The Fourth K

  Helen Du Pray thought, Oh Christ, he’s going to do it.

  Kennedy went on. “This meeting will deal with our options. I doubt that any of your options will be taken but I must give you your opportunity to argue them. But first let me present my scenario. Let me say that I have the support of my personal staff.” He paused again to project all his personal magnetism. He stood up and said, “One: The analysis. All the recent tragic events have been the dynamic of one boldly conceived and ruthlessly executed master plan. The murder of the Pope on Easter Sunday, the hijacking of the plane on the same day, the deliberate logistical impossibility of the demands for the release of the hostages, and though I agreed to meet all those demands, finally the unnecessary murder of my daughter early this morning. And even the capture of the assassin of the Pope here in our country, an event far beyond the realm of any chance of destiny, that too was part of the overall plan so that they could demand the release of the assassin. The evidence supporting this analysis is overwhelming.”

  He could see the looks of disbelief on their faces. He paused and then went on: “But what could be the purpose of such a terrifying and complicated scenario? There is in the world today a contempt for authority, the authority of the state, but specifically a contempt for the moral authority of the United States. It goes far beyond the usual historical contempt for authority exhibited by the young, which is often a good thing. The purpose of this terrorist plan is to discredit the United States as an authority figure. Not only in the lives of billions of common people but in the eyes of the governments of the world. We must at some time answer these challenges and that time is now.

  “For the record. The Arab states have no part in this plot. Except for Sherhaben. Certainly the worldwide terrorist underground known as the First Hundred gave logistical and personnel support. But the evidence points to only one man in control. And it seems that he does not accept being controlled except perhaps by the Sultan of Sherhaben.”

  Again he paused.

  “We now know for certain that the Sultan is an accomplice. His troops are stationed to guard the aircraft from outside attacks, not to help us with the hostages. The Sultan claims to act in our interest, but in reality is involved in these acts. However, to give him his due, there is evidence that he did not know that Yabril would murder my daughter.”

  He glanced around the table to again impress them with his calmness. Then he said, “Second: The prognosis. This is not the usual hostage situation. This is a clever plot to humiliate the United States to the utmost. To make the United States beg for the return of the hostages after suffering a series of humiliations that make us seem impotent. It is a situation that will be wrung dry for weeks with media coverage all over the world. And with no guarantee that all the remaining hostages will be returned safely. Under those circumstances I cannot imagine anything but chaos afterwards. Our own people will lose faith in us and our country.”

  Again Kennedy paused, he saw that he was making an impression now, that the people in this room understood that he had a point. He went on: “Remedies: I’ve studied the memo on options we have. I think they are the usual lame recourses of the past. Economic sanctions, armed rescue missions, political arm-twisting, concessions given in secret while maintaining that we never negotiate with terrorists. The concern that the Soviet Union will refuse to permit us to make a large-scale military assault in the Persian Gulf. All these imply that we must submit and accept our profound humiliation in the eyes of the world. And in my opinion more of the hostages may well be lost.”

  The Secretary of State interrupted. “My department has just received a definite promise from the Sultan of Sherhaben to release all the hostages when the terrorists’ demands have been met. He is outraged by Yabril’s action and claims he is ready to launch an assault on the plane. He has secured Yabril’s promise to release fifty of the hostages now to show good faith.”

  Kennedy stared at him for a moment. The cerulean-blue eyes seemed veined with tiny black dots. Then in a voice cold with taut courtesy, and so controlled that the words rang metallically, he said, “Mr. Secretary, when I am done, everyone here will be given time to speak. Until that time, please do not interrupt. Their offer will be suppressed, it will not be made known to the media.”

  The Secretary of State was obviously surprised. The President had never spoken so coolly to him before, had never so blatantly shown his power. The Secretary of State bowed his head to study his copy of the memo; only his cheeks reddened slightly. Kennedy went on: “Solution: I hereby instruct the chief of staff to direct and plan an air strike on the oil fields of Sherhaben and their industrial oil city of Dak. The mission of the air strike will be the destruction of all oil equipment, drilling rigs, pipelines, etc. The city will be destroyed. Four hours before the bombing, leaflets will be dropped on the city warning the inhabitants to evacuate. The air strike will take place exactly thirty-six hours from now. That is, on Thursday, eleven P.M., Washington time.”

  There was dead silence in the room that held more than thirty people who wielded all the arms of power in America. Kennedy went on: “The Secretary of State will contact the necessary countries for overflight approval. He will make it plain to them that any refusal will bring about a cessation of all economic and military accommodations with this country. That the results of a refusal will be dire.”

  The Secretary of State seemed to levitate from his seat to protest, then restrained himself. There was a murmur through the room of surprise or shock.

  Kennedy held up his hands, the gesture almost angry, but he was smiling at them, a smile that seemed to be one of reassurance. He seemed to become less commanding, almost casual, smiling at the Secretary of State and speaking directly to him. “The Secretary of State will send to me, at once, the ambassador from the Sultanate of Sherhaben. I will tell the ambassador this: The Sultan must deliver up the hostages by tomorrow afternoon. He will deliver up the terrorist Yabril in a way that he will not be able to take his own life. If the Sultan refuses, the entire country of Sherhaben itself will cease to exist.” Kennedy paused for a moment; the room was absolutely still. “This meeting has the highest security classification. There will be no leaks. If there are, the most extreme action under the law will be taken. Now you can all speak.”

  He could see the audience was stunned by his words, that the staff looked down, refusing to meet the eyes of the others in the room.

  Kennedy sat down, sprawling in his black leather chair, his legs out from under the table and visible to the side. He stared out into the Rose Garden as the meeting continued.

  He heard the Secretary of State say, “Mr. President, again I must argue your decision. This will be a disaster for the United States. We will become a pariah among nations by using our force to crush a small nation.” And the voice went on and on, but he could not hear the words.

  Then he heard the voice of the Secretary of the Interior, a voice almost flat and yet commanding attention. “Mr. President, when we destroy Dak, we destroy fifty billion American dollars, that’s American oil company money, money the middle class of America spent to buy stock in the oil companies. Also, we curtail our sources of oil. The price of gasoline will double for the consumers of this country.”

  There was the confused babble of other arguments. Why did the city of Dak have to be destroyed before any satisfaction was given? There were many avenues still to be explored. The great danger was in acting too hastily. Kennedy looked at his watch. This had been going on for over an hour. He stood up.

  “I thank each of you for your advice,” he said. “Certainly the Sultan of Sherhaben could save the city of Dak by meeting my demands immediately. But he won’t. The city of Dak must be destroyed or our threats will be ignored. The alternative is for us to govern a country that any man with courage and small weapons can humiliate. Then we might as well scrap our Navy and Army and save the money. I see our course very clearly and I will follow it.

  “Now, as to the fifty-billion-dollar
loss to American stockholders. Bert Audick heads the consortium that owns that property. He has already made his fifty billion dollars and more. We will do our best to help him, of course. I will permit Mr. Audick an opportunity to save his investment in another way. I am sending a plane to Sherhaben to pick up the hostages and a military plane to transport the terrorists to this country to stand trial. The Secretary of State will invite Mr. Audick to go to Sherhaben on one of those planes. His job will be to help persuade the Sultan to accept my terms. To persuade him that the only way to save the city of Dak, the country of Sherhaben and the American oil in that country is to accede to my demands. That’s the deal.”

  The Secretary of Defense said, “If the Sultan does not agree, that means we lose two more planes, Audick, and the hostages.”

  Kennedy said, “Most likely. Let’s see if Audick has the balls. But he’s smart. He will know, as I do, that the Sultan must agree. I’m so sure that I am also sending the national security adviser, Mr. Wix.”

  The CIA chief said, “Mr. President, you must know that the antiaircraft guns around Dak are manned by Americans on civilian contract to the Sherhaben government and the American oil companies. Specially trained Americans who man missile sites. They may put up a fight.”

  Kennedy smiled. “Audick will order them to evacuate. Of course, as Americans, if they fight us they will be traitors, and the Americans who pay them will also be prosecuted as traitors.”

  He paused to let that sink in. Audick would be prosecuted. He turned to Christian. “Chris, you can start working on the legal end.”

  Among those present were two members of the legislative branch. The Senate majority leader, Thomas Lambertino, and the Speaker of the House, Alfred Jintz. It was the senator who spoke first. He said, “I think this too drastic a course of action to be taken without a full discussion in both houses of the Congress.”

  Kennedy said to him courteously, “With all due respect, there is no time. And it is within my power as the chief executive to take this action. Without question the legislative branch can review it later and take action as they see fit. But I sincerely hope that Congress will support me and this nation in its extremity.”

  Senator Lambertino said almost sorrowfully, “This is dire, the consequences severe. I implore you, Mr. President, not to act so quickly.”

  For the first time Francis Kennedy became less than courteous. “Congress has always opposed me,” he said. “We can argue all the complicated options until the hostages are dead and the United States is ridiculed in every nation and every little village in the world. I hold by my analysis and my solution; my decision is within my power as chief executive. When the crisis is over, I will go before the people and give them a full report. Until then, I remind you all again, this discussion is of the highest classification. Now, I know you all have work to do. Report your progress to my chief of staff.”

  It was Alfred Jintz who answered. “Mr. President,” he said, “I had hoped not to have to say this. But Congress now insists that you remove yourself from these negotiations. Therefore, I must give notice that this very day the Congress and the Senate will do everything to prevent your course of action on the grounds that your personal tragedy makes you incompetent.”

  Kennedy stood over them. His face with its beautiful planes and lines were frozen into a mask, his blue eyes as blind as a statue’s. “You do so at your peril,” he said, “and America’s.” He left the room.

  In the Cabinet Room, there was a flurry of movement, a babble of voices. Oddblood Gray huddled with Senator Lambertino and Congressman Jintz. But their faces were grim, their voices cold. The congressman said, “We can’t allow this to happen. I think the President’s staff has been delinquent in not dissuading him from this course of action.”

  Oddblood Gray said, “He convinced me he was not acting out of personal anger. That it was the most effective solution to the problem. It is dire, of course, but so are the times. We can’t let the situation be drawn out. That could be catastrophic.”

  Senator Lambertino said, “This is the first time that I have ever known Francis Kennedy to act in so high-handed a fashion. He was always a courteous President to the legislative branch. He could at least have pretended that we were party to the decision process.”

  “He’s under a great deal of stress,” Oddblood Gray said. “It would be helpful if the Congress did not add to that stress.” Fat chance, he thought as he said it.

  Congressman Jintz said worriedly, “Stress may be the issue here.” Oddblood Gray thought, Oh shit, hastily said a cordial farewell and ran back to his office to make the hundreds of calls to members of the Congress. Though he was privately dismayed at Kennedy’s rashness, he was determined to sell Kennedy’s policy on the Hill.

  The national security adviser, Arthur Wix, was trying to sound out the Secretary of Defense. And making sure that there would be an immediate meeting with the Joint Chiefs of Staff. But the Secretary of Defense seemed to be stunned by events and mumbled his answers, agreeing but not volunteering anything.

  Eugene Dazzy had noted Oddblood Gray’s difficulties with the legislators. There was going to be big trouble.

  Dazzy turned to Helen Du Pray. “What do you think?” he asked her.

  She looked at him coolly. She was a very beautiful woman, Dazzy thought. He must invite her to dinner. Then she said, “I think you and the rest of the President’s staff have let him down. His response to this crisis is far too drastic. And where the hell is Christian Klee to deal with this right now?” Klee had vanished, which surprised Du Pray, it was not like him to disappear at a crucial moment like this.

  Dazzy was angry. “His position has logic, and even if we disagree we have to support him.”

  Helen Du Pray said, “It’s how Francis presented it. Obviously, Congress will try to take the negotiations out of his hands. They will try to suspend him from office.”

  “Over the graves of his staff,” Dazzy said.

  Helen Du Pray said to him quietly, “Please be careful. Our country is in great danger.”

  CHAPTER

  9

  On this Wednesday afternoon Peter Cloot was certainly the only official in Washington who paid almost no attention to the news that the President’s daughter had been murdered. His energies were focused on the nuclear bomb threat.

  As deputy chief of the FBI, he had almost full responsibility for that agency. Christian Klee was the titular head but only to hold the reins of power, to bring it more firmly under the direction of the Attorney General’s office, which Klee also held. That combination of offices had always bothered Peter Cloot. It also bothered him that the Secret Service had also been placed under Klee. That was too much concentration of power for Cloot’s taste. He also knew that there was a separate elite branch ostensibly in the FBI table of organization that Klee administered directly, and that this special security branch was composed of Christian Klee’s former colleagues in the CIA. That affronted him.

  But this nuclear threat was Peter Cloot’s baby. He would run this show. And luckily there were specific directives to guide him, and he had attended the think-tank seminars that directly addressed the problem of internal nuclear threats. If anyone was an expert on this particular situation, it was Cloot. And there was no shortage of manpower. During Klee’s tenure the number of FBI personnel had increased threefold.

  When he had first seen the threatening letter with its accompanying diagrams Cloot had taken the immediate action as outlined in the standing directives. He had also felt a thrill of fear. Up to this time there had been hundreds of such threats, only a few of them plausible, but none so convincing as this. All these threats had been kept secret, again according to directives.

  Immediately, Cloot forwarded the letter to the Department of Energy command post in Maryland, using the special communications facilities for this purpose only. He also alerted the Department of Energy search teams based in Las Vegas called NEST. NEST was already flying their pod containing too
ls and detection equipment to New York. Other planes would be flying specially trained personnel into the city, where they would use disguised vans loaded with sophisticated equipment to explore the streets of New York. Helicopters would be used; men on foot carrying Geiger counter briefcases would cover the city. But all this was not Cloot’s headache. All he would have to do was supply armed FBI guards to protect the NEST searchers. Cloot’s job was to find the villains.

  The Maryland Department of Energy people had studied the letter and sent him a psychological profile of the writer. Those guys were really amazing, Cloot thought—he didn’t know how they did it. Of course, one of the obvious clues was that the letter did not ask for money. Also it did define a definite political position. As soon as he got the profile Cloot sent a thousand men checking.

  The profile had said that the letter writer was probably very young and highly educated. That he was probably a student of physics in a highly rated university. And on this information alone Cloot in a matter of hours had two very good suspects and after that it was amazingly easy. He had worked all through the night, directing his field office teams. When he was informed of the murder of Theresa Kennedy, he had resolutely put it out of his mind except for the flash that all this stuff might be linked together in some way. But his job tonight was to find the author of the nuclear bomb threat. Thank God, the bastard was an idealist. It made him easier to track down. There were a million greedy sons of bitches who would do something like this for money and it would have been tough to find them.