But Blake had only met the admiral twice before, once at a Georgetown dinner party and once at a conference on grand strategy for the Pacific region, so he’d been surprised when Simpson agreed to see him the same day he’d asked for an appointment. He’d been even more surprised when the bull-necked little man had readily agreed to come to the Oval Office with him.
Simpson had grinned across his desk. “What’s the matter, Dr. Fowler? Haven’t you ever come across someone willing to gamble a thirty-year career in the military before?”
“Frankly, Admiral, no, I haven’t. At least not in this town.”
“Well, I’ll tell you, my friend, I’m willing to do this for two very good reasons. First, the President’s made a goddamn big strategic error in signing that sanctions bill. Someone’s got to try to do something about that, and that someone is probably me. The taxpayers should be able to count on something for the seventy-five thousand dollars a year I get paid. And second, George Putnam is a slimy son of a bitch and it’ll be a pleasure to put a stake through his heart.”
Blake smiled as he remembered Simpson’s words. He just hoped that the admiral’s optimism was justified.
The secretary’s phone buzzed softly, bringing him out of his reverie. She picked it up, listened for a moment, and hung up. Blake sat up and laid a hand on his folder.
“Dr. Fowler? Admiral Simpson? The President is ready for you now.” She got up from behind her desk to hold the door open for them. Blake could see the same blue carpet with its interwoven presidential seal, high-backed colonial chairs, marble-sided fireplace, flags, and paintings he’d seen a hundred times before in TV newscasts. But it felt different in person. The room seemed to breathe power.
As they walked into the Oval Office, the President got up from behind his desk and came to meet them.
“Phil, it’s good to see you again.” He shook hands with the admiral and turned to Blake. “And you must be Blake Fowler. Mike Sinclair’s been telling me good things about you.”
Blake heard himself mumbling something about hoping he deserved Sinclair’s praise. Then the President waved them both into chairs and settled back down behind his desk. He put his fingertips together below his chin.
“Now, gentlemen, I’m going to assume that this is more than just a routine briefing. I’ve only been here a couple of years, but I haven’t yet had the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs come in to fill me in on the latest news from Lower Freedonia.”
Blake glanced over at Admiral Simpson. The admiral nodded slightly. They’d agreed earlier that Blake should take the first stab at explaining the situation.
“Mr. President, you’re absolutely right. We’re here about the Interagency Working Group report you were shown before you signed the Korean sanctions bill.”
The President frowned. Korea was obviously still a sore spot. Blake had seen some of the private messages that had passed between the White House and the South Korean government and couldn’t really blame him.
Blake took a deep breath and pushed on. “The truth is, sir, that the document you saw had been altered.”
“Hold it right there.” The President held up a hand and glared at him. He looked at his watch. “I’ve got better things to do than listen to some goddamned staff squabbling. That’s what I pay my senior people for. If you’ve got some beef with the way your copy got rewritten, take it up with Putnam or the chief of staff. Now let’s get on with the rest of your briefing. I’ve got an important meeting in half an hour.”
Blake could feel himself flushing. They couldn’t leave without at least getting a hearing on Putnam’s treachery, could they? He fought an urge to rearrange his notes. Anyway he looked at it, his days with the administration were numbered. Better to be damned for something he’d done then for something he hadn’t. But would the admiral stick with him?
The admiral did. “With respect, Mr. President, Dr. Fowler and I aren’t here to complain about the way a few words were changed here or there.”
Simpson leaned forward in his chair. “We’re here because your national security adviser took it on himself to drastically alter the conclusions reached by the Working Group. I’ll be blunt. The recommendations you were shown bore about as much resemblance to what I and the other Joint Chiefs approved as horseshit does to roast beef. And that’s got direct consequences for this nation’s security.”
The President looked up from his desk and Blake could see the curiosity in his eyes. Curiosity and something more. “Go on.”
Blake asked him, “Did the report you saw recommend signing the Barnes bill?”
The President nodded.
“Then I think you ought to take a look at what the Departments of Defense and Commerce, the CIA, and the NSA all originally recommended.” Blake reached into his folder and pulled out several pages highlighted in yellow.
“These are from the draft we submitted to Putnam.”
The President reached over and took the papers out of Blake’s hand. He spread them out in front of him and started reading. They could see his frown growing deeper as he read. It took him just a couple of minutes to finish.
He handed them back to Blake without a word and swiveled his chair around to look out the rain-streaked window toward the White House Rose Garden. Blake and the admiral exchanged glances. Now what?
The President swung his chair back around to face them. “Okay, gentlemen. That bastard lied to me. And I signed something I shouldn’t have. I certainly wouldn’t have done it if I’d seen your analysis first. So what can we do about it?”
Blake looked back at him. “The best thing, sir, would be to push Congress to repeal the sanctions. And as soon as possible.”
The President shook his head. “Impossible. The House and Senate have gone out of regular session for the election, and the new Congress won’t assemble until early January.”
Simpson nodded his understanding. “But you could call a special session — after the election.”
“Not on your life, Admiral.” The President studied the wall behind the two men for a moment before continuing. “How do you suppose I’d look going back begging Congress to lift sanctions I could have vetoed in the first place?”
Neither Blake nor the admiral answered him, but he must have read their thoughts in their eyes.
“Yeah. I’d look like a clown. Like a regular Jerry Lewis stand-in.”
The President snorted, “Okay, maybe that’s too damned close to the truth for comfort. But I’m not going to do something that would just about kill my chances to accomplish anything else in this term. Clear?”
They nodded.
“So. Short of making myself look like a walking jackass, what are my options?”
Blake and the admiral had come prepared to answer this question. The trouble was that they didn’t have a hell of a lot to offer.
Blake got up out of his chair without thinking. His days as a student teacher had taught him to feel more comfortable talking on his feet. “Well, sir, Barnes and his legislative strategists have crafted a very tightly written bill. It doesn’t leave much at all to your discretion.”
“I’ve seen the legal analysis, Dr. Fowler. Now tell me something I don’t know.”
“Yes, sir,” Blake said patiently. The President might have heard some of what he was going to say before, but it was vital that he realize just how limited his options were.
“Essentially, the sanctions on South Korea’s exports are practically set on automatic pilot. They’re almost certain to go into place because there just aren’t any loopholes in the legislation for us to wriggle through.”
The President interrupted him with a question. “Isn’t there a possibility, however slim, that Seoul will make the political and economic reforms we’re looking for before the sanctions go into effect?”