"By sea, we think. In fact, a shipment, maybe fifteen or twenty thousand tons worth, is due to go through the Panama Canal sometime next week on its way to Galveston or Corpus Christi."
"Through the Canal?" queried State. "Madam President that could give you the foreign crisis you wanted me to investigate creating. General McCreavy, are your forces capable of reoccupying the Panama Canal Zone to stop that shipment?"
"I think we are," answered the general. "But why reoccupy? We can simply blockade Texas' ports or Panama itself."
"But that wouldn't give us the crisis, would it?" pointed out State, reasonably.
"Willi?" pleaded McReavy. "This is simply not smart. What if the Panamanians actually fight?"
"Fight with what?" asked Carroll. "Bananas? They don't even have an army."
"They do, actually. Some anyway."
"What would it take, Caroline, for you to retake the Canal?"
"I can't say right off the top of my head, Madame President. I can say though, that whatever I use there is something that won't be available here. And why do it when we can blockade Texas' ports? Or maybe we should declare them 'closed,' which makes more sense."
"Sure, Caroline, we'll do that too," answered Rottemeyer. She considered briefly. "Ah to hell with Panama. Wouldn't be enough of a war to do us any good anyway. And with Mexico's border open, the blockade will be incomplete with or without the Canal in our hands."
"In any case, relax. We aren't going to invade another country, not just yet in any case."
Changing the subject Rottemeyer went around the table.
Of Justice she asked, "Are we ready to shut down the Texas Border, Jesse?"
"Excepting their border with Mexico, ninety to ninety-five percent," answered Vega.
"Law enforcement ready to follow the Army in?"
That this was a tougher problem, Vega was loathe to admit. "We have enough . . . initially."
That seemed close enough. Rottemeyer turned away from Vega to the secretary of the treasury. "Are we ready to retake the Western Currency Facility?" she asked of Treasury.
"The Army," a gracious head nod in McCreavy's direction, "has put the better part of a helicopter group at the disposal of the Presidential Guard. They'll go in on your say-so."
"Good. Caroline, after subtracting for what you have scattered around the world, what do you have left for reoccupation of Texas?"
McCreavy mentally pulled out the map she had studied just before coming to this meeting. From the symbols on the map, engraved on her mind, she translated, "Third Infantry Division and most of Second Marine Division are closing on Fort Polk, Louisiana. That's their interim staging area before they move to assembly areas west of Lake Charles, near the Texas border. They'll be joined at Fort Polk by the Second Armored Cavalry . . . though that's really just a big battalion. First Marine Division, minus one brigade, and the Third Armored Cavalry Regiment are assembling in the New Mexican desert west of Fort Bliss, Texas. Along the Texas-Oklahoma border is Third Corps, one armored and two mechanized infantry divisions. Tenth Mountain Division will fly down as we advance to provide backup to the law enforcement agencies. The Air Force is standing by.
"It all just awaits your command," McCreavy concluded.
Good, good; Rottemeyer liked it when things awaited her command.
"But there are a few problems, Madame President," continued McCreavy.
"As in?"
"As near as we can tell, Texas has wired every bridge leading into the state for demolition. And they are guarding those bridges, again 'as near as we can tell,' pretty competently. We also have reason to believe that those guards' orders are to blow the bridges at the first sign of our forces."
"So?"
McCreavy suppressed a sigh. It would not do to let presidential ignorance of the military get to her. "So it is not going to be all that quick. A modern division uses up hundreds of tons of supply a day. Those supplies have to go by road and rail, mostly. The farther away from base they get, too, the more they use. Right now, if Texas blows the bridges in, we can get about halfway into the state before we simply run out of gas and have to stop.
"Note, too, the expanded forces the Texans have built up? They are just past lunging range, digging in along a line we probably can't get to all that quickly. Though, mind you, if I didn't have to give up a helicopter group to the PGs then I might be able to grab a bridge or two intact."
"No, Caroline. Nothing is more important than taking the WCF back."
"But Madame President, the Texans will surely have moved half of the printing ability by now."
"It's the symbol of the thing, Caroline."
Carroll cleared his throat. "Speaking of symbols, Willi, you have a spontaneous demonstration calling for forcible reimposition of law and order on Texas scheduled for about twenty minutes from now. The Marine helicopter is waiting."
* * *
Washington, DC
Nothing but the best for the White House; that was the rule. And, if one excepted certain of those elected to sit in the Oval Office, it was a rule that was well followed.
The best, in this case, was a Tandberg 7000 video conferencing system. Though normally the screen was easily split to allow up to thirty-six different participants to be seen on one screen, in this case—in this very private conversation—only two faces appeared in front of Wilhelmina Rottemeyer. And both of those were in the same room, seated side by side. One she recognized easily as the United States Ambassador to Panama—a political appointee rewarded for major campaign contributions. The other she knew from pictures as the president of that country.
"I want you to stop those guns," said Rottemeyer to the President of the Republic of Panama. This was in reference to the shipment of Chinese-built medium artillery contracted for by Schmidt due to pass through the Panama Canal within a few days. "I need not tell you, Mr. President, that the price for failure to do so will be very heavy."
The ambassador winced. Though no career diplomat, he had still a reasonable sense of tact and decorum.
The foreign president, a man of middle age, middle paunch, middle complexion, and narrow, beady eyes did not wince. He knew his, his government's, and his country's position in the world, that of supplicant to the United States. He answered. "But of course. I did not know of it. I will give orders to stop it immediately."
* * *
Austin, Texas
"Telephone, Governor. Someone who calls himself 'Parilla.' Never heard of him."
Juani hesitated, looking at Jack who likewise expressed his ignorance with a shrug.
"I'll take the call."
"Governor? This is Raul Dario Parilla from Panama. Think of me as an arms dealer, of sorts. My organization has intercepted the most curious conversation between your President and ours. How? Oh, let's just say that your embassy here lacks the very best in video conferencing equipment. I would like to send something to you by courier. The . . . umm . . . courier's name will be Patricio. Can you arrange to pass him through your border with Mexico?"
Another unrecognized and disembodied voice answered, in slightly New England accented English, "I'll be there in forty-eight hours."
* * *
Austin, Texas, The Governor's Mansion
Elpi opened the office door and announced, "There are two men here to see you, Governor. A 'Patricio' and a 'Carl.' "
The deeply tanned man with the fierce blue eyes glanced appreciatively at Elpi—a pretty girl was a pretty girl—then shook Schmidt's hand and the Governor's warmly before taking a seat with his assistant in the governor's home office. Though both the men were clad in civilian dress, it was no difficult task for Schmidt to see through that.