A State Of Disobedience Part 17

Washington, DC

There was a great shuffling of chairs as Rottemeyer and her Cabinet took their places for the daily crisis management conference. Of course, some aspects of the problem were no longer in crisis management mode.

"I always knew the press corps were p.u.s.s.ies," mused a highly amused James Carroll. "No offense," he said to Rottemeyer.

"None taken. And how goes 'Project Ogilvie'?"

"Not bad. Not bad at all, really. We are filling the airways and the papers with every nasty, dirty, and underhanded thing we can think of to say about that f.u.c.king priest, his G.o.dd.a.m.ned sister, and Texas in general."

"Fine, fine," commented Rottemeyer. "Be sure to pa.s.s on to your people how much I appreciate the fine job they are doing."

"I'll do that, of course. But, Willi, this is a labor of love for most of them."

McCreavy, also present, was sickened by the very idea of "Project Ogilvie." To her mind this was nothing less than the destruction of the First Amendment and the rights it guaranteed. She had given most of her life, in large part, to the defense of those rights and others. Now, she could see, all was lost.

But she had also spent too much time in uniform to argue with the boss.

"Willi, I have some bad news. We were hoping that Texas would be too poorly armed to put up much resistance when we roll."

McCreavy paused, contemplating the news she had received, news of tens, possibly hundreds, of thousands of buried rifles, now unearthed and in hostile hands. She considered news of arms shipments through Mexico. She shivered slightly from rumors among the arms dealers of the world of ma.s.sive shipments of heavy, Chinese-made arms currently in transit.

She decided to speak mostly of more local and immediate matters.

"I have learned, however, that the Third Corps commander, General Bennigsen, left them a great deal of all kinds of war materiel when he and the Corps pulled out. Bennigsen has been relieved of his command and is going to be turned over to the FBI on charges of treason."

"s.h.i.t! f.u.c.k!" fumed Rottemeyer, banging her hand against her desk. "What's that do to our plans? d.a.m.n it!"

Embarra.s.sed, McCreavy answered, "It's going to make them a lot harder to take down. Worse, Intelligence says they are bringing in enough foreign arms to make them a very tough contender."

"How are they getting the arms, from where?"

"Some of the lighter stuff-rifles, machine guns and such-is coming over the border with Mexico. Apparently they are buying from the Chinese, paying cash to boot."

"Paying cash with money they have printed at our our currency facility. b.a.s.t.a.r.ds! Where else are the weapons coming from?" currency facility. b.a.s.t.a.r.ds! Where else are the weapons coming from?"

"By sea, we think. In fact, a shipment, maybe fifteen or twenty thousand tons worth, is due to go through the Panama Ca.n.a.l sometime next week on its way to Galveston or Corpus Christi."

"Through the Ca.n.a.l?" queried State. "Madam President that could could give you the foreign crisis you wanted me to investigate creating. General McCreavy, are your forces capable of reoccupying the Panama Ca.n.a.l Zone to stop that shipment?" give you the foreign crisis you wanted me to investigate creating. General McCreavy, are your forces capable of reoccupying the Panama Ca.n.a.l Zone to stop that shipment?"

"I think we are," answered the general. "But why reoccupy? We can simply blockade Texas' ports or Panama itself."

"But that wouldn't give us the crisis, would it?" pointed out State, reasonably.

"Willi?" pleaded McReavy. "This is simply not smart. What if the Panamanians actually fight fight?"

"Fight with what what?" asked Carroll. "Bananas? They don't even have an army."

"They do, actually. Some anyway."

"What would it take, Caroline, for you to retake the Ca.n.a.l?"

"I can't say right off the top of my head, Madame President. I can can say though, that whatever I use there is something that won't be available here. And why do it when we can blockade Texas' ports? Or maybe we should declare them 'closed,' which makes more sense." say though, that whatever I use there is something that won't be available here. And why do it when we can blockade Texas' ports? Or maybe we should declare them 'closed,' which makes more sense."

"Sure, Caroline, we'll do that too," answered Rottemeyer. She considered briefly. "Ah to h.e.l.l with Panama. Wouldn't be enough of a war to do us any good anyway. And with Mexico's border open, the blockade will be incomplete with or without the Ca.n.a.l in our hands."

"In any case, relax. We aren't going to invade another country, not just yet in any case."

Changing the subject Rottemeyer went around the table.

Of Justice she asked, "Are we ready to shut down the Texas Border, Jesse?"

"Excepting their border with Mexico, ninety to ninety-five percent," answered Vega.

"Law enforcement ready to follow the Army in?"

That this was a tougher problem, Vega was loathe to admit. "We have enough... initially."

That seemed close enough. Rottemeyer turned away from Vega to the secretary of the treasury. "Are we ready to retake the Western Currency Facility?" she asked of Treasury.

"The Army," a gracious head nod in McCreavy's direction, "has put the better part of a helicopter group at the disposal of the Presidential Guard. They'll go in on your say-so."

"Good. Caroline, after subtracting for what you have scattered around the world, what do you have left for reoccupation of Texas?"

McCreavy mentally pulled out the map she had studied just before coming to this meeting. From the symbols on the map, engraved on her mind, she translated, "Third Infantry Division and most of Second Marine Division are closing on Fort Polk, Louisiana. That's their interim staging area before they move to a.s.sembly areas west of Lake Charles, near the Texas border. They'll be joined at Fort Polk by the Second Armored Cavalry...though that's really just a big battalion. First Marine Division, minus one brigade, and the Third Armored Cavalry Regiment are a.s.sembling in the New Mexican desert west of Fort Bliss, Texas. Along the Texas-Oklahoma border is Third Corps, one armored and two mechanized infantry divisions. Tenth Mountain Division will fly down as we advance to provide backup to the law enforcement agencies. The Air Force is standing by.

"It all just awaits your command," McCreavy concluded.

Good, good; Rottemeyer liked liked it when things awaited her command. it when things awaited her command.

"But there are a few problems, Madame President," continued McCreavy.

"As in?"

"As near as we can tell, Texas has wired every bridge leading into the state for demolition. And they are guarding those bridges, again 'as near as we can tell,' pretty competently. We also have reason to believe that those guards' orders are to blow the bridges at the first sign of our forces."

"So?"

McCreavy suppressed a sigh. It would not do to let presidential ignorance of the military get to her. "So it is not going to be all that quick. A modern division uses up hundreds of tons of supply a day. Those supplies have to go by road and rail, mostly. The farther away from base they get, too, the more they use. Right now, if Texas blows the bridges in, we can get about halfway into the state before we simply run out of gas and have to stop.

"Note, too, the expanded forces the Texans have built up? They are just past lunging range, digging in along a line we probably can't get to all that quickly. Though, mind you, if I didn't have to give up a helicopter group to the PGs then I might be able to grab a bridge or two intact."

"No, Caroline. Nothing is more important than taking the WCF back."

"But Madame President, the Texans will surely have moved half of the printing ability by now."

"It's the symbol of the thing, Caroline."

Carroll cleared his throat. "Speaking of symbols, Willi, you have a spontaneous demonstration calling for forcible reimposition of law and order on Texas scheduled for about twenty minutes from now. The Marine helicopter is waiting."

Washington, DC

Nothing but the best for the White House; that was the rule. And, if one excepted certain of those elected to sit in the Oval Office, it was a rule that was well followed.

The best, in this case, was a Tandberg 7000 video conferencing system. Though normally the screen was easily split to allow up to thirty-six different partic.i.p.ants to be seen on one screen, in this case-in this very private conversation-only two faces appeared in front of Wilhelmina Rottemeyer. And both of those were in the same room, seated side by side. One she recognized easily as the United States Amba.s.sador to Panama-a political appointee rewarded for major campaign contributions. The other she knew from pictures as the president of that country.

"I want you to stop those guns," said Rottemeyer to the President of the Republic of Panama. This was in reference to the shipment of Chinese-built medium artillery contracted for by Schmidt due to pa.s.s through the Panama Ca.n.a.l within a few days. "I need not tell you, Mr. President, that the price for failure to do so will be very heavy."

The amba.s.sador winced. Though no career diplomat, he had still a reasonable sense of tact and decorum.

The foreign president, a man of middle age, middle paunch, middle complexion, and narrow, beady eyes did not wince. He knew his, his government's, and his country's position in the world, that of supplicant to the United States. He answered. "But of course. I did not know of it. I will give orders to stop it immediately."

Austin, Texas

"Telephone, Governor. Someone who calls himself 'Parilla.' Never heard of him."

Juani hesitated, looking at Jack who likewise expressed his ignorance with a shrug.

"I'll take the call."

"Governor? This is Raul Dario Parilla from Panama. Think of me as an arms dealer, of sorts. My organization has intercepted the most curious conversation between your President and ours. How? Oh, let's just say that your emba.s.sy here lacks the very best in video conferencing equipment. I would like to send something to you by courier. The... umm...courier's name will be Patricio. Can you arrange to pa.s.s him through your border with Mexico?"

Another unrecognized and disembodied voice answered, in slightly New England accented English, "I'll be there in forty-eight hours."

Austin, Texas, The Governor's Mansion

Elpi opened the office door and announced, "There are two men here to see you, Governor. A 'Patricio' and a 'Carl.' "

The deeply tanned man with the fierce blue eyes glanced appreciatively at Elpi-a pretty girl was a pretty girl-then shook Schmidt's hand and the Governor's warmly before taking a seat with his a.s.sistant in the governor's home office. Though both the men were clad in civilian dress, it was no difficult task for Schmidt to see through that.

"You're soldiers," he announced.

"Yes," admitted the taller of the two, the one who had introduced himself to Elpi as "Patricio." "Rather, we were. Astute of you to notice. Think of us now as being no more than your friendly, neighborhood arms dealers."

"No astuteness necessary. You walk, you stand, you shake hands like soldiers. A blind man could see it. Moreover, you"-an accusatory finger pointed at Patricio-"sound like you're American...from the northeast, I think."

The tanned man simply shrugged. "We both are." Then he reached into a briefcase and handed over a video tape. "Watch this. Then we'll talk."

Schmidt fumbled uncertainly with the tape player in Juanita's office until she, herself, came over and fixed it. Then she and Jack watched the video conference between the two presidents in silence.

When the tape was finished, Patricio made a head gesture to his a.s.sistant who walked to the VCR and retrieved the tape.

Patricio cleared his throat. "Anyway, that's neither here nor there. I am here to tell you that your heavy weapons shipment from China is going to be stopped."

"Then we're screwed," announced Schmidt, simply.

"Not necessarily," said Patricio. He looked at his a.s.sistant, pointedly. The a.s.sistant shrugged, it's up to you, boss. it's up to you, boss.

Reaching into his briefcase Patricio pulled out a thin sheaf of paper. This he handed over to his a.s.sistant with the question, "How much of this could you make up?"

The a.s.sistant flipped through pages, occasionally looking upwards to do an apparent mental inventory.

"Carl, here," explained Patricio, "is our organization... ummm...you would say 'G-4' or maybe quartermaster. Can you bring your G-4 here, general? Maybe we can help each other."

Schmidt went to the telephone to call his headquarters.

"Well," announced Carl after some reflection, "We do not have exactly exactly the arms these people are going to be losing. But we can make up a fair amount of it. It's going to be lighter stuff, lighter and older, that we can trade you for this." the arms these people are going to be losing. But we can make up a fair amount of it. It's going to be lighter stuff, lighter and older, that we can trade you for this."

"Trade?" asked Schmidt.

"Yes," answered Patricio. "You sign over the rights to your heavy Chinese arms to us. We provide you with arms, mostly Russian and Chinese, that we currently hold. Though where you trade us a 122-millimeter gun, you are only going to get an 85-millimeter in return."

"That's piracy," insisted Schmidt.

"No," countered Patricio, "it's business."

Chapter Twelve.