Vortex

There were broad smiles around the room. It was perfect. Nobody could accuse them of being fiscally irresponsible or boosting the budget deficit. And besides, the defense budget

was fair game these days. Everybody wanted a piece of that pie, and calls for still another slice wouldn’t raise too many eyebrows around

Washington.

Travers paused, considering.

“One thing more. What can South Africa do to retaliate, if we put a major aid program in place?”

“Against us? Nothing.” Blackman’s response was fast, almost automatic.

There was silence for a moment as the rest considered the possibilities.

“Ken’s right,” Perlman said.

“As few dealings as we have with South

Africa, they wouldn’t hurt us by cutting trade from their end.”

“What about strategic minerals?” Alvarez asked.

“The chromium, titanium, and the rest? They could chop sales of those. DoD and Commerce could come down hard about the national security risks from that.”

“And cut their own throats? Not a chance, Harry. They need that foreign credit for the stuff they do buy abroad, especially oil. That’s about the only resource South Africa’s not loaded with.” Travers sighed.

“The world’s treasure house, run by a bunch of political cavemen-“

Blackman broke in.

“The senator’s right. Vorster and his people can’t do squat about an aid bill. Oh, they’ll probably step up their covert activities in the region. More raids, more propaganda-all of which will cost them money and more goodwill. If they keep at it, and if the front line states ever get their act together, South Africa’s gonna be bordered by some powerful enemies.”

Travers decided they had a consensus.

“All right, let’s do it. I want you two to start drafting the specifics.” He pointed to Blackman and Lewin and then glanced at his watch.

“I need an outline in an hour. in the meantime, I’m going to make some phone calls. George?” He looked over at his advisor.

“I like it. Whether this bill passes or not, it’s a political win for us.

I’ll do some calling as well. I’ll take care of the media and the national committee. I think most of the party will like the idea. We’ll give it a big push.” Perlman chuck led.

“Another test of strength with the ‘no-vision’ administration. “

They all smiled.

AUGUST 6-NATIONAL SECURITY COUNCIL MEETING, THE WHITE HOUSE

When the Vice President entered the room, all conversation ceased, both by custom and by design. NSC meetings were supposed to start on time and their participants didn’t like wasting precious minutes exchanging meaningless pleasantries. Those were reserved for Washington’s favorite indoor sport-the high-powered, late-evening cocktail party. Working hours were for work.

Vice President James Malcolm Forrester shared that same driving dedication to the job. He strode briskly to the chair at the head of the table and sat down. Civil nods greeted him.

After a somewhat rocky start, Forrester had come to be regarded by his administration colleagues as a solid team player and a firstrate organizer. He paid a lot of attention to his duties as the NSC’s chairman, which was appropriate, since it was his most important role.

Attending foreign funerals and delivering speeches to an often endless round of political fund-raisers couldn’t compare with helping to decide serious questions of national security.

The NSC reported directly to the President, recommending courses of action to him on any matters relating to war and peace. Its permanent members included the secretaries of state and defense, the national security advisor, and the director of the CIA. Other agency and department heads were asked to sit in or provide information as needed.

In a very real sense, the NSC represented a focal point for every major intelligence, military, and diplomatic resource possessed by the United

States. In a crisis, its frantic, fast-paced deliberations could result in the dispatch of urgent communi quis spy planes, carrier battle groups, or even divisions of ground troops to any point on the globe.

But no imminent doom appeared to menace the United States or its allies, so the atmosphere was relaxed. This meeting was routine.

So routine in fact that several of the NSC’s permanent members hadn’t bothered to attend. Instead, they’d sent a mixed bag of deputies to fill the seats around the meeting room’s large central table. Each was accompanied by an assistant ready to handle all the necessary briefing and background materials, and several stenographers waited to record every remark.

Typed agendas rested in front of each person, and clear crystal pitchers of iced coffee and lemonade occupied the middle of the table. They would be empty by the time the meeting adjourned. Even this far below ground, the White House air-conditioning system couldn’t completely cool

Washington’s sweltering late-summer air.