“Yes, sir.” He turned to somebody else. “Jerry, let’s go with the map of Liberia and move to the map of Monrovia and the surrounding area.” The map on the screen changed and I put my glasses on to see it better. A few other analysts came over to participate and I was introduced to them.
The long and the short of it was that the current government was under the control of President-For-Life Charles Taylor, a homicidal maniac if ever there was one. There were two separate rebel movements, one in the north and one in the south, both of which wanted to replace Taylor and take all the marbles for themselves. From what I was hearing, they were as equally murderous as he was. America had avoided taking any sides because, aside from the human rights aspects of letting murderous cutthroats run loose, we simply didn’t care. The general rule was to let them kill each other off just so long as they left the embassy people alone. When they started getting rambunctious towards the foreigners, we would send in the Marines and rescue the foreigners, and let the locals simply kill each other. Eventually things would settle down, and we would let the foreigners go back or go home.
I listened to this, and when it started getting too detailed I closed it out. “What have we been hearing out of State on this? Are they in the loop? They must be.”
“Yes, sir. We simply get their feed as far as it involves possible military action.”
I nodded at that. Just then, somebody else in the room said, “Hold for a moment, he’s right here.” He looked over at the colonel and me and said, “Secretary Powell is on the line and looking for you, Mister President.”
I nodded at Colonel Withers. “Speak of the devil.” I motioned to the other officer and he hit a button on the phone and it rang to the one in front of me. “Colin?”
“Carl, I am hearing some very disturbing things out of Monrovia,” stated the Secretary of State.
“You caught me in a briefing on that. If you hadn’t called me, I was going to call you.”
“I think we need to discuss some possible emergency measures,” he told me.
I nodded to myself. “I was just getting to that. Let’s get the NSC to meet first thing Monday morning. I will pass the word. In the meantime, you stay on top of it, and I’ll do the same.”
“Agreed. I thought you would be aware of this, but it never hurts to check.”
“Also agreed. Talk soon.” We hung up, and I turned back to Colonel Withers. “Okay, so what do you want me to do about this? Is it time to send in the Marines? Who do we have available, anyway?”
He turned to somebody else. “Jerry, give me the big map.” A large map of Africa and the Southern Atlantic went up on the screen. “We have a few options, Mister President.” Several icons for ships went onto the map. “The nearest is the Tarawa Amphibious Ready Group, here, off the coast of Angola. They were doing some readiness training with the Angolans, but we can pull them out and send them towards Liberia by this evening. They will be in place by tomorrow night.”
“Okay, let’s make that happen. I want a formal presentation for Monday morning, for the entire National Security Council. I want an update and options,” I ordered. “Let the appropriate people know. Also, pass the word to the NSC about the meeting.”
He smiled and nodded. “Yes, sir, we’ll make that happen.” Around him the others nodded as well.
“Thank you, gentlemen, ladies. With any luck, this will all blow over. Is that it or can I go?”
“That was it, Mister President. Thank you for coming down.”
I left and headed up to the Residence. I didn’t need to let Marilyn know how the world was falling apart, so I watched some television and played with the dog, while she worked on some knitting. I didn’t even think all that much of it on Sunday. Nine times out of ten, these things fade away and blow over, and even though Charlie was with the Tarawa group, the odds that he would get involved were extremely low.
Monday morning at 9:00 the National Security Council met in the Situation Room. Josh was with me, and we grabbed Ari and dragged him along for good measure. Unlike the informal shirtsleeve atmosphere of Saturday morning, today everybody was in their Class As. This time the briefer was a Brigadier General Smith, from the Army, although I saw Colonel Withers hanging around in the background. I started by saying, “I assume everybody knows why we’re here. Has everybody had a chance to get some background on this?”
Most of the people just nodded and said yes. Colin Powell, the Secretary of State, said, “Yes. Nothing much has changed since we talked Saturday morning, but the overall tone I am getting out of Monrovia is that things are deteriorating.”
Vice President McCain said, “Cindy and I were in Phoenix over the weekend. I only learned yesterday about this in the PDB, but I had my NIO give me a followup.”
“Good.” You don’t play the game at this level without being prepared. I looked at the general. “Well, is it good news or bad?”
General Smith answered, “If it was good, sir, we would have let you know so that you wouldn’t need to be here. No, it’s bad and getting worse.” He launched into a slicker and smoother briefing than what I got from Withers the other day, but he covered much of the same ground. Eventually he got to the specifics, which were worrisome. “So, we have two rebel factions, each of which is supported by a neighboring country looking to grab some land or influence. In the southeast you have the Movement for Democracy in Liberia, which is funded by Cote D’Ivoire. In the northwest you have the Liberians United for Reconciliation and Democracy, which is backed by Guinea. Mind you, none of these guys actually are interested in democracy or reconciliation. It’s more like a pack of hyenas fighting over an old bone.”
I grimaced and nodded.
Smith continued. “The real nasties are the ones in the northwest, the LURD. They’ve been at this longer, and they’ve been committing atrocities just as much as Taylor and his bunch have. Again, nothing unusual there. The problem is that Taylor and what passes for the government is collapsing. Both rebel groups are surrounding Monrovia and beginning to press inward. Nobody is paying much attention to civilian status or noncombatants, but they are just killing everybody they see. LURD is the worst. LURD is beginning to mortar and shell the city, indiscriminately at first, but then they began targeting white owned and foreign sections of the city, including the embassy area.”
“Are we getting any evidence of formal anti-foreigner or genocidal rhetoric out of these groups?” asked Condi Rice.
“Yes, ma’am.” Smith pointed to somebody and a slide went up on the screen, and some red dots appeared on the map of Monrovia. “We are catching some radio traffic directing rebel units towards foreign residential districts, mortar and artillery attacks have been reported by French journalists — here and here — and a Belgian convent hospital was attacked this morning and the foreign-born nuns were brutalized and killed. I would also point out that only the white nuns and nurses were harmed. African — black African — individuals were simply beaten and sent down the road. Many of the whites killed were also African, but they were labeled as colonialists and foreigners.”
Neither Condi Rice nor Colin Powell made any kind of comment on this. They were the most senior African-Americans in the Cabinet, but the emphasis was on American with both of them.
I looked at Colin and asked, “What are you hearing from the Ambassador?”
“The ambassador is a man named Bismarck Myrick. I’ve checked his background and talked to him a couple of times. He’s been a Foreign Service Officer for years. Before that he was in the Army and saw a lot of action in Viet Nam. He’s got a Purple Heart, four Bronze Stars, and a Silver Star. I simply point that out to show that he knows combat and he doesn’t get nervous easily. He told me the place is as bad as he’s ever seen a situation, and he’s carrying a pistol under his jacket. There is recurring mortar fire in the embassy areas, from which side nobody really knows or cares, and the city is descending into anarchy.”