Tehran Decree (7 page)

The president cast one last glance around table and
picked up his notes.

‘Right gentleman...you’ll have my decision
shortly.’

The chief of staff for the army, General Sam
Williams, suddenly stood upright pushing his chair sharply
backwards. His rapid movement surprised his contemporaries, and was
all the more remarkable considering his vast bulk. His eighteen
stone frame dwarfed his colleagues who peered up at him expecting a
verbal blast from hell. He was a dyed in the wool military man who
joined the army at a tender age and loved the sting of battle. He
had managed to get involved in almost every US conflict since the
beginning of the Korean war.

He stared at his civil superior, his beady eyes and
shaved head taking on the image of a pained heavyweight boxer
cowering under his trainers orders.

‘Excuse me sir, I don’t now if you realise it, but if
they have a nuclear artillery capability, they could annihilate the
4000 troops we sent there in a mater of minutes
--
a few
good salvos would probably be enough,’ Ellen Monard cast a painful
glance at the army chief of staff and tried to tone down the
rhetoric.

Instinctively the chief of staff turned his bulky
head on its well muscled axis and looked forcefully at Monard --
she had unwittingly become the enemy. It was then that Sam Williams
noticed for the first time that the security advisor was actually a
female, rather than another dummy sitting at the table.

She was wearing a soft textured, lavender blouse,
which notably accentuated her femininity; whether this was planned
or merely an incidental dress situation Williams was not sure. He
felt himself melting under her influence as the concealed White
House light played on her blouse, and highlighted her feminine
features. She continued her rhetoric gesturing directly at
Garner.

‘We must exercise some empathy with them Mr.
President...get into their heads and work out what’s driving their
motivation,’ Garner reshuffled his notes and nodded agreeably.

‘I realise that, and we will consider all the
ramifications.’

‘One other thing Mr. President,’ Williams interjected
trying to gain lost ground, ‘please don’t agonise too long...it may
cost us our country and our lives,’ Garner produced another
perfunctory smile.

‘I know Sam...I know,’ the president turned and left
the room leaving a concerted hum as the service chief’s exchanged
their concerns.

President Garner had no military experience, and was
the product of a privileged corporate upbringing, having been a
Harvard graduate and the CEO of three companies prior to entering
politics. It was unfortunate that the cold war, and former
president Eisenhower, (also a former army general) had tended to
set the pace for the top political office during times of military
crisis.

An unofficial consensus among the chiefs was that big
wars needed big military brass in the top job to resolve them. They
preferred a man who could think on a military level, clued up on
weaponry, able to liaise with the men in the trenches, and could at
least fire a gun.

It was a standard cliché in the working classes that
any American citizen could run for, and become, the president of
the United States. It was also a known fact in the upper echelons
that this was virtually impossible, unless you were a collage
educated millionaire, or at least an officer with military honors,
and whole lot of political friends in the right places.

Every now and again someone would buck the trend and
this usually happened when the public were sick and tired of the
incumbent administration; then a really new kid on the block would
make it through the quagmire of political propaganda, that ran up
and down the country during election year.

Chapter Eleven

President Garner looked at his watch seemingly
counting the hours since his meeting with the Chiefs of Staff in
the Pentagon. The actual figures didn’t register but Garner knew
significant time had passed and a decision was imminent.

It was a perplexing situation and it reminded him of
a compressed version of the Cuban missile crisis during the Kennedy
administration -- past high tension, and political trauma, was of
great value, in that it showed in detail how difficult
international problems were finally resolved. Trouble was each new
crisis seemed to have its own ingratiating personality and couldn’t
be readily cut and dried.

The secretary of defence lay back in his chair and
wiped his brow with freshening aloe vera tissue, then supped the
remains of his strong coffee
--
the two men had been
discussing the Iranian crises for the last four hours and had
reached a stalemate. The final consensus was that nuclear force
could not be used and to put more men and weapons into the field
would only antagonise the Iranians into a nuclear confrontation.
Withdrawing substantial numbers of troops out of harms way would
also have a detrimental effect. The Iranians would interpret this
as a gross sign of weakness on the part of the Americans and could
precipitate a domino type collapse of US forces around the world.
Garner stood at one of the large White House windows looking across
the Potomac River thinking about the intractable harshness of war.
It was strange how similar the situation was to the first world war
when men were stuck in the trenches neither being able to make
ground or retreat without substantial losses. Stalemate was almost
as bad as loosing a war, however, one thing was painfully obvious,
the US forces had to be one hundred percent ready to use nuclear
force if and when it was required as a last resort option. A
tentative defcon one situation had to be instituted immediately for
an American nuclear strike force.

The president learned forward fixing the defence
secretary with his gaze.

‘You do realise George that this decision can’t be
entirely our own...it could lead to WW3 nuclear style.’

‘Of course sir, I understand that...we’ll confer with
the chiefs as soon as we’re ready.’

‘No, what I meant was that our allies must be
informed...better still, there advice must be urgently sort. We
simply can’t go wiping out strategic sections of the Iranian
defence community without at least conferring with our major
Allies.’

‘That could mean a covert conference or a video hook
up sir.’

‘No George, this must be a face to face meeting, all
electronic media no matter how covert is susceptible to corruption.
Possibly our best bet is a low key international meeting at short
notice in a secure location...by that I mean an area were Iranian
missile technology can’t reach.’

‘We could arrange one in Dallas Texas sir, that’s
just about out of range,’ Garner glared at his secretary of
defence.

‘I do hope you’re joking George...either that or your
memory is failing you...that place has a terrible political
history’

‘I’m sorry sir...I wasn’t thinking.’

‘Obviously not...its got to be a secure allied
country.’

‘Well the only two I can think of off-hand, are New
Zealand and Australia, most of the others would be in range of the
Iranian missiles. Possibly the best choices would be Canberra,
Sydney or Auckland.’

‘I think perhaps we can rule out Canberra
--
its a rather obvious capital city, as is Auckland. It’ll have to be
Sydney, it’ll give me a chance to check out the ship’s bell at
Darling Harbour.’

‘The ship’s bell sir?...Darling Harbour?’

‘Yes, the one former president Bush presented to the
National Maritime Museum back in 2001. It’s a good idea for a US
president to show interest in the local area,’ Garner touched his
nose, ‘lest we forget.’

‘Oh, and I would like to check out one of their new
tunnels across the city, they’ve been laying them down like there
was no tomorrow...those things make good air raid shelters in case
of emergancy...you never know George.’

‘Okay Mr. president...I’ll see the chief of staff,
we’ll get a schedule going and give Air Force One a call.’

‘Good, the sooner the better...vice president Jenkins
will need to be briefed on his take over as acting president.’

‘Right sir...all on the agenda.’

‘Good!’ Garner stood and held himself upright, the
talk seemed to have refreshed him, and he breathed in holding his
chin high. The was nothing more refreshing then making a concrete
decision during a crisis that one could act on immediately.

Chapter Twelve

Vice Presidents Office

Steven Jenkins had been the US vice president for the
last two years and privately declared that it was a straight jacket
of a job. The position was limited by the constitution to becoming
president on the death or resignation of the incumbent
president.

The job had several other purely administrative
duties such as casting the deciding vote should the senate become
deadlocked, and advising the president on matters of government. It
was standard procedure to send the vice president to meet other
heads of state and show concern at state funerals in other
countries
--
when the president’s duties prevented him from
attending
--
which was quite often.

Politically it was a dead-end, back-room job, for a
statesman who shouldered little real ambition, unless of course the
president suddenly became indisposed.

The secretary of state Colin Steadman, entered the
office and passed the document he had been studying over to the
vice president.

‘There sir...the arrangements have been finallised
for the president’s visit to Australia,’ Jenkins went slowly down
the schedule. Not that it mattered too much, but as acting head of
the home government, he had to be made aware of the presidents
location and condition on a regular basis.

After the all important meeting with the heads of
state of the free world at Government House in Sydney, the
president's motorcade would leave via Circular Key and make its way
to Darling Harbour. Once there, the president would inspect the
ship’s bell at the National Maritime Museum, and spend fifteen
minutes with the administrative staff for an official coffee break,
where a presentation of a gold miniature of the ship’s bell would
be made to the president by the premier of New South Wales.

The motorcade would then progress via the Western
Distributor Tunnel, where it would stop directly under the middle
of Hyde Park, to allow the president to inspect parts of the
tunnel. A ten minute pause had been allowed for this in the
schedule. The motorcade would then go immediately to the airport
where the president would board Air Force One. All areas covered
would be sealed off to the general public by the Australian Federal
and State Police for the duration of the visit. As an extra
precaution all areas visited by the president would also be
inspected by the US secret service fifteen minutes ahead of the
motorcade as part of their official duties.

Vice president Jenkins smiled perceptively, it was a
tight schedule, but it was a good one, and had just the right
amount of panache for the purpose of the visit. A tentative low key
release would be made to the media that an important economic forum
between allied countries on the future of the global economy would
be held in Australia.

‘Air Force One’s takeoff will be one hour from now
sir,’ secretary Steadman advised. Jenkins checked his gold Omega
watch
--
he would be in charge of the day to day running of
the country for the short time the president was abroad.

He removed a clip folder from a locked bottom drawer
in his desk, and studied a list of items typed on a sheet of A4
paper.

They were all the things he intended to do once
Garner had left the country. In spite of the dead-end attributes of
the vice president’s’ position, Jenkins was determined to elevate
his powers to that of a substantial leader. After all, he would
have complete presidential powers while Garner was away.

It was a chance to exert his own special leadership.
It wasn’t very often one was given such powers along with the
unbridled freedom to implement them. Some men would have reacted
negatively -- sitting like a dummy -- frozen with fear, at the
thought of having the power to destroy the world within their
hands, even if it were largely symbolic.

America was blinded by her own power and the home
grown suggestion that she could whip any country on earth. This
undoubtedly contributed to her gung-ho approach when confronted by
a military crisis.

Even so, one needed balls and the audacity to give
the correct orders to the hapless minions surrounding him. Jenkins
knew he had these attributes and was more than prepared to use
them.

It was sometimes said that whoever occupied the White
House had nowhere to hide, Jenkins smiled, and even felt smug about
the statement. This was true if one followed the politically
correct house rules, but surprisingly, no one had pointed out that
it was just as easy to forget these rules and apply your own, just
as long as it was done covertly, and with cards pressed close to
one’s chest. You can do anything you like, just as long as you do
it the right way, and don’t get caught doing it -- was Jenkin’s
working philosophy.

Chapter Thirteen

Australia, The Top End

The Three SUV four wheelers were making little
headway in the Top End scrub. Driving a vehicle by compass was both
an exciting, and a frustrating experience. Open bush terrain was a
breeze providing their weren’t too many obstacles, but within the
rain forest scrub, it was near impossible, unless one stuck to
known tracks, although this did leave a lot of untrodden ground in
nature’s hinterland.

They had been travelling for the last two hours in a
northeasterly direction towards the Cape. In the lead vehicle Farid
Hassan Kazeny, stopped suddenly, alighted, checked his compass,
then signaled the others to turn off their engines. Dressed in
lightweight cotton track suits and baseball caps the ten men
compliantly gathered around Kazeni.