He looked at Pamela’s picture again. Marriage and career… neither one looked very solid right now. If he got stuck in some safe but dull staff position, Pamela would be happy, but Magruder knew he’d go crazy if he didn’t feel like he was doing something. But if he got a ship of his own, another tour of sea duty policing some hot spot at the ends of the earth, could Pamela put up with it?
If Coyote couldn’t hold onto his marriage with Julie, was there any real hope for him and Pamela? Julie had started with a lot more in common with Will Grant than Tombstone and Pamela had ever had.
Tombstone found himself thinking about Joyce Flynn, about the shared danger that day on the Kola Peninsula. Tomboy was no on-camera beauty like Pamela, but there had been a real connection there. She understood what Magruder felt when he was in the cockpit of a Tomcat, what it was like for him to really put his life on the line for his country. Things Pamela Drake would never really understand.
He loved Pamela, maybe more now than he had in the early days of their relationship. But the women he’d come to know in the Air Wing, Flynn and Brewer Conway and the others, were something special. They shared his world, his dreams and his hopes and his fears. Sometimes Magruder wondered if love was enough.
CHAPTER 11
“Mr. Waring, this could be the most important opportunity we’ve seen since the fall of the Berlin Wall. We’d be fools not to take advantage of it.”
Admiral Thomas Magruder looked from the speaker, Secretary of State Robert Heideman, to the President’s National Security Adviser, Herb Waring. He was used to the Secretary’s stance on foreign affairs questions but found it hard to believe that even a dedicated liberal globalist like Heideman could be urging a policy at odds with everything the United States had stood for since the days of the Founding Fathers.
He was even more surprised at Waring’s evident interest. The President had been taking a real beating lately in foreign policy, and the smart money said he should stick with domestic problems rather than getting involved in yet another ill-advised adventure abroad. Magruder would have expected Waring ― who always had an eye for the main chance ― to back off from another round of foreign intervention, if only to appease the growing numbers of isolationists among the President’s noisier critics.
Clearly, though, Heideman’s presentation had struck a chord with Waring.
“Let me see if I understand what you’re saying, Bob,” Waring said. “This Russian general, Boychenko, will surrender to the United Nations, but the UN will only go along if our carrier battle group is part of the process.”
“That’s essentially it, Mr. Waring-” Heideman began. His measured, precise voice was overridden by another, louder and less cultivated.
“Mr. Waring, I want to go on record as having disagreed with this entire idea. It is a mistake from first to last, and it flies in the face of everything this country has ever stood for.”
Magruder found himself nodding in agreement. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Admiral Brandon Scott, leaned back in his chair. With his mane of white hair and his flashing eyes, Scott looked like a biblical prophet. His angry words seemed to hang in the room.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Brandon,” Waring said slowly… and with an oiliness that warned of masked feelings. “But I think Secretary Heideman may be right, here. This situation offers some interesting possibilities we really should explore.”
“Going along with this is tantamount to giving up our sovereignty,” Scott maintained harshly. “A U.S. carrier battle group cannot simply be loaned out to the United Nations this way, any more than we would consider loaning out part of our nuclear arsenal! It violates two centuries of policy, damned good policy. Throwing it all away is nothing short of idiotic!”
“If I may, Mr. Waring?” Heideman cut in. “Admiral, we all know your views. You’ve expressed them often enough, and loudly enough, for all of us to know where you stand. But this is a political decision, not a military one.”
“It means putting more American servicemen in harm’s way, Mr. Secretary,” Scott said. “And that is always a military decision, regardless of the politics involved.”
“Damn it, Scott, this perennial foot-dragging is getting damned old!”
Gordon West, the White House Chief of Staff, exploded. “If you can’t get with the program, for God’s sake, at least get out of the way so the rest of us can do something constructive for a change!”
“Take it easy, Gordon,” the Security Adviser said. “I invited his opinion, and he gave it. We have enough hot spots around the world without turning the Cabinet Room into another one, okay?”
West didn’t answer, but he visibly controlled his temper and settled back in his seat. The other presidential advisers gathered around the long oak table relaxed, but there was still an air of tension in the room. After nearly two years of this administration, quarrels like this one were an almost routine part of any foreign policy meeting. This one, though, had all the earmarks of a really serious fight ― the kind that ended in resignations offered and accepted, and in Senate hearings over new nominees for top-level government posts.
It wouldn’t be the first time, either, Magruder thought as he glanced around the table. As a matter of fact, Admiral Scott wouldn’t have been quite so touchy if it hadn’t been for the last such argument, the one that had led to the resignation of Secretary of Defense Vane six months previously. Vane had always backed his military experts when it came to questions of foreign policy and American power projection, but those days were gone now. Scott wasn’t exactly a lone voice in the wilderness, but sometimes it must have seemed that way to the man. It couldn’t be easy working for the new secretary.
Magruder’s eyes rested on Secretary of Defense Samantha Reed, former congresswoman from California, one-time member of the House Armed Services Committee, and powerful friend to the feminist left and champion of a liberal social agenda. Her appointment to the Cabinet had barely squeaked through the required Senate approval process despite the political pressures that made it all but impossible for many senators to vote against her. The nomination of the first woman ever considered for a powerhouse Cabinet position like Defense was one of those historic moments for women everywhere, and headline-conscious politicians weren’t about to go on record as voting against the tide of history. Too many of them remembered the “They just don’t get it” mentality engendered in the early ‘90s by incidents like the Anita Hill allegations against Clarence Thomas, and the fight over the retirement of Admiral Frank Kelso, the Navy Secretary who had presided over the Tailhook scandal.
Even so, the vote to confirm her in her new position had been a close one.
Tall, dignified, and with the experienced politician’s charm and ready smile, Samantha Reed turned to face the President’s chief adviser. “Mr. Waring,” she said. “As far as I can see, this could be an excellent trade. We remove a potentially dangerous military force from the Crimea, and the UN moves in and takes charge. The UN’s prestige is enhanced as a world peacekeeper. I don’t need to remind anyone here that the American public is not enthusiastic about our becoming the world’s policeman, do I?”
“Madam Secretary,” Scott said. “With all due respect, where’s the difference? If our military is policing the world as a part of U.S. foreign policy or at the behest of the United Nations, we’re still footing the bill.”
“Not at all, Admiral,” she replied, her voice silk-smooth behind a glacial smile. “The UN would pay the costs of the deployment. A share of that is ours, of course, ultimately, but it won’t be as though the American taxpayer is shouldering the entire burden.”