‘I presume the patrol is safely back in Iraq sir?’
‘No, I’m afraid not...according to their commander they were surrounded and a shoot-out occurred ...we haven’t heard from them since. We can only assume they were all
eliminated, fortunately the commander managed to get off one last message concerning the nuclear shells.
I don’t need to point out how serious this is, it increases the emergency situation by several levels,’ Garner turned to CIA director Barry Lyons.
‘What’s your latest detailing on this director?’
‘Well as you know sir a number of ships have been intercepted and relieved of their cargo, particularly large artillery gun parts destined for Iran. Britain has a total ban on all resources which could be construed as weapons material. Allied countries are, of course, also following a similar constraint. Moreover, as far as our sanction info goes, we have no reports of strategic nuclear weapons entering Iran.
If such items are in Iran their most probable source is either Russia, China or North Korea -- quite probably a combination of all three.’
‘And their means of transportation?’
‘Well sir, that would most probably be by land or air, and not necessarily by hi-tech methods either. It wouldn’t surprise me if they were imported on the backs of camels across the desert. Remember the ‘Old Silk Road’ from middle east history books...well, they still use those methods to deliver their goods when it suits them.’
‘Yes I’m familiar with the similes Barry, and while were at it, don't forget the Japanese bicycle invasion of Malaya which effectively banished the British from their prize far-east colony, and I loath to mention the Ho Chi Minh trail in Vietnam in relation to the US,’ the president held up his hands to tumultuous laughter.
‘What I really want to know is...has there been any recent interceptions of nuclear material?’
‘No sir, not to our knowledge, there is however another possibility -- they could be home grown,’ Garner frowned melodramatically.
‘Is that likely?’
‘It’s a possibility, but then our knowledge of Iranian capabilities is not one hundred percent,’ the president returned a flat smile.
‘It’s certainly isn’t...nor will it ever be. I think we can safely presume they have been ably assisted by foreign contingents. After all, smart arse American spies in foreign countries stick out like red lip stick on a bald head,’ at the mention of lipstick the president squinted at Ellen Monard, his female national security advisor, a forty five year old graduate of Princeton University, who had collected a string of previous security jobs with various companies, culminating in two stints in the Pentagon as a security administrator.
‘What’s your opinion Ellen?’
‘Well I don’t think they’d be importing lipsticks to scrawl on bold heads,’chided Monard to more waves of guttural laughter.
‘However, I doubt very much that they are home grown items sir...more likely they could have been covertly imported and assembled in Iran.’
‘What about the source?’
‘I’d say most likely North Korea or China Mr. President.’
‘I see...it’s to be expected,’ Garner confessed sadly, ‘what’s the state of the new troop contingent in Northern Iraq?’ The chief of staff for army looked up from his brief.
‘We’re on defcon two at present sir...nothing further has eventuated since we received the patrols last communication -- all indications are that there are no survivors from the skirmish,’the army chief paused then looked Garner clearly in the face.
‘This in itself, is sufficient to declare a state of war sir,’ Garner ignored the remark and looked through the secretary of defense -- there were two main options: either the US could bide its time and wait for Iran to make its next move, or advance to the border in strength and demand an explanation.
The president cast one last glance around table and picked up his notes.
‘Right gentleman...you’ll have my decision shortly.’
The chief of staff for the army, General Sam Williams, suddenly stood upright pushing his chair sharply backwards. His rapid movement surprised his contemporaries, and was all the more remarkable considering his vast bulk. His eighteen stone frame dwarfed his colleagues who peered up at him expecting a verbal blast from hell. He was a dyed in the wool military man who joined the army at a tender age and loved the sting of battle. He had managed to get involved in almost every US conflict since the beginning of the Korean war.
He stared at his civil superior, his beady eyes and shaved head taking on the image of a pained heavyweight boxer cowering under his trainers orders.
‘Excuse me sir, I don’t now if you realise it, but if they have a nuclear artillery capability, they could annihilate the 4000 troops we sent there in a mater of minutes -- a few good salvos would probably be enough,’ Ellen Monard cast a painful glance at the army chief of staff and tried to tone down the rhetoric.
Instinctively the chief of staff turned his bulky head on its well muscled axis and looked forcefully at Monard -- she had unwittingly become the enemy. It was then that Sam Williams noticed for the first time that the security advisor was actually a female, rather than another dummy sitting at the table.
She was wearing a soft textured, lavender blouse, which notably accentuated her femininity; whether this was planned or merely an incidental dress situation Williams was not sure. He felt himself melting under her influence as the concealed White House light played on her blouse, and highlighted her feminine features. She continued her rhetoric gesturing directly at Garner.
‘We must exercise some empathy with them Mr. President...get into their heads and work out what’s driving their motivation,’ Garner reshuffled his notes and nodded agreeably.
‘I realise that, and we will consider all the ramifications.’
‘One other thing Mr. President,’ Williams interjected trying to gain lost ground, ‘please don’t agonise too long...it may cost us our country and our lives,’ Garner produced another perfunctory smile.
‘I know Sam...I know,’ the president turned and left the room leaving a concerted hum as the service chief’s exchanged their concerns.
President Garner had no military experience, and was the product of a privileged corporate upbringing, having been a Harvard graduate and the CEO of three companies prior to entering politics. It was unfortunate that the cold war, and former president Eisenhower, (also a former army general) had tended to set the pace for the top political office during times of military crisis.
An unofficial consensus among the chiefs was that big wars needed big military brass in the top job to resolve them. They preferred a man who could think on a military level, clued up on weaponry, able to liaise with the men in the trenches, and could at least fire a gun.
It was a standard cliché in the working classes that any American citizen could run for, and become, the president of the United States. It was also a known fact in the upper echelons that this was virtually impossible, unless you were a collage educated millionaire, or at least an officer with military honors, and whole lot of political friends in the right places.
Every now and again someone would buck the trend and this usually happened when the public were sick and tired of the incumbent administration; then a really new kid on the block would make it through the quagmire of political propaganda, that ran up and down the country during election year.
Chapter Eleven
President Garner looked at his watch seemingly counting the hours since his meeting with the Chiefs of Staff in the Pentagon. The actual figures didn’t register but Garner knew significant time had passed and a decision was imminent.
It was a perplexing situation and it reminded him of a compressed version of the Cuban missile crisis during the Kennedy administration -- past high tension, and political trauma, was of great value, in that it showed in detail how difficult international problems were finally resolved. Trouble was each new crisis seeme
d to have its own ingratiating personality and couldn’t be readily cut and dried.
The secretary of defence lay back in his chair and wiped his brow with freshening aloe vera tissue, then supped the remains of his strong coffee -- the two men had been discussing the Iranian crises for the last four hours and had reached a stalemate. The final consensus was that nuclear force could not be used and to put more men and weapons into the field would only antagonise the Iranians into a nuclear confrontation. Withdrawing substantial numbers of troops out of harms way would also have a detrimental effect. The Iranians would interpret this as a gross sign of weakness on the part of the Americans and could precipitate a domino type collapse of US forces around the world. Garner stood at one of the large White House windows looking across the Potomac River thinking about the intractable harshness of war. It was strange how similar the situation was to the first world war when men were stuck in the trenches neither being able to make ground or retreat without substantial losses. Stalemate was almost as bad as loosing a war, however, one thing was painfully obvious, the US forces had to be one hundred percent ready to use nuclear force if and when it was required as a last resort option. A tentative defcon one situation had to be instituted immediately for an American nuclear strike force.
The president learned forward fixing the defence secretary with his gaze.
‘You do realise George that this decision can’t be entirely our own...it could lead to WW3 nuclear style.’
‘Of course sir, I understand that...we’ll confer with the chiefs as soon as we’re ready.’
‘No, what I meant was that our allies must be informed...better still, there advice must be urgently sort. We simply can’t go wiping out strategic sections of the Iranian defence community without at least conferring with our major Allies.’
‘That could mean a covert conference or a video hook up sir.’
‘No George, this must be a face to face meeting, all electronic media no matter how covert is susceptible to corruption. Possibly our best bet is a low key international meeting at short notice in a secure location...by that I mean an area were Iranian missile technology can’t reach.’
‘We could arrange one in Dallas Texas sir, that’s just about out of range,’ Garner glared at his secretary of defence.
‘I do hope you’re joking George...either that or your memory is failing you...that place has a terrible political history’
‘I’m sorry sir...I wasn’t thinking.’
‘Obviously not...its got to be a secure allied country.’
‘Well the only two I can think of off-hand, are New Zealand and Australia, most of the others would be in range of the Iranian missiles. Possibly the best choices would be Canberra, Sydney or Auckland.’
‘I think perhaps we can rule out Canberra -- its a rather obvious capital city, as is Auckland. It’ll have to be Sydney, it’ll give me a chance to check out the ship’s bell at Darling Harbour.’
‘The ship’s bell sir?...Darling Harbour?’
‘Yes, the one former president Bush presented to the National Maritime Museum back in 2001. It’s a good idea for a US president to show interest in the local area,’ Garner touched his nose, ‘lest we forget.’
‘Oh, and I would like to check out one of their new tunnels across the city, they’ve been laying them down like there was no tomorrow...those things make good air raid shelters in case of emergancy...you never know George.’
‘Okay Mr. president...I’ll see the chief of staff, we’ll get a schedule going and give Air Force One a call.’
‘Good, the sooner the better...vice president Jenkins will need to be briefed on his take over as acting president.’
‘Right sir...all on the agenda.’
‘Good!’ Garner stood and held himself upright, the talk seemed to have refreshed him, and he breathed in holding his chin high. The was nothing more refreshing then making a concrete decision during a crisis that one could act on immediately.
Chapter Twelve
Vice Presidents Office
Steven Jenkins had been the US vice president for the last two years and privately declared that it was a straight jacket of a job. The position was limited by the constitution to becoming president on the death or resignation of the incumbent president.
The job had several other purely administrative duties such as casting the deciding vote should the senate become deadlocked, and advising the president on matters of government. It was standard procedure to send the vice president to meet other heads of state and show concern at state funerals in other countries -- when the president’s duties prevented him from attending -- which was quite often.
Politically it was a dead-end, back-room job, for a statesman who shouldered little real ambition, unless of course the president suddenly became indisposed.
The secretary of state Colin Steadman, entered the office and passed the document he had been studying over to the vice president.
‘There sir...the arrangements have been finallised for the president’s visit to Australia,’ Jenkins went slowly down the schedule. Not that it mattered too much, but as acting head of the home government, he had to be made aware of the presidents location and condition on a regular basis.
After the all important meeting with the heads of state of the free world at Government House in Sydney, the president's motorcade would leave via Circular Key and make its way to Darling Harbour. Once there, the president would inspect the ship’s bell at the National Maritime Museum, and spend fifteen minutes with the administrative staff for an official coffee break, where a presentation of a gold miniature of the ship’s bell would be made to the president by the premier of New South Wales.
The motorcade would then progress via the Western Distributor Tunnel, where it would stop directly under the middle of Hyde Park, to allow the president to inspect parts of the tunnel. A ten minute pause had been allowed for this in the schedule. The motorcade would then go immediately to the airport where the president would board Air Force One. All areas covered would be sealed off to the general public by the Australian Federal and State Police for the duration of the visit. As an extra precaution all areas visited by the president would also be inspected by the US secret service fifteen minutes ahead of the motorcade as part of their official duties.
Vice president Jenkins smiled perceptively, it was a tight schedule, but it was a good one, and had just the right amount of panache for the purpose of the visit. A tentative low key release would be made to the media that an important economic forum between allied countries on the future of the global economy would be held in Australia.
‘Air Force One’s takeoff will be one hour from now sir,’ secretary Steadman advised. Jenkins checked his gold Omega watch -- he would be in charge of the day to day running of the country for the short time the president was abroad.
He removed a clip folder from a locked bottom drawer in his desk, and studied a list of items typed on a sheet of A4 paper.
They were all the things he intended to do once Garner had left the country. In spite of the dead-end attributes of the vice president’s’ position, Jenkins was determined to elevate his powers to that of a substantial leader. After all, he would have complete presidential powers while Garner was away.
It was a chance to exert his own special leadership. It wasn’t very often one was given such powers along with the unbridled freedom to implement them. Some men would have reacted negatively -- sitting like a dummy -- frozen with fear, at the thought of having the power to destroy the world within their hands, even if it were largely symbolic.
America was blinded by her own power and the home grown suggestion that she could whip any country on earth. This undoubtedly contributed to her gung-ho approach when confronted by a military crisis.
Even so, one needed balls and the audacity to give the correct orders to the hapless minions surrounding him. Jenkins knew he had these attributes and was more than prepared to use them.
It was sometimes said tha
t whoever occupied the White House had nowhere to hide, Jenkins smiled, and even felt smug about the statement. This was true if one followed the politically correct house rules, but surprisingly, no one had pointed out that it was just as easy to forget these rules and apply your own, just as long as it was done covertly, and with cards pressed close to one’s chest. You can do anything you like, just as long as you do it the right way, and don’t get caught doing it -- was Jenkin’s working philosophy.
Chapter Thirteen
Australia, The Top End
The Three SUV four wheelers were making little headway in the Top End scrub. Driving a vehicle by compass was both an exciting, and a frustrating experience. Open bush terrain was a breeze providing their weren’t too many obstacles, but within the rain forest scrub, it was near impossible, unless one stuck to known tracks, although this did leave a lot of untrodden ground in nature’s hinterland.
They had been travelling for the last two hours in a northeasterly direction towards the Cape. In the lead vehicle Farid Hassan Kazeny, stopped suddenly, alighted, checked his compass, then signaled the others to turn off their engines. Dressed in lightweight cotton track suits and baseball caps the ten men compliantly gathered around Kazeni.
Most were unshaven with half a dozen cultivated beards amongst them, their untidy appearance created an ugliness matched only by natures tangled surrounds. The presence of strangers in khaki track suits in the middle of no-mans-land, suggested a possible paramilitary venture of substantial importance. Kazeni actions only served to highlight this, as he spread his hands in front of him taking in a 180 degree panoramic sweep of the area.
‘This my brothers is the ideal place, we’ll do a quick clean up of the undergrowth, then unload the equipment,’ Kazeni’s ear pricked up as his satellite phone buzzed in the glove compartment of his SUV. He pushed his head through the open window and plucked the mobile up.
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