last hour and a half. He walked at a hurried pace next to Vice President Baxter as their entourage moved down the wide hallway of the E Ring at the Pentagon. A slew of serious-looking Secret Service agents surrounded them. King thought the large contingent a bit much; they were, after all, in the Pentagon; but he had other things to worry about. As the group continued forward, the sea of people before them parted as Pentagon employees moved out of the way and clung to the walls while the current commander in chief passed by.
The buzz level was high. Everyone had either seen Aziz’s national address or heard about it. Now the natural question was, what would the U.S. government do in response? The answer was actually tied to a lone individual in Omaha, Nebraska. Reginald Boulay was his name, and at this exact moment he was giving Dallas King the results of his Husker Poll.
Boulay had built up his poll over the years and made it into one of the most accurate in the political- consulting business.
And he only supplied it to a few well-paying clients. The numbers from the Husker Poll were never found in the newspapers or on TV. Boulay wasn’t in the business to skew results by push polling and a variety of other techniques; he was in it to get the most accurate results possible. And he did it by asking brutally honest questions in plain English. King had decided after talking to two of his regular pollsters, and being irritated at their inability to understand what he wanted, that if there was ever a time to spend money on Boulay and his Husker Poll, now was it.
King nodded as he listened to Boulay relay the results.
Although King had honestly expected them, he was, nonetheless, surprised. They reflected the new trend in America, almost a refusal to judge and condemn. King had sensed it while listening to Aziz’s speech and wondered if he was smart enough to know what he was tapping into, or if he was just one lucky bastard.
The handsome King liked what he was hearing from Boulay. According to the Husker Poll, a little over sixty percent of those surveyed felt that Vice President Baxter should exhaust almost all options in an effort to resolve the crisis in a peaceful way. When it came to lifting economic sanctions against Iraq except those involving weapons of mass destruction, the numbers jumped to almost eighty percent. As Boulay had explained it to King, “There’s about twenty percent of the population that would just as soon level the White House before giving these terrorists a thing, and nothing you do or say will change that.”
King had also expected that. The zealots at either end of the spectrum would always be around. They were not the people you had to worry about.
The rest of the populace was whom he had to keep his eye on-the sixty to eighty percent of the people who were not too far from the middle on any given issue. As a political adviser. King saw it as his job to try and get those people leaning in his direction or, more precisely, to position his boss in the middle of them. That would be his next course of action. After asking Boulay to fax him the results. King ended the call and brought the vice presidential armada to a screeching halt.
Grabbing his boss by the arm, King stopped at the next door on the right and pulled Vice President Baxter over with him. The Secret Service agents were used to this type of semiprivate consultation between their charges and their aides, and without having to say a word, they turned their backs to the vice president and deployed in a protective shell.
King placed a hand on Baxter’s shoulder and said in a whisper, “It’s just like I thought. Over sixty percent of the people want to see a peaceful resolution to this mess, and almost eighty percent think we should lift the economic embargo against Iraq, just so long as the military embargo is kept in place.” Baxter nodded and said, “So we’re safe if we push for the UN to raise the sanctions?”
“I think so,” said King with confidence.
“Besides, if we can get him to release another third of the hostages, we’ll be in a really good position to get some mileage out of this.”
Baxter pointed down the hall toward the direction of the room they’d be meeting in.
“They aren’t going to like this.”
King shrugged.
“They’re not going to like anything short of storming the place with a battalion of commandos. Ybu have to prevent that from happening. You have to take the higher moral ground. You have to protect the lives of those innocent hostages.”
“What about policy? What about precedence?” Baxter shook his head.
“We think the American people are behind it, but what about the Hill?
There’re going to be some hard liners up there who are going to scream bloody murder over this. Hell, some of them are already pissed that we gave them the Iranian money.”
“Fuck ‘em,” snarled King.
“They’re gonna hate you no matter what you do, and if you do what they want and send in the troops, you’re gonna have a group of hard-liners from the left trying to crucify you.” King shook his head.
“You can’t please both groups. You have to stay with the majority of public opinion and stick with your base. That’s where your protection is.”
It was Baxter’s turn to shake his head.
“That’s comforting.
Public opinion, which you are so infatuated with, is about as predictable as the weather.” Baxter continued shaking his head.
“Public opinion is like a mob. It’s fine just so long as you can predict where it’s going, but the second you screw up and they turn on you…you’re screwed.”
King looked at his boss, his eyes sagging. He had been working nonstop for the last three days, he was tired, he was sick of hearing his boss whine, and he had bigger problems of his own. “Sherman”-King’s face twisted into an expression of contempt-“maybe you should just quit. If you can’t see that we have a golden opportunity here to build you up as a great statesman, as the man who saved the day, as the politician who stepped in and brokered the peace during the biggest crisis this nation has faced in possibly”-King paused while shaking his head-“its entire history? Then maybe you really should just let General Flood and Director Stansfield and the rest of the warmongers storm the place, destroy that great building, and kill all of the people in it, and then you can go down in the history books as the butcher who sent fifty Americans to their death because he was afraid to step up to the plate.”
Baxter stood silently and looked at his chief of staff. He was not used to being spoken to in such a manner by anyone, not even a peer. This was probably the principal reason why King’s words sank in. It was true, Baxter thought to himself. If he wanted to be president someday, which he did badly, more than anything in the world, he would have to stand up and be a leader. Slowly, he started to nod in an affirmation of King’s words.
GENERAL FLOOD, GENERAL Campbell, Director Stansfield, and Irene Kennedy were all sitting next to each other at one end of the long table of the Joint Chiefs briefing room.
Across from them sat the secretary of defense and the secretary of state, both with one aide. When Vice President Baxter entered, he and Dallas King sat at the head of the table with the other members to their immediate left and right, leaving over two-thirds of the massive table’s seats unoccupied. The crisis was wearing on everyone. Eyes were bloodshot, and hands were a little shaky from either a lack of sleep or too much coffee or both.
Vice President Baxter folded his unsteady hands and placed them on the table. His kick in the pants from King had given him a newfound sense of focus and determination. Instead of asking for opinions, Baxter looked to the secretary of state and said, “Charles, I want you to light a fire under the UN’s ass and get this vote taken care of before the end of the day.”
Secretary of State Charles Midleton bowed his head and asked, “How much pressure may I use?”
“As much as you want. Threaten to veto every resolution midway into the next century, threaten to pull all funding-just do whatever it takes to get the vote passed by the end of the day. Once we get the hostages released, we can always go back later and pass a reversing resolution.”
“It might not be that easy,” warned Midleton as he adjusted his glasses.
“I don’t care. Get it done, and we’ll worry about the rest of it later.”
Director Stansfield cleared his throat.
“Excuse me. Aren’t we getting a bit ahead of ourselves?”
