Vortex

Britain’s prime minister had long been one of the staunchest opponents of indiscriminate sanctions aimed at South Africa. But the revelation that Vorster had played a hand in the deaths of Frederick Haymans and his cabinet had swung him around almost one hundred and eighty degrees. In the last two days alone, he’d been on the phone twice with the President urging joint U.S. and British action against what he now called

“Vorster’s dastardly cabal.”

Hurley faced him squarely.

“In a nutshell, I think General Hickman’s suggestion has merit, Mr. Vice President. We’ve been damned for not doing anything. Let’s be damned for doing something constructive.”

One by one, the others around the table nodded, some with

more enthusiasm than others, but all agreeing nonetheless. Only Nicholson shook his head angrily, evidently outraged at having been overruled.

Forrester suspected that the CIA director’s anger had more to do with his perceived loss of face than with any serious disagreement over policy.

He glanced at the wall clock.

“All right, ladies and gentlemen. I’m meeting with the President in half an hour, and I’ll pass along the recommendation that we dispatch a carrier battle group, with the eventual mission of establishing a maritime blockade of all South African ports.”

He smiled crookedly.

“In the circumstances, I suspect he’ll approve it wholeheartedly. “

More nods. Everyone present knew only all too well how much heat the

President was taking from the Congress and the media for his apparent inaction. With no economic or diplomatic options, the administration’s carefully worded statements had only served as a point of departure for its critics. Action, easy to call for but hard to specify, was the only thing that made good PR.

Forrester glanced down at his agenda. One penciled-in item remained. He looked up.

“Also, effective immediately, the President’s asked me to establish a Crisis Group to monitor the southern African situation and to provide day-to-day control over our initiatives in the region.”

Still more nods. Establishing a Crisis Group-a full-time team of junior

NSC members and staffers-was the logical next step. Everyone in the room could see that events in South Africa were moving too fast for the ordinary processes of government to be effective. The cabinet officers who made up the regular National Security Council had too many other responsibilities to devote full attention to a single prolonged crisis-no matter how important or how dangerous.

Forrester stared down the table, focusing his gaze on Nicholson’s red face. The CIA director had already proven surprisingly unwilling to back proposals made by other members of the President’s inner policy-making circle. It was time to make sure he knew who held the reins on this issue.

“I’ve recommended that Ed Hurley take charge of the group, and the

President agrees. I expect deputies from all concerned departments and agencies to be assigned by this afternoon. Understood?”

Forrester noticed several ill-concealed looks of surprise on several faces around the table. With the crisis escalating, most of the NSC’s members had undoubtedly expected him to name a military man or one of the intelligence agency deputies. Well, they’d reckoned wrongly. Hurley had the brains and background needed for the job. He’d also shown that he had the guts and political savvy needed to take on those above him inside the administration. Forrester had him marked as a serious contender for higher office in the near future.

Even better, Hurley was still low enough down on the totem pole to feel awkward about exercising his newfound authority without frequent consultation. Neither the President nor Forrester planned to relinquish any substantive part of their power over U.S. policy toward Pretoria.

The growing catastrophe in southern Africa was now much too important to be left solely in the hands of the bureaucrats and political appointees.

NOVEMBER 6-ABOARD THE USS CARL WNSON, SOUTH OF THE MALDIVE ISLANDS

The American battle group spread over a hundred square miles of the Indian

Ocean, steaming west just long enough to allow its massive, Nimitz-class carrier to launch and recover her aircraft. Eight other ships ringed the carrier-two guided-missile cruisers, a pair of guided-missile destroyers, two more destroyers for antisubmarine warfare, and two bulky combat support ships carrying needed fuel, ammunition, and stores. Well ahead of the battle group, two Los Angelesclass attack submarines slid quietly through the water, their ultra sophisticated computers constantly sifting the sounds of fish and ocean currents-searching for telltale engine or propeller noises that might signal the approach of a hostile surface ship or sub,

Above the battle group, aircraft of various types orbited slowly in

fuel-conserving racetrack patterns. Huge, twin-tailed F-14 Tomcats loitered on combat air patrol. A twin engined

E-2C

Hawkeye provided early warning of any incoming plane or missile, and a boxy