“I know that is a small concession. Also a small concession is the fact that we used a very calculated bomb, smaller than one kiloton, one similar to your neutron bomb. Once we knew where to target them, we had to act.”
President Kessel immediately asked, “How did you deliver that nuke, Sir? We obviously observed the submarine missile launch, but we never detected a delivery system for the first nuke.”
Knowing that a lie could be detected, and also knowing the stakes were too high, the Chinese President responded truthfully, “We delivered it with a drone.”
Walter wasted no time. It was like he had been prepped in a cabinet meeting and was reading a prepared script, “How did you come by such precise knowledge as to where to strike?”
Again, the Chinese had a chance to evade, or flat out lie, but the Chairman told the truth, “We had a spy within their highest ranks. We knew that they were planning an attack on Seoul imminently, as they feared their cyber power.
“Apparently, their centrifuges have all been failing, and many suspect the West of hacking and sabotaging their critical enrichment processes.”
Now it was time for the Americans to choose to lie, but Walter Kessel took the wiser approach, “Yes, that was us, Sir. We had found a way to hack in and damage their centrifuges, and meanwhile their systems were telling them everything was okay. A dedicated team of our scientists are quite remarkable at semi-prime code breaking, and they were able to accomplish this.”
Walter was sure President Yeshevsky was listening intently to this exchange, for everyone at the table had entire departments dedicated to working on nothing but hacking the other side. To have the ability to get into the North Korean’s main defense network was an eye opener and evidence of how being able to guard from intrusion was becoming more and more imperative. The Chinese Chairman confirmed, “That is impressive.”
President Kessel changed channels for a second, “How sure are you that no rouge military leaders are going to grab the reigns and take a puncher’s chance at our West Coast?”
Chairman Yu responded emphatically, “Of that we cannot be sure. That is why a joint unilateral statement must be issued that unless they lay down all arms, then no aid will be given, and worse, more bombs will come.”
“Mr. Chairman, how do we get a clear message to a country that just had its capitol wiped out in a wisp? I imagine they are in disarray, which is exactly the time they would act out irrationally. You do realize that maybe their missile won’t be headed for the West Coast of my country, it might have China’s name on it.”
The Chinese Chairman spoke with authority, “We have assets in place to make sure their launch capabilities are compromised, and we know America has several in place as well; we would hope you use them in our defense.”
After making that appeal, he also added, “Pyongyang has been very erratic as of late. Our country just spent three hundred and fifty million dollars to build a bridge over the Yalu River, right into their “Super Economic Zone.” When we got to the other side, dirt roads were waiting for us. No customs buildings, no infrastructure of any kind, nothing. Because of their alienation of most of the free world, they were becoming more dependent on our country, and perhaps that is what led to this tragedy. They became delusional that we had designs to take over their country.”
President Kessel had ruffled a feather, “Just delusions?”
“Of course, President Kessel. Yet there are many ways one can take over another’s country. And when one convinces oneself to believe it is happening to him or her, then one starts to fit theories in to make it work. Unfortunately, President Yung did not have the right advisors, and he chose the wrong time for grandstanding and threatening actions.”
The U.S and Russian hierarchy now understood exactly how deeply the Chinese Government was rooted into the DPRK’s (Democratic People’s Republic of Korea) political and military institutions. The relationship might have once been that of brotherhood and mutual objectives, but recently it had turned to more of a pragmatic relationship, with distrust always looming around its edges.
Walter Kessel placed his head in his hands for a second, then spoke, “As far as my Government is concerned, let that be the only use of those weapons without full UN sanction, or there will be no more table talks coming from our country, Sir.
“We weren’t in love with the way the DPRK did things, but to eliminate them so viciously . . . we will still want substantiation of these stated facts.
“Like it or not, your country just opened up a new division of China when you erased the North Korean Government. My people are requesting copies of the exit plan that you must have in place, and how you plan to deliver humanitarian aid to the devastated region and their country as a whole. Once that documentation is obtained, then we should be able to move past this incident, Mr. Chairman.”
The Chinese Chairman was no longer in a pleasant mood, and it played out in his cadence, “We will provide the information, but I, for one, am not feeling the appreciation for a move that saved your country a great many losses.”
“Well, that is where you are wrong, Mr. Chairman. If you had taken the time to check, we would have told you to stand down, as their missiles would have never left the silos. But all that is water under the bridge. It’s not that we don’t trust you, but protocol dictates we must have substantiation of your claims, Mr. Chairman. If the situation was reversed, we would be expecting the same, not acting incredulous over the request.”
After the call ended, Grigory Yeshevsky had a moment to think, and he realized just how shrewd this American President was. The American President had the gall to bring up the UN, when he knew full and well, that his own country was circumventing the United Nations, and Grigory was sure if they needed to use a tactical nuke, it was not going to be sanctioned by the UN first.
Of course, France, Great Brittan, Germany, and the rest of the Security Council were all having conniptions over all these clandestine meetings between the true Super Powers. This President Kessel, he was someone that Grigory could work with, make changes with. He was sharp witted, and he used no script. But most importantly, he shot from the hip with deadly accuracy.
Walter Kessel had turned out to be a very proto-typical American, even if he hadn’t initially appeared so. He always admired the man’s diplomacy, but now he loved watching him in action as well. He was such a great thinker on his feet, not like what his detractors said at all.
Grigory truly hoped that this use of nuclear weapons would be the only one he saw, regardless of what happened in the future with these crazy die-offs.
What none of them knew, though, was he also had confirmed without a doubt the madman Yung was planning a multi-scale attack because China was not the only one with assets within that regime.
Of course, his assets were all now vaporized, but not before they reported in that an attack was imminent. The Russian President knew that China also had erased some pretty convenient secrets with that bomb. That had to be part of the equation, but what did they erase?
Grigory rose and headed to his staff meeting as he wondered, if it all stopped right now, could the world save itself from itself? Or was it already too late?
As usual, Sid Langston brought his President a shot of straight Southern whiskey and hoisted his posterior into a comfortable leather chair to talk things out. This time, Gary Salisbury was also there and it appeared as if the days of excluding him were over.
Sid imbibed his snifter, extolling, “I’d say you held your own in there, Walter.”
President Kessel nodded and sipped his own whiskey after sniffing a waft of its wonderful oak barrel aged wonder, “It wasn’t a pissing match, Sid, but yes, I would say I held my own.” President Kessel sipped again, “Here’s the problem as I see it, and it’s a big one, Sid. What did they cover up with that blast? Isn’t it possible that the North Koreans were about to reveal something that our Chinese friends did not want us to know, so boom! No more enemy, or possible leaks.
Gary Salisbury was shocked that such an assessment just came out of Walter Kessel’s mouth, and he slapped himself internally for the continued stereotyping. He knew that the time was over to be assessing Walter for anything other than what he was—a Shark.
Vice President Langston got out the first thought though, “Now, Walter, I’m very glad to hear you say that because I didn’t want to be the first to broach this subject matter, but that is exactly what I was thinking the minute they preached this as an imminent attack. Our problem now will be The Hill, as this is going to put you on the front burner, Walter. You are going to get a lot of pressure to return those ships immediately. Your friends at the Pentagon have a dart board with your face on it over there, count on it.”
The President cut Gary off with a raise of the hand, as for once it was Sid who was attacking, and he didn’t need his Chief of Staff to be his protector. “Those critics can go to Hell in a hand basket, Sid. What in the twenty-first century can our ships do against a tactical nuclear weapon? I’ve heard enough, and the American people have spoken.” He sipped his aged whiskey again. “Gary, what was my latest poll rating?”
Gary was thrilled to be needed, “Sixty-seven percent, Sir; your highest ever.”
“That’s right, and a great deal of it is because we thought outside the box. Now I can only pray that this is over and we can try to rebuild from here, but like I stated earlier, I won’t listen to armchair quarterbacks or ignorant subordinates. If they want the job, obtain it like I did, but for now, it’s mine.
“You think the average Joe could give a hoot if two countries across the globe kill each other, especially those two? I have the American people to protect. And as far as those two countries are concerned, we all have our beds to lie in, and theirs is not a short history, so they will have to work it out between themselves.”
Gary looked stoically at the two elder Statesmen, “What do you think they were covering up with that bomb?”
* * *
Samuel Hager had been the mayor of Cabazon, California for three decades. He was an engineer, and his father, Bill, had been the mayor dating back to post WWII. He looked at the bumper sticker on his car, “Cabazon, a great place to live.” It was adorned with an American Indian in a headdress. They were home to a special band of Mission Indians, called appropriately “Cabazon Indians.”
Cabazon was located on the eastern edge of Riverside County, which meant that Cabazon was not that far from Los Angeles County, yet Bill remembered when they were a Podunk afterthought on Highway 60.
He looked off at the nearby white, monolithic casino that now stood on the northwest side of town and tears welled up. How could everything go so wrong so fast?
His mother and father put this town on the map. They made it a town in a bonding way, a loving way and mostly, a Christian way. Until his father settled here, the town had some foundation, but no connecter, and Bill Hager was the connecter that put them on the map, literally.
His father was never complacent, and once he had friendships established, he then became the facilitator to get things moving, yet keeping them small at the same time. Cabazon was a very small town, and for most of Samuel’s life, the population rested at around five thousand.
Everyone had his or her own favorite memories from the past; those special places where a person finds the kind of comfort one would find in their mom’s kitchen, if in fact it was not their mom’s kitchen that was their happy place. For Samuel Hager, it was the Wheel Inn Restaurant, which sat up on Highway 60, right next to the gas station. The food was what he remembered the most, such great food. Big hamburgers and a huge plate of fries, or an open-faced roast beef sandwich with stuffing and mashed potatoes, or pork chops with applesauce that the owner, Jim Clayton, got fresh from Idyllwild.
Samuel loved Mr. Clayton, as he and his father were dreamers. They emboldened what America was about. After engineering the design for bridges along the interstates from Washington to California, Bill Hager took one look at Cabazon and knew it was going to be his home for life.
Suddenly a very loud motorcycle rumbled by, its already loud exhaust system exaggerated by the rider’s reckless speeding. More tears welled up, and Samuel eyed the .45 caliber semi-automatic handgun sitting on his lemonade stand, right next to the comfortable outdoor chair he was sitting in.
He still lived in the house that his father built. It was built like houses used to be built—solid. The facade of the house was mortared river rock, and the foundation for the exterior beams the same. The porch was large and ran the front of the house, with half of it screened off and housing a second set of furniture that was even more comfortable as it was of the indoor variety.
Once upon a time there used to be large groups of his family here, and the house was filled with people and laughter and love. Samuel could remember his whole life passing by on this street, from his first steps to his first kiss.
His father had been a dreamer and his vision for Cabazon lasted as long as his life had. Once he and the people he associated with were gone, there was no more trying to attract passerby traffic with roadside dinosaurs at the Wheel Inn Restaurant, or hit the best fruit stand for miles in Bradley’s. Nope, those days were gone. Riverside had expanded so much that five years ago Cabazon was annexed into the county.
Cabazon was a victim of sprawl, and as soon as the Indians won the right to build the monolithic casino that loomed like the Tower of Mordor, from the Lord of the Rings trilogy, all industrial hell broke loose, culminating with the outlet mall on the western part of town.
From his porch seat, Samuel heard four more motorcycles come thundering up the street, only this time they did not go zooming by. These motorcycles pulled into his driveway with a cacophony of sound that made it hard to believe that these men could actually enjoy it. Samuel assumed that just like smoking, one must learn to like something so horrid as that obnoxious sound.
Currently, Cabazon was also “odd man out” geographically speaking. The regular army was protecting the crops; the Navy and Marines and small divisions of the Air Force and Coast Guard were defending our downtowns and skyscrapers, while FEMA, the state militia, and police had more than their hands full with all the inner city riots and vandalism. Something had to fall between the cracks, and that something would be Cabazon, and who knew how many small cities and towns just like it across America.
Gangs in Los Angeles and Riverside were pretty much locked into where they were located, but biker gangs were mobile, and they had all called a truce and had chosen Cabazon to take over. First, seeing as no one was gambling, they got rooms legitimately at the Indian Casino, but then they never checked out. Hundreds of them . . . and now that they had fully seized the casino, they were branching out.
The U.S. government was aware of the situation, but they literally numbered over twenty-five thousand now, with more arriving every day, all heavily armed, all motivated to fight for this land.
The Government had bigger fish to fry, so Cabazon, and who knew how many more like it would be sacrificed. The biggest of the four men got off his motorcycle and made his way through the small white picket fence that was on the side of the driveway, and up a stone-lined pathway that kind of wound slightly to the right and ended at the front porch
Samuel wondered how many times in his life he had gone through that gate? The day he was brought home from the hospital as a baby was the first, but how many times since then in his seventy-two years? He remembered helping his mom through that gate after his dad had died, and then his own now departed wife helping him through it when his mom died. He was the last of the people who knew what a great house this was, the last of the generations of a family who were born here, lived here, and died here.
The largest of the four men approached
, and God, he had to be a good six-four and three hundred pounds, at least. He was not talking nicely at the moment either, “Are my eyes deceiving me, old man? I thought I gave you one day to get out of my new house. I thought I made it clear that if I saw you again, I was not going to be so nice.”
The dirty outlaw biker, with the matted brown hair and dirty beard had now made it to the first step and that was perfect, as Samuel hadn’t fired his Government Model .45 in years, not since he got out of the army. He remembered enough about the weapon to keep two hands on it though.
It wasn’t lost on Samuel how funny life could be. This man assumed so much the day before. Yes, he was older now, and perhaps even frail looking to this man, yet he felt the same inside now as he did when he was a young man. Yes, his body hurt more now, especially when he went too far on one of his many nature walks.
So this filthy man looked at him and assumed that he could come here and tell him he had one day to move out of the house he’d occupied his entire life. But when the heathen looked down the barrel of the Colt, he had an epiphany of his own. His own life flashed before his eyes. He must have realized that this wasn’t a renegotiation, this was the end of his life, but no words came out, only a realizing look of resignation.
Samuel wondered if the man replayed his life as the explosion occurred? If he was able to trace where it all went wrong for himself and straighten it out so his end wasn’t getting shot point blank in the chest on a porch in Cabazon. The bullet hit him dead center in the sternum and it blew him right off his large feet. He backwards bowling-balled his mates and it was a “spare.” Two of them lay on the ground, the third a disbelieving slack-jawed gawker. Of course, when the gun was leveled at him, he became a man of belief and action, immediately trying to exit through the small picket gate.
Samuel cared not that he shot the man in the back, flipping him over the gate with seemingly gymnastic expertise. And it didn’t bother him one bit that the other two got it in the back as well. Both were overweight and out of shape messes, so they had to turn on their stomachs to get to their knees to get up. There was no fair fight ethics going on here, two easy shots in the back of each and it was over, as each bullet drove its victim into the ground with authority.
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