Nobody could dispute that. The world’s oil powers weren’t famous for their disinterested charity.
For the first time, the President spoke up. He looked down the table toward Walter Quinn, the director of Central Intelligence. “There’s no doubt that the French are behind this oil embargo?”
“None at all, sir.”
The Secretary of State added his own two cents to the discussion. “Paris wants all of Eastern Europe inside this new monetary union — or else too bankrupt to give it much trouble.”
The President acknowledged Thurman’s point with a quick nod before turning back to the DCI. “One thing still puzzles me about this, Walt. What about the Germans? Weren’t they pulling oil and gas through those pipelines, too?”
“Yes, sir. Mostly for refineries and factories in the east. Replacing those supplies on the open market will cost them a pretty penny.”
Huntington mentally chalked one up for the nation’s chief executive. He’d overlooked the German angle during his own hasty boning up for this meeting.
“Well, we know the French are covering Russia’s out-of-pocket expenses for this thing. Are they doing the same for the Germans?”
The DCI looked troubled. He’d been riding high on the credit the CIA had gained for its heads-up warnings of Kaminov’s putsch and the secret French subsidies to Russia. Now he had to admit ignorance. “If they are, we haven’t seen any signs of it. But I can’t be sure about that, Mr. President. We don’t have any sources high enough in the Schraeder regime to tell us, one way or the other.”
Huntington wasn’t particularly surprised by that. Germany had been a trusted American ally for decades — a close partner in the long straggle against Soviet communism. It took time to successfully shift the CIA’s German operations from open cooperation to covert competition. Still, even the faint possibility that the French hadn’t bothered telling Berlin what they were up to inside Russia was intriguing. Maybe their fledgling friendship wasn’t as solid as all their joint press releases made it seem. That was worth closer study.
The President evidently agreed. He jabbed a finger toward the CIA chief. “Keep digging, Walt. I’d like to know exactly who’s orchestrating this damned embargo.”
He ran his gaze around the crowded table. “All right, folks, let’s move this along. The problem our Polish, Czech, and Slovak friends are facing is pretty damn clear. What I need to hear are some workable solutions.”
“Is that even necessary, Mr. President?” The Treasury Secretary didn’t mince her words. She had been in the cabinet long enough to know that the nation’s chief executive valued candor more than consensus.
“I still don’t see that we have any compelling interest at stake here. Who really cares whether they pay their bills with zlotys or with franc-marks?” She shrugged. “After all, every dollar American-owned companies make in those countries wouldn’t keep this government in pocket change for half an hour.”
“What exactly are you proposing, Katherine? That we walk away and wash our hands of this whole mess?”
“Exactly. For two simple reasons.” She outlined her position with the same sure precision she used when lecturing congressmen about basic economics. “One. Guaranteeing oil and gas supplies to these countries could mean an open-ended drain on our treasury. One we can’t afford. And let’s face it, the American people aren’t going to like being asked to pay other people’s energy bills. They’re having a tough enough time meeting ends themselves. Two. This is an artificial oil shortage. Sooner or later the Russians will want to sell their resources, so sooner or later the embargo will end.
“If Warsaw, Prague, and Bratislava have to bend a little to get them to do that, well, so what? We’re not looking at the end of the world.”
One or two of those seated around the table nodded. Several others looked less sure of themselves. Doing nothing was often the best course in foreign affairs.
Huntington surprised himself by stepping into the debate. He’d intended to sit back and listen quietly. “With all due respect, Mr. President, the secretary is dead wrong. We can’t walk away from this.”
Heads turned his way. “This is a classic test of wills. The French are betting we won’t have the balls to back our friends with cold, hard cash. Our friends in Europe are betting that we will. If we fail them, if we flinch now, we can kiss free trade with Europe good-bye for years. The Italians, the Dutch, and the Spanish will all know that we’ll fold the first time the French or the Germans put pressure on them. So every European government with any sense will make tracks for Paris as fast as it can. By definition, anyone who joins this monetary union accepts the Franco-German position on tariffs and subsidies. And that means we’ll lose our last realistic chance to shake the world out of this goddamned trade war before it bankrupts us all.”
He stared across at the Treasury Secretary. “This is one instance where we don’t have the luxury of letting events take their own course. We have to act.”
The President’s firm, determined voice cut through the stunned silence that followed his outburst. “Ross is absolutely right. I will not abandon people who’ve put their trust in us.”
He turned toward the Secretary of State. “Harris, I’d like you to arrange a meeting for me. I want to talk with the British and Norwegian prime ministers, pronto. By satellite hookup if possible, but I’ll fly if I have to.”
“Of course, Mr. President.” Thurman’s own earlier misgivings were nowhere in sight. He was an old hand at reading the way the White House winds were blowing.
Clinton Scofield leaned forward. “You’re planning to ask them for North Sea oil and gas?”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
Scofield nodded. “Makes sense.” Hoping to import supplies from the Arabs, the Poles had built an oil and gas port at Gdansk way back in the 1970s. Pipelines already ran to Warsaw, the other big cities, and south to the Czech and Slovak republics. Better still, the North Sea’s vast oil and natural gas reserves lay just a few hundred miles west of Poland. Shorter tanker round trips would mean lower transportation costs.
“And how will we pay for all this petro-largess?” The Treasury Secretary’s skepticism was undiminished.
“The Poles and the Czechs will pay us what they can — in hard money or in kind. The rest?” He shrugged. “We’ll have to pick up the rest ourselves. First we’ll try squeezing some new money into a supplementary appropriation. Maybe we can buy Congress off by backing a few more pork-barrel projects here at home.” The President’s mouth turned down as he spoke. He’d fought hard against wasteful spending for years. The fact that he would even consider reversing himself on that score showed how committed he was to aiding the Eastern Europeans.
He went on. “If we can’t get new funding, we’ll have to try reprogramming money that’s already appropriated for foreign aid.”
Harris Thurman’s face fell a bit at that. As Secretary of State, he’d be the one explaining to various governments why their promised assistance packages failed to materialize.
“Congress won’t like it, Mr. President,” the Treasury Secretary warned.
“Congress? Congress, Madame Secretary, can go to…” He paused and smiled sardonically. “Gdansk.”
Huntington nodded to himself. The President was committed now. America would stand by her friends in Eastern Europe.
CHAPTER 10
Combustion
The televised images were gripping and strangely beautiful.
A giant, red-hulled oil tanker slid quietly through the narrow waters between Denmark and Sweden, gliding past Copenhagen’s stone jetties, houses, and somber church spires at a steady ten knots. The tanker dwarfed its nearest companions — the two tugs and pilot boat shepherding it through the channel to the Baltic Sea. A ragtag swarm of tiny sailboats draped with protest banners lined the tanker’s route, kept at bay by police patrol craft steaming back and forth along the sound. Chants and blaring air horns carried faintly across the water.