’ll bet you’re right,” she said. “What’s up?”

  “You got any idea who FII is? Are you working on this?”

  “We’re waiting to hear.” She hesitated. “I’m working with the President, but I’m not sure what that means yet. You call just to ask me that?”

  “I figured we could share info about this.”

  “It doesn’t work that way, Jim. You know that. People in this town will always look for a political advantage out of any event, even if it’s a mass disaster. You know that.”

  “Look, why don’t you come over for dinner tonight?” he asked. “We could debate this then.”

  “I guess I’ve got to eat. I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be a late night in Washington for a lot of people, but I’m not sure…”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. See you about seven-thirty.”

  “How about seven o’clock?”

  “Okay, I’ll be there,” she said and hung up.

  “This is some mighty special Hamburger Helper, Jim,” Molly said sarcastically as she wrinkled her nose.

  “Next time you cook,” he said, eating heartily.

  “I will,” she said pushing her half-eaten food away. She put her plate on the counter and began making coffee. “What do you think is going through their minds?” she asked, letting the question she was pondering find a voice. “Murder American sailors just so they can have their fifteen minutes of fame?”

  “Seems to be the way things are done these days. A few freaks with bombs or guns, that’s it. No more big wars, no more mass destruction, just the world slowly bleeding to death.” He stood and leaned on the counter, placing his plate in the sink. “What do you think we should do about it?”

  She looked over her shoulder, “In general?”

  “In general.”

  She thought for a moment, then pulled her hair away from her face. “I don’t really know. Being tough didn’t seem to help Israel. Not only did terrorism not stop, now the PLO has its own country right in their backyard. It’s as if it doesn’t matter what you do.”

  “You think
Israel would have had fewer terrorist attacks if they’d been easier on the terrorists?” he asked, amazed.

  “We’ll never know, will we?” She poured the water into the coffeepot and turned around. “I guess I think we should try a peaceful approach more often than we do.”

  “Even with the FII, whoever the hell they are?”

  She shrugged. “I guess I’m not sure.”

  He shook his head slowly. “What’s to be sure about? If we find them, can you think of any reason we shouldn’t attack them?”

  “I can think of a lot of reasons not to. We need some more information first.”

  “What’s the President going to do about it?” Dillon asked quickly. He saw the look on her face. He had crossed the invisible line. She was unhappy with his question.

  “You know I can’t discuss his plans. I can’t believe you even asked.”

  “Why can’t you discuss it?” Dillon asked, handing her the sunflower cup he had bought for her to use at his apartment. She loved sunflowers. “I just want to know.”

  “It’s inappropriate. You know that,” she replied coolly.

  “I just want to know the answer.” He leaned on the counter next to her. “It’s the President’s deal, and you work for him. He is the Commander in Chief, right? If someone is going to act, it has to be him.”

  She nodded. “But that’s no news. That’s the way it’s always been.”

  “So what’s he going to do?”

  She didn’t answer. “Sorry,” she said.

  “Okay, then tell me what you think he ought to do.”

  “I just told you I don’t know.”

  “Why are you so touchy?” Dillon seemed puzzled. “What is this? Why is this making you annoyed?”

  Molly looked at the ceiling and closed her eyes. She finally lowered her head. “If I were going to be completely honest, I guess I’d have to say that it bothers me personally that you seem all gung-ho to go attack these Indonesians—”

  “Well, why shouldn’t I? And what does that have to do with—”

  “Let me finish,” she said. “Whenever I get close to you, something gets in the way.” She hesitated, not sure if she should speak her mind. “Our differences seem to go beyond politics. I’m not as anxious for blood as you are. The country needs to think about things, not act before we understand the issues. And even then, we have to be willing to not act, if that’s what’s called for.”

  “Why would that be called for?” Dillon asked, perplexed. “Tell me what you think those circumstances could even possibly be.” He smiled, as if amazed. “Look. Whatever comes of this, we can’t let it get in the way. We were just starting to be comfortable around each other. It’s funny that you mentioned us getting together. I’ve been thinking the same thing.” He took a step closer to her and looked into her eyes as he put his hands into his pockets. “Don’t let this get in the way.”

  She looked back at him. “It already has.”

  9

  PRESIDENT MANCHESTER RECEIVED HIS USUAL MORNING briefs, read his usual morning papers—actually excerpts from countless newspapers around the country—and thought about what to do. Everyone in the world was waiting to hear what he was going to do about the attack on a U.S.-flagged ship in international waters. Would he strike back like a child on a playground? Try the diplomatic approach that mature politicians were supposed to prefer and always seemed to choose because at least it bought them time? Respond like the Israelis, or at least the way the Israelis used to—never negotiate with terrorists? What was there to negotiate anyway?

  He knew he would be second-guessed. He was always second-guessed by those who disagreed. Even when they agreed in their hearts, if there was any possible advantage to be had by questioning his decisions, they would do it. It was part of the job.

  The door opened slowly. “Your secretary told me to come on in,” said Molly. She was wearing a black suit and high heels.

  Manchester rose and said, “Yes, come in. Sit down.”

  “Certainly, Mr. President.”

  “Good morning,” he said, returning to his seat behind his desk. “Thanks for coming in so early. I have breakfast meetings, but I wanted your opinion on how my backside was doing so far before I talked to the rest of the staff.”

  “So far, I don’t see any problem at all, Mr. President. There’s a lot of pressure for you to respond, but that kind of goes without saying.”

  “You mean militarily.”

  “Well, that’s what everyone seems to want you to do.”

  “What do you think?”

  “That’s certainly an option. There are other options, of course.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, I’m sure you’ve thought of trying to negotiate, trying to work through Indonesia itself, trying to back off militarily as a gesture of good will…”

  “Yes, I have thought of all of those. I just wanted to hear from you since you’re always in on these meetings and don’t have the same inclination to tell me what I want to hear.”

  “Well, I may very well have that inclination; you just may not know about it,” she said, smiling.

  He smiled back. “I guess that’s right.” He sat up. “You know, since I first heard of this attack, I have basically known what I had to do.” He looked at her directly. “I’ve also had the sense that this is going to be the turning point of my presidency.”

  Molly didn’t know what to say.

  “Let me ask you a question, Ms. Vaughan.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Which is more courageous—to lash out in anger or hold back in mercy?”

  Molly raised her eyebrows. “Well, I guess it would depend on the circumstances. If you mean these circumstances, I think a case could be made for either course.”

  Manchester nodded.

  He had sensed the rest of his staff backing away from him, including his close advisers. The attitude was difficult to pinpoint, but it was there. Backing off so they could watch him make his decision from a distance and, if the plan failed, claim they hadn’t really encouraged that decision, or if it was successful, claim they were part of the inner circle of trusted advisers who had come to a consensus. That was routine, that was politics.

  He hated politics. He hated hating politics. He had gone into politics out of principle, to do something right, to make the country—and ultimately the world—a better place. But like every president before him, he found himself having to bargain with truly difficult people, always being challenged to compromise his principles.

  But this was the time to make a decision, unequivocally, because it was right, to stand for something, no matter what the polls said, or his advisers, or his adversaries. He got up, walked over to a window, and looked out across the South Lawn, which was winter brown. He was angry at himself for the thoughts that had been coursing through his head. He had been feeling pressure from Congress, from the press, from the private shipping company whose ship had been lost, from the Indonesian ambassador, from his staff, from his wife, from everybody.

  Everybody had an opinion in a crisis. And this was the first real crisis his administration had faced, the first time the world hung on every word, wondering what he would do. It was time to lead. He went back to his desk and spoke into his intercom, “Would you get Arlan on the phone, please?”

  “Yes, Mr. President” came the immediate reply. “Should I tell him what this is about?”

  “Tell him I’ve decided what we’re going to do,” he said, looking at the surprise on Molly’s face.

  Dillon dropped The Washington Post and The Washington Times on his desk and hung his coat on the hook on the back of his office door. The door came back toward him. Grazio walked in.

  “Speaker wants to see you.”

  Dillon looked at him and breathed deeply. “I haven’t had breakfast. I haven’t even had a cup of coffee.” He followed Grazio out the door. “What’s up?”

  “Don’t know. But he’s got that energized look in his eyes.”


  Dillon walked down the hallway, hurried down the stairs, and into the Speaker’s outer office. “Hey, Robin. He in?”

  She nodded.

  Dillon didn’t even break stride as he walked into the Speaker’s office. “Morning, sir,” he said.

  Stanbridge sat up straighter and looked up at Dillon. “You looked at the War Powers Act recently?”

  Dillon tried to evaluate the importance of the question as he answered it. “Not in a couple of months,” he said, stretching the currency of his knowledge. “As I recall—president can’t send troops into hostilities without notifying Congress and getting permission for an engagement longer than thirty days…something like that. Reports required…”

  The Speaker nodded. “Thanks to Nixon and Vietnam,” he said, then shook his head as he stood. “Funny history behind that. Congress got the U.S. into Vietnam with the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution. Congress funds the war for a dozen years, then blames the president when he goes into Laos, like that’s different somehow. Then, when it doesn’t work out, they yell at him for even thinking of sending troops without their permission. Unbelievable. What exactly did they think they were funding? Target practice? Pure hypocrisy.” He ran his hand through his bristly brown hair. “Anyway, it’s in place and it keeps a president from committing a bunch of troops without Congress’s permission.”

  Dillon nodded. “Yes, sir. You want me to do some quick analysis of how it plays into the current deal in Indonesia?”

  The Speaker nodded as he crossed to his favorite window. “I’ve heard the President’s going to make an announcement soon. My guess is he’s going to make some big move to shore up his image as a military lightweight, which of course he is.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The Speaker paused and looked at Dillon, as if wondering something for the first time, “You ever serve in the military?”

  “No, sir.”

  “How come?”

  “No reason really. Just didn’t. By the time I was in college you didn’t even have to register for the draft. Just never entered my mind as something to do.”

  “You should have. Builds character,” the Speaker said. “Anyway, let me know what you come up with about the War Powers before lunch. I don’t want to get caught off guard. I need to have the basics at the tips of my fingers.”