Bumgardner laid his spectacles on the desk and stared at the sinking vessels. “My God — what have we done? We played politics when we should have paid the ransom. It should have been clear to us from the beginning…. This is worse than an atomic bomb. Thousands — no tens of thousands will die from the aftermath of this spill. Millions of wildlife… it is incomprehensible.”
Landenberger muttered, “And he has thirty-three more ships. My God I could have stopped this.” He stared at the screen, frozen with the role he had played in this. The others hovered around him. Farnsworth burst into tears. Some prayed.
Robinson was in shock with the numbers. He should have looked at this beforehand. Now it was too late. It was Pandora’s Box unleashed. There was no going back. And he was a part of it. He could have focused on this and convinced Landenberger to pay the ransom. No — he recommended that he work with the UN and come to a consensus. We are all fools. The world trusts us to do the right thing and now this. We were wrong. We were so wrong. May God forgive us for our folly.
Landenberger straightened his tie and took a deep breath. He sat silently for nearly a minute while the others gathered their composure. “Bumgardner….”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Get your generals down here. We are going to save the hostages.”
Chapter Twenty
Within the hour, protestors stood outside the White House with picket signs.
WE WANT GAS!
Landenberger, Robinson and Whittman were deciding if and when to call a press conference. Bumgardner was meeting with the brass in the Pentagon formulating the war plan for saving the hostages and regaining control of the oil tankers.
Whittman was not excited about facing the press. “We don’t have anything to say that they don’t already know.”
“We could calm them — give them some sort of assurances that there is no reason to panic.”
“They have heard that before and it has done nothing. If you do this I am telling you they will crucify you within the hour.”
Robinson suggested, “Maybe Whittman could go out there and not say much of anything. Tell them that the president is concerned and is taking this seriously.”
“They will ask what is he going to do and I can’t tell them he is making plans to settle this militarily.”
“You tell them that the president is looking at the problem etc. — the usual song and dance that you do so well.”
Whittman looked at the president.
“Do it. Announce a press conference in fifteen minutes. My presence would only fan the flames like Houston has said. I have better things to do.”
Whittman pulled out his BlackBerry and left the Office.
Landenberger paced the Office and glanced out the window at the protesters. He removed his coat and tie and rolled up his sleeves, something Robinson had never seen until this moment. He rested his elbows on the desk — then placed his palms to his face and wrung his hands.
“We are going to end this whole thing ASAP. We have fiddled around too long and we are going to get that oil back. I don’t care how we do it—”
The light on the red phone began to pulsate.
“Hello.”
“President Landenberger. If I was a betting man, I would bet you could use some good news,” the familiar voice of Kuznetsov broadcast over the speaker.
“I think all of us could use some refreshing news.”
“I may have some for you today. We are going to begin our new relationship a bit earlier than planned.”
“Good.”
“The Canadians much like yourself have been caught short of oil recently and ordered a tanker from us a week ago. Their citizens have tightened their belts more than they anticipated and they called me a few minutes ago and asked if I could find another buyer.”
“When would it arrive?”
“Would tomorrow be soon enough? It is only a few hours from your shore.”
“Yes that would be more than I could have hoped for. Let’s make this our first delivery. It is a historic moment.”
“Good I thought you might want it. I’ll see that arrangements are made with your oil companies. The tanker could bring it into the New York Harbor if you wish.”
“That is a grand idea. We could turn this into a news event.”
“That is it then. I will make the arrangements and the tanker should arrive in the Harbor in about six hours. I am happy to do this for your country. Goodbye”
Robinson smiled. “You can take credit for this. It was you who made the deal with the Russians and this is the official beginning of the relationship. The timing could not be better. This is a small thing — a tanker of oil — but it will be a step in the right direction and give hope for the price of gas next week.”
“The press conference is going on now — we have no time to write it down.”
“I’ll go out and relay it to him and he can take it from there with his silver tongue.”
“Go do it now. I’ll wait for you here.”
Landenberger pressed the remote and watched the press conference that was going on down the hall. Robinson whispered the message to Whittman as he turned his back to the press and sipped on bottled water. When he faced the press it was apparent from the smile on his face that he had the ammunition that would save the day.
“I have good news for you. The president did not want to announce this until he was absolutely sure he had nailed down an agreement with President Kuznetsov. Apparently we will have a tanker of crude arriving from Russia….”
Robinson entered the Oval Office and watched the broadcast with the president.
“… sometime around midnight. It is my understanding that it will enter New York Harbor as a kind of ceremonial gesture as this event hails a new relationship with Russia that looks to expand its customer base with all the recent oil discoveries within its borders.” He went on to tell how fortunate we were to have a president working behind the scenes to make our country more secure and it was a signal that the crisis would soon come to an end.
Robinson found his home in Baltimore, hung up his coat and removed his tie. He gave his mother a kiss and asked where Dad was hiding out. “I’m a bit concerned. He left an hour ago on his bike and should be back by now.”
“I would not worry. He’ll be back in a few minutes, I’m sure.” Robinson read the paper and decided to hunt down his father who exercised by riding down to the park and back. He hopped in his Dad’s Buick Rendezvous with DSS agents following behind and found him sitting on a park bench. “Are you OK, Dad?”
“I am fine — just fine. I thought I would stop and rest awhile.”
He does not look that well. “I can get you to a hospital if—”
“There is no need for that son. It is good of you to be concerned. It is a little indigestion. Your mother made pizza and the pepperoni sometimes brings up a little gas. I could use a ride back to the house.”
Robinson tossed the bike into the back and drove his dad back home. The DSS were a little concerned, however Robinson waved them off. He settled his dad into his chair. Mom inquired from the kitchen and he assured her everything was fine.
Dad decided to listen to his records and asked Robinson to find the Jimmy Durante album. Robinson sat beside and listened to the scratchy record for the millionth time. It was great fun to see his dad amused at the same songs and comedy routines over and over again. He imagined that few young people had ever heard of Jimmy Durante, Ethel Merman, Eddie Jackson or Satchmo. It was a golden era that came to life every time the needle touched “Club Durante.” Dad closed his eyes and laughed at the exchanges between Jackson and Durante. “I’d like a root beer. Could you get one from the fridge son?”