begging us to trade with them once again.”
He looked squarely at Min. “So. Are you with us, or not?”
In the silence that followed his question, they could all hear faint sirens from outside as the police rushed to quell yet another riot.
Min listened for a moment and then stared straight back into Chang’s eyes. “Yes. Yes, I’m with you.”
Chang slowly smiled. Now they could begin.
CHAPTER 14
Riposte
Blake Fowler sat quietly in the antechamber outside the Oval Office, resisting an urge to pace. He glanced across the room at Admiral Philip Simpson, Chairman of the JCS, who sat conferring with an aide. He double- checked his briefing folder to make sure he had all the documents he would need for this morning’s show. Or maybe “showdown” would be a more accurate term for what he had planned.
“Dr. Fowler?” The dark-haired secretary had raised her head from her work.
“Yes.”
“The President will see you in just a couple of moments. He’s on the phone right now, but it shouldn’t take long.”
Blake nodded his thanks and sat back. This waiting was the hardest part. At least he hoped so. He was acutely aware that the next fifteen minutes or so would be the most crucial of his entire career. In fact, they could easily be the last fifteen minutes of his government career.
He’d spent the better part of a week preparing for this meeting. First, he’d had to persuade Mike Sinclair, Putnam’s deputy, to give him a chance to deliver the President’s daily national security briefing. Putnam was still away on his pre-election campaign swing, but he was due back in a couple of days, and Blake knew this would be his last opportunity to get in to see the President. Sinclair disliked Putnam as much as everybody else on the NSC staff, and he’d finally agreed — thinking that Blake, as one of the staffs rising young stars, just wanted a chance to impress the President while the adviser was away. Blake hadn’t disillusioned him. But he knew that Sinclair was going to be damned mad when he found out the truth.
Next, he’d sought out the kind of ally he’d need to persuade the President that this was more than just a quibble over words and staff procedures. Admiral Simpson had been the logical choice. He’d supported the Working Group’s original recommendations wholeheartedly. He was the nation’s senior military officer. And the admiral had a well-deserved reputation as a man who put the truth above political expediency.
But Blake had only met the admiral twice before, once at a Georgetown dinner party and once at a conference on grand strategy for the Pacific region, so he’d been surprised when Simpson agreed to see him the same day he’d asked for an appointment. He’d been even more surprised when the bull-necked little man had readily agreed to come to the Oval Office with him.
Simpson had grinned across his desk. “What’s the matter, Dr. Fowler? Haven’t you ever come across someone willing to gamble a thirty-year career in the military before?”
“Frankly, Admiral, no, I haven’t. At least not in this town.”
“Well, I’ll tell you, my friend, I’m willing to do this for two very good reasons. First, the President’s made a goddamn big strategic error in signing that sanctions bill. Someone’s got to try to do something about that, and that someone is probably me. The taxpayers should be able to count on something for the seventy-five thousand dollars a year I get paid. And second, George Putnam is a slimy son of a bitch and it’ll be a pleasure to put a stake through his heart.”
Blake smiled as he remembered Simpson’s words. He just hoped that the admiral’s optimism was justified.
The secretary’s phone buzzed softly, bringing him out of his reverie. She picked it up, listened for a moment, and hung up. Blake sat up and laid a hand on his folder.
“Dr. Fowler? Admiral Simpson? The President is ready for you now.” She got up from behind her desk to hold the door open for them. Blake could see the same blue carpet with its interwoven presidential seal, high-backed colonial chairs, marble-sided fireplace, flags, and paintings he’d seen a hundred times before in TV newscasts. But it felt different in person. The room seemed to breathe power.
As they walked into the Oval Office, the President got up from behind his desk and came to meet them.
“Phil, it’s good to see you again.” He shook hands with the admiral and turned to Blake. “And you must be Blake Fowler. Mike Sinclair’s been telling me good things about you.”
Blake heard himself mumbling something about hoping he deserved Sinclair’s praise. Then the President waved them both into chairs and settled back down behind his desk. He put his fingertips together below his chin.
“Now, gentlemen, I’m going to assume that this is more than just a routine briefing. I’ve only been here a couple of years, but I haven’t yet had the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs come in to fill me in on the latest news from Lower Freedonia.”
Blake glanced over at Admiral Simpson. The admiral nodded slightly. They’d agreed earlier that Blake should take the first stab at explaining the situation.
“Mr. President, you’re absolutely right. We’re here about the Interagency Working Group report you were shown before you signed the Korean sanctions bill.”
The President frowned. Korea was obviously still a sore spot. Blake had seen some of the private messages that had passed between the White House and the South Korean government and couldn’t really blame him.
Blake took a deep breath and pushed on. “The truth is, sir, that the document you saw had been altered.”
“Hold it right there.” The President held up a hand and glared at him. He looked at his watch. “I’ve got better things to do than listen to some goddamned staff squabbling. That’s what I pay my senior people for. If you’ve got some beef with the way your copy got rewritten, take it up with Putnam or the chief of staff. Now let’s get on with the rest of your briefing. I’ve got an important meeting in half an hour.”
Blake could feel himself flushing. They couldn’t leave without at least getting a hearing on Putnam’s treachery, could they? He fought an urge to rearrange his notes. Anyway he looked at it, his days with the administration were numbered. Better to be damned for something he’d done then for something he hadn’t. But would the admiral stick with him?
The admiral did. “With respect, Mr. President, Dr. Fowler and I aren’t here to complain about the way a few words were changed here or there.”
Simpson leaned forward in his chair. “We’re here because your national security adviser took it on himself to drastically alter the conclusions reached by the Working Group. I’ll be blunt. The recommendations you were shown bore about as much resemblance to what I and the other Joint Chiefs approved as horseshit does to roast beef. And that’s got direct consequences for this nation’s security.”
The President looked up from his desk and Blake could see the curiosity in his eyes. Curiosity and something more. “Go on.”
Blake asked him, “Did the report you saw recommend signing the Barnes bill?”
The President nodded.
“Then I think you ought to take a look at what the Departments of Defense and Commerce, the CIA, and the NSA all originally recommended.” Blake reached into his folder and pulled out several pages highlighted in yellow.
“These are from the draft we submitted to Putnam.”
The President reached over and took the papers out of Blake’s hand. He spread them out in front of him and started reading. They could see his frown growing deeper as he read. It took him just a couple of minutes to finish.
He handed them back to Blake without a word and swiveled his chair around to look out the rain-streaked window toward the White House Rose Garden. Blake and the admiral exchanged glances. Now what?
