Foreign Enemies and Traitors (102 page)

                “General Armstead was right,” said Boone.  “They’re vultures.  And not just the foreigners.  Our own traitors are even worse.  They could give a shit about America.  This whole thing just makes me want to puke.”

                “Don’t puke until you’ve had some of the pastry.  Those Navy chefs are the best.  Everybody at Camp David is the top of their field.  I’ve never seen anything like it.”

                “I don’t want to go back inside until we have to.”

                “Just do what I did,” said Carson.  “Load up a few napkins with pastries and bring them back out here.  Those rear echelon motherfuckers can’t stand the cold, so we’re safe out here.  I’d rather freeze my ass off than have to shake hands and smile at a bunch of traitors and foreign vultures.  Just swoop by the pastry table and do a touch-and-go.  And try to ignore those Russian assholes.  I swear, I think they’ve been hitting the vodka already.”

                Major General Delaney came out onto the patio deck and headed directly for Carson, his aide-de-camp in tow holding a briefcase in each hand.  Delaney outranked Brigadier General Harper by one star.  “The president is arriving in five minutes, with the secretaries of state and defense.  You shouldn’t be hiding out here.  It’s bad for our image.  You represent the Army.  This is a diplomatic mission today.”  He spoke frankly and directly, as if the two aides were not present.

                “You seem to have the diplomacy angle covered,” said Carson.  “How are your Chinese friends getting along?”

                Delaney ignored his sarcasm.  “They invited me over for a vacation.”

                “I’ll bet.  I’m sure Henrietta wouldn’t mind.  She’s only been over there about twenty times with her husband.  I think she has a house there.”

                “Actually, she suggested it—but let’s not get into that now.  Where’s General Armstead?”

                “Oh, he just hates these kinds of functions.  He never did get along very well with our foreign allies.  Especially our brand-new allies, the Russians and the Chinese.”

                “Are you intentionally being a smart-ass?” asked Delaney.

                “Not me, no sir,” said Carson.  “I think we should bend over backwards for our new allies.  Grab our ankles, even.  Isn’t that the core of Operation Buffalo Jump?”

                “Don’t bait me, Harper.  I asked you where’s General Armstead.”

                “He took a lift of opportunity and flew to Site R.  Raven Rock.  It’s just over the hill.”  Carson nodded his head toward the north.

                “He
what
?”  Delaney was aghast, and actually took a step back, as if he had been hit.

                “We have our own Blackhawk.  The general likes to bring his own transportation.  He went for a quick visit.”

                “But we’re briefing the CONPLAN at eleven thirty!  That’s only an hour!”

                “He’s aware of that.  Don’t worry, he’ll be back in plenty of time.”

                Major General Delaney looked at Carson as if he was insane.  “Look, none of us are happy about this.  It’s not my choice either, but nobody asked my opinion.  Shit rolls downhill, and we follow orders.  That’s the way the world works.”

                “I hear you,” said Carson.  “By the way, that must be quite a flu bug that kept General Terry in bed today.  At least General Armstead came in person.  But have no fear, he’ll be back before it’s time for our part of the dog and pony show.  I’m sorry for any miscommunication about who was briefing today.  We had assumed that your General Terry would want that honor.  Don’t worry; General Armstead will do a yeoman’s job in his place, if nobody from the Joint Chiefs is available.”

                “Here they come,” said Major Fitzgibbon, Delaney’s aide.  “The president’s party is here.”  Fitzgibbon was even shorter than his general, with reddish hair and black eyeglasses. 

                “We really have to go back inside,” said General Delaney.  “You can’t just ignore the president.”

                “We’ll see you in there,” said Carson.  Delaney and his aide-de-camp returned to the main hall of the conference center, through the glass doors. 

                When they were gone, Boone said, “Did you have to piss him off like that?  He’ll remember you, and that’s not a good thing.”

                “Let him remember me.  I’m a brigadier general who’s topped-out and knows it.  Do you think that old generals in their terminal grade give a shit about making bootlickers like Delaney happy?”

                “No, I guess they don’t really give a flying leap.”

                “You’re catching on,” said Carson.  “I’ve got a real bad short-timer’s attitude.  Remember, my unofficial recall to active duty is just for one day.”

                “Maybe just for one more hour,” Boone noted.

                “Yeah, maybe.  So if we’re going to go out with a bang, let’s make it a memorable hour.  Well, Major Paxton, let’s go inside and meet our illustrious commander-in-chief.”

                “After you, General Harper.”  Boone picked up their briefcases and followed Carson inside.

                ****

The president, the secretary of defense
and the secretary of state arrived beneath the portico in the president’s armored custom black Cadillac limousine.  Boone was amused by this, because it was only a quarter mile to his residence at the Aspen Lodge.  Jamal Tambor entered the conference center’s main hall flanked by Secret Service men with earpieces and bulging suits.  Like most of the civilian men in the room, the president was wearing a dark suit and tie.  The youthful president animatedly worked the room, bouncing from group to group, shaking hands, smiling, his eyes dancing.  It was almost as if he was in campaign mode.  Maybe he was, Carson thought.  Only today, he was campaigning for favorable terms from America’s foreign creditors.  On the chopping block was the American Northwest, which would nominally come back under federal control once these foreign “allies” had subdued the region by force of arms.

                After a quick trip to the men’s room for his own final preparations, Carson strolled all the way around the circumference of the room toward the back windows and the patio, staying away from the president’s entourage.  Boone trailed behind him, the faithful wingman.  On the way, Carson caught a glimpse of General Delaney near the hall’s entrance, standing next to the commander of the Marine Security Company.  Delaney was speaking to him, and Carson regretted his being testy out on the patio deck. 

                The president was spending a few minutes with each national group, schmoozing them and trying to tell some jokes.  The jokes clearly did not convey their humor through unsmiling interpreters, even with several attempts at retelling.  At best, the laughs were forced.  Carson guessed that the foreign interpreters finally told their principals, “He’s making a joke, so please laugh when I do.”

                At 1050, General Delaney found Carson again.  Ignoring Boone, he said, “Listen, Harper: I just asked, and there’s no flight into Camp David from Site R scheduled for the next two hours.  Is General Armstead giving the brief or not?  If I’m giving the brief, I need to know that right now.  And I need a straight answer, not more double-talk.”

                “Oh, he’s giving the brief all right.  Don’t worry.  There must be some mistake with the flight schedules; they must not have caught up with the plan mods.  He’ll be here.”

                “He’d better be!”  Delaney stormed off to rejoin the cluster of Army brass and civilians surrounding the newly arrived secretary of defense.

                Boone said, “I sure wish I knew what was going on at Raven Rock.  They’re cutting it awfully close.”

                Just then, a Navy sailor in dress blue “crackerjacks” weaved through the room, obviously looking for someone.  He spied the two Army officers and headed for them.  From ten feet away, he could read Carson’s nametag.  “General Harper, I have a message for you from General Armstead.  He says everything is set for 1100, as planned.”            

                “That’s all?”

                “That’s all, sir.”

                “Thank you, petty officer.”

                The sailor turned and disappeared into the throng. 

                “I guess we’re on deck, then,” said Boone.  “The next step is up to us.  Which option do you think will work?”

                “I don’t know yet.  It has to be before eleven.  If the EBS goes off, they’re going to haul the rabbit downstairs and we’ll miss him.  And after eleven, he’s leaving anyway.  We have to do it before then.”

                “Damn…this is getting tight.”

                “Like Colonel Spencer said, it’s a leap of faith,” said Carson.

                “I just hope the Ravens can pull it off at their end.”

                “Armstead’s message said they would.  We have to take it on faith.  Like you said, the next move is up to us.”

                “But which move?” asked Boone.

                “I don’t know yet.  We’ll just have to roll with it, and decide when the moment comes.”

                ****

The president’s handlers,
mindful of the schedule, steered him away from a group of Saudi diplomats who had already exceeded their allotted minutes with him.  Boone and Carson watched while the presidential party walked toward the open double doors to the conference room.  These were of heavy wood, like church doors, so the conferees could have privacy and quiet inside when they were closed.  Now they were folded back against the walls on either side of the wide opening.  The president took up a position just outside the doors, and the conference guests formed a receiving line to pass him and move inside, to take their positions around the long table.  Boone and Carson drifted toward the back of the receiving line.  According to the schedule, the president would make some brief remarks to the entire group of about fifty participants, and then depart.                

                Further up the line, General Delaney was standing with Henrietta Bramwell and her entourage.  Delaney looked behind him, saw “General Harper” and waved him forward.  Carson pretended not to see Delaney, engaging in an imaginary conversation with “Major Paxton.”  Delaney’s aide, Major Fitzgibbon, soon scurried back to them.  He was carrying an oversized briefcase, practically a suitcase, containing all of his general’s and his own papers and files.

                Besides their braided aiguillettes and ubiquitous briefcases, generals’ aides wore special medallions on the lapels of their uniform jackets to denote their unique status.  These inch-tall insignias looked like tiny red, white and blue Interstate Highway shields.  The joke was that their real purpose was to give fair warning that a general’s dog-robber was prowling around, looking for anything of value that was not bolted in place to shove into his briefcase.  Major Fitzgibbon’s insignia had two stars across the blue top section of the shield, because his boss was a two-star major general.  Boone’s shield had three stars, because Armstead was a three-star lieutenant general.  Both men were majors, but in some way Boone “outranked” Fitzgibbon because of his own general’s higher rank.  If Major Fitzgibbon knew that Boone was an imposter and not an officer at all, but instead an enlisted man and a wanted deserter, without a doubt his head would spin like a top and then explode.

                “We need to know when General Armstead is going to be here.  We need to know right now!  General Delaney is going to have a conniption.  If General Armstead doesn’t make it in time—”

                “Don’t worry.”  Boone answered him, dog-robber to dog-robber.  “General Armstead is going to give the brief of his life, I guarantee it.  I’ve got the PowerPoint presentation all set.  He’s just running a little late.”

                Fitzgibbon stared up at Boone with a quizzical look and asked, “If General Armstead flew to Site R…why didn’t you go with him?”  Before Boone could answer, the aide had left and was soon whispering in his general’s ear further up the line.  Off to the side, where the main hall led to the entrance portico, Boone caught a glimpse of Major Acorzado speaking into his walkie-talkie.

                The reception line continued to advance.  After shaking hands with the secretary of state and the president, the guests turned to enter the conference room and find their designated places.  Carson checked his watch.  It was 1059, and they were only a few people from the president.  “Which plan?” he whispered to Boone.  “We have to decide.”

                “It has to be the razzle-dazzle.  It’s too late for anything else.”

                “Okay,” said Carson.  “I’ll start it—be ready.”

                President Tambor was standing to the side of the entrance to the conference room.  Standing slightly behind him were two beefy Secret Service agents.  To his left was the secretary of state.  Once the participants were all seated around the table, the president would give some prepared remarks and then he and his cabinet secretaries would depart.

                The secretary of state was the dour elder statesman Camden Ellsworth Thornedike, resurrected from a previous administration to lend the young and inexperienced president foreign policy gravitas.  He was limpwristing the guests as they filed past, looking as though he wished it were naptime already.  Boone and Carson were almost at the end of the line.  Carson reached the secretary of state, and gave him a perfunctory handshake.  Boone stood just behind Carson, carrying both of their briefcases.  Aides-de-camp did not shake the hands of presidents or cabinet secretaries.  They were merely aides, and their hands were usually occupied carrying briefcases and laptops for their generals anyway.

                There were only a few Middle Eastern diplomatic stragglers behind “General Harper,” when Carson finally reached President Jamal Tambor, looked him in the eyes and shook his hand.  Tambor had a grip like a wet fish, but to be fair, he had been shaking hands nonstop for the past half hour.  Carson said a brief “Nice to meet you, sir,” to which Tambor nodded distractedly, gazing past Carson to his own aides across the anteroom.  In his mind, the president had probably already left the Laurel Lodge Conference Center.