Cuba’s plan does not require direct action by our troops or aircraft, merely political support and logistical backing. The risk of direct contact or combat losses is minimal!”
The foreign minister’s face turned a dangerous shade of red.
“Nevertheless, comrades, we have nothing to gain and much to lose!”
The embarrassed silence surrounding this outburst was broken by the sound of a throat being nervously cleared. The President looked to his right.
“You have something to add, Professor Bukarin?”
His economic advisor nodded slowly.
“Yes, Comrade President.” He turned to the beet-red foreign minister.
“Your statement was not quite accurate,
Comrade Minister. Between us, South Africa and the USSR produce substantial portions of some of the world’s most important strategic minerals.”
“I’ve seen the trade figures,” the foreign minister said curtly.
Bukarin nodded politely.
“My point is this, comrades. The previous South
African government once asked us to join them in a world gold cartel. It was an idea with some merit.
And would not a friendlier, more accommodating South African government be eager to join a broader cartel-one controlling the world’s strategic-minerals market? Surely that would be a logical development-a small price to be paid for our support?”
So it would. Much of what the young man said made perfect sense. The
President stroked his chin reflectively. De facto control of South
Africa’s resources would give the Soviet Union a vital economic edge in its bargaining with the West. Soviet state export companies could match any price increases initiated by a new “revolutionary government—greatly increasing the flow of needed hard currency into Moscow’s treasury. And at the same time, those higher prices would greatly retard the West’s economic growth-giving the USSR a chance to close the gap. That would also prove to the world that the rumors of the Soviet state’s impending demise were greatly exaggerated.
Slowly forming smiles on several of the faces around the table showed that many of his colleagues saw the same advantages. But not all. Both the foreign minister and the defense minister looked unconvinced.
The President frowned. Consensus still eluded him, Very well, perhaps he could offer them a face-saving compromise. He rapped the table briskly.
“Comrades, I think we have discussed this issue long enough. What I propose is this: we will back Cuba’s preliminary military buildup while withholding final approval for the invasion itself. That can await further developments in Namibia and in South Africa itself. And we shall insist on absolute secrecy. In that way, we can keep our options open.”
He locked glances with the foreign minister. “if nothing else, such a troop buildup might give us a stronger bargaining position in any negotiations to end the Namibian conflict. True, Alexei?”
The foreign minister bowed his head slightly, acknowledging the point.
“Good. Then this matter is settled. We’ll inform President Castro that his plans can proceed-though with the conditions I’ve outlined. Clear?”
Heads nodded around the table, some with enthusiasm, others with evident reluctance.
Keys rattled in the corner as one of the Defense Council’s secretaries typed the President’s decision into the electronic record. Fidel Castro would get the ships, planes, and supplies he needed to prepare his counter stroke against Pretoria.
CHAPTER 13
Whirligig
SEPTEMBER 15-NATIONAL SECURITY COUNCIL MEETING, THE WHITE HOUSE
It was one of the fine, crisp mid-September mornings that made summer in the District of Columbia bearable. If you could somehow hang on through the sticky steam-bath days of July and August, a cool, clean breeze was bound to come along to drop the temperature and blow away the smog.
The change in the weather was invigorating, and even two floors below ground level its effects could be seen in the faces of the men and in their conversation as they waited for the Vice President to arrive.
Their upbeat attitudes masked underlying worry. Although this was a regularly scheduled NSC session, there was only one topic on the agenda-the situation in southern Africa. The unspoken sense of crisis was reflected in the names and ranks of those present. WM the sole exceptions of the secretaries of state and defense, all of the NSC’s principal members had come themselves-each accompanied by a small entourage of aides.
The secretary of state was in Europe, consulting directly with America’s
NATO allies over events in southern Africa. The secretary of defense was tied up on a more prosaic task-touring a series of West Coast military bases earmarked for closure and sale. Flying either man home in time for the meeting would only have created unwelcome media attention.
Nevertheless, the majority of the administration’s brain trust sat around a crowded table in the Situation Roomassembled two floors below the green lawns and rose gardens of the White House in an effort to try to unscrew the inscrutable.
A low buzz of conversation and muttered speculation died instantly as
Vice President James Malcolm Forrester strode past the Marine sentries at the door. His manner was hurried as he took his seat and pulled a thick manila folder from his leather portfolio.
“Sorry for the delay, ladies and gentlemen, but I’ve just received additional guidance from the President about the Namibian war and our response to it. ” He turned to the short, bearded man seated across the table.
“Ed, why don’t you bring everybody up-to-date? No sense in going ahead until we’ve all got the same information. “
“Yes, sir.” Assistant Secretary of State Edward Hurley looked collected and organized as he rose from his chair and leaned forward to turn on an overhead projector.
Forrester ignored a disappointed frown from the deputy secretary of state. Whitworth might be Hurley’s immediate superior, but he didn’t have the detailed knowledge necessary to handle the briefing. Besides,
Forrester had long suspected that the State Department’s number two man was one of those “highly placed officials” who enjoyed leaking stories that made him look bad.
An aide near the door dimmed the lights slightly.
Hurley placed his first slide on the glass. Though clearly put together at the last minute, it was also well laid out and clear-a rare quality in Washington, D.C.
“This slide lists
important events that have occurred since our meeting a week ago. As you can see, only three of the fourteen involve military incidents in Namibia.
The rest are political events, guerrilla attacks, or serious civil disturbances.”
Jesus. Forrester scanned the chart while Hurley rattled off a quick summary of each event. At first glance, the fighting in Namibia seemed almost a sideshow compared to what was happening inside South Africa’s own borders. South Africa’s population was at war with itself. Between guerrilla bombings, black-on-black power struggles, and the government’s
I I security measures,” hundreds of people were dying every week.
Hurley replaced the chronology with a map, labeled Top SECRET.
“According to all available sources, this is the present disposition of Cuban and
South African forces in Namibia. Essentially, the military stalemate continues. There have been no significant advances or retreats for weeks.
Just a steady series of artillery bombardments and small-scale, but costly, infantry assaults. “
Forrester nodded somberly. He’d seen the South African casualty estimates produced by the Defense Intelligence Agency. Forty-five dead and more than one hundred and fifty wounded in the past week alone. That didn’t sound like much of a war. Not until you remembered how small South