“Except, why would the Russians do that now?” the Secretary of State asked. “They’re sure acting friendly and seem interested in good relations — at least for the present… ”
Cunningham wanted to chew on a cigar but couldn’t. Not here. “I’d guess it’s a case of one hand not knowing what the other’s doing. It’s been known to happen even here… ” He couldn’t resist the dig, then hurried on. “Maybe the General Secretary is still not in full control of the Politburo. They’ve invested in a large military establishment, and obviously someone wants to use it.”
“Well, they’re not going to use it in North Africa,” the President said. He reached into his coat and pulled out a cigar; he smoked when he was angry. “We’ve worked hard and sacrificed too much creating a favorable balance of power in the Mediterranean. The Med is in our sphere of influence and I plan to keep it that way. I’m not about to let the Libyans screw it up.” He waved his cigar at the map. “If I have to, I’ll take them off the damn map. I’d prefer to lever the Russians out of Libya without a hassle, but I want them out. Any suggestions?”
Secretary of State Piccard leaned back in his chair. “Mr. President, I’m a believer in rolling shit downhill, if you’ll pardon the expression, and I think I know how we can start some rolling in the Libyans’ direction. May I suggest we discuss Soviet involvement in Libya with the Russian ambassador? In the same conversation we can surface some problems we’re having with their inspectors who are here monitoring the INF treaty.”
The President nodded, getting the point Piccard was making. He suspected that the Soviets might be engaged in a test of wills to feel out his new administration. Psychological gamesmanship. Well, he was an old player in that game. “And what are the inspectors up to these days?”
“You might say they’ve found it very hard to adjust to the benefits democracy has to offer in their off-duty time,” Piccard said. “The chief inspector, it seems, has a mistress, a Mrs. Frances Crawley, and five of the team members are assembling one of the largest videotape pornography collections in the great state of Utah.”
“And how reliable is this information?”
“Mrs. Crawley works for us,” Cagliari said, deadpan.
The President tapped the ashes of his cigar into an ash tray. He was not happy with the situation or the performance of his staff. He did not like being in a reactive position. So, it was his move… “Very well, let’s send a few signals to our Soviet friends. Cy, call in the Soviet ambassador, today, to discuss the conduct of the inspectors. He’ll know from the short notice that we’re serious. Make it a friendly meeting, though — concerned administrators — that sort of approach. At the end of the meeting give him the dog tag. Ask him to be so kind as to return it to the proper individuals. I want them to get the message that we’ll link the continued observance of the INF treaty to their conduct in the Med.
“Second” — he jabbed his cigar at the Director of the CIA — “get your people looking for hard confirmation of the advisers. I want it to be obvious. I hope that won’t be too tasking for your people.”
The President turned to Cagliari and Piccard. “You two gents were supposed to watch for this sort of development. I don’t like surprises. Any surprises. And Lawrence,” looking directly at Cunningham, “your C-130 should not have been in Libyan airspace in the first place. Keep your people out of trouble, or I’ll just have to get someone who can. Gentlemen… ” The President stubbed out his cigar and left the room, trailed by his chief of staff.
The General Secretary made the short walk from his office in the Kremlin to the lavishly appointed room where the Politburo held its meetings. In spite of the early hour the army guard at the door was fully alert and clicked together the heels of his polished boots as the General Secretary approached.
There was nothing in this room the General Secretary entered that spoke of a spartan communist ethic. Indeed, a czar would have felt comfortable surrounded by the priceless paintings and furniture of Imperial Russia. Contrary to popular myth, the room was not lit by only the green-shaded desk lamps on the table in front of each Politburo member. When turned on, soft, comforting indirect lighting filled the room with warmth.
Four of the twelve chairs surrounding the table were vacant.
No doubt the Defense Council is trying to firm up its position, the General Secretary thought. Give them all the time they need. At this point it will only work to my advantage. He sat down and reread the ambassador’s message from Washington. The General Secretary had known from the first what the Defense Council was doing but had pretended ignorance or indifference… let them guess. If the gambit in Libya started to pay off, he would support the four men and direct appropriate praise toward them, implying, of course, that he had been giving his consent by silence. Then they would owe him. On the other hand, if it backfired, as it appeared to have done, then he could remove one or maybe all of them from the Politburo and replace them with his supporters. Either way, he would benefit. At the same time, the maneuvering on the shores of North Africa kept the United States and Western Europe from looking at his two most important objectives. How near-sighted they are, he thought. Our foreign-policy goals have always been the same: break up NATO and expand into the Persian Gulf. NATO and oil were the keys to Europe. We’ll keep them looking at Libya while the situation in the Gulf develops. The plan was so wonderfully simple — always an asset.
The door swung open now, and the four missing Politburo members walked in, only nodding at the General Secretary as they sat down. It was going to be a stormy meeting, he realized.
“Comrades,” the General Secretary began, “it seems your adventure in Libya has gone a bit sour. It would have been better if we had all known the full extent of our involvement before something like this happened… ”
Rafik Ulyanoff, the chairman of the Defense Council, spoke for the group. “Comrade General Secretary, there is nothing gone sour here. We were only executing our agreed-on plan. Perhaps you recall—”
“Was stupidity our agreed-on plan? We agreed to sell the Libyans the necessary equipment to build a defense force and to train them in its use. The goal was to encourage the Libyans to use it, create an unstable situation for the United States and Europe to content with, for the Soviet Union not to be directly involved. Is your memory becoming a problem?”
“A matter of interpretation,” Ulyanoff said quietly. “Surely the Defense Council has that prerogative—”
“Is it a matter of interpretation that our pilots fly with their identification plates?”
The other members of the Politburo kept silent, in the best tradition of skilled bureaucrats waiting and watching to see which way the wind blew. Now the General Secretary had to find out if they supported him. “And how do we recover from this situation? The United States is linking our presence in Libya to the INF treaty, and the conduct of our inspectors has been called into question.”
Fydor Kalin-Tegov, the party’s theoretician, the keeper of the true faith, spoke up. “It is sometimes necessary, sir, to take three steps forward and two steps back. Now is—”
“Why should we retreat at this point?” Defense Council Chairman Ulyanoff broke in.
“Because we can always return to Libya at a more opportune time. Be patient,” Kalin-Tegov told him. “You have laid the ground work for us, for the future. But now, we should withdraw most of our military advisers while expanding the staff of our embassy in Tripoli. Be proud of what you have accomplished.”