Bill questioned their rear area defenses. Cotler reported that the 157th Mechanized Infantry Brigade had dug in deep around the Philadelphia naval shipyard. Bill ordered the Twelfth Corps to guard the Atlantic wall from Boston to Philadelphia, and the Eleventh Corps to defend the coast from Washington, DC, to the rear of the front lines. Unlike the Gulf, the Atlantic beaches would be defended.
Bill listened to the briefing with only half an ear as he searched desperately for a solution “outside the box.” All that came to mind was forging an alliance with the Chinese civilians against the Chinese military… and Clarissa Leffler, who had first suggested the ploy.
Baker motioned for his secretary of state to come to the head of the table. The briefing continued even when the president swivelled his chair around. “Art,” Bill whispered, “I’d like to keep open the possibility that we somehow exploit the split between the Chinese military and civilian leadership.” Dodd gave Bill an exaggerated nod, encouraged that his people might help with a possible diplomatic initiative. “I’d like to get regular briefings on Chinese politics from the head of your China Desk,” Bill said nonchalantly.Clarissa What’s-Her-Name, Bill thought, is what that sounds like.
Art Dodd cast Bill a quizzical look. “Clarissa Leffler?”
Bill was embarrassed by his sophomoric attempt to avoid revealing that he had taken more than just a passing interest in Clarissa. But the fact was that he couldn’t get her out of his mind. “I’d like for her to give us an update,” Bill instructed Clarissa Leffler’s boss. Art nodded and returned to his seat without comment.
At the far end of the long table, an aide handed the FBI director a thick sheaf of papers. Bill interrupted the NSC meeting. “May I ask what those are?” he snapped.
Asher paused. “I would like to discuss the matter in private.”
“This is my National Security Council,” Bill caustically pointed out. “It doesn’t get more private than this.”
The director’s gaze hardened. He rose, rounded the table, and laid the papers on the table in front of Bill. “It’s a search warrant and a subpoena,” Asher explained. “We have credible evidence that there may be ongoing violations of the National Secrecy Act by a member of your staff. The violations might involve contact with the Chinese.”
Baker read the papers with grinding teeth and rising anger until he finally exploded. “You want to wiretap White House phones? Get unlimited security clearance into the White House for your agents at any time day or night?”
Baker pressed a button that quickly dialed the Justice Department on the videophone. The camera showed an empty chair just before the attorney general, Gerald Pritchard, sat. “I want you and the solicitor general to petition the supreme court to declare the goddamned National Secrecy Act unconstitutional,” Bill ordered, “so get people working on it! In the interim, you are to advise every agency in the executive branch that compliance with that illegal act is a crime!” Before Pritchard could respond, Bill punched the button for his secretary of the treasury, who was donning his jacket when the camera focused on him. “Effective immediately, no FBI agents are allowed into the White House! No exceptions! Order the Secret Service to compile a list of all current and former FBI personnel and exclude them from the grounds! Both uniformed and protective detail personnel are authorized to use force to enforce the exclusion.” The secretary’s jaw hung open. “Deadly force,” Bill amended, then hung up.
Hamilton Asher fixed a stony glare at Baker, who turned to scan the room. From the uncomfortable expressions on the faces of his NSC, Baker knew that they believed him to be overreacting. Fuck all of you! Bill thought before turning back to Asher. “Now, you… get the hell out of my house.”
The NSC briefing had split in two. One group — chaired unofficially by Elizabeth Sobo — faced an army general on a video screen reporting the relatively good news from the West Coast. I Corps — pronounced “Eye” Corps among the cognoscenti — had pocketed the Chinese invaders in San Diego. General Cotler credited the navy with that success. Admiral Thornton explained that the lengthy Chinese supply lines were being interdicted by three dozen hunter-killer submarines out of Pearl Harbor, sinking 1.2 million tons of Chinese shipping per day. “The sub pens at Pearl are being hit with round-the-clock missile attacks,” Baker heard with half an ear, “but so far they’re relatively undamaged.” The Marine commandant, whose 60,000-man III Marine Expeditionary Force — including the 1st Marine Expeditionary Brigade and the 3rd Marine Division — was dug in deep around Pearl Harbor, said, “They’re gonna have to come in and try to take it.”
Bill had met the commander of the 3rd Marines on his inspection tour of Hawaii. The general had defined success by saying, “If we’re all dead and the Chinese hold the beach, I’d give my Marines a ‘Good.’ If we’re all dead and the Chinese don’t hold the beach — now that rates an ‘Outstanding.’ ”
At the end of the table opposite Bill Baker, the vice president and the other half of the NSC discussed war of a different kind. “Fire Asher,” Attorney General Pritchard advised. “No!” Frank Adams jumped in too loudly. “Firing Asher would be political suicide! He’s got strong backing on the Hill! There would be bipartisan support to investigate us if the grounds were providing safe harbor to Chinese spies, for Christ’s sake!”
The maps adorning wall screens all turned to solid blue. The door opened, and Clarissa Leffler entered. She was ushered to an empty chair by a military aide with close-cropped hair. Clarissa sat and extracted files as the conversations around her turned to whispers. She hurriedly read before being called upon to give the impromptu report to the president.
The lawyers debated whether to file Baker’s challenge to the National Security Act in the DC district court or to petition the supreme court directly. “You work it out,” Bill ordered.
He turned to Clarissa’s briefing. A single wisp of hair refused to be bound to her head by some sort of clamp that Bill studied every time she turned to answer the vice president’s questions. Her neck was long and, like her shoulders at the state dinner, slender.
“I would call the coincidence extraordinary, yes,” Clarissa confirmed. “But there’s no way of knowing if the minister of trade actually met with the defense minister. All we know is that Minister Han and General Liu Changxing were both on Bali for one day and that their visits appear to have been on the same day. Drawing the inference that they met is just that, an inference.”
“What would it mean if they met?” the president asked. Conversations in low tones all around the room quieted. Clarissa’s briefing had assumed greater importance when the president joined in.
“To the best of our knowledge,” Clarissa replied, “there have been no private meetings between any of the civilian troika — the prime minister, the minister of trade, and the head of state security — and Defense Minister Liu since just after Tel Aviv, when the civilians reasserted complete control over all nuclear weapons. They’ve been on a political collision course ever since.”
Baker’s national security advisor asked if she thought the civilians opposed the Chinese policy of aggression.