Читать книгу Ultimatum 2 - Richard Rohmer - Страница 5

He spoke softly. Not with anger but with unmistakably firm intent. Sitting well back in his leather-cushioned chair behind his desk, flanked at the windows by his flags of office, he addressed his Secretary of State. She could barely hear his voice, but she had spent so much one-on-one time with him both before and after he became president that she could hear, as well as understand, nearly every word, every inflection.

“What did that briefing tell you?” he asked, his fingertips together in front of his sombre face as if to underscore his troubled mind.

The briefing in the Oval Office had been well organized, outlining what he wanted and how much money the United States had given to Russia — so far — for the purpose of cleaning up Putin’s nuclear messes. Messes? The derelict nuclear subs, the plutonium factories, the tons of weapons-grade material littered across Russia with little or no security against theft, against al Qaeda, against terrorists who would sacrifice their lives, anything, to mount a nuclear strike against the heart of America. That heart was anywhere, everywhere, inside the body of the United States.

How much more money had Congress pledged to give to Russia for cleaning up that nuclear shambles? And where was Russia putting, storing, disposing of its massive amount of high-level nuclear waste? That was the stuff that could be the gut material of those dreaded words “nuclear proliferation,” the spreading of the ability of rogue nations and universal terrorists to create and use nuclear weapons of mass destruction. Against whom? The target of escalating choice: America at home and wherever its face was seen in the world.

The President’s hands dropped away from his lined face below his full head of greying hair. He leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “Look, we have to make the Russians accountable. We have to do what Rob Ross suggested.”

“What d’you mean?”

“We have to tell them that for every million dollars we give them for disposing of their high-level nuclear waste, they have to give us a record of what they’ve done with it. I mean, we just can’t keep on throwing our taxpayers’ money at them and still have no idea of what they’re doing.”

“So what’s your plan, Mr. President? What d’you want me to do?”

“Simple. Give Putin the Dr. Ross ultimatum. Either do what I want, nuclear waste–wise — or else.”

She shrugged. “That I can do. But you have to put some meat on this ultimatum skeleton of yours.”

The President stood up, walked around and away from his desk, and paced the Oval Office rug as he formulated his directions.

He began. “This is what I want you to do. Take Ross’s idea, work it up with him, then give the Russians the ultimatum, and the Russian to give it to is Putin’s right-hand man, his deputy prime minister, Sergei Ivanov, who also has the Defence portfolio.”

During the briefing Dr. Rob Ross had raised a final topic. It was an idea that had caught the President’s full attention.

When Ross had explained what he had in mind for a unique, long-term, practical solution for the Russian nuclear waste dilemma the President had said, “That’s a great idea, Dr. Ross. A barnburner. Like something we’d come up with in Texas. Yeah. It sounds as though you’ve already done a lot of research into this one.”

“Yes, sir. I’ve looked into the situation in depth. There’s been an enormous amount of research already invested into the technology, particularly by the firm Atomic Energy of Canada Limited, AECL.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of them. They’re big in building nuclear power plants, right?”

“Exactly, Mr. President, and they’re also big in coming up with solutions for getting rid of nuclear waste. They know how to do it. All I’m doing is suggesting how you could get the Russians to hook into AECL’s technology.”

The President gave a crafty smile. “Hook or be hooked?”

Ross nodded. “I think you’re going to have to hook them, sir. Whether they like it or not. And my proposed bait on the hook could well be irresistible.”

It certainly was irresistible to the President. The Ross concept was the centrepiece of the President’s private instructions to his Secretary of State. It was the ultimatum scenario that would put into play a train of unusual activity for the Secretary, her staff, and for Dr. Rob Ross, Assistant Under Secretary of Energy, the man with the idea.

The President stopped his pacing. He stood quiet for a moment, then said, “Look, this nuclear waste thing’s important but, as you know, my top priorities are Iraq…”

“And Iran and Israel,” the Secretary prompted.

“Yes, and the Mexican border and this never-ending illegal immigration mess. The House and the Senate are still miles apart. The Senate mood is that they won’t accept any legislation that doesn’t legalize illegal immigrants. As Schumer puts it, there’s going to have to be a path to citizenship for all our illegals.

“On the other side, the lead House negotiator says he would never support a bill that gives illegal immigrants a chance at American citizenship. He calls the Senate legislation ‘amnesty,’ but he’ll support a guest-worker program.”

“So, what can you do to bring the two sides together?”

“Right now I don’t know how to handle the situation.”

“D’you think putting the National Guard troops on the Mexican border has really done anything to stop the flow of illegals?”

“No, of course not. They’re not armed. No power of arrest. But at least they’re showing a military presence and they’re building the big fence.” He shrugged. “Anyway, the National Guard, they’re not the solution to securing the border, making it impossible for illegals to get in.”

“Isn’t that the first step that has to be taken?” the Secretary asked.

“Making it impossible to get in? Sure it is, but how can I do it?”

The President didn’t expect an answer. He walked to his desk and sat, his hands behind his neck, legs stretched out, eyes looking out the Oval Office window, then back to his Secretary of State in whom he had complete confidence. “I’m really worried about Dick,” he said. “He’s had his heart problems for years. Cardiovascular is probably a better description. He’s looking flushed. Not talking much during cabinet meetings.”

“I’ve noticed that. It’s not like him.”

“He says he’s fine but I’ve asked him to slow down, cut out campaign speeches and travel. He says, ‘Sure, Mr. President,’ and just keeps on doing his own thing.”

“Speaking about Dick,” she said, “what about Iraq? That has to be your biggest priority. How will you get out of there?”

The President sat up straight and turned in his chair to look across his desk. The answer would not come from him. It would come from his successor. That person would not be his Vice-President.