“I think it’s best that I get my career established first.”
“If you’ll excuse my advice for its hypocrisy,” Renard said, “please try to enjoy your life. I fear that ambition will smother you, as it has me.”
Olivia ignored the warning and looked to the CIA couple for confirmation that nobody spied on her. She then scanned the room to verify her privacy.
“That’s good advice but tough to follow,” she said.
“I understand. In fact, I’m here to help advance your career.”
“I’m all ears,” she said.
“Very well, then. I’ve been retained by a powerful client in Argentina, and I would greatly benefit from an exchange of assets with you.”
She knew Renard’s shrewdness and her awareness heightened in defense. The waitress arrived and startled her as she lowered the shrimp cocktail. Renard ordered a fillet mignon, and Olivia ordered lobster tail.
“Okay,” she said. “An asset exchange. What do you need from me?”
“Ordnance,” he said. “Aging but usable missiles and bombs to arm Argentine attack aircraft.”
“I don’t know if I can make that happen, but I know the right people to ask. I imagine you know better than I do if the inventory is available.”
“I have a good idea that it is, and it’s likely that you have what I need. I am asking for old weapons that have been in the American arsenal for decades. I could make use of your oldest inventory. I’m offering a good use for them before they must be retired and destroyed for age.”
“Do you have a shopping list?”
“Yes. It’s the usual armaments you would expect— Sidewinder missiles for air-to-air defense, HARM high-speed anti-radiation missiles to suppress ground-based air defenses, and bombs for under-wing hard points.”
“No naval weapons?”
“No, the Argentine fleet uses French weapons. I, of course, have access to those.”
“Sure. So what are you offering in return?”
“The intelligence you need to give the United States advanced warning pertaining to a conflict that is about to take place between Argentina and Great Britain.”
The news caught her off guard. Her latest reading of global status reports had shown economic crises in South America but no impending hostility between the two nations.
“They’ve been healing wounds from the Falkland Island conflict for decades,” she said. “What makes you think there’s something about to happen?”
“I am advising President Gomez to take the action.”
“That’s extreme, though maybe not for you. Why are you doing it?”
“It’s bound to happen. The two countries can pretend to be civil about the islands, but the sea-based resources surrounding them and the symbolism of their ownership are too divisive. The islands will eventually end up in Argentina’s possession. Whether it takes weeks, months, or decades, it will happen. I have devised a plan to make it happen now, with minimal bloodshed, and with optimal diplomatic oversight by the United States.”
“That’s a lot to swallow, but you have a point.”
“Of course, I won’t give you enough advanced warning to yield tactical value to Great Britain, since I cannot control if you share the information with them or not. But you will know each step of the Argentine plan with enough warning for your administration to prepare a diplomatic response.”
The opportunity felt like a gift. It seemed like an easy agreement to get her name attached to another high-profile success.
“What guarantee do I have that you keep the information flowing after you get your weapons?”
“You mean other than my ironclad word?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve known me for years, and I have never lied to you.”
“Not that I remember. But there’s always a first time.”
“Half the world’s second-tier nations want my hide,” he said. “And I imagine that Great Britain will soon join the ranks of those who would like to stuff my pelt with straw and place me on their mantles. Since I would like to retire someday, I would like to do so without fear of the CIA handing me over to the highest bidder. I believe you hold the ultimate trump card and need not worry.”
“You know how to disappear,” she said. “There’s no guarantee with this.”
“There are no guarantees in life, but this is an opportunity with great potential for you and little risk.”
She knew he was right, but she needed to know more.
“Gomez is committed?” she asked.
“Of course. I met with him three days ago. He recognizes that he needs to take this action to preserve his presidency.”
Olivia brushed back her long strands of red hair as the waitress brought their lunches. She swallowed a bite of sweet, buttery lobster tail and shifted into her default analyst mode.
“After you called me,” she said, “I studied Gomez’s dossier. He’s a bull in a china shop. He’s ridden his military heroism from the original Falkland Islands campaign to the top, but he’s not a statesman.”
“He found himself a good chief of staff early in his political career, allowing his rise to power,” Renard said. “But I fear his economic advisors have failed him. The situation is beyond repair by fiscal policy alone.”
“I could argue that the situation is beyond repair — period. So why do you think attacking the Falklands will help anything? What’s your plan, Pierre?”
She watched him swallow a mouthful of steak before answering.
“Since they are dispersed and distant, I will ignore the South Georgian Islands and every other remote island chain in that part of the world that is under historical dispute. The focus is just the Falklands.”
“Focus is good, I imagine, versus spreading out their forces. But I’m no naval strategist.”
“Correct. I’m not letting Gomez attack anything except the Falkland Islands, and I am organizing a plan of limited action and minimal damage to yield an optimal position in the subsequent negotiations for peace.”
“Makes sense,” she said.
“The Brits have over a thousand soldiers on the eastern island alone. I will instead advise him to blockade Port Stanley and sprinkle mines around the main islands to prevent sea-based commerce or military landings. It’s a classic starvation by isolation approach, similar to the Chinese mainland tactics against Taiwan.”
“Then why do you need weapons for aircraft?”
“Primarily to lay the mines. One needs control of the air to maneuver ships and aircraft into place to do so. The Brits know this, and they have four Typhoon aircraft on the island protected in hardened and guarded hangars. They also keep a warship assigned to the island for added, mobile air power. This is on top of their numerous land-based Rapier surface-to-air missile batteries. I need to eliminate these defenses to allow the laying of mines.”
“That’s sounds like a lot of firepower for an island with a smaller indigenous population than my high school.”
“It is,” he said. “And it highlights how seriously the Brits value holding it. They added these defenses immediately after Argentina tried to take the islands in nineteen eighty-two.”
As she swallowed a bite of baked potato, Olivia weighed the Falkland Island scenario against Pierre Renard the man. She knew him as a contradiction who sold arms and advised people in small-scale wars but who also loathed violence. Sending Argentine aircraft headfirst in an assault against a strong defense seemed vulgar and inelegant for him.
“You’re leaving something out,” she said. “There’s a factor in this that you haven’t shared yet, or refuse to share.”
“Two factors,” he said. “And since you must know, I will tell you. The first is that I will use my own submarine as part of a plan to keep the British submarines at bay.”