globe during some hypothetical future emergency. Naturally, now that they were facing a real crisis, the timing couldn’t possibly have been any worse.
It was the first time Ross Huntington had ever been invited to sit in on such a high-level administration gathering. He felt distinctly uncomfortable.
The men and women seated around the long rectangular table eyed him from time to time, some with frank curiosity, others with open envy. His reputation as the President’s unofficial right-hand man was spreading. Huntington tried not to let their stares bother him. There were plenty of top officials who resented his easy access to the Oval Office. Nothing would bring their PR knives and malicious press leaks out sooner than any sign of uncertainty on his part. Politicians, like other finned scavengers, homed in on the first taste of blood in the water.
He forced himself to pay close attention to the handsome, red-haired man giving the preliminary briefing.
“Basically, Mr. President, the Poles are up shit’s creek, and the Czechs and Slovaks aren’t much better.” Clinton Scofield, the Secretary of Energy, was a former South Carolina governor who lived up to his tough-talking reputation. The Washington rumor mill said the forty-five-year-old widower liked betting on fast horses and dating even faster women. He was also known as a knowledgeable, hardworking, and completely loyal cabinet officer. In Huntington’s eyes that made up for a multitude of real and imagined sins. “Poland imports better than ninety-eight percent of its crude oil — ninety percent from one source, Russia. They’re a little better off when it comes to natural gas supplies, but not by much. Siberian gas met sixty percent of their needs last year. The two other countries are in pretty much the same position.”
“What about stockpiles?” Harris Thurman, the Secretary of State, asked his question around the stem of a pipe he wasn’t allowed to light. “Don’t they have strategic reserves?”
Scofield shook his head. “They do. But not a lot. Two weeks at normal consumption. Maybe thirty days’ worth under the emergency rationing program they’re implementing. If they’re lucky. They sure won’t make it through the winter without suffering a complete economic collapse.”
Most of those around the table looked astonished by the Energy Secretary’s dire assessment. The United States held enough oil in its SPR, the Strategic Petroleum Reserve, to meet all domestic needs for at least three full months. Sometimes it was difficult to remember that other, poorer nations operated closer to the margin.
“Can’t they just find other suppliers?” The dark-haired woman who headed the Treasury had done some homework. She held up one of the weekly reports prepared by DOE’s Energy Information Administration. “Your own department keeps saying there’s no worldwide shortage of oil or natural gas. If that’s true, I think we should simply urge them to look elsewhere and be done with it.”
Several cabinet officers murmured their agreement. Even inside the administration there were deep divisions over fundamental policy. A strong minority opposed any moves to increase America’s overseas commitments. Domestic initiatives were closer to their hearts and departmental budgets. They were backed by isolationist sentiment in the Congress.
“It’s not that simple.” Scofield cleared his throat. “You can’t buy on the spot market without hard currency — real dollars — and that’s something else the Poles, Czechs, and Slovaks are short on. They were paying the Russians in kind, trading iron, steel, chemicals, computers, and the like for crude oil and gas. No OPEC country’s going to cut the same kinds of deals with them.”
Nobody could dispute that. The world’s oil powers weren’t famous for their disinterested charity.
For the first time, the President spoke up. He looked down the table toward Walter Quinn, the director of Central Intelligence. “There’s no doubt that the French are behind this oil embargo?”
“None at all, sir.”
The Secretary of State added his own two cents to the discussion. “Paris wants all of Eastern Europe inside this new monetary union — or else too bankrupt to give it much trouble.”
The President acknowledged Thurman’s point with a quick nod before turning back to the DCI. “One thing still puzzles me about this, Walt. What about the Germans? Weren’t they pulling oil and gas through those pipelines, too?”
“Yes, sir. Mostly for refineries and factories in the east. Replacing those supplies on the open market will cost them a pretty penny.”
Huntington mentally chalked one up for the nation’s chief executive. He’d overlooked the German angle during his own hasty boning up for this meeting.
“Well, we know the French are covering Russia’s out-of-pocket expenses for this thing. Are they doing the same for the Germans?”
The DCI looked troubled. He’d been riding high on the credit the CIA had gained for its heads-up warnings of Kaminov’s putsch and the secret French subsidies to Russia. Now he had to admit ignorance. “If they are, we haven’t seen any signs of it. But I can’t be sure about that, Mr. President. We don’t have any sources high enough in the Schraeder regime to tell us, one way or the other.”
Huntington wasn’t particularly surprised by that. Germany had been a trusted American ally for decades — a close partner in the long straggle against Soviet communism. It took time to successfully shift the CIA’s German operations from open cooperation to covert competition. Still, even the faint possibility that the French hadn’t bothered telling Berlin what they were up to inside Russia was intriguing. Maybe their fledgling friendship wasn’t as solid as all their joint press releases made it seem. That was worth closer study.
The President evidently agreed. He jabbed a finger toward the CIA chief. “Keep digging, Walt. I’d like to know exactly who’s orchestrating this damned embargo.”
He ran his gaze around the crowded table. “All right, folks, let’s move this along. The problem our Polish, Czech, and Slovak friends are facing is pretty damn clear. What I need to hear are some workable solutions.”
“Is that even necessary, Mr. President?” The Treasury Secretary didn’t mince her words. She had been in the cabinet long enough to know that the nation’s chief executive valued candor more than consensus.
“I still don’t see that we have any compelling interest at stake here. Who really cares whether they pay their bills with zlotys or with franc-marks?” She shrugged. “After all, every dollar American-owned companies make in those countries wouldn’t keep this government in pocket change for half an hour.”
“What exactly are you proposing, Katherine? That we walk away and wash our hands of this whole mess?”
“Exactly. For two simple reasons.” She outlined her position with the same sure precision she used when lecturing congressmen about basic economics. “One. Guaranteeing oil and gas supplies to these countries could mean an open-ended drain on our treasury. One we can’t afford. And let’s face it, the American people aren’t going to like being asked to pay other people’s energy bills. They’re having a tough enough time meeting ends themselves. Two. This is an artificial oil shortage. Sooner or later the Russians will want to sell their resources, so sooner or later the embargo will end.
“If Warsaw, Prague, and Bratislava have to bend a little to get them to do that, well, so what? We’re not looking at the end of the world.”
One or two of those seated around the table nodded. Several others looked less sure of themselves. Doing nothing was often the best course in foreign affairs.
Huntington surprised himself by stepping into the debate. He’d intended to sit back and listen quietly. “With all due respect, Mr. President, the secretary is dead wrong. We can’t walk away from this.”
Heads turned his way. “This is a classic test of wills. The French are betting we won’t have the balls to back our friends with cold, hard cash. Our friends in Europe are betting that we will. If we fail them, if we flinch now, we can kiss free trade with Europe good-bye for years. The Italians, the Dutch, and the Spanish will all know that we’ll fold the first time the French or the Germans put pressure on them. So every European government with any sense will make tracks for Paris as fast as it can. By definition, anyone who joins this monetary union accepts the Franco-German position on tariffs and subsidies. And that means we’ll lose our last realistic chance to shake the world out of this goddamned trade war before it bankrupts us all.”
He stared across at the Treasury Secretary. “This is one instance where we don’t have the luxury of letting events take their own course. We have to act.”
The President’s firm, determined voice cut through the stunned silence that followed his outburst. “Ross is absolutely right. I will not abandon people who’ve put their trust in us.”
He turned toward the Secretary of State. “Harris, I’d like you to arrange a meeting for me. I want to talk with
