“Mr. Martindale,” Hershel said, letting the pungent smoke stream out of her mouth slowly and seductively, “the president feels, and I agree, that if we tried to enter this conflict with military might, the insurgents would destroy the pipelines, just as the Iraqis did as they were forced to withdraw from Kuwait.” She put down the cigar after taking another long draw. “But in any case, even if the United States was able to wipe out all the insurgents without causing any damage to the pipelines, what then? The Turkmen government is obviously not strong enough to protect the pipelines. If another group of Taliban came in, we’d be faced with the same dilemma. Do you suggest the United States set up a permanent presence in Turkmenistan to protect the pipelines?”
“If that’s what it takes, yes!”
“Mr. President… Kevin, you should realize that’s not possible,” Hershel said calmly. The more wound up Martindale got, the calmer and more introspective Maureen made herself. “The United States is not in the business of providing mercenary services for the benefit of private companies.”
“No one is asking the United States to supply mercenaries,” Martindale argued. “The United States should use its military power and influence to restrain other outside powers from disrupting the business of the legitimate government. We had a deal with President Niyazov. TransCal spent almost eight billion dollars to build those pipelines and infrastructure—”
“Kurban Gurizev is in power now.”
“Gurizev is a Russian stooge,” Martindale said acidly. “He was against the TransCal deal right from the start. He wants to increase his own wealth and prestige by getting the Russians back into Turkmenistan so they’ll back him as president. Then TransCal will be forced to renegotiate the contract with the Turkmen government.”
“That sounds very likely,” Hershel said matter-of-factly.
Martindale stared wide-eyed at the deputy secretary of state. “I’m glad you find favor in my analysis,” he said sarcastically. “Does that sound fair to you, Maureen?”
“From TransCal’s point of view, I shouldn’t think so,” she replied. “From Gurizev’s perspective it sounds like a perfectly reasonable and rational idea.” She could see Martindale getting angrier by the second. “Kevin, I’m sure TransCal knew what they were getting into when they made this deal. I’m sure they knew that Turkmenistan was and still is a virtual dictatorship. TransCal knew about Gurizev and all his close ties to the Russian government, they knew that the Russians still extracted huge amounts of oil and gas from the country, and they knew that the Russian army still had a large presence there. They knew the risk — as did your government, sir. Yet you met with President Niyazov and brokered this deal for TransCal.”
Hershel’s staff had definitely done their homework before this meeting. He wondered if Maureen Hershel had even touched cigars until this meeting was set up.
“Why isn’t the CIA keeping you better informed on what’s happening out there?” he asked, hoping to change the subject quickly.
“We have assets everywhere, as you know,” Hershel said, “but we can’t see everything. However, I’m sure TransCal was briefed and fully understood the risks when they signed the deal with President Niyazov.”
“Frankly, Maureen, we were able to sign a deal back then because my government made it very clear that it would enforce the law, no matter where in the world it was violated,” Martindale said acidly. “If Thorn showed even a fraction of the backbone my government had, we probably wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“I can’t comment on that.”
“Well, I can, and that’s how I see it.” Martindale paused for a moment, then sat back, picked up his cigar and puffed it to life again. “Tell me, Miss Hershel,” he asked, “what happened to Secretary Kercheval?”
“Nothing has happened to Secretary Kercheval,” she replied.
“There’s a rumor around that he’s taking medication for Parkinson’s disease.”
“He was given a completely clean bill of health in his last physical. He hasn’t told us a thing about Parkinson’s.”
“There’s also a rumor that he’s extremely displeased with President Thorn’s overall handling of foreign affairs and that he may retire rather than continue to serve in this administration.”
“I’ve heard nothing of the kind.”
“There seem to be an awful lot of ugly rumors circulating around all of a sudden, Miss Hershel — and they correspond closely to your frequent appearances at the White House recently. How do all these rumors get started, Maureen?”
“You should know, Kevin.” She shifted slightly, an amused glimmer in her eyes. “You talked about it on Crossfire last week, remember?”
“Will Secretary of State Kercheval resign over the Turkmenistan issue?”
She retrieved her cigar and sat back in her seat, her eyes riveted on his. She knew he was trying to interrogate her, and she sent up a cloud of cigar smoke as a screen in front of her. “No,” she replied.
“Are you being considered to replace Kercheval, like it says in the press?”
“I’ve been asked to spearhead a State Department position paper on Central Asian affairs for Secretary of State Kercheval,” Hershel replied. “I retain my position as deputy secretary of state. Mr. Kercheval is still in charge of the State Department, a valuable member of the administration, and a trusted adviser and friend of the president. That’s all.”
“Sounds like a carefully scripted talking point — as if you were preparing for the Sunday talk shows,” Martindale said.
Hershel said nothing, only stared at him through the cloud of pungent smoke.
“You have been with the State Department for seven years, but the FBI Counterintelligence Operations Office for twelve. Why did you leave that office?”
“Counterintelligence — like the military, I believe — serves diplomacy,” Maureen replied. “I preferred to be on the policy side of diplomacy rather than on the operations side.”
“But you were a good spy-catcher, Maureen — one of the best, according to my sources,” Martindale said.
She did not respond — except with her eyes. Those very blue eyes suddenly adopted what soldiers called the “thousand-yard stare,” as if she were reliving some event triggered by his question, watching the replay as if it were being projected onto the back of Martindale’s skull and she was looking right through him at it. The cloud of Lars Teten smoke only served to heighten the sense of mystery and danger.
“You miss it, don’t you, Maureen?” Martindale asked in a low, almost seductive voice.
Again she did not reply — but he could see his response in her eyes.
“Maureen,” he went on, “what sorts of efforts has the president directed the State Department to pursue on the diplomatic front in regard to Turkmenistan?”
“My study is one response,” Maureen said. “But the president usually doesn’t direct anyone to do anything. He tells the cabinet what he will support and what he expects, and they go forth and do the job.”
“The chief of staff doesn’t coordinate efforts between the cabinet members…?”
“The vice president acts as chief of staff, and, yes, he does have meetings and coordinates activity via e-mail, but the cabinet officers call the shots and then report directly to the president.”
“I’m curious, Maureen: How does the cabinet know if what they’re doing is what the president wants done?”
“It’s not that kind of organization, Kevin. The president just lets the cabinet members do their jobs. They listen to the president, he tells them what he’s thinking, and… they leave and go back to their offices and do what they think needs to be done.”