“Going to be hard for Admiral Cameron to be a United States Task Force commander if he’s dying,” Franco Donelli added.
“He’s not dying. That’s just the press. The truth is, he was wounded, but the wounds are not life threatening. We can always transfer Rear Admiral Pete Devlin, who is Commander, Fleet Air Mediterranean, to Sixth Reel if Admiral Cameron is unable to resume his duties. Admiral Devlin is in Naples. I’ll be able to tell you more later today, Mr. President,” Roger offered.
General Stanhope snorted, failing to realize how noise carried in the amphitheater like conference room.
The president looked down the table.
“You’ve got something, General?”
“My apologizes, Mr. President,” General Stanhope replied, his face a beet red.
“I know this is out of line and not within my purview, but I would recommend you start meeting with the Joint Chiefs of Staff, sir. You’ve got two attacks against your two most senior naval officers in Europe.
Attacks that were obviously coordinated and well executed.
You’ve got Algeria going down the drain. The game is afoot,” as Sherlock Holmes would say. What game?
None of us know yet, but my initial evaluation, Mr. President, is that you are going to need the military for whatever happens in the Mediterranean theater and your military experts are the Joint Chiefs of Staff.”
No one spoke, waiting for the president to comment.
After several seconds he turned to Maddock.
“Roger? General Stanhope is correct.”
“Mr. President, we agreed when I took this job that the JCS would deal through me with you. So far, that has worked fine. I have already scheduled a meeting with them later this afternoon to discuss the situation,” Roger said, throwing an angry look at General Stanhope, who smiled and nodded politely to his boss.
Stanhope was retiring within the year anyway. Screw you, SecDef, he thought. The JCS are supposed to work directly for the president; not through a cabinet member.
“This afternoon! Why not now? Why are we waiting so late to discuss what should be the overriding concern of Defense?” Calm down, President Crawford reminded himself.
Control your temper. Remember your blood pressure.
When no answer came, the president continued.
“Mr. Donelli, call General Eaglefield and tell him that I want him in the Oval Office in thirty minutes.”
“Mr. President, I’ll take that action, sir,” interrupted the secretary of defense.
“No, Roger, I’ve told Franco to do this. You’re going to be busy because I want you, the DCI, and General Stanhope to tell me why the greatest intelligence apparatus on the face of this earth failed to see this was going to happen.”
He slammed his fist down on the table.
“Christ! I’m the one who has to go before the American people and explain this. I’m going to look the right fool, standing there, licking my lips with nothing to say!”
A red light blinked on the telephone beside the secretary of defense. The president barely stopped himself from answering it.
“Hello,” Roger Maddock answered.
Taking his pen from his pocket he scribbled comments from the conversation on a pad of paper in front of him.
“Okay. Keep me informed and have the public affairs officer develop a press release for my approval.”
“What’s going on?” asked the president before Roger Maddock finished hanging up the phone.
“A suicide car bomber tried to run the gate at Patch Barracks in Stuttgart, Germany, about an hour ago. He shot both MPs on the gate, but one lived long enough to give the alarm before she died. Quick reaction by base police cornered the terrorist as he was speeding toward General Sutherland’s house. One police vehicle rammed the car while the police in the second leaped out and grabbed the terrorist. The car was packed with explosives. They have roped off the car and bomb experts are working to defuse it. General Sutherland, the commander of European Command and head of NATO military forces, has been relocated along with his family to a secure area.”
“I think that confirms my concerns, gentlemen and ladies. The United States is under attack. From whom, it is obvious we don’t have the gawldamnest idea, but we’re going to find out. Franco, you call General Eaglefield and tell him I want to see him ASAP and bring the entire JCS with him. Roger, on second thought, you had better attend also.”
“General Stanhope and Mr. Digby-Jones, crank up your organizations and find out what the hell is going on. I want preliminary assessments by this afternoon.”
“Franco, prepare some releases expressing our condolences to the families and saying something along President Reagan’s line about ‘you can run, but you can’t hide.”
” The president turned his attention to the lieutenant colonel at the front of the room.
“Is there anything else that you have to make my day. Colonel?” Seeing her jump made Crawford realize how short he must sound.
“Sorry, Colonel. I’m not snapping at you.” He gave her one of his “we’re in this together” smiles and was pleased when he saw it work.
“Yes, sir, Mr. President. I understand perfectly. In answer to your question, sir, I do have an item that is of concern to our Navy analysts. The Joint Chiefs of Staff can explain it better.”
“Go ahead.”
“We have lost the whereabouts of the Algerian Kilo submarines.
They were last photographed in port at Mers El Kebir two days ago, but as of this morning they are unlocated.”
“You’re right. I probably need a little more explanation as to what that means. Where is Mers El whatever?”
“It is in western Algeria, Mr. President.”
General Stanhope cleared his throat.
“Mr. President, Admiral Dixon can give you a more in-depth explanation, but we only have two American submarines in the Med. The two Algerian Kilos are diesel, making them quieter, and, with the situation in Algeria, we don’t know whether they are loyal to the government or operating for the Algerian Liberation Front. Until we know which side of the fence the two Algerian submarines have come down on, then we have to treat them as hostile threats to our ships.”
“Sir,” the lieutenant colonel added, “they could also be heading for sanctuary. This morning two Koni-class warships docked in Malaga, Spain, requested asylum, much like what the Albanian Navy did when it sailed to Italy during the civil unrest in 1997. But, if they are heading to sanctuary then they’re doing it submerged.”
The president stood.
“Okay, keep me appraised. I want another meeting with the secretaries of state and defense, the DCI, and DIRNSA this afternoon. Plan a late working lunch and be flexible. I need alternatives, options, and recommendations — pros and cons on all of them. Franco, rearrange my schedule accordingly.”
Everyone slid their chairs back and stood.
The president turned to the secretary of defense.
“Roger, put our forces on alert against further terrorist attacks. The attacks are focused on admirals and generals, our senior officers, so put armed guards on every flag officer in Europe until we know what the hell is going on.” He took several steps.
“Better put them on every flag officer above the rank of two stars and every flag officer who is overseas.”
He turned to Franco.
“Give me the book,” he said testily.
Franco handed it to him.
“Let’s see what the polls say,” President Crawford mumbled as he left the room.
“General,” said Mr. Digby-Jones, “can we have a short, private discussion before we head to our respective agencies?”
The nasal-drip, patronizing tone irritated the crusty general. He motioned the DCI, who also had no military experience, to an isolated area on the far side of the room.