Executive Intent (30 page)

“So?”

“One of my clever staffers noticed that the initials of the organization could stand for ‘Patrick S. McLanahan for President.'” Gardner rolled his eyes and gave a short chuckle. “I know, I know: pretty thin. So I checked some more on the organization. Turns out they aren't a nonprofit—they're more like a not-for-profit.”

“They're the same thing.”

“True, but they never registered as a charitable or educational organization.”

“So monies they take in aren't distributed to shareholders but stay in the organization, like an—”

“Exploratory committee,” Kordus finished for him. “So we took a peek at the group's bank-account balance…and it's huge. We then looked at their filed list of officers and directors. All the big-time military and political players of the last decade, including Page, Goff, Venti, Morgan, Busick; even Thomas Thorn is on there, the list goes on and on.”

“Sounds like a new Trilateral Commission.”

“You bet it does. At the very end of the list—”

“Phoenix?”

“No. He would have had to disclose that and resign from it, but he never belonged as far as we know. The big name on there: Martindale.”

“
Kevin
Martindale?”

“The one and only,” Kordus said. “The guy is a Washington institution—two-term vice president, two-term president, connected up the ying-yang. You can't have a more powerful ally. It's practically a ready-made cabinet.”

McLanahan and Martindale's names were popping up more and more in the White House these days, Gardner thought—way too much for comfort. “You said Ann Page is on there?” Kordus nodded. “Did she report that on her prenomination questionnaire?”

“I don't remember.”

“Check. If she didn't, it's cause to terminate her, if we need to.” Kordus nodded and made a note to himself on his ever-present PDA. “So Patrick McLanahan is turning to politics, huh?”

“If he is, he's showing how amateurish he is,” Kordus said. “There's only six months to their party's nominating convention. He hasn't campaigned at all except for a few speeches and pressers here and there. I'm not even positive what political party he belongs to, or if he intends on running as an independent, like Thomas Thorn.”

“He doesn't need to build up national name recognition like senators and governors do—he's already got plenty,” Gardner said. “All he has to do is show up with a slick well-oiled organization behind him, and he'll wow the delegates. If he's been talking with the other candidates, he might be able to avoid a floor fight and snatch the nomination.”

“What do you want to do, Joe?”

“Start building a file on candidate Patrick S. McLanahan,” Gardner said. “Start digging for dirt. That shouldn't be too hard—the guy's been tossed out of the Air Force twice.”

“I wish we could tell
all
the stories we know about the guy,” Kordus said.

Gardner shook his head. “The information would sink me and a lot of other folks as well, and McLanahan might not even take any heat himself—he's definitely a loose cannon, but he gets the job done, and the folks really like that. No, use open-source and verified info only. And start a file on this not-for-profit group, too.”

“Maybe let Treasury take a look at them?”

“Of course—all aboveboard and routine, but let's see what they forgot to report or filed incorrectly,” the president said. “That's the problem with not forming an out-and-out exploratory committee—the IRS can look at you and it's not considered a political attack. And let them take a look to make sure McLanahan paid all his taxes, paid his housekeeper's payroll taxes, reported income on limo rides, all that stuff.”

“I'm on it.”

“I don't want to body-slam the guy, unless he's
really
doing something criminal,” the president said casually. “He's still Patrick McLanahan, aerial assassin and genuine all-American hero. I just want to give him a taste of what it's like playing in the D.C. big leagues. He thinks working in the basement of the White House gave him enough exposure—hell, he doesn't know the half of it.”

O
FFICE OF THE
V
ICE
P
RESIDENT
, E
ISENHOWER
E
XECUTIVE
O
FFICE
B
UILDING
, W
ASHINGTON
, D.C.

L
ATER THAT MORNING

Although many past American vice presidents had an office in the West Wing of the White House, Joseph Gardner had completely banished Kenneth Phoenix to the Eisenhower Executive Office Building across the street from the White House, along with the National Security Council and other top advisers, preferring to have his chief of staff orchestrate the schedule and bring the staff to him rather than have them always hovering around. Phoenix took advantage of the gentle snub and greatly expanded his suite of offices, making it a true working office while retaining its traditional ceremonial uses.

Representatives from the president's national security adviser, secretary of defense, State Department, attorney general, Central Intelligence Agency, and other federal departments got to their feet when Vice President Phoenix entered his conference room. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, thanks for being here,” he said. He took a few minutes to shake hands and exchange pleasantries with the panel members. They were all young assistant deputy directors or lower rank—this panel didn't rate any higher-ranked representatives. Phoenix took his seat at the head of the table, and the others took their seats as well. “Our goal today is to finish the draft of the revised National Space Policy and prepare it for review, and my goal is to get a draft in the president's hand by the time he returns from his West Coast campaign swing. But before we begin: Any thoughts about the Chinese attacks in Yemen?”

“I think it's still too early to tell for sure, sir,” the representative from the State Department, Annette Douglass, the highest-ranking member of the panel, said. “I understand the Security Council met about it early this morning, but I haven't heard the outcome.”

“They authorized Russia to set up security at the port in Aden until the Chinese could remove their casualties,” Phoenix said. “Then China is going to lead a multinational investigation, including FBI and NCIS.”

“They must believe it was Islamist terrorists, maybe some sort of retaliation for Chinese attacks in Somalia,” Douglass said. “It fits. Yemen has been battling al-Qaeda-related insurgents for years. With Russians on the ground, things should quiet down quickly.”

“Let's hope so,” the vice president said. He cast his eyes around the conference table. “Anybody else?” No one answered. “It might be a little early to say for sure, but I think it's a little suspicious myself.” His eyes rested on the youngest member of the panel, the representative from the CIA, who seemed to perk up a bit at the vice president's remark. “Mr. Dobson? Something?”

Tim Dobson looked a little disheveled and rumpled; his tie was
a lot off center, and his dark hair was tousled a bit too much to be considered stylish, but Phoenix always found the young CIA assistant deputy director's views insightful and his breadth of knowledge amazing. “Uh…yes, sir, there's a few things I found fishy, too, sir.”

“Like what?”

“The…uh, the Chinese casualty count.”

“What was it…twelve?”

“Reportedly went up to twenty-one, sir,” Dobson said.

“Seem low to you?”

“Yes, sir,” Dobson said. “The ship was hit in the right rear quarter in the engineering spaces, close to crew quarters and a chow hall. Late afternoon, day shift on their way for the evening meal, brand-new port of call, and helicopter resupply ongoing—I would have expected more men on deck, more casualties.”

“Interesting,” Phoenix mused. “What else?”

“The ship itself,” Dobson said. “The
Wuxi
was one of the oldest
Jianghu
-2-class frigates in China's fleet—almost forty years old. It was in poor repair and had never been away from Chinese home waters before—in fact, it had spent most of the last five years in port, not even making any routine patrols. On more than one occasion it had been observed being towed by an oceangoing tug that had accompanied the
Zhenyuan
battle group—it had to go into Aden Harbor for refueling because its steering mechanism was too sloppy to attempt underway refueling that the rest of the task force was practicing. The rest of the
Zhenyuan
group is made up of much more modern designs.” Dobson was talking faster as he started to get excited about voicing his observations—apparently few others at Langley were willing to listen to him. “But all of a sudden there it is, thousands of miles from home.”

“So what?” the national security adviser's representative asked. “The Chinese wanted to put together this task force. Maybe that ship was the best available.”

“What are you saying, Tim?” the vice president asked. “That it was old and expendable?”

“Yes, sir,” Dobson said confidently. “It was sacrificed.”

“Why?”

“To give China the excuse it needed to bomb the city,” Dobson said very matter-of-factly, as if he had calculated this theory aeons ago.

“That's nuts,” Douglass muttered.

“China's version of the Gulf of Tonkin incident?” the vice president asked. The two supposed attacks on American destroyers by North Vietnamese torpedo boats in the Gulf of Tonkin in what was then North Vietnam prompted the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution in the U.S. Congress in 1964, authorizing President Johnson to take any steps necessary to protect Southeast Asian nations from Communist aggression—it became the main justification for expanded U.S. involvement in Vietnam. The second of the two torpedo-boat attacks was later proved not to have occurred.

“Exactly, sir,” Dobson said. “We already wondered about how the Chinese could have put that air raid on so soon after the
Wuxi
was hit—”

“We know that the
Zhenyuan
was already doing exercises with its air wing at the time.”

“Exercises…with live ordnance?” Dobson asked. “Doesn't make sense.”

“So you think the whole thing was staged so China could attack Aden?” Douglass asked incredulously. “Why?”

“Maybe they wanted to invade Aden, like they did with Somalia,” Dobson said. “Then they'd have a presence on both sides of the Gulf of Aden.”

“But they didn't invade. No one invaded.”

“No one invaded…but this morning Russia got permission from the United Nations Security Council to set up security in the harbor area,” the vice president said. “They're going to send in five
hundred marines to provide security so China can get its casualties and ship out of the harbor.”

“But that's not an invasion, sir,” Douglass said. “It's a prudent security move, especially for China. And Russia has history in Aden. It makes sense.”

“But it also gives China and Russia bases in the Gulf of Aden,” Dobson said.

“China doesn't have a base in the Gulf of Aden.”

“If they consolidated their hold in northern Somalia, they would,” Dobson pointed out.

“But they're getting ready to leave. They're bringing in cruise ships to take their troops out…”

“I haven't seen any evidence of them leaving,” Dobson said, “and after this incident—real or contrived—in Yemen, I don't think they'll be in any big hurry to leave the region. In fact, they attacked a suspected pirate base at Butyaalo in Puntland autonomous region on the Gulf of Aden, and reportedly kept a three-hundred-man garrison there in the pirates' walled compound.”

“So you think Russia and China want to set up bases around the Gulf of Aden, Tim?” Phoenix asked.

“Five hundred marines in Aden and three hundred in Butyaalo so far from home need a lot of support, sir,” Dobson replied. “And if there are more so-called terrorist acts, they may need a lot more marines in both places.”

“So you're saying that China conspired with Russia to set up this phony terrorist act, using an old and broken-down ship and making sure they didn't have too many casualties, so China could bomb Aden, which prompts the United Nations to have Russia send in marines in an overarching plot to take over the port and eventually control the Gulf of Aden?” the State Department representative asked. She shook her head. “I think you've been reading too many cheesy techno-thrillers, Dobson. Why would Russia conspire to do
anything with China? They may not be enemies, but they're far from being allies.”

“Okay, okay, I think we've gotten way off topic here,” the vice president said, holding up his hands in mock surrender, smiling broadly. “I enjoy these exchanges, and I'd like you to put your thoughts down in a memo to my national security team later on, but let's get back to finishing the space-policy draft, shall we?” He glanced at the agenda for the meeting. “The big issue at the end of the last meeting was the question of the space policy violating or abrogating any existing treaties or alliances. What did we—” And at that moment the phone rang. The vice president rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. “I promise, we
are
going to finish that draft this hour. Excuse me.” He picked up the phone. “Yes, Denise?”

“Mr. Kordus for you, sir.”

“Put him on.”

“Mr. Vice President?”

“Hi, Walter.”

“Conrad got a call from Miller at the Pentagon, something about the space station,” the president's chief of staff said. “Said it was urgent. The president's getting ready to touch down in Arizona and asked me to ask you to find out what's going on.”

“I'll take care of it.” The line went dead. Phoenix hung up the phone, then pressed the intercom button. “Denise, give Mr. Carlyle a call for me, will you?”

“Mr. Carlyle is on his way to the Situation Room with Secretary Turner, sir. He should arrive in the next few minutes.”

The vice president's eyes narrowed, and he picked up the phone. “Right now, Denise? What's going…?” He listened for a moment, then hung up and said to his panel members before him, “I lied, guys—we won't finish the draft today. I'll e-mail you all to reschedule.” He got to his feet, and the others jumped up as well. As Phoenix dashed for the door, he said over his shoulder, “Mr. Dobson, you're with me.”

The two walked quickly to a staircase, were met by a plain-clothes Secret Service agent, hurried down to the first basement floor, and then entered the tunnel connecting the Eisenhower Executive Office Building to the White House. It was a short walk upstairs to the White House Situation Room, where Phoenix found National Security Adviser Conrad Carlyle, Secretary of Defense Miller Turner, and Secretary of the Air Force Salazar Banderas. On the large computer monitor in the front of the room was an image of Brigadier General Kai Raydon and Undersecretary of the Air Force Ann Page, on a secure videoconference link. Phoenix pointed to Dobson. “Tim Dobson from CIA, helping me on the space-policy review; I asked him to come along. What's going on, guys?”

“It's possible the Space Defense Force weapon garages are being attacked, Mr. Vice President,” Turner said.

“What?”

“General Raydon, run it down for the vice president,” Miller said.

“Yes, sir,” Kai began. “Mr. Noble and my engineers and staff carefully studied data from the Kingfisher interceptor garages, along with other sensor data, and discovered two things: The same faults occurred on all the affected garages; and the faults occurred in virtually the same spots over the Earth.”

“Someone was shooting at the weapon garages?”

“Yes, sir, but not with a kinetic weapon, but with data. We believe the Russians are bombarding our satellites with viruslike data that enters the garages' computer system through their digital radar sensors and causes certain systems to shut down or crash.”

“How do you know it's the Russians, General?”

“The faults occur shortly after the satellites pass over Russian signals intelligence and space surveillance sites,” Kai replied. “Specifically, sites in Venezuela, the Kamchatka Peninsula in Siberia, Socotra Island off the coast of Somalia, and Murmansk.”

“Can you verify that?”

“They proposed modifying the weapon garages with signal-gathering packages that can collect any intrusive outside signals and send them to the space station for analysis, sir,” Carlyle said. “Their engineers are working to devise a suitable package.”

“But as of now…?”

“No, sir, we can't positively say the Russians are doing the damage.”

“Can you jam or block the outside signals?”

“Not yet, sir,” Raydon said. “We're working on defensive software for the garages—basically antivirus software. Our only other option right now is to shut down the digital active electronically scanned array radars whenever they come within range of a Russian site, but then we'd be letting them know we know what they're up to.”

“Seems to me you have no choice—it's probably costing a ton of money to repair those things,” Phoenix said. “What about the Chinese?”

“We believe the cause of the explosion of the Kingfisher-Eight garage was the result of a successful Chinese DF-21 antisatellite-missile attack,” Raydon said.

“I'll ask it again: Can you verify that?” the vice president asked after a stunned pause.

“No, sir, we can't,” Ann Page said. “The satellite that could have done so, Kingfisher-Eight, was already damaged—due to the data attack by the Russians, we believe—and shut down when the missile was launched.”

“But we can detect missile launches with other satellites, right?”

“We believe the launch was hidden from heat sensors by a decoy: A large fire near the launch site obliterated the rocket launch.”

“So you're not sure there
was
a DF-21 launch.”