Not that there appeared to be all that much that she could do.
The U.N. envoy removed her glasses and lightly rubbed her throbbing temples, wishing for a moment that she could be a grandmother again. Be damned with diplomacy and with the futility of trying to solve the problems of a world that didn’t want them solved. Her joints ached in the humidity, and all she wanted for that moment was the warm, sun-baked dryness of her garden at home and the sound of her grandchildren at play.
A knock came at the door of the tiny office she had been allotted and it half opened, her aide looking around it. “Madam Envoy. Admiral Macintyre has arrived.”
“Very well, Lars. Show him in, please.”
Bey slipped her glasses on once more. Thinking of her grandchildren had been a good thing. It reminded her of why she had become who she was.
It was a different Elliot Macintyre than she had met that day at the U.N. Instead of the crisp blue uniform, the Admiral now wore a rain-dotted Nomex flight suit. His gray-streaked hair was matted from hours under a crash helmet, and a haze of beard darkened his angular chin.
“I apologize for my appearance, Madam Envoy,” he said, accepting the chair across the desk from her. “I’ve been doing some traveling today.”
“So I understand. Appearance is a matter of little consequence at the moment, Admiral,” she replied. “Surely, though, you haven’t come all the way from the United States?”
“Not quite. I was attending a conference on Adriatic security affairs at NATO Southern Command headquarters in Naples when I received word of the blockade being broken. I, ah, ‘borrowed’ an Air Force F-22 and a pilot from Sigonella and hauled down here as fast as I could. I’ve made it a personal policy as commander in chief, NAVSPECFORCE, to be present if possible whenever any of my people might be seeing action.”
“Ah.” Bey nodded and interlaced her fingers. “That brings us to the current state of affairs.”
“It does, Madam Envoy, and at this time I would like to state for the record that I stand behind and agree with the decision made by Captain Amanda Garrett this morning concerning the Bajara. Given the circumstances, she had no option except to refuse engagement and allow the tanker through the blockade. Humanitarian considerations gave her no choice.”
“I agree, Admiral, and that shall be noted for the record as well. We could not place those children in the line of fire.
“I must say,” she continued more slowly, “that I’m surprised that they were there in the first place. Belewa didn’t strike me as that kind of man…. Well, desperation knows no bounds. The question before us now, Admiral, is what can we do about this, if anything?”
“Madam Envoy, if we permit General Belewa to off-load that tanker’s cargo, everything UNAFIN has accomplished here on the Gold Coast will be erased. The crisis will be protracted. The strain on the Guinean government will be redoubled, and the West African Union’s plans for territorial conquest will go back on track. We cannot allow this to stand.”
“I agree,” she replied. “However, diplomatically, I fear our options are nonexistent. What of the military ones?”
“The simple and direct option, that of blowing that tanker out of the water where it sits, has been blocked by the presence of the human shields aboard her. So has any bombardment of the oil-storage facility at Port Monrovia. It’s been turned into a prison compound with several hundred of the Union’s political dissidents being held there. Belewa has checked any direct attack against him.”
“Leaving what, Admiral?”
Macintyre took a deliberate breath before continuing. “Leaving a rather… audacious plan proposed by Captain Garrett. We don’t blow the oil up, we steal it. Tanker and all.”
“Steal it? I don’t understand, Admiral.” Confident as she was with the English language, Vavra Bey was certain she must have missed the true meaning of Maclntyre’s words.
“Captain Garrett is proposing what in naval parlance is called a ‘cutting-out’ expedition. A small-boat assault to capture an enemy vessel in a hostile harbor.”
Bey’s eyebrows lifted. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
Macintyre gave a slight grimace. “It was once a fairly common naval evolution. At least back in Napoleonic times. Captain Garrett is proposing a modernized, uprated version of it. An escalating series of diversionary actions will draw Union attention and resources away from the Port Monrovia area while a stealthy penetration of Port facilities takes place. A Marine boarding team will go aboard the Bajara, eliminate the guards on board, and remove the human shields and the Algerian crew to a point of safety. Following that, the ship will be moved away from the pier and into the central channel of the port. There it will be set on fire and scuttled, destroying its cargo and blocking the port entrance.
“We kill two birds with one stone,” Macintyre finished. “Not only do we take out this oil shipment, but we make sure the Union can never try this stunt again, or least not until the hulk of that tanker is salvaged and moved out of the way.”
Bey considered Maclntyre’s words for a few long moments. “Something suggests to me,” she said finally, “that this operation is much more complicated than your description would indicate.”
The Admiral nodded. “That’s a sound assumption, Madam Envoy. In fact, I’d be thinking twice about this plan myself if I didn’t know the person who has developed it. She has a proven track record of accomplishing the extremely difficult, if not the impossible. That’s why I brought her out here in the first place.”
“So I recall.” Bey half-smiled reminiscently. “I remember speaking to you about her in New York what seems to be a very long time ago. You expressed a great deal of confidence in her at that time as well.”
“She’s done everything we’ve asked her to do, ma’am. Now she’s asking permission to finish the job. If you want my opinion, I say we should give her the chance.”
“And what does your government say, Admiral?”
“I’ve spoken to our secretary of state and he’s spoken with our president. The United States is willing to commit its forces within the confines of a U.N. action. I’ve also been in communication with my opposite numbers within both the United Kingdom and French UNAFIN contingents, and they have received similar authorizations from within their respective chains of command. We are good to go when we get word from you, Madam Envoy.”
“Indeed.” Again Vavra Bey lifted a hand to her temple to counter the ravages of her headache. She had not counted on having to deal with this aspect of statesmanship. In her younger and more idealistic days she had dreamed of prying warring armies apart, not in ordering them into battle. “When is it your intention to launch this operation?”
“Madam Envoy,” Macintyre replied grimly. “I need to take the go order with me when I leave this room. We must launch tonight.”
Bey looked up sharply. “That’s impossible. This kind of conflict escalation must be taken before the Security Council for a vote.”
“We already have the Security Council’s resolution to embargo all oil shipments to the West African Union,” Macintyre insisted. “What we’re proposing is no more than an extension of that policy.”
Bey shook her head. “Admiral, we have already stretched the envelope of that resolution to its limits. To date, the Security Council has turned a blind eye to our actions. However an open assault upon the territory of the West African Union goes far beyond any mandate UNAFIN has been issued. We are answerable to the world community here. Procedure and the rule of law must be followed.”