Ghost Force

Ambassador to the United States, was already in the Oval Office chatting with the President.

Sir Patrick was a tall, somewhat gaunt figure, wearing an immaculately tailored Savile Row suit. A scion of the great Hong Kong financial empire, he was a career diplomat despite having inherited 4,000 acres of prime farmland in Norfolk.

The fifty-six-year-old diplomat had only one customer, and that was one of the biggest brewers in England. Sir Patrick was what the Brits refer to as a Barley Baron, with his large swath of relatively rare, flinty land that grows malting barley, the prime ingredient for beer. Whichever way the market fluctuated, it kept Sir Patrick very handily in Savile Row suits at $3,000 a pop.

In his youth, he had trained to be a barrister, passed his exams, and then quit. 'I simply can't imagine spending the rest of my life defending scruffy, spotty, mostly guilty young thugs who should probably be locked up on sight,' he had told his father.

'Yes, I do see that's rather disagreeable,' said Jardine Senior. 'I think you better go and work in the Foreign Office. Won't make you rich, but you'll have a pleasant enough time, unless you get mixed up in some bloody war.'

Anyway, thirty years later, the dread of the late Sir Arthur Jardine had come full circle. His son was not taking cover under the bed while gunfire rained plaster and furniture down on him in some besieged British embassy. But he was right in the thick of it, and, for the moment, he was Great Britain's last frontier in the struggle to persuade the USA to remove the Argentine Army from the Falkland Isles.

Sir Patrick, however, realized there was only one reason he was currently sitting in this chair, facing the President of the United States. And that was the stolen oil and gas that belonged to ExxonMobil.

He stood up to greet Admiral Morgan, who made his usual entry, without knocking, and held out his hand to the Ambassador. 'Patrick,' he said, 'I'm afraid we meet again in rather trying circumstances.'

President Bedford was clearly very concerned by the entire issue of the South Atlantic, and its myriad of ramifications.

'Arnie,' he said, 'I've been talking to the Ambassador for twenty minutes and I must say we have so far clarified nothing. But I think you'll be interested in the position the Brits are taking…Sir Patrick, why don't you outline the situation for Admiral Morgan?'

'Of course, and I'll be as quick as I can,' replied the Barley Baron. 'I'm sure you know the history. The Falklands have been British since 1833. Argentina has always wanted them, went to war for them in 1982, has been negotiating for them ever since, and a couple of months ago seized them by military force.'

'Yup,' said Arnold, nodding. 'A regular coup d'etat, no bullshit.'

'Well, you probably also know we went through the usual channels of protest, and the United Nations practically ordered the Argentinians to vacate the islands. However, a Security Council motion to censure them and even expel them from the United Nations was vetoed by Russia. So it didn't go through.

'Buenos Aires refused to discuss the matter with anyone, save to announce the Malvinas had always been theirs and that was an end to it.'

'So Great Britain understandably decided to take matters into their own hands as they did in 1982?' said Arnold. 'And drive the Argentinians off with military force.'

'Not quite,' said Sir Patrick. 'Under very firm advice from the Foreign Office, my government made no threat to the Argentinians. We did not announce the formation of a Battle Group, even though Parliament had voted for such an action. We just got ready and set sail.

'Our fleet arrived in the area. In international waters, at least a hundred miles off the east coast of the Falkland Islands. We launched no attack, we opened fire on no one. But at first light, flying from both the mainland and the islands, Argentina launched an unprovoked airborne assault on our ships, and very nearly wiped us out. You might say it was their second great crime of the year 2011.'

'I suppose they'll say the presence of the Royal Navy Fleet was in itself a major provocation and indeed a threat to their own troops,' suggested Arnold Morgan.

'I suppose they may,' replied Sir Patrick. 'However, we were not in Argentinian waters, and despite their act of banditry in February, those islands belong to the Crown. They are packed with British institutions and people.

'Argentina had no right to have an army occupying the territory. No right at all. Under any law, local, national, or international, their occupation was illegal. And the fact that the Royal Navy attempted to defend itself against a very sustained attack is highly irrelevant. This was not a formal war. It was one country whose possessions had been ravaged by another, contrary to every known international charter and treaty of the last hundred years.'

'Yes, I see that,' replied Admiral Morgan. 'But I suppose there was also the issue of the twenty-seven hundred troops that landed on Lafonia.'

'Well, that ought not to be an issue. We are surely entitled to land anyone we wish on our own islands.'

Arnold grinned. 'Yes, I suppose you are.'

And the President interjected, 'Yes, but the Args are so damned convinced of the righteousness of their claim, it makes things very difficult. And of course the pure damned geography of the place is kinda on their side. Almost like China owned Nantucket.'

Sir Patrick smiled. 'Mr. President, I sometimes think people do not understand how very British the Falklands are, aside from the fact the natives are to a man British citizens, mostly living in harmony around a damned great Church of England cathedral in Stanley.

'There's Departments of Mineral Resources, Fisheries, Treasury. There's an Attorney General, an immigration officer, a Chief Executive, a Customs office, government offices. There's a Chamber of Commerce, a Development Corporation, a Met Office. There's even a Falkland Islands Company with offices in Stanley and Hertfordshire, England. It's all connected to London.'

'But not, on this occasion, protected by London,' said Arnold wryly.

The President ordered tea, Lapsang Souchong from China, which was both his own and the Ambassador's favorite. Paul Bedford made a habit of checking out all visiting Ambassadors' preferences, just in case Colombian coffee or something sparked an unexpected suicide attempt by an appalled Ecuadorian diplomat.

Sir Patrick informed the Americans that Great Britain would return to the United Nations and once more request some strong, decisive action, which Arnold Morgan remarked had never been their strong suit.

But what Sir Patrick really wanted was for the USA to make a stand, to growl that the actions of Argentina had been nothing short of international piracy, and if Buenos Aires did not come to heel forthwith, Uncle Sam would surely make life very, very difficult for them. The Rule of Law must surely, in the end, in a civilized world, take precedence.

Just before the Ambassador left, Admiral Morgan reminded him that it was sometimes necessary to take draconian measures to uphold that Rule of Law. And that he for one was not averse to implementing them if required.

Sir Patrick, as he walked from the Oval Office, said he took great comfort in that closing statement from the Admiral. And he hoped to hear favorably from them in the next few days. Admiral Morgan decided, in this instance at least, not to raise the possibility of the Ark Royal having been sunk by the Russians.

But when Sir Patrick left, the President and his most trusted friend had much to discuss. Because deep in their hearts both men realized that regardless of Argentinian passion, the South Americans had nonetheless committed acts of international mayhem.

'Ask yourself, Paul,' said Arnold. 'How would it be if everyone rampaged around like that? If France suddenly turned its power on Morocco and told Marrakesh, we've always owned your country. What if the Brits did it to Jamaica? If we did it to Japan? If Portugal did it to the eastern part of Brazil? There's no difference. What Argentina did was wrong. And all their pious territorial claims are still wrong, and still unlawful.

'For us, this is one giant pain in the ass. But it's still wrong. And we still have to face the goddamned oil corporation. And, of course, there's still the Russian connection…another vicious act of international barbarism that may have killed more than a thousand people.'

President Bedford frowned. 'Can we take this step by step? I'll ask the questions, you give the answers, okay?'