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General Slaider and his wife, Marion, arrived at the White House at eight o’clock. President Llewellyn greeted him at the elevator to the second floor and ushered them into the brightly lit Yellow Oval Room. Barbara, President Llewellyn’s wife, and Marion Slaider exchanged hugs and they all sat comfortably on the sofas arranged around the marble coffee table. Both women were dressed fashionably but casually. The men wore business suits. Hot punch was delivered with pastries while the two couples exchanged pleasantries of the season.
After a while, Barbara asked Marion if she would like to see the Christmas tree. The national Christmas tree had been set up as usual on the State Floor in the Blue Room. The two women walked down the stairs to the Blue Room. When they entered the room, the Christmas tree dominated a quarter of the oval room. It was hung lavishly with lights and a lifetime collection of Llewellyn family decorative balls and ornaments. Beneath it, stretching well beyond the perimeter of the lowest row of branches, was an extensive miniature village. A blanket of shaved plastic snow covered the ground cloth under the tree. Scores of miniature houses, churches, barns, and schoolhouses dotted the surprising landscape. Each house was lighted from within by its own unseen light bulb. Tiny figures skated on frozen mirror ponds or walked along the paths or simply stood and waited. To the left of the train station was the post office. A miniature flagpole and flag stood beside the building. The tiny plaque attached to the building front proclaimed “Alexville.”
Alexander Llewellyn had built the miniature village over a period of thirty years. To Barbara, however, went the annual chore of setting it up and taking it down. Her patience and tender devotion to the task always added just the right touch of composition to the exquisite artistry of the miniatures. Living in the White House now did not change that tradition.
“It looks wonderful, Barbara. How peaceful it all seems here,” Marion said.
“Thank god this year is over, Marion. God willing the new year will be better for all of us.” Barbara gave a small sigh. “I just haven’t the heart to have the tree taken down yet. It’s so beautiful and so peaceful. It just reminds me of simpler times Alex and I had together with the children.”
Marion took Barbara’s hand, and together they walked around the tree, admiring the decorations they knew so well.
The men continued their discussion in the Yellow Oval Room.
“Would you like some punch, Morgan? I just made some of my famous Kickapoo juice. Just what you need on a cold January night in Washington. I must say, I always feel better after having some. They don’t let me do too much around here, but I insist on making my Christmas punch. I could give the recipe to the chef but you know me. It’s an old family secret recipe and I won’t let being president drag it from me.”
“Well, I’ve been in here almost fifteen minutes and I was wondering if I had fallen out of favor. No punch yet. My mind is now at ease. Since I’ve been given leave, I’ll help myself. How about you, Alex? Join me?”
Morgan got up and walked to the punch bowl sitting on one of the small counters along the wall of the room.
“But of course. I’ve only been holding off until you arrived.”
“I see,” Morgan said, holding back a grin. “That explains why there’s only half a pitcher.”
“Well . . . ”
The men enjoyed their punch and talked about how Marion’s health was improving, and how fortunate they both had been, and how the season helped remind them to cherish every moment. Morgan Slaider stopped speaking for a moment as his thoughts turned to something that had only rarely left his mind.
“Thinking about Teddy London?” Alex asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yes. You know, Alex, I’ve been a military man most of my adult life and always believed I would willingly give my life for my country, for my duty to my country. But you just don’t know until you are faced with the circumstance that calls that pledge to account. That young man, well, I just keep thinking about his courage. He did face that awful decision and he saved my life. It’s up close and personal, Alex, when something like that happens and you never forget it. We deal in legions, you and I, and we can sometimes lose sight of the individual. I know we can’t make decisions of state based on the individual, but still . . . well, it is something to think about anyway.”
“The doctors at Bethesda did a fabulous job pulling him through,” President Llewellyn said. “Amanda sent every one of the people on the team a case of St. Supéry. I was very disappointed when she tendered her resignation when I took office. She assured me it was not a reflection of lack of confidence in me but rather a personal matter. She wouldn’t explain. Very mysterious, but then I have always found women mysterious and inscrutable.”
The two men remained silent for a time, letting their reflections take them where they will. Finally, Llewellyn asked Slaider, “Shall we move to the Lincoln Sitting Room?”
The two men took their glasses of punch and walked out of the Yellow Oval Room to the Center Hall. They turned right and walked to a small flight of stairs. Moving down these stairs, they walked past the Lincoln Bedroom to the end of the hall, where the entrance to the Lincoln Sitting Room was just on the right. Llewellyn let Slaider enter the room first.
It was Llewellyn’s favorite room on the private residence floor. Two large windows gave the room ample light during the day and a large, six-globe chandelier hanging from the center of the room provided ample light in the evening. Decorated in the Victorian style, there was a sofa, two Queen Anne wing chairs, and a carved wooden table in the center of the room. Beside the sofa, on either end, were marble-top end tables with lamps. On the wall to the left, upon entering the Sitting Room, was a small fireplace.
“Make yourself comfortable, Morgan. I’ll start the fire.” It was just a matter of moments to accomplish this as the wood in the fireplace was simulated and gas burners provided the flame. Nevertheless, Llewellyn loved the tranquility the fire always promoted in him. “God, I love this room,” he said to Morgan, stepping back to admire the flames and the setting. Above the mantle was a large, ornate mirror, in which he caught his reflection for a moment. He stopped, looked at himself silently and fell into a reflective mood.
“I see myself in this mirror, Morgan, and it sometimes feels like I’m having an out-of-body experience, watching myself being president of the United States, living in this building with its centuries of history, moving through the rooms, sleeping in the bed where great men, men we revere, lived and moved as I do now. It’s a startling and humbling recognition, I tell you. I don’t think I will ever feel anything but awe while living here.”
There was nothing Slaider could add to this so he said nothing.
Llewellyn turned to one of the end tables and opened a drawer. “Would you like a cigar, Morgan?”
Slaider declined the offer, as he always did. Llewellyn carefully went through the familiar ritual of lighting his. First, he carefully felt the cigar, smelled it along its entire edge, and examined the cover roll for imperfections. Taking his cigar cutter from his pocket, he clipped the mouth end. Then he wet the end to be lighted by lightly drawing it in and out of his mouth for a few strokes. Finally, pulling out his lighter, he drew larger and larger flames while rotating the cigar until it was securely and evenly lit. The ventilation system efficiently drew off the cloud of smoke created by the process.
Leaning back in his chair, Llewellyn took a long, slow drag on the cigar and, after a brief pause, closed his eyes and exhaled a narrow stream of smoke into the air. “Excellent Havana, although the quality has been going down lately. I wonder what the intelligence implications of that are, Morgan.”
Slaider stared into the fire and smiled at Llewellyn’s comment.
“Well, okay.” Llewellyn took another draw from his cigar. He was ready to begin. “So, it’s all done. Do you think it will stick, Morgan?”
“Our people in Geneva believe it is firm. As firm as things get these days, anyway. Fifty-sev
en nations have been found eligible and of these thirty-nine have already asked to become franchisees. These thirty-nine are the vanguard. The Chinese have done a terrific job. Their finest and in a way most ironic coup was getting Japan to sign on. The Middle East, of course, is a problem. They’re trying to cut the best deal they can get but basically their future is not rosy. They will still have a lucrative market as a hydrocarbon supplier to the world, but of course they will not have the income or influence they now enjoy.
“They’ll still be significant as a supplier of chemical feed stock, but they will have to get used to no longer playing a critical role in world politics. Their days as an energy cartel are numbered. They’ll temporarily slow the pace of signers beyond the original thirty-nine for those countries they can still pressure with the threat of an oil embargo. But that weapon will be a thing of the past within five to eight years and even now hurts them as much as their targeted victims.”
Llewellyn leaned forward to tap his cigar ashes into the ashtray. When he was done, he asked “What have the Chinese come up with for the initial phase of conversions?”
“They want to follow the Roman model of conquest. Operation of each plant will be under the control of the local governments. Only the plant designs and supply of the fuel pellets will be by the federation, exclusively. The first phase calls for no excess capacity over what currently exists in each country. Each plant will be a one-for-one swap. The existing conventional and nuclear plants will either be converted or allowed to run out their useful life. Subsequent phases call for detailed analysis of ‘developing nation’ requirements. The ultimate goal is worldwide energy dependence on laser-fusion energy and hydrogen fuel cells.”
“How is the financial planning for paying for all the new plants going? Creative funding, Morgan. This calls for creative funding,” Llewellyn commented.
“Exactly,” Slaider said. “And our boys are the best in the world at that, so the Chinese are leaving that up to us. An economics commission has been established to work out the details. Part of the plan calls for credits based on reductions in military budgets, reallocation of funds from antipollution programs that will no longer be necessary, and forecasted savings in fuel costs over projected payback periods. It’s complex but doable. The computer models are being developed as we speak.”
“What’s the feeling about compensation to the fuel companies? I know the Chinese are cool to this issue,” Slaider said. “Is there a consensus on whether or not to compensate the oil and gas companies?”
“No compensation,” President Llewellyn asserted. “Lal was very firm with that. His position is that their product will no longer be needed for energy production, and that’s just too bad for them. His insists that the money can be better spent creating the new systems rather than cushioning the fall of the old. He was quite strong on this matter, elaborating a rather moral approach, I must say, to his position against compensation. Frankly there were not too many defenders of big oil and big coal, especially after the attack on you.”
Slaider got up and walked to the fireplace and turned to face Llewellyn so he could feel the warmth of the flames his back.
The president leaned forward. “Morgan, what about the joint commands? I must say, I may have underestimated Latimer’s ability to stir things up. He was surprisingly effective with getting the French to argue against the mandatory removal of all franchisee military personnel from foreign soil. The Russians weren’t too happy about that as well, considering their historic hostility toward the Japanese.”
“Mr. President, it’s a tempest in a teapot. Eventually they will all come around. Lal made a real issue of all franchisee forces outside their national borders coming under the temporary command of the World Federation Military Command until they could be returned to their home bases. Basically, he tied it to the fusion/fuel package. He’s taken a really firm hand with the negotiating teams. If franchise applicants don’t go along with TWF military command, they don’t get the franchise. The Chinese seem happy with this position too. They have long felt we, for example, had troops unsustainably positioned all over the worldand of course they were right.”
Slaider looked at the glass of punch in his hand. Shaking his head, he said to Llewellyn “Alex, you know I love your punch, but right now I could use something a bit stronger. I’d love a good single malt scotch right about now.”
Llewellyn leaned over to reach the phone on the end table next to where he was sitting on the sofa. He spoke quietly into it and then turned to Slaider. “You’ll have it in a jiffy, but the blow to my self-esteem by this rejection may be permanent.”
“I sincerely apologize to the president and to the people, but I thank you for the scotch in advance of its arrival,” Slaider joked.
“The first step toward nonmilitary enforcement of franchise policies is the neutralization of extraterritorial forces. And that’s not enough. Reduction of internal forces is encouraged by the Stability Index algorithm the economic committee is working out. Lal has been amazing. He’s done a splendid job,” Llewellyn said.
A young woman knocked and the door and entered, carrying a tray with a bottle of scotch, a pitcher of water, a container of ice, and a crystal drinking glass. She placed the tray on the wooden table in the center of the room.
“Anything else I can get you, Mr. President? Would you like me to prepare a drink for you?” she asked.
“No. That’s it, Mary. Thanks so much,” Llewellyn answered.
“You’re welcome, sir. And season’s greetings, General Slaider.”
“Thank you, Mary. The same to you and your family,” Slaider responded.
“Thank you, General,” she said and quietly left the room.
After fixing himself a drink, Slaider sat down.
“I’m glad to see he is the man you said he was, Morgan. As you know, I had my doubts, but as with everything else, you were right about him. There’s just one more thing I need to assure myself on, and I will know that it’s donethat there’s no turning back. The channel to Lal for the transfer of technology from the Nova group and the laser group—has he received everything he needs?”
“Do you remember Dr. Birdwell from Sandia? He was in on the first technical contacts team that initially assessed AJC Fusion technology. He is the channel to the World Federation technical team acting through Sylvia Carlyle. Everything has been sent to Lal using Dr. Birdwell as the technical pointman and not just for the fuel and the implosion system designs, but for the military side as well.
“Everything related to the strategic defense systems, and I mean everything, has been sent to Lal, including both the laser technology and the offensive systems designs. Lal has set up a joint task force of Chinese engineers and our boys to use the strategic defense targeting systems to establish control and protection of the lunar mining and processing operations, and eventually of the entire moon itself. Within the year, the moon will effectively be a ‘no-fly zone,’ for want of a better expression.
“In the meantime, Lal has everything he needs for the first power plants to be online in about eighteen months.” Slaider took a sip from his glass and smiled. “Alex, it’s done. Everything we dreamed of is in place.”
Llewellyn looked at Morgan Slaider intently and quietly said, “Morgan, no one will know how much the world owes you and your vision. I can’t believe myself that we have achieved so much in so little time.”
“Alex, what we’ve done could only have been done quickly. If people had too much time to think about all this, it never would have happened at all. The only way we made this work was with a strategy made famous or infamous, depending on your point of view, in the beginning of the century: shock and awe. Only on a global scale this time.”
“That may be,” Llewellyn said. “But if you hadn’t convinced the Chinese that it was in their best interest to join forces with us on this, it would have been a deal killer.”
“Well, I never would have started this in the first place without their
agreement on where it was all going to take us. The economic benefit to them and to us was simply too great to pass up. I love those guys. They are such pragmatists.” Morgan Slaider took another sip of his scotch and added, “And they throw one hell of a good party.”
The president relaxed visibly. He leaned back and closed his eyes. Almost as if he was speaking to himself, rather than Morgan Slaiderhis friend, mentor, guide, and in many ways his political prophet. “Then it’s done,” he said.
For the first time since Slaider entered the White House, Alexander Llewellyn seemed convinced. “Done,” he repeated.
Reaching across his chair, Llewellyn placed his hand on the arm of General Morgan Slaider as they both stared silently into the dying flames. “No one will ever know or appreciate how much the world owes to your vision and your strength. Morgan, I want to tell you something. On March 6, 1991, President George H. W. Bush said—and I’ve found and memorized these lines after you first told me of your vision:
Now, we can see a new world coming into view. A world in which there is the very real prospect of a new world order. In the words of Winston Churchill, a “world order” in which “the principles of justice and fair play . . . protect the weak against the strong . . .” A world where the United Nations, freed from cold war stalemate, is poised to fulfill the historic vision of its founders. A world in which freedom and respect for human rights find a home among all nations.
“He wasn’t right about the role of the United Nations in creating that new world order and was too early by almost thirty years, but he was right in predicting that it would come. This is a moment in history that you saw so clearly and pushed us so relentlessly to embrace as possible. Without your vision and your persuasive arguments, would the world ever have gotten to this point? I don’t think so. We should be building a Slaider Memorial in Washington, but you know we never can or will. But I say again, we should.”
On Deception Watch Page 55
