Читать книгу Ultimatum 2 - Richard Rohmer - Страница 11

Crisp came back to a point Ross had raised. “There’s something you said much earlier about the Russians having a big, temporarily stored nuclear mess on their hands...”

“Yes.”

“I’m sure you didn’t miss this but the Russian Parliament, the lower house, the Duma, has passed legislation that will allow the importation of spent nuclear fuel for storage and reprocessing.”

“I didn’t miss it. That’s incredible. Like throwing gasoline on a fire to put it out.”

“The Duma passed the legislation with a two to one majority,” Crisp said. “Here they are, apparently incapable of handling the nuclear waste they themselves have produced...”

“And are continuing to churn out...”

“Precisely. And here we are, throwing money at them to help them clean up their house when they’re ready to open their doors to more nuclear garbage. Doesn’t make sense except for the Russian guesstimate, which is that the intake of about one thousand tonnes a year of waste fuel would produce, generate, about $30.5 billion over ten years...”

“Which they could use to clean up their existing mess,” Ross suggested. “Got it. Which comes first, the chicken or the egg?”

“Perhaps the United States could withhold its consent,” the Secretary ventured. “It has consent rights for much of the world’s nuclear waste because it provides the nuclear fuel, the uranium bundles, for most plants around the world.”

“But I can’t see us trying that ploy,” Rob responded. “I mean the Russians are desperate for dollars, for any good outside currency they can lay their hands on. It would be hard for the U.S. to justify interfering. On the other hand, who would their customers be?”

“They say the Ukraine, Taiwan, Japan, China, Iran, and eastern Europe. Frankly, I think the densely populated west European countries are or could be customers.”

“In the meantime the Russians’ prostituting their nuclearstorage selves for money is pathetic,” Ross said.

The Secretary of State was mightily impressed as she listened to the brilliant, handsome young Ross. Clean-cut and articulate, he reminded her of Wayne Gretzky. The Secretary was a hockey fan, loved the fast action, the hard hits, even the odd slugging match if it was fair.

The Secretary’s body language and the half-smile told Rob that he was doing okay. That made him comfortable. But Crisp appeared as though he might have a wide jealous streak. A Harvard hotshot, he probably considered himself intellectually far superior to anyone in government (including his Secretary).

“So what’s your basic plan of action, Rob?” The Secretary was deliberate in her use of Ross’s first name. A signal. “And what can we do for you? You’re one of us now, Mr. Ambassador.”

Crisp was quick. “Well, not really, Madam Secretary. Ambassador rank, yes. But not one of us!”

The Secretary ignored the pompous Crisp-in-the-butt, as she sometimes referred to him, though never to his face.

Ross ignored Crisp as well. “My plan is to go to Murmansk for meetings with the head of MINATOM, Nikolai Yegerov. He’s an old acquaintance of mine. I want to open up, do a heads-up with him on Russia’s entire nuclear waste situation. I’ve already talked with him.”

“Is he agreeable?” State asked.

“Yes. I’ve made preliminary arrangements through Yegerov and your Moscow desk,” Ross acknowledged. “Thank you, they’ve been very helpful. I’ve arranged for a quick tour of some of the naval bases, the nuclear sub locations in the Kola Peninsula. Then an inspection of PA Mayak, the plutonium storage place, to see what our $150 million is doing for us there. That’s where the MOX, mixed oxide, uranium bundles would be fabricated and that’s where the nuclear reactors from the decommissioned submarines are supposed to be sent for disassembly and reprocessing. They have a specialized custom-made set of railway cars that carry the used nuclear fuel containers from the Northern Fleet to the Mayak Chemical Combine. The submarine fleet is in a nuclear disaster mode. So I must take a look at it to see how what’s there could fit into the international disposal site jigsaw puzzle. I also want to discuss the nuclear sub dry dock they want us to finance.”

“How could the Kola nuclear junk possibly fit into the proposal you put to the President?” Crisp was skeptical.

“Easily, depending on where our international disposal site is located. It has to be accessible by deep sea freighters, and if it is, then I can envisage a full clean-up of the Kola and Russia’s Pacific bases because I also see a complete reprocessing plant at the site.”

Ross admitted, “I have to be careful. This is all in my mind’s eye. But if the President’s goal is to do everything possible to stop nuclear weapons proliferation and to stop the two major nuclear powers from being always on the verge of annihilating each other in times of stress and confrontation, then my job is to examine every opportunity I can find to achieve his objective. And the plan I gave him is a perfect fit.”

He saw the Secretary gently nod her agreement. “Chernobyl?” she asked.

“I won’t have time to take a look at that infamous place on this trip. Congress has voted a multi-million-dollar package as a contribution toward the G7’s $700-million commitment for the construction of a giant concrete envelope, a sarcophagus to enclose the radioactive rubble of Reactor Four. And an additional $22.5 million for a Chernobyl heating plant crucial to allowing the reactor to shut down.”

The Secretary summarized. “So what you’re saying is that our nuclear investment in Russia is growing by leaps and bounds: $150 million here, $22 million there, god knows how many millions at Chernobyl. We really haven’t any choice if we want the Russians to partner with us in getting rid of those countless warheads...” The Secretary’s voice faded as she left her thought out there.

“And the countless nuclear messes around Russia,” Ross followed on. “Some of their plants are still producing weaponsgrade plutonium and enriched uranium. They say they can’t shut them down because they create massive employment. Whole Russian cities have been built out of and around the nuclear industry. Incredible.”

At last Crisp decided to be positive. “As I see it, the reality is, Madam Secretary, that prosperous, burgeoning America has no choice. We are the richest, most powerful nation in the world — for the time being, as history teaches us. If our prosperous world, our global civilization, is to survive, and our American way of life is to continue as free from the threat of nuclear annihilation as possible and after September eleventh and after Iraq is as free from terrorism as possible, then we must work with the leaders of the Russian state to assist them in bringing their nuclear serpent monster under control, and we must do so with co-operation, mutual respect, trust...” He hesitated for effect. “...and money, tons of money, billions!”

The Secretary liked what she heard. “Yes, Jason, and if necessary, we have to override the co-operation, mutual respect, and trust thing with an ultimatum — Dr. Ross’s concept, which the President has bought.” She then said to Ross, “I take it from what you’ve said that your travel arrangements are well advanced. Anything further my people can do?”

“Yes, thank you. As I told you, I’ve pinned down all the places I want to visit. It’ll be just as if we were a North American mining or oil company flying its executives and experts into all parts of Russia for business purposes. I think Americans don’t have any idea of the amount of day-to-day business traffic of corporate aircraft that fly into Russia and republics like Ukraine that were part of the Soviet Union. No idea. My assistant and I will be well looked after and we’ll be able to take with us up to six passengers, such as MINATOM people. In any event I’ll need all the help I can get from you, Madam Secretary and Mr. Crisp, in putting together my Russia visit and the run-up, the preparations for Stavanger and Oslo.”

“Your assistant?” Crisp’s right eyebrow arched as he put the question.

“Yes. She’s actually a highly competent executive assistant with every qualification you’d want, starting with an MBA out of Harvard in computer technology and communications. She was also fourth runner-up in the Miss America contest five years ago.”

“I’m sure she’ll look after you.” Crisp had things other than business in mind when he made that comment.

The new ambassador grinned. “All in the national interest of the United States of America. Yes, sir.”

The Secretary suggested that rather than flying direct to Russia, Ross should stop at London and pay a visit to the British Prime Minister. She was on the best of terms with him. And subject to his being in London — not off golfing or on holiday in Tuscany where once upon a time he had happily impregnated his lovely barrister wife — the Secretary was sure the Prime Minister would receive him at the rickety, ancient bastion of British first ministers, 10 Downing Street.

“It would be a valuable opportunity to present your ambassadorial credentials, so to speak, and to bring the young man up to speed on the President’s nuclear waste disposal initiatives.”

“Great idea. I love London. Superb city. I can do that. And I’ll spend some time with our ambassador there.”

“Carl Elton, the television mogul. He’s enjoying his caper there enormously. Loves being in the Royals’ circle. Thinks he’s died and gone to heaven.”

“But I can’t tell him what I’m doing, what my mandate is from the President, can I?”

The Secretary agreed. “No. Absolutely not. I’ll tell him you’re on a special secret mission, you’ve been given ambassadorial rank, and would he please show you the usual appropriate courtesies. I’ll give him some of the details. Just enough.”

“Perfect. I’ll book us in at the Stafford Hotel on St. James Place, my favourite spot in London.”

“Separate rooms, of course?” Crisp smiled.

Rob laughed. “Madam Secretary, the Stafford is a small, exquisite hotel. If I can get in on ten days’ notice it will only be because the managing director, Terry Moore, and I are old friends. And if my superb assistant Sue and I are forced — forced, mind you — to bunk in together in the interests of Uncle Sam ... well what can I tell you or you tell me?”

It was Crisp who had the answer. He looked at Rob, saying, “Be careful, Your Excellency. Precaution is the word.”

His opinion of Crisp was warming. Perhaps he wasn’t such a stick after all. Time would tell. Anyway, it was the first time anyone — other than the President — had called him by his new protocol ambassadorial title, Your Excellency.

Timing was a constraining issue. State and Crisp briefed Ross on the proposed Stavanger meeting with Ivanov. The Ross trip to Russia had to be completed and digested at least ten days before the date of the Norwegian presidential wedding — which was to be preceded by two days by the proposed Stavanger airport meeting.

The wedding was set for June 10; the Ivanov event, therefore, was June 8 and 9, and the date of this meeting with the Secretary of State was May 5. In essence there were twenty-nine or thirty days to complete the research and travelling that Ross needed to do before finalizing with the Secretary and Crisp the ultimatum that Herself would drop ceremoniously upon the unsuspecting Foreign Minister Ivanov.

It was time for the diminutive Secretary to leave.

“Jason and his highly efficient team can work with you. I have another meeting scheduled now, Dr. Ross. If you and he could have a full briefing book — or books — put together for our next meeting...”

“After my Russia trip?”

“Yes, that would be fine.”

The Secretary was gone.

Crisp and Ross plotted what had to be done.

Crisp would make all the diplomatic arrangements: coordination with Ivanov’s people; clearances for the Secretary’s aircraft, permissions and security with the Norwegians — particularly at Stavanger; accommodation at Oslo; the texts of the protocol speeches pre- and post-wedding; and, of course, the selection and presentation of the wedding gift from the people of the United States.

As for Ross, Crisp would see that his bag was the central core of the confrontation — and it would be a confrontation — with the Russians.

The two of them would ultimately draft the text of the ultimatum that the Secretary herself would present to Ivanov.

Ross would be responsible for feeding statistics into that huge brain of the Secretary’s, and for keeping her on top of all of the information needed to formulate the proposal. It was her job to present it to the Russians and finally to persuade Ivanov — with Putin looking over his shoulder — that, tough as it was, America’s proposition was the way to go.

As he had listened to Rob Ross answer the Secretary’s and his queries and explain the facts of the complexity and depth of the Russian nuclear waste dilemma, Crisp’s respect for the young man’s knowledge and judgment rapidly increased. This guy appeared to know what he was talking about. And his ultimatum strategy was brilliant.

Crisp knew that, in spite of their age difference, probably close to twenty years, as with the Secretary, he would be content to work with Rob Ross as a partner — yes, that was a good word — in pulling off this major, clandestine (another good word) American initiative.