get tiresome. A cup of coffee would be agreeable, sir.’
‘Please, Colonel, “Jack” will do. I’m not in uniform anymore. And we’re behind closed doors. Ty …’ Blackstone regarded his aide with the same judgmental expression that he’d laid on Musso, tempered in this case by familiarity and a regretful shake of the head. ‘You look like you need a cup yourself. Got a little carried away making new friends last night, I’ll wager. Your penance is to fetch a fresh pot.’
The office was divided into a sitting area softened with leather couches and armchairs arranged around a polished cherry-wood coffee table. Bookshelves ran the length of one wall, only half filled. A small kitchenette with a glass-front fridge and a coffee pot completed the sitting area. The other half was a simple, featureless table of oak with a neat stack of files on the left-hand side.
Caitlin chose a seat facing Blackstone, who settled himself on the couch across from her. Musso took up a flanking position while McCutcheon came around with fresh mugs of coffee. She savoured the aroma of premium beans. The powdered shit back in Temple was undrinkable.
‘We’ve managed to stabilise the neighbouring states near the Canal Zone,’ Blackstone explained. ‘Reopening links to Costa Rica is one of the fringe benefits of those stability operations.’
She took a sip and nodded. ‘Very good, sir. Was it worth deploying a third of the Texas Defense Force to Panama for a cup of joe, though?’
He grinned like Saint Nick on Christmas morning. ‘Well, it’s
He made an inverted-comma gesture with his free hand.
‘As entertaining as it was to poke the dancing monkeys with a stick, I sent them on to Kipper. It’s really his lookout. Roberto’s so-called diplomats don’t bother coming here anymore. My only regret is that we have less contact now, and an even poorer picture of their capabilities and intent. Hopefully you can help with that, Colonel?’
She’d accepted the coffee. Why not throw him a bone? ‘“Kate” will be fine. What is your assessment of the threat, sir? It’s not exactly looming large with the national command authority. And you’ve had longer to ponder it than I have. I’ve spent the last three years assisting in the transfer of military materiel to the United Kingdom.’
Blackstone’s features darkened momentarily, driving back the softness, hardening around the edges. Caitlin thought she caught a glimpse of his temper in that brief interlude.
‘History’s idea of a joke,’ Blackstone said. ‘We bailed the Brits out in 1940 with Lend-Lease, now they step in to return the favour. And don’t they love to remind us of the reversal in fortunes.’
‘Blackstone …’ Musso sat forward.
‘Easy there, Marine,’ the Governor said, holding up his hand. ‘I will put my rancour away. But I can’t promise it won’t flare. Unlike Mr Kipper, I’m not much impressed by the helping hand our so-called nearest and dearest allies have been lending. I feel the need to check my wallet every time they reach out for us. Kate, the fact is the South American Federation has the makings of a blue-water navy, one that can outclass our own. They’re not there yet, but the trend lines are not good. We are on the way down. They are on the way up. Musso here has had first-hand experience of what we might face, down at Gitmo before he threw in the towel …’
The general made a Herculean effort to count the ceiling tiles above his head.
‘Sir?’ Caitlin held up her hand. ‘May I be frank with you? I am not a politician. I might report to one in Mr Culver, for the moment, but I’m an air force officer. I care about the mission. I am not at all interested in writing history as it transpires or interpreting the politics of that history. It would be helpful to my mission and your own interests if you simply gave me your opinion without providing a critique of the President and his policies.’
Jackson Blackstone sized her up and smiled again. It was warm, paternal, the sort of expression he might offer his daughter or granddaughter after she’d surprised and impressed him.
‘Fair enough, Kate,’ he said, leaning back with his coffee. ‘I’m just glad that Machiavellian motherfucker, Jed Culver, saw fit to send you down here on the quiet. Trust a devil like him to recognise one in Roberto. So. Let’s talk unpleasant realities. The Federation Navy poses a significant potential risk to the United States Navy and the Texas Coast Guard in the local theatre of operations.’
Caitlin held the reins of her scepticism tight. Last time she checked, there was no war with Roberto under way and no theatre of operations within which it was being fought. Blackstone carried on regardless.
‘They have maintained an extensive fleet of Type 209 submarines taken from the navies of constituent states, or former states I suppose, and it is our belief that these subs are being used right now to infiltrate agents into North and Central America. In our sphere of influence - by which I mean America’s, lest you mistake me. My Coast Guard intelligence folks tell me the 209s are providing material support to the pirate groups that operate out of Mexican and Cuban ports. Their air power is a frequent concern of mine. They possess sufficient capacity to attack the Panama Canal Zone. Half of the TDF Air Guard is tied down in Panama serving as a deterrent against that very threat. Unfortunately, half of the Guard often sits on the ground for want of spare parts. I can’t get Seattle to free up my requests for spares or support from the US Navy and Air Force. Perhaps your own assessment will help break open that log jam, Kate.’
‘I’ll make no promises,’ Caitlin replied. ‘Other than to assess the intelligence without bias. I’ll report to Mister Culver. What he puts in front of the President is up to him.’
‘Fair is fair,’ Blackstone said, reaching for the coffee pot. ‘Musso, you up for a fresh cup? You look like you’re drifting off, old man.’
In fact, he looked like he was lost in some old memory. ‘No, I’m fine. Thank you,’ Tusk said once he’d rejoined them.
‘Kate?’
She demurred. ‘We have all of the data you’ve cited so far, sir,’ she said. ‘None of it implies a need for urgent policy or resource action. Not given the way our forces are already overstretched. Is there some other reason you’re concerned about the Federation?’
Special Agent Monroe had little interest in his answer. But she had her role to play, and Colonel Murdoch would not have been impressed with Blackstone’s case thus far. The Governor and his aide exchanged a glance. McCutcheon excused himself and left the office.
‘You read much history, Kate?’ asked Blackstone.
‘Some, sir. In college. Mostly course-related.’
‘Of course. But you would be familiar with the big picture, between the wars last century. The rise of the absolute tyrants and the superstates. Hitler’s Germany. The Soviet Union. And the little Hitlers here and there. Saddam. The interchangeable ayatollahs.’
She indicated some familiarity with the twentieth century.
‘That’s good,’ said Blackstone. ‘Because I think we’re living through something similar. The 1920s and ‘30s, Kate. They were an historical discontinuity, by which I mean the orderly progression of history was shattered. By the slaughter of the Great War. It destroyed empires, re-fashioned the world, swept away an old order and for three decades, and arguably for more, there was no sense of continuity. You change a few decisions here or there, and you change what comes afterwards forever. There was no reason we had to win in 1945. No reason why it had to be the Soviets who lost in 1989 either. It seems inevitable looking back, what the commies used to call “the correlation of forces”, but it was really just one day after another, one decision here, an action taken or not taken there. FDR dying of polio. The Depression running much deeper for longer. Nixon not getting caught and poisoning the well for ever after.’
The Governor looked as though he was enjoying himself with his free-ranging lecture, right up until the point when Musso interrupted him.
‘Are we going somewhere today, Professor?’
A hint of annoyance crossed his face but he composed himself. ‘Ever the literalist, eh Musso?’ he sighed. ‘A common failing of the Jarhead. A lack of imagination and a refusal to learn from history. My service commenced all the way back in Vietnam and you know what I learned there, Kate?’
‘No, sir.’
‘The United States Marine Corps was the finest implement ever crafted for getting young American lads killed for no good reason at all.’
