The others around the table were a mixed bag of NSC staffers. They would listen attentively but keep their mouths shut. The rules were clearly understood. Thomas mused over the agenda. No one had enough time to adequately prepare. Intelligence was sorely lacking. That guaranteed the debate would be a free-for-all. The crux was what were the Russians up to? He doubted anyone knew the answer to that. They waited for the commander in chief.
CHAPTER 11
The president of the United States walked into the room, accompanied by his chief of staff. He resembled most business or government leaders his age. Medium height, not grossly overweight but with a slight paunch over the belt, thinning hair combed straight back, which retrained only a trace of its former color; the man easily looked his sixty-two years. His pale blue eyes lacked the luster that had beamed forth on nomination day at his party’s convention.
Well into his first term, he struggled with the Herculean task of national leadership. The president had come from the Senate, but was quickly introduced to the cold, hard realities of limited presidential power. The job was a cruel magnifying glass that accentuated and distorted every flaw and less-than-perfect decision to grand scale, providing a lightning rod for the all-too-common folks in DC that made a living tearing good people down. Nurtured in economics, he excelled in the Byzantine world of fiscal and domestic policy and had made real progress in cracking the fiscal nut that had dogged his predecessors. When it came to foreign policy and military strategy, he was a dilettante and knew it. He typically deferred to his cabinet for the weightier decisions, always seeking consensus. Thomas admired him for his candor and sincerity. Overall, he was a kind and decent man in way over his head.
All rose in unison and stood motionless until the president was seated. His face was drawn this afternoon and covered with perspiration. He made private conversation with his chief of staff before addressing the group. Thomas thought the president looked terrible. “Please take your seats,” the chief executive said softly.
The president adjusted his tortoiseshell frames and put on a serious face. “I’m sure you all are as concerned as I am about this submarine business. I don’t know what’s gotten into the Russians lately. My last letter to the Russian president has sat unanswered. We seem to have reached an impasse.” He placed particular emphasis on the last words by removing his glasses in a dramatic sweep and scanning the table.
The president returned the glasses to his nose and continued. “I’ve talked to Ron about an hour ago. He’ll query the NATO defense ministers after their meeting. Maybe they know something. Anyway, let’s begin with an intelligence assessment from Director Wilks.”
Wilks smiled graciously. The director had an irritating habit of indirectness. He played true to form by posing a question for his opener. “What do the Russians hope to gain by deploying a Delta submarine so close to our shores?”
“Is this the same Delta supposedly sitting on the bottom of the ocean off the Kuriles?” interrupted Alexander dryly. He wasn’t predisposed to games this hot afternoon. Wilks took it in stride. His plastic smile didn’t crack.
“I suppose one could make that determination,” the director sniffed, “but we have solid evidence that a submarine was lost off the Kuriles; and we now have actual physical evi-dence to back our claim.”
“Maybe so,” remarked Alexander. “But I’ll bet analysis will show the wreck was some surplus boat, purposely sunk. If the Kurile sinking was a hoax, it could have serious implications. Our good friend Nikolai may be putting us to the test.”
Normally Jenkins, the national security advisor, played traffic cop. In his absence, the president was forced to keep the meeting on track.
“Let’s hold the questions and comments, please,” he suggested.
The director’s smile broke at being second-guessed, and he stared icily at Alexander. “Surveillance of other Russian strategic assets shows nominal deployment patterns. The number of ballistic-missile submarines at sea is five. The Strategic Rocket Forces have concluded a major exercise of both SS-24 rail-mobile and SS-25 road-mobile missiles, with most units returning to garrison. Strategic bomber and interceptor aircraft are riveted at their airdromes. In summary, gentlemen, Russian military activity is quite normal. And, I would like to add, significantly lower than five or ten years ago. Our Russian friends are a shadow of their former selves,” he said.
While the director paused to take a drink of water and let his wisdom sink in, Alexander turned to Thomas. As usual, the director had said nothing relevant.
“Excuse me, Mr. President,” said the chairman bursting through the door. He quickly took the empty chair next to Alexander. “I was tied up in the tank with the Joint Chiefs. I felt it would be worthwhile to get their gut feeling on this.” The president smiled and nodded approvingly. He trusted his general, much to the annoyance of Wilks and Genser, who frowned at the late arrival. Wilks coughed and then began again. “As to whether the Russians deceived us, we will have positive confirmation within five days at most.”
“Five days,” thought Thomas, “that’s one hell of a long wait while a Delta chock full of nuclear missiles cruises off the Mexican coast.”
Genser raised a finger but was preempted by the president.
“I’d like to hear from the chairman. This is, after all, first and foremost a military matter. General, what do the Chiefs think the Russians are up to?”
The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs had a dual role — top military advisor to the president and independently, the representative of the Service Chiefs. It was his mission to champion the Chiefs’ concerns, tempered by his own judgment, before the NSC.
“Mr. President,” he said, folding his big, rough-hewed hands in front of him on the table, “I don’t think anyone can say with any certainty what the Russians are trying to prove. Laptev’s pushing, but so far the Russian military has been resisting. But I’m afraid I can’t be as sanguine as the director. If they wanted, they could catch our bombers and tankers on the ground with a few well-placed cruise missiles. Remember, we no longer have aircraft on alert.”
He paused to let all reflect on a long-past decision, unpopular with the military. “Our over-the-horizon backscatter radar would never pick those turkeys out of the sea clutter. We’d never know what hit us. Adding the ballistic missiles on that Russian Delta makes the situation intolerable. We’re vulnerable and should take immediate action while we sort out this mess.” The general locked his eyes on the president and ignored the others. He knew who mattered.
“A surprise attack?” commented Genser lightly. “Why does the military always dwell on fantasy?” A ridiculing smile curled from the corners of his mouth. The well-trained soldier held back.
“A surprise attack is an extremely unlikely event, I’ll grant you that. But, the bottom line is that we must consider all the alternatives. My job is to be prepared for any contingency, period.” His best hard-ass stare penetrated the fragile secretary of state. Genser was indignant.
“What would you do? Flush our bombers and tankers, and put the entire fleet to sea every time the Russians move submarines close to our shores?” asked Genser impatiently. “Those days are long gone.”
“That’s not what I meant,” snapped the chairman. “We’ve bent over backward these past few months trying to accommodate the Russians. The more we bend, the more Laptevrants and raves. Now they’ve restarted their missile lines, and we haven’t said a word. It’s time to say enough is enough.”