“I’m not in front of the public every day,” Martindale replied. He regarded the President with a half-amused, half-accusing expression. “But then, neither are you.”
“Maybe that’s how you always wanted to look,” Thorn offered.
“We’re both kids of the sixties, Tom,” Martindale said. “We learned it was okay to be different, to follow whatever our hearts told us instead of what others were telling us.”
“True.” It was still a damned unusual look for Kevin Martindale, Thorn thought, and it didn’t fit his image at all. Martindale was a career politician, and ever since he’d burst on the national political stage almost twenty years before, he’d always looked and acted the part of a savvy, smooth, well-spoken, intelligent insider. “Especially an ex-Marine — four years in the Corps, including two tours in Vietnam. State attorney-general, U.S. senator, secretary of defense briefly, then vice president, private citizen, then president.”
“Then private citizen again,” Martindale added. It didn’t impress him at all that Thorn knew details about his background — he had been in Washington a long time, and the things he’d done had definitely set a place for him in the history books. “But I guess after all those years of being straightlaced and buttoned-down, it was time for a change.” Thorn didn’t say anything right away, so Martindale went on: “Talk about your big-time changes-Rambo to Mr. Rogers, warrior to wallflower? Will the real Thomas Nathaniel Thorn please stand up?” His eyes narrowed, and his casual smile vanished. “Why’d you call me here, Thorn?”
“I heard you’ve been doing some recruiting.”
“Oh?”
“Present, former, and retired military guys, especially special ops and aviators.”
“That’s interesting,” Martindale commented. His sources would have advised him if any U.S. or foreign intelligence agencies were checking up on him, and none were. Thorn might be guessing — and then again, he might not be. “What else have you heard?”
“That guys are joining up.” Martindale shrugged and said nothing. “I just wanted to touch base, find out what you’re up to.”
“Since when, Thorn?” Martindale retorted. “Since when did you care about me? Since when did you care about anything or anyone?”
“Excuse me?” Was he trying to goad him into reacting? Thorn thought. How childish can a grown man be?
“Tradition, respect, legacy, honor — none of that stuff means anything to you,” Martindale went on, “or else you would have attended the inauguration, and you would have stepped up in front of Congress and the American people and talked about your vision of the future of our nation in your first State of the Union.” Thorn looked like he was going to say something, but Martindale interrupted him with an upraised hand. “Hey, I’ve heard your reasons before. ‘It’s not in the Constitution.’ Well, the United States and the American people are much more than the Constitution.”
“I know exactly what our country is, Mr. President,” Thorn said. “I know the United States is embodied in the Constitution and our laws. I was elected because I believe that, and the American people believe it, too.”
“You got elected because me and the Democrats were too busy hammering away at each other to notice you slipping up behind us.”
“That’s one good reason,” Thorn said. “The military questions, especially the attacks on Taiwan, Guam, and the Independence, killed it for you.” Martindale scowled. “Tell me, Mr. President — why didn’t you retaliate?”
“Against whom?” Martindale asked, perhaps a bit more sharply than he wanted. “China? Everyone said China was the ‘obvious’ attacker. But we still don’t know exactly who planted the nuke on the Indy to this day, only that there were no nuclear weapons on the ship. I had no authority to attack China in retaliation for attacking Taiwan. As far as the attack on Guam — well, I had other players waiting to go to work. They did the job, and I didn’t have to be the first American president since Truman to use nuclear weapons in anger.”
“‘Other players,’ “ Thorn repeated. “You mean HAWC and Madcap Magician.”
“I see you’re familiar with them,” Martindale said. “They’re good troops — at least, they were until you sold them out. Now they’re useless. What was the purpose of telling Sen’kov who they were?”
“It put Sen’kov off guard, it bought us time, and it allowed our troops to get out safely,” Thorn replied.
“And it shot to hell almost twenty years of weapons development and all future covert-action capability from Dreamland,” Martindale pointed out. “Why? So you can soothe your conscience? So you didn’t have to get into a fight with the Russians? I think you’ve heard this before, ‘Mom, but let me tell you again in case you’ve forgotten: the Russians like to fight. They like to argue, they like to deceive, they like to confront and challenge. And they don’t respect anyone who doesn’t argue, fight, deceive, confront, or challenge in return. I’m sure your national security advisor briefed you on basic historical tactics for dealing with the Russians.” But before Thorn could answer, Martindale snapped his fingers and added, “Oh yeah, that’s right—you don’t have a national security advisor! What in hell is up with that? You’re surrendering a valuable advisor and critical White House staff organization just to save a few bucks?”
“Robert Goff is a good man.”
“He’s the best,” Martindale said. “But his job is to run the Department of Defense, to keep the American military, such as it is, running smoothly. His job is not to help you formulate policy — his job is to carry out your orders. He’s overworked and understaffed, and it’ll hurt your military effectiveness.”
“My military force structure and my staff of advisors is exactly what I’m supposed to have — no more, no less.”
“That’s true — if you were living in the eighteenth century,” Martindale said. “But you’re actually in the twenty-first century — maybe not mentally, but physically. You understaff the White House and force the Pentagon to do more work, which understaffs them, and all the shit rolls downhill — it screws everybody up. Just because Thomas Jefferson didn’t have a national security advisor. Well, I’m sure if he had thought of it, he would’ve gotten one. Wise up, Thorn.”
“Fortunately, I don’t have to justify or explain my budget or staffing strategies to you.”
“I’m a citizen of the United States, a taxpayer, and a voter, not just your predecessor,” Martindale reminded him sternly. “You sure as hell do have to explain that stuff to me.”
“Maybe later, then,” Thorn said irritably. “Right now, what I want to know is: why?”
“Why what?”
“Why were you so afraid of using the military?”
“I wasn’t afraid of jackshit, Thorn.”
“Then why didn’t you use the military more often? Conflicts all over the world, nuclear weapons flying, threats to peace and security almost every year — and yet you never once started any massive deployments, never called up the Reserves or Guard. You massed a few carriers, put a few bombers back on nuclear alert, but never made any real attempt to prepare the nation for the possibility of a general war, even though you were clearly authorized and expected to do so. Why?”
“Read it in my memoirs,” Martindale snapped.
Thomas Thorn spread his hands in a symbol of surrender. “Mr. President … Kevin,” he said. “I really want to know.”
“Why? Because you’re scared that your precious, righteous philosophy of disengagement and isolationism from world affairs isn’t working?” Martindale shot back, angrier than ever. “That after a year of slamming me during the campaign about my ineptitude over how I handled crises around the world, you’re discovering that maybe it’s not so easy to do nothing?”