Pipeline (17 page)

Tolberg closed the file and slowly rose from behind the desk. Notwithstanding his usual elegance, the chief of staff looked tired.

“We have to talk, Tony,” said Tolberg, closing the door on his way to the sitting area.

Tony Ruiz’s back stiffened. This was only the second time since
beginning his work at the White House that Tolberg had shut the door.

Tolberg sat down slowly, never removing his eyes from Tony’s. Tolberg’s stare was sharp.

“Tony, I’m going to shoot straight with you. I trust you absolutely; but some of what we’re going to talk about today doesn’t leave this office. Understood?”

Ruiz nodded seriously. His mind sped through the possibilities. There was surprisingly little about his job that was top secret.

“All right,” said Tolberg. “It’s been a little over two months since we first watched the events in California explode onto our television screens. The consequences were much worse than we ever expected. Everybody in this building—everybody in this country—has been touched by the human tragedy. Two thousand four hundred and sixteen people died in those twenty hot California days.

“Yes, half of those deaths happened in the Sacramento jail break-out.” Tolberg continued reciting numbers as if they were a mantra. “The other half was made up of unnecessary tragedies. Most of them elderly, newborn, or infirm. There were also the ninety-seven persons killed in the firefight during Los Angeles’s looting. And the horror of sixteen people murdered in Sacramento’s Rising Meadows neighborhood by three escaped convicts.”

Tony Ruiz wondered where this was going. Tolberg didn’t have to rerecite the numbers. He knew them by heart; they had been seared into his brain. Tolberg and Ruiz had personally spent twelve gut-wrenching July days in California, part of the twenty-person wave of White House officials sent to attend funerals, console families, and assess the damage.

Even President Eugene Laurence had spent five full days in the state. He had been determined not to repeat the same mistakes his predecessor had committed in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina.

“Yes, sir,” Ruiz whispered. Tony knew by looking at Tolberg that more was coming.

“Here’s the thing, Tony. I just got off the phone with Mieirs and
Governor Moravian. It might happen again. Soon. In the next seven days. The country’s eastern grids can’t supply any more juice without brownouts on the East Coast—and they’re just not going to risk doing that to their customers. Mexico’s gas has helped; but it’s not enough. The last two months have still been hotter than hell in California; we’ve even got wildfires in the mountains outside Los Angeles. For all practical purposes, the heat has wiped away any of the benefits of Governor Moravian’s mandatory energy-conservation policy.”

Tolberg paused for a moment, looking at the ceiling. “The only goddamn piece of good news is that the weather is supposed to break in two days. They’re calling for rain and substantially cooler temperatures.”

Tony’s mouth was agape, aghast at the possibility that the blackouts would return.

“What…what is the governor going to do?” Tony knew the stuttered query was a stupid one. But he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“He’s going to wait twenty-four hours for a confirmation of the weather. If the meteorologists are wrong and the heat continues, he is going to get ahead of the crisis and warn the state’s citizens. It’s political suicide to connect himself so personally to the crisis, but he feels strongly that it’s the right thing to do.”

Silence filled the office as the two men stared at each other. They were both thinking the exact same thing. Neither dared utter the words.

Finally Tolberg said it. Straight out.

“I know what you’re thinking, Tony. And you’re right. Moravian is not the only one who will be committing suicide with that warning. He’ll be taking us down with him.”

Tony nodded. It couldn’t be any clearer. If Governor Cyrus Moravian went on the air to warn Californians that another energy crisis was imminent, the entire country would clamor for President Gene Laurence’s head. No matter how close a friend of Tolberg, Mora
vian’s speech would do everything possible to shift the blame to the federal government’s lackluster response to the tragedy in the nation’s largest state.

It wasn’t that the governor was malicious or vindictive. It was just politics. That’s the way things worked.

“What is the president saying, sir?” asked Tony meekly.

“The president is royally pissed off. He feels that this hot potato has been handed down over six presidents since Nixon. He wants—he needs—something clear and decisive. He knows that there are only long-term answers. But what makes him furious is no answers at all. There can’t be another energy crisis in California without a clear direction from this president.”

Tony smiled.

Tolberg looked at him, irritated. “What is so funny, young man?”

“Senator, have you ever heard of a woman called Blaise Ryan? She’s an environmentalist. By the way, she is also absolutely gorgeous. I was just watching an interview with Ryan when you called me in. She was saying the exact same thing. That solving this would come down to leadership. Guts. It’s precisely what you are telling me the president thinks.”

“She may be well synchronized with our boss, Tony. He wants us to focus like a laser beam on new energy solutions. He wants big ideas, out-of-the-box thinking. Bold strokes. And he wants options on his desk by September fifteenth.”

This was the second time in less than a minute that Tony had a feeling of déjà vu. First, the president was thinking like Blaise Ryan. Now, Tolberg was sounding eerily like Raj Rosenblatt. Only a few hours ago words like “big” and “bold” had punctuated Rosenblatt’s explanations.

“Since our meeting in the cabinet room two months ago,” Tolberg recited with precision, “the president has become very interested in the CIA director’s description of a new transcontinental connection through the Bering Strait. President Laurence has made the
rounds. He’s done his homework with Governor Whitley in Alaska, the CEO of Exxon, Russian experts, energy specialists. We had Raj Rosenblatt here for a quiet coffee the day before yesterday.”

“Shit,” said Tony sheepishly. “I went to see him on my own today. He never said anything.”

Tolberg smiled knowingly. Raj was a pro; he had said nothing to Ruiz of his meeting with President Eugene Laurence.

“The president is taking this seriously. He called President Tuzhbin last week. They had a long conversation and agreed that the next step was to send a confidential high-level delegation to Moscow. President Laurence wants Martha Packard to lead it. She’s off in about twelve days.”

Isaiah J. Tolberg paused for a moment. Tony cocked his head, wondering what all of this had to do with the president’s domestic affairs advisor.

“Tony, the president wants you to go.”

Ruiz jumped off the sofa, his eyes wide open in surprise. It was a reflex reaction.

“Me? Why should I go?”

“Please sit down, young man,” chided Tolberg with a gentle smile. Ruiz did as he was told.

“Most people would be flattered that the president would choose them for a sensitive foreign mission. Your reaction is surprising, Tony.”

“Senator, I’m a former cop from Chelan County. Of course I’m flattered. But I know nothing about energy. Nothing about Russia. Nothing about engineering. Nothing about confidential foreign missions. And to boot, Packard doesn’t like me; you had to save my butt that day in the Cabinet Room when I asked a question she thought was impertinent. So why the hell does the president want
me
to go?”

“Because, Tony, you do know one thing better than almost anybody around here. You have a Ph.D. in Gene Laurence. You are fiercely loyal to the president. And, while Packard is thinking her big
strategic thoughts about U.S.–Russia relations, your job will be to look out for Gene Laurence’s back. That is reason enough, isn’t it?”

Tony Ruiz nodded his assent. But his mind was whirling. He had trouble thinking straight.

“Packard’s trip is a fact-finding mission,” Tolberg enunciated with clarity. “We’re not going to agree to anything. Not signing any documents. The objective is to assess whether the Russians and the Americans can become partners in a historic enterprise.

“There is, candidly, also another reason the boss is anxious that you go,” continued Tolberg matter-of-factly. “President Laurence had a preparatory conversation with President Tuzhbin the day before yesterday. They both specifically agreed that somebody like you should accompany Packard.”

Ruiz was out of his seat again. Now he had two damned presidents asking for him!

Tolberg stuck out his index finger and pointed it downward, toward the sofa.

“Tony, the Russians did not ask for you by name. How could they? Tuzhbin has no idea who you are. But Laurence liked his thinking. Tuzhbin wants somebody there who does not represent part of the bureaucracy. He wants somebody there that is Laurence’s personal emissary. Somebody the president trusts one hundred percent.”

“So, why don’t you go, Senator? That sounds like a description of you, not me.”

“Because both presidents also agreed that this person should have a fully open mind to a new era of relations with Russia. Somebody who isn’t deformed by the tensions of the Cold War. Somebody who didn’t grow up during the fifties, sixties, and seventies believing that Russians were rapacious communist bears.

“And that, young man, sounds like a description of you,” Tolberg concluded with a smile.

WASHINGTON, D.C.
AUGUST 17, 1:45 P.M.
THE WHITE HOUSE

Tony Ruiz was silent for a moment as he tried to put some order in his brain.

For the first time in his short political career, he didn’t know whether to believe Isaiah J. Tolberg. The president and Tolberg had obviously spent a large part of the previous week secretly vetting the notion of a Bering Strait crossing. The chief of staff’s protestations that the Russia trip would only be a fact-finding mission with no authority to conclude or sign any agreements sounded hollow. Tony wondered if the CIA’s Martha Packard clearly understood that her trip was limited only to “finding facts.”

It occurred to Tony that it was possible he was being used. In the coldest light, the president’s desire to have him go to Russia could be explained as an attempt to dress up the mission as more than just a CIA trip. Ruiz’s presence in Moscow would be one of an inexperienced political participant without the credibility to torpedo Packard’s agenda. Yet, if anybody would ask, Tony’s presence on the delegation would lend an aura of White House control.

Tony banished the painful thought from his mind. The notion was nonsense. Even if true, there was no way to communicate his reservations to Tolberg.

But beyond the personal doubts about why he had been chosen for this trip, Tony had serious substantive issues with the project itself. Those he would not—could not—keep silent about. He decided there and then to put his misgivings on the record.

“Senator, of course I’ll go. And of course I’m flattered. Nothing is more important to me than to have your confidence and the president’s trust. I believe in this administration and I believe in Gene Laurence.”

Ruiz took a breath.

“But since you’re asking me to do this, I want to be honest with you.”

Tolberg leaned his head to the left. “Go ahead, Tony.”

“Frankly, Senator, I think this whole Russian idea is off-kilter. You see, I think—”

Tolberg interrupted him.

“Tony, we’ve done our due diligence. Everybody we’ve spoken to thinks this is an expensive, hugely daring—but technically feasible—project.”

“Give me a minute, Senator,” retorted Tony Ruiz. “Hear me out. The engineering is not the part that has me worried. Rosenblatt has convinced me that the science exists to make it technically achievable.

“What concerns me are the politics.”

Tony straightened up. If he was going to take a run at Tolberg, he might as well go the full monty.

“A moment ago, I told you, Senator, how impressed I was with the environmentalist woman on television. Her point was that searching for fossil fuels is like Don Quixote tilting at windmills. It’s a mirage. She is right, Senator. She talked about the need for guts and leadership. I’m no expert, but I’m smart enough to recognize that something is wrong. This Bering Strait scheme is guts and leadership in the wrong direction. For a whole host of reasons.

“First, we’re going to invest billions with a country that is our former mortal adversary. I recognize that the Russians are no longer our enemies, but they’re not exactly our friends either. Why in God’s name would we go into business with these guys and make ourselves dependent on their natural resources? Nothing I’ve read about Russia today would make me think they’re a good long-term business partner for us.

“Second, we’re already dependent on Arab desert princes for oil. We’ve seen what dependence does. It makes the elite in those countries richer, more entrenched, and less democratic. And it cer
tainly has not made those countries friendlier to the United States. Now we’re going to enrich the Russians by giving them billions for their natural gas. If we do that, at least let’s not delude ourselves into believing that any of this is going to make them our friends.

“Third, there is a grim environmental problem looming on the horizon. If we’re serious about climate change, adding a gas dependency to an oil addiction is not the way to start. If the president is looking for big and bold, we should be considering incentives for noncarbon fuel industries and specific measures to force—yes, I said force—conservation.”

He dared not look at Tolberg. He knew that if he met the Senator’s eyes, he would not be able to go any further. Tony Ruiz took a deep breath and lined up for his final shot.

“Big and bold. That’s what you are looking for, right, Senator? Well, big and bold is a policy that
together
advances green conservation and promotes energy independence from petroauthoritarians everywhere, no matter whether they live in the desert or the tundra. Anything else isn’t anywhere close to bold.”