by Krakondack
She was now ready to take over the meeting. “A clash with China on the world stage may be inevitable. If we buckle now, they will conclude they are the world’s leading power, and the 21st century will be one of American retreat.”
“Madam Secretary, that’s not consistent with Chinese history,” said Kurdi with some trepidation. “China considers itself a regional power, but they’re not interested in exerting that kind of influence on the world stage.”
Morgensen remained perfectly calm when everyone expected rage. She leaned forward in her chair and lowered her gaze to meet Kurdi’s eyes. She was silent for a moment, then with the meekest, most restrained tone of voice anyone had heard from her said, “History looks backwards, Mr. Kurdistani.”
After another silent moment, her voice picked up to its regularly aggressive tone. “I look forward. Meeting China’s future resource demands will require a substantial portion of the world’s output. China’s leaders of today are well-traveled. Many are even educated abroad.”
She leaned forward in her chair even further, and the volume and intensity of her voice rose yet higher. “You can’t compare them to the ancient emperors who never left the Forbidden City! The United States allowed and even facilitated China’s rise. And unless we confront them, they will overtake us.”
Apparently finished demolishing Kurdi’s objection, Morgensen turned her head in the other direction. “Mr. Connolly, if China were simultaneously confronted with economic recession and international humiliation, would it not be at least even money that they’d fragment politically and regress economically?”
“Possibly. But it’s risky. It could destabilize them.”
“Not if we offer an alternative,” countered Morgensen. “How do you think we won the Cold War? Your people could organize a yellow revolution. I could arrange for certain interests to buy off military leaders. We would promise the Generals a pension and a penthouse apartment in Hong Kong. We would offer their citizens democracy and social programs. They’re an aging population with no retirement benefits. So we’d put those in place. They’d have stability, but they would also have higher costs and their economy would shrink in an orderly manner. At the end of the day, what you’d see in China is a larger version of Japan.”
“But one slip and you’d have a military conflict over Taiwan. And that’s a World War III scenario,” said Torres.
“They have more to lose than we do,” said Morgensen, showing restrained displeasure showing at having to answer Torres’ objection. “We could destroy their whole civilization with a few clicks of a mouse. We could survive any counterstrike they could attempt, and the outcome would be asymmetric. They know this, and that’s why they won’t fight. But we have to take our stand now.”
“Does that mean we just tell them to take a flyin’ leap on their demands?” asked Tom Gallant.
“Yes, Mr. Gallant. That’s what it means,” replied the Cobra with mocking gentleness. “We’ll respond after one week as they asked. We’ll send a letter to their embassy with a short message. ‘There’s nothing wrong with American finance, and we see no reason to change the existing relationship between our two nations.’ We will also send a large part of our fleet to Taiwan. Ground forces, too. We won’t make any attempts to keep it secret. We don’t want to dignify their implicit threat with the notion that we’re taking this too seriously.”
Hanna Morgensen looked up and glanced at the faces around the room. Every glance confirmed what she knew would be the outcome. Nobody was willing to argue the point any further, which meant that as far as she was concerned the matter was settled. Any misgivings now had to be set aside. Torres likewise understood that he could not win the argument, and even engaging in it would demonstrate to all in the room that he was not the de facto head of the government. Instead, he leaned forward in a gesture of confidence and issued instructions. “Hanna, have your people send the letter. Have the Joint Chiefs organize the deployment to commence immediately. Make sure our forces arrive by the time the Chinese receive their response. Also, if I remember, there was talk of conducting joint exercises with the South Koreans. Let’s move that up. Do it as fast as we can assemble the forces.”
“I can do it right away,” said Tyler Matheson, the Defense Secretary. “Most of the forces are ready for exercises anyway.” Matheson was young at 41, in his first stint in government, and not yet jaded by his experiences.
“To put adequate pressure on the Chinese, there will have to be an incident with the North Koreans,” added Morgensen. “They always sweat when they think their retarded client has again destabilized the region. Bill, make it discreet, as usual.” Bill Connolly nodded. He had just the idea.
Torres couldn’t help but glance over at the Cobra, and shuddered when he caught himself appreciating her look of satisfaction, like a junior employee might enjoy the approval of a boss. Morgensen had rarely looked or sounded this happy. She actually smiled and said, “Very good, Mr. President. We’ll also arrange for a sloppy leak of a diplomatic communiqué stating that we read their intentions as wanting to dominate the Western Pacific, starting with an overt takeover of Taiwan. That should ensure they won’t miss the message that our deployment will send.”
Torres adjourned the meeting and made a straight path for his private study, feeling disgusted with what he had just agreed to, against his better judgment. He was in favor of reinforcing Taiwan, but not trying to destabilize China. He was going to back a dangerous animal into a corner, hoping the pressure caused it to break down rather than attack. In his mind, he wrestled with the thought that the attempt on his life may have been arranged by the Chinese, and he was afraid. His government was moving towards a confrontation he did not want any part of, but for which he would be held responsible. And the exercises he had proposed in Korea were now going to encounter an “incident” arranged by the CIA. He would be responsible for needless deaths. He consoled himself with the thought that his next act as President would go some distance to making things right.
Chapter 12: A Leg Wound
Cam Burrows crawled back under the fence surrounding the San Gustavo complex, again disturbing the trip wire on his way out. He began the return hike to his Tahoe across the ridge, now during the hottest time of day. His water was running out just when he needed it most. He was talking to himself out loud. The climb will be the worst part, so I’ll make my water last to the top. After that, I’ll make it on momentum. Behind him, several helicopters took to the air and flew right over him, continuing over the ridge. They did not seem to notice him, or so he thought. He made it to the top of the ridge and drank the final few ounces from his water canteen. He could now see the gully where he had left the Tahoe, and there was more water in there. He made it down the hill in short order and walked the dry riverbed for a few hundred feet. As he was about to enter the gully where he was parked, three armed men emerged from the gully and shouted something he couldn’t understand. It was not Spanish, he was sure of that. He had learned some Spanish to communicate with the poor migrants he had to intercept for a living. It sounded so different.
Burrows turned around and ran in the opposite direction down the dry riverbed, not knowing where he would go now that he had been discovered, but sure he did not want to be caught. As he ran past a cluster of bushes, two more armed men emerged and one took a shot, hitting him in the leg. Burrows fell to the ground in pain, clutching his wound and preparing for the worst. The armed man said something into his radio and walked up to Burrows with his partner, still pointing his assault rifle. Seeing no point in trying to fight further, Burrows raised his hands in the air. One of the men took Burrows’ sidearm, while the other pulled him up to a sitting position. He then got his first close look at the man who had just shot him. “You’re not Mexican,” he said to the man. He looked at the other man. “You’re Chinese.”
The helicopter arrived within minutes of being called, and they loaded Burrows, together with the men who had captured him. They applied a tourniquet
to his leg. He was in some pain but was pretty sure they had not hit an artery. He would survive if he got medical attention.
…
“Welcome to San Gustavo, Officer Burrows,” said the Oriental man dressed in a military uniform. Burrows sat in the infirmary after being treated for his bullet wound. “We paid the locals very well to leave us alone, so we knew you weren’t some Mexican drug smuggler or anyone from the area. You’re a nosy Border Patrol Agent. I’m confident your government does not even know you’re here. I could have you executed right now and nobody would ever know what became of you.”
Burrows said nothing and did not look at his interrogator. The Oriental man continued. “I’m also not worried that you would even understand what this is about. I won’t kill you yet. Not until I get instructions to do so. If you’re lucky, they might have other plans for you. How does that sound?”
“Your people never gave Jason Gilbert that courtesy, so why should I expect it now?”
“Our patrols have instructions to avoid capture at all costs, Mr. Burrows. They were simply following orders. You, on the other hand, are not a threat to us as long as you aren’t allowed to describe what you saw here.”
“Laughlin will see you here before long. You can’t keep something like this secret.”
“We’ll see about that. In the meantime, I’ll put you up in a reasonably comfortable room. You’ll be locked in, of course, but I see no harm in being civil. I may be ordered to kill you soon anyway.”
“In that case, thank you for your hospitality, Mr. uh –”
“General Kim. My name is General Kim, Mr. Burrows.”
Chapter 13: Closure
Torres would receive his next visitor in the Oval Office. The formality of the office was essential to get across the message he intended to send. The fallout from Zheng’s visit and the attempt on his life had left Torres despondent over his inability to control the agenda. He was glad to finally be able to take an action he knew to be moral. His phone beeped and announced the arrival of his visitor. Torres barked back with “Tell him to wait.” He was too preoccupied with what was to come to actually do anything else, but he felt it essential to do this on his timetable.
Torres opened a dossier on Derek Ellis, the founder and CEO of Morningstar Security Services. He saw the picture of the tall man with slightly graying but perfectly styled hair, about 50 years old with an athletic build. He was handsome enough to be an actor. He reviewed the notes that read “Ellis is extremely well groomed, always has perfect hair and never goes a day without shaving. Ellis is obsessive about his personal hygiene, including the excessive use of strong perfumes.”
Torres raised his eyes from the dossier and flipped his reading glasses up off his face by pinching the bridge. A sweet smell to cover up dirty work, he thought to himself. It seems Mr. Ellis has a subconscious awareness that what he does is evil. It’s funny how some things show through.
Torres had suspended Morningstar’s contracts several months ago, but officially the measure was temporary, pending a review of their case. That review was now complete, and Torres was going to announce the final decision in person.
Torres checked the news on his computer, read a few stories and shut it down. He then picked up the phone, buzzed the outside office and said, “Tell him to come in.” The door opened and Ellis walked in along with his overpowering scent. “Good morning, Mr. President. Thank you for agreeing to see me.”
“Sit down, Mr. Ellis,” said Torres tersely, signaling that this was not to be a pleasant exchange.
Derek Ellis sat down. He was imposing in such close proximity, particularly with his overwhelming perfume.
After some nervous silence, Ellis started off. “Sir, I’d like to make my case for you to restore Morningstar’s status as preferred contractor. Your predecessor clearly understood the value we brought to your operations in Afghanistan.”
“You had a cozy arrangement with my predecessor, didn’t you, Mr. Ellis?”
Ellis just nodded in reply.
“I’ve reviewed the history of your involvement in Afghanistan, the rationale for hiring you in the first place, and the allegations against you, proven and unproven. It’s obvious to me that there’s a pattern at work. Your organization is a brutal collection of mercenaries with the morals of gangsters. You are a disgrace to the United States, and you have tarnished our reputation in the international community for generations to come, possibly beyond repair. The number of young Afghans willing to fight us to the death has proliferated beyond all count, inspired by the desire to avenge your actions. I’m sticking to my decision. For as long as the United States maintains a presence in those countries, it will be our professional soldiers who do the job.”
“The conduct of war is not always a tidy affair Mr. President. What you so dislike is seen by other international leaders as effectiveness.”
“I anticipated that comment, Mr. Ellis. So I looked up the records of our other military contractors and compared them to Morningstar. We have similar intelligence issues in Iraq. In fact they exist on a larger scale than Afghanistan, but the contractors have at least avoided widespread accusations of war crimes. It’s only Morningstar that seems to have this pattern of abuses. I next spoke with various heads of state that had any interactions with your organization. Not one was willing to vouch for your integrity and to the last, all were supremely relieved to not have to face you anymore.”
Ellis interrupted. “I should think they would say that. We were at some point trying to overthrow or assassinate half the world leaders we’ve dealt with. We provide that service to the US government. No other contractor has had such an aggressive mandate. Mr. President, the charges come with the territory.”
“Regardless if that’s the case, the reputation of your organization has become an albatross I cannot carry any longer. You may have acted at the instruction of the government, but you chose to be brutal far beyond what was necessary. I’ve issued an executive order barring any agency of the US government from entering into any agreements with Morningstar Security Services or you personally, Mr. Ellis. I’ve also called for an investigation by the Attorney General of what appear to be well founded allegations of war crimes.”
“That’s a mistake, Mr. President,” replied Ellis. “Morningstar has more options than you’re aware of.”
“If that’s a threat Mr. Ellis, it’s ill advised. You have no allies with any power, and no Warren Commission is going to cover up anything stupid you may be considering. Now, get out of my office and out of the White House or I’ll have you arrested right now.”
Ellis was nothing if not practical, so he realized this approach was at a dead end. He got up and left without another word. Torres looked down at his notes as he did this, not giving Ellis another glance.
…
Once Ellis was out of the area of the White House, he picked up a phone he carried that was not registered in his name, and made a call.
“It’s Ellis.”
“His decision was irrevocable.”
“I’ve reached that conclusion too.”
“I had initially agreed only to plan it out.”
“No, there’s nobody else who could run it properly.”
“And my subsequent role?”
“That will work for me. I still have a few inquiries out there. Give me 24 hours. If nothing lands, I’m in.”
Chapter 14: Irregular Procedures
“I need to fax this memo to you,” said Evan Hozak, on the phone with Robbie first thing that morning. “I can’t email it. If my emails were ever read, I’d be dead meat.”
“What’s the fuss?”
“It’s about San Marcos. The memo speaks for itself, but there’s also this. The place here is buzzing about a special payment that’s just been okayed by the CFO. They’re writing a check for $20 million to Morningstar Security Services. Have you heard of them?”
“Yeah, they’re a paramilitary group. They got kicked out of Afghanistan, if I’m
not mistaken. And we’re paying them 20 million? That’s a big chunk of change.”
“Rumor is there’s more to come. I heard they’ve signed on for three more payments of $10 million each. And it’s just booked as ‘services rendered.’”
“That’s nuts,” replied Robbie. “There’s no way to hide that in a financial statement. The auditors will flip. Do you know what the payment is really for?”
“I don’t know, but I have a guess. Remember when we talked in Kingston and I said I thought what’s going down in San Marcos is actually the only reason Smithfield bought out Tilbury?”
“Sure, that comment’s fresh in my mind.”
“Well, I’m as sure of it as ever. The memo talks about modifying shipping containers for a specific operation that’s supposed to go down this fall.”
“What sort of operation do you think it is?”
“I’ve heard a rumor. I don’t want to say anything more right now.”
“How about you call me at home tonight then?” asked Robbie.
“I’ll do that. Meanwhile, you read the memo and decide what you think it means. We’ll talk about it tonight.”
“Okay, let me give you a different fax number. I don’t want this going to the common area where anyone could read it as it’s printing out.”
Robbie Linssman moved hastily to the fax machine, almost running. The little used inkjet slowly printed his message as he fidgeted impatiently. As he read the memo, Robbie thought he might know what the operation was. Evan was right to hold off discussing it until they were away from the office, because if this was real, their lives would be in jeopardy if it was known they had this information. Robbie was unable to concentrate on his work for the remainder of the day, and had no appetite for his dinner. All he could think about now was the call to come from Hozak, and what he thought his friend would say.
Time passed, and no call came. Finally late for bed and unable to bear the suspense any longer, Robbie called Evan’s house to find out what had happened.
