Hunter Killer Page 35

  “But you think about it: Can you imagine the United States doing something like that? Or Great Britain? Or the Aussies? For pure personal gain, to let the rest of the world go to hell for two years? Wiping the world’s most plentiful and best-priced oil right off the map? Bankrupting little nations? Damn near closing down Japan? Hurting just about everyone? And not caring? Jesus Christ. That takes a damn special nation.”

  “Arnie, are you certain in your own mind—I mean as certain as I am—that France is at the bottom of all this?”

  “I am certain that a group of rebel Saudis could not possibly have done this themselves. I am certain they had outside help, and I am certain that outside help came from France.”

  “Is that sufficiently certain to start taking action?”

  “Jimmy, I’m not the President. I’m not even an official government adviser. But if I were the President, I could not just sit back and see the industrial world go to hell while France sat back eating escargots and getting richer and richer off the Saudi oil industry. No. I could not do that.”

  Meanwhile, over at the White House, Admiral Morris was walking the President through the entire French scenario, explaining in detail how Le Chasseur was run to the ground.

  When he was finished, the President looked extremely worried—for all the reasons Admiral Morgan had pointed out to him. He was going to be blamed for the financial collapse in the United States, and on a global basis, he would probably bear the responsibility for the collapse of the free world’s economy, and some of the Third World’s.

  Generally speaking, through no fault of his own, President Paul Bedford stood on the verge of making a special kind of history.

  “You have any suggestions, George? I mean, what I might do? Since you and your assistant seem to be the only people in the country who understand what’s actually happening?”

  “Sir, I’m not a trained politician. And I’m not that good at thinking like one. My task is to find out what the hell’s happening, and then to try and interpret what might happen next. But if I were sitting in that chair of yours, I’d most certainly touch base with Admiral Morgan. He’s the best I’ve ever met at this type of thing. Especially if there’s a chance we may have to kick someone in the ass.”

  The President smiled. Five minutes later, just after Lt. Commander Ramshawe had left, the phone rang in the big house in Chevy Chase. One hour later, Admiral Morgan was back in the Oval Office, discussing with Paul Bedford another catastrophic collapse on the Nikkei, the Japanese stock exchange. In the four days since Saudi oil and gas stopped flowing, Japan’s energy analysts had been able to forecast their oncoming power grid shortfalls, and diminishing reserves of natural gas.

  It looked like a six-week problem. Which meant that on around May 10, the lights would go out in one of the biggest economies in the world. Japan’s reliance on Saudi oil had long bothered these analysts, and now they could see a gigantic coop of chickens coming home to roost.

  It would not be much different in the seething industrial hub of Taiwan. Nor on the west coasts of India and Pakistan, which stood directly opposite the main source of all their energy, the Strait of Hormuz, entrance to the Gulf.

  China seemed to have some supplies flowing continuously from Kazakhstan, but the People’s Republic was an enormous importer of Saudi oil, and right now Beijing was bracing itself for severe shortages of automobile fuel and electric power.

  Indonesia had some oil of its own, but it was still reliant on Saudi product. Canada was much the same. But Europe was in trouble. The Old World had hardly any energy resources, except for some high-producing coal mines in the east and a small amount of oil left in the North Sea. Which put Great Britain in a real spot. As bad as America’s.

  Russia was smiling, and so were some of her former satellites along the coast of the Black Sea. And South America could probably manage without the Saudis. But the interlinked global economies of the big players threatened everyone.

  As the Wall Street Journal observed that morning: “The ramifications of the crisis in the Saudi oil fields are very nearly boundless. The world’s leading stock markets have already shuddered, as millions of dollars have been wiped off share prices in Europe, the Far East, and the United States.

  “And the stark fact remains, this planet cannot function properly without a normal supply of oil. And for the next twelve months, there is not going to be a normal supply of oil. On a global scale, that means, the only thing it can mean—bankruptcies, both large and small, market collapses, blackouts, and the failure of banks and power companies all over the globe.”

  The Journal did its best with some illustrations of potential disasters—the big banks carrying a huge debt from an airline that cannot refuel its aircraft? The major automobile manufacturers who can no longer sell product to a market that’s run dry? The food industry struggling for energy to freeze and refrigerate its product? The national supermarket chains whose cold-storage facilities keep shutting down? The gas stations, the trucking corporations, oil tankers themselves?

  “What happens when the industrial world starts to shut down? No one knows the answer to that. The human race is unfailingly resilient and always resourceful. But, short of war, the human race has never faced anything quite like this. And some of the most powerful industrialists in the world are surely preparing for an extremely difficult time.”

  Both the President and Admiral Morgan had read the article. But their reactions were diametrically opposed. Paul Bedford went into defensive mode, wondering how he could distance himself from, and at the same time cope with, the crisis. Arnold Morgan’s mind raced ahead, to the time when the Saudi oil would come back on stream, and where the United States would stand at that time. He knew the solution to the problem rested right here in the present. Not next year.

  He sensed that now was the time for action. And before him stood the specter of France. Because no one could really blame some robed religious fanatic from the desert for wanting his country free of American influence. That was unfortunate but understandable.

  But France! What France had done was unforgivable. For, as sure as Arnold Morgan was sitting right here in the Oval Office, the French government had deliberately plunged the world into despair, entirely for her own gain and to the detriment of almost everyone else.

  The French government would naturally deny everything. But Arnold Morgan knew the President’s only chance was to come out fighting. And to accept that Saudi Arabia’s oil had become a world asset, not an Arab one. And that the industrial nations were right now waiting for the world’s policeman to draw his nightstick.

  The President understood that millions of Americans had not forgiven France for her dogmatic stand against the United States during the run-up to the crushing of the murderous dictator Saddam, in Iraq in 2003. Nor had they forgotten the demands France had made to be given a share of the rebuilding contracts.

  Seven years later, there were still restaurants in the United States that refused to serve French wine, even wine importers and wholesalers who refused to touch French products.

  And here again was the world’s most self-centered nation—this time perhaps having overstepped itself in terms of pure national interest—casting itself into the role of international pariah…assuming that someone, somewhere, felt they could prove French compliance in the takeover of Saudi Arabia.

  Arnold Morgan was sure he could prove 100 percent French involvement. And he said to the President, “Sir, I am going to lay this right on the line for you. France was the nation that agreed to help Prince Nasir. Those oil installations were hit by French missiles fired from French submarines. Those oil-loading platforms were blown with time bombs fixed by French underwater commandos. Those military bases at Khamis Mushayt were attacked by a brigade of French Special Forces, and that street rabble was marshaled into a fighting force by a former French Army officer who led the assault on Riyadh on behalf of the new King.

  “During the course of the next twelve months
, you are going to see France move into the jockey seat in the marketing of all Saudi oil. It is entirely a matter for you whether we get left behind in the coming stampede to join the line for Saudi oil and gas.”

  “Arnold, do we have sufficient evidence to accuse the French absolutely of this treachery?”

  “Damn right we do.”

  “What about the submarines, the Améthyste and the Perle? Where the hell are they?”

  “One of them is heading into the Arabian Sea, the other into the Indian Ocean.”

  “And what if they don’t turn up at La Réunion, as you and the NSA expect?”

  “Doesn’t matter a damn whether they turn up or not. There were only two hunter-killer submarines in all the world that could have fired those missiles. And they were French, in the area, and now they’re missing, having behaved most unusually.”

  “Who has to speak to the French?”

  “I suppose you do. Or your Secretary of State. Not that it will do any good. The French will just say they have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “So how can we hang ’em out to dry?”

  “We have to capture Le Chasseur and make him talk.”

  “Is that likely to be difficult?”

  “Extremely so. Especially if the French manage to assassinate him first.”

  “You think they might?”

  “I would.”

  President Bedford stood up and walked to the other side of the room. Once more he stood beneath the portrait of General Washington. “Arnold,” he said, “I am asking you to come back here as my special adviser for a few months. You can name your salary.”

  “Sir, I’m not good at advice. I give orders and they have to be carried out. I will not offer my views for a bunch of half-assed Democrats to sit around wondering whether to do something else.”

  “How about I make you Supreme Commander of this operation, with powers to order the military into action?”

  “Do you and your advisers have a veto on my decisions?”

  “I would need to have that.”

  “Then it’s time for me to go home. If you put yourself in my hands, you also put yourself in the hands of your most senior commanders in the Pentagon. And I will not order anyone to do anything without their agreement. I work with the Pentagon, not against it.”

  President Bedford ruminated. “Are you suggesting I give you supreme authority to take this nation to war?”

  “Of course not. I am suggesting you give me supreme authority to kick a little ass with no questions asked. That way you’ll save your presidency and we’ll get back to where we want to be, dealing with the Saudis.”

  “Arnold, I am putting myself into a precarious position where you essentially tell me what is going to happen? Is that more or less correct?”

  “Yes it is. Because I’m not having anything to do with this, unless you give me the authority to act and act fast. If you don’t trust me, don’t do it. But if you do trust me, I should decide pretty damn quickly if I were you. Because this bullshit with the oil could get right out of hand.”

  “Where do you want your office?”

  “Right next to yours. And I speak only to you. I attend no Cabinet meetings, or any other meetings. I brief you, and you take your cue from that.”

  “Arnold, I would not think of doing this with any other person except you.”

  “Neither would I, sir.”

  “Salary?”

  “Forget it. Just all the backup I need.”

  “Well, I guess that’s a deal then. I appoint you Supreme Commander of Operation…what? Desert Fuel?”

  “How about Towelhead Treason?”

  “Jesus, Arnold.” The President laughed. “I think something less inflammatory.”

  “Okay, let’s make it Operation Tanker.”

  “No problem. Operation Tanker. When do you start?”

  “‘Bout ten minutes ago. Make sure my new quarters have a sizable anteroom for Kathy, and she’ll need a deputy secretary.”

  “No problem. You speaking to France today?”

  “Probably not. I’m concentrating our inquiries on the land battles, and I probably won’t stick a firecracker up the ass of the French until we get a sight of those submarines. Then I can act as if we know rather more than we do.”

  “Uh-huh,” said President Bedford. “And then what?”

  “Oh, I don’t think we’ll get anywhere. The French will just do a lot of shrugging and say they have no idea what happened in Saudi Arabia. It is none of their business, n’est-ce pas? ”

  “Then what?”

  “We find them guilty in the courtroom of Uncle Sam. And then, as they say in the Pentagon, we’ll try to appreciate the situation.”

  “Do we say anything to the media?”

  “Christ no, sir. Nothing. NO announcements. NO press conferences.”

  “And what about when someone notices you are ensconced in the White House right next to the President?”

  “You have someone say that Admiral Morgan and the President are assessing a possible problem to the United States. They are working together as two former naval officers. Admiral Morgan is an acting, unpaid adviser on a purely temporary basis.”

  “Right before you have the SEALs blow up the Eiffel Tower or something?”

  “More or less,” replied Morgan. “But to set your mind at rest, we’re not blowing up anything on land. But equally, we are not anxious that France should carry on as normal, running tankers in and out of their ports with oil from Abu Dhabi…while the rest of us starve.”

  “Oh, Christ,” said President Bedford. “This is going to be interesting.”

  “For the final time, sir. Your only chance is to get aggressive, show your outrage, be absolutely fearless in your contempt for what France has done. Get the focus of blame right away from yourself. Shock and surprise the world as necessary. But look like the victim, and make a lot of noise. Above all, turn France into the enemy of the Free World. That way you cannot possibly lose.”

  “I’m listening, Arnie. And I know you’re right. It’s just that I have nothing to do with this. And I find myself in the middle of everything.”

  “Other Presidents in other times have felt precisely the same,” replied Morgan. “We gotta bite the bullet and turn this thing around. And we have to somehow turn it to America’s advantage. And that’s going to cost France plenty.”

  ONE WEEK LATER, THURSDAY, APRIL 1, 11:00 A.M.

  DIPLOMATIC QUARTER, RIYADH

  Col. Jacques Gamoudi and Gen. Ravi Rashood had been keeping their heads well down while the dust of war settled. The city of Riyadh had been quiet since the new King took over, and the entire Saudi armed services had agreed to serve King Nasir.

  He had already announced, to a thunder of national applause, an end to the massive annual stipends to the thousands and thousands of royal princes. He further announced that those royal princes who were left in the country—not many—faced a wide confiscation of their property, except for primary residences.

  He advised those who could leave to do so, and immediately froze any assets of more than a half-million dollars kept by any prince in any Saudi bank. He ruthlessly passed these laws in retrospect, meaning there were a lot of casinos, hotels, and boat marinas all over the Riviera that were left holding large debts incurred by the former golden boys of the kingdom.

  “Frankly,” said King Nasir, in imitation of his great hero Clark Gable, “I don’t give a damn.”

  The King’s view was simple. These princes had had their day. And if any of them had debts that they expected the King of Saudi Arabia to pay…well, those days were over. They’d have to get a job and start paying them off. Either that or go live somewhere else and hide from their former dissolute habits.

  He further announced that the only members of the royal family who would in future be paid anything were those who buckled down and found a way to serve a useful purpose in the kingdom. He made it illegal for any member of the vast former royal
family to transfer money from Saudi Arabia to another country.

  As for the armed services, he appealed to the land forces, the Royal Saudi Air Force, and the Navy to remain loyal to the Crown. He announced that the salaries of all serving members of those services would be paid as a matter of priority from Saudi Arabia’s currency reserves. He told them he had allocated the sum of $3 billion for this purpose in the first year.

  Thus King Nasir, at two strokes, had rid himself of a $200 billion a year “obligation to the princes,” and gained himself a fabulously loyal national fighting force at a net “profit” of $197 billion.

  As the Saudi soldiers, sailors, and airmen owed him a huge debt of honor and allegiance, so King Nasir felt toward Colonel Gamoudi and General Rashood. They were both ensconced in the big white house he had personally made available to the Colonel, and their every wish was his profound pleasure to grant.

  They had servants, limousines, helicopters on call, a facility at every restaurant in the city to dine at the King’s expense, endless invitations to attend the palace, and if they wished to dine with the King in the desert.

  King Nasir was especially fond of his comrade-in-arms Colonel Gamoudi, and he was growing to like equally well his forward commander in the battle for Khamis Mushayt. If the two leaders of the revolution so wished, they were free to remain and make their homes in Riyadh as permanent guests of the King for the rest of their days. They were the nearest thing to the most privileged of princes, ever since the former King went down in a hail of bullets from Rashood’s machine gun the previous week.

  The King had also moved forward on his promises to France. He had allocated $10 billion to the rebuilding of Pump Station Number One, the Abqaiq complex, the Qatif Junction manifold, the Sea Island Terminal loading platforms, the LPG Terminal off Ras al Ju’aymah, and the Red Sea refineries.