Close Quarters

TWENTY-ONE

‘Are we secure?’

Howard Benson had just entered the private library of the prestigious Washington law firm of Chapin, Wilde and Langstone. Already seated were four other men, three of them members of a privately financed think-tank calling themselves the Dupont Circle Group.

‘Of course we’re secure, Howard,’ Vernon Chapin muttered. ‘I have the place swept every day and twice on Sundays. What have you got for us? I was hoping for an early round of golf. Then I have to visit my consultant.’ He waved a vague hand at their raised eyebrows. ‘He thinks I might be dying, but he’s an idiot.’ A senior member of the law firm bearing his name and a former member of Military Intelligence back when the Cold War was dribbling to an end and Soviet president Mikhail Gorbachev was ushering in a new age of liberalization, Chapin had forgotten more about security than most people could even begin to know, and shared much of Benson’s dislike of the CIA. He also despised health consultants as charlatans until they proved themselves otherwise.

The hum of subdued and orderly activity in the offices outside the library was barely detectable, but in any case an electronic net embedded in the partition walls ensured that whatever was discussed within the room stayed there. It was why this place had been chosen for their meetings.

‘Travis, the man the State Department sent in to talk with the various factions in Ukraine and elsewhere,’ Benson began, ‘has run into a shit storm. He’s under virtual house arrest and has been told that if he leaves his hotel, he’ll be shot. The State Department’s frightened he’ll be accused of conducting a spying trip under orders from the White House, and have asked Langley to get him out of there with immediate effect. They’ve sent in a private contractor under cover to escort him out.’

‘My God, gun-boat diplomacy?’ Ambrose Teller, a retired banker and private investor, and a former officer with the now subsumed National Intelligence Agency, gave a wry chuckle. ‘I thought that stuff went out of fashion with the Brits and Margaret Thatcher.’

‘I cancelled a round of golf for that?’ Chapin looked mildly ticked off, but his tone was intrigued. He glanced at a slim, dour-looking man sitting to his right. ‘What’s your information on this, Walter? Anything we should know?’

A senior White House staffer with a host of hot contacts in government, Conkley was an ambitious and invaluable source of inside information for political movers and shakers like these. Although not an inside member of the Dupont Group, his seat at National Security Council meetings chaired by the president, and his willingness to spill details for financial return, automatically guaranteed him a chair here.

‘It’s a serious threat and the action suggested is entirely reasonable,’ Conkley announced loftily. If he’d expected a moment of hushed awe at the comment, he was disappointed. After a moment of silence he continued. ‘The original idea was for Travis to initiate talks with the affected parties while they were still in a position to do so freely and without interference from Moscow. But someone appears to have taken him out of circulation.’

‘Do we know who?’ said Teller.

‘We don’t, not yet. It could be one of the nationalist organizations opposed to closer ties with Moscow, stirring up trouble between us; it could even be one of the separatist groups on orders from Moscow, irritated by what they see as interference. We’re not exactly short of suspects in the region.’

Teller shook his head. ‘I may be naïve in these matters, and you’ll have to forgive me for that, but why can’t this Travis simply go to the embassy in — Kiev, is it? He’d be safe there, surely.’

‘Ordinarily, yes,’ Conkley agreed. ‘But the situation over there is fragile. Using the embassy might compromise their position beyond retrieval.’

Benson grunted. ‘Especially now Travis has a CIA hired gun in tow.’

Conkley nodded. ‘That’s unfortunate, I agree. Also the government in Ukraine is losing control by the day with pro-Russian elements taking control of official buildings and the police, especially in the east around the Donetsk and Luhansk areas. But it doesn’t stop there; there’s a real concern that the situation could get worse with signs of political unrest building in other countries, like Moldova.’

‘Is that likely?’ Teller asked.

‘It’s possible, yes. We’ve had reliable reports of Russian troops in unmarked uniforms operating in various locations throughout the region, but especially close to main roads, airports and border crossings. President Putin has made no secret of his long-term intentions to win back what were satellite states, and he’s not without support within some of those countries where there is a substantial pro-Russian population who would welcome closer ties with Moscow.’ He hesitated, then added for emphasis, ‘And I mean much closer ties. The main fear is that he could do what he did once before with Ukraine; he could restrict or cut off completely supplies of oil and gas.’

Teller looked bored. ‘Why would that bother us?’

‘Because,’ Benson said, ‘it would destabilize the entire region, including large parts of mainland Europe. And that should certainly concern us all.’

‘Explain,’ said Chapin.

‘Ukraine isn’t the only big user of Russian energy. Germany is a big net buyer of natural gas, with other European states to a lesser degree. They rely on a number of pipelines which pass through Ukrainian territory. If this situation blows up further and Putin tightens his grip on those supplies long enough, those countries could end up going dark for long periods until they source other supplies. That would take time. It would cost them dear to source other supplies … but they’d have no choice.’

‘Why would Putin risk doing that? He must know he’d earn international opprobrium.’

‘He probably does, but I doubt he really cares. As far as he’s concerned, it’s nothing to do with him; civil unrest in other states is beyond his control and pipelines are vulnerable to attack by extremists.’

Teller nodded impatiently. ‘But that’s a political problem. How does it affect us?’

‘Simple. Look what happened in the Middle East when the pipelines and installations were interrupted. Oil prices went through the ceiling.’

‘Amen to that,’ Teller murmured softly, with a dreamy look on his face. ‘And may the good times roll again.’ He only realized what he had said when he became aware of an uncomfortable silence and saw the warning looks thrown at him by Benson and Chapin.

But it was too late. Walter Conkley was staring at him.

‘Why do you say that?’ the staffer asked. ‘The good times? For who?’

‘Just a joke, Walter,’ Benson suggested mildly, but glaring at Teller to shut him up before he said anything else. ‘A bad one at that.’

‘Was it?’ Conkley looked around the table at the assembled faces, but appeared to find nothing there to reassure him. He turned back to Teller. ‘Didn’t you once tell me that you had developed extensive energy portfolios during and after the Gulf War?’

‘I really don’t recall. I may have had. Is it important?’ Teller sound calm, but he looked uncomfortable under the poisonous looks his friends were giving him.

Benson jumped in before anyone else could speak. ‘Forget it, Walter. Like I said, it was a bad joke. On a more serious note, we’re merely laying out the scenarios if this situation deteriorates further. People ask our advice, you know that. We have to know what the big picture might be. That’s where you come in.’

It was naked flattery, but Conkley looked unconvinced. ‘Well, I don’t know, Senator. I’ve been coming here and giving you information — most of it open, I know that — but still, it’s information not available to everyone and frankly, some of it is stuff I shouldn’t be discussing.’ His voice had taken on a wheedling tone, and he was looking like a rabbit in the headlights. ‘I hope none of it is going to be misused in any way.’

‘Of course not. And we appreciate your valuable input, Walter, we really do. I think you know how much, too.’ He smiled as he delivered this unsubtle reminder, in case anyone had forgotten, that Conkley was well paid for any ‘input’ he placed their way.

He swallowed and nodded. ‘Of course. I didn’t mean to suggest …’

‘No, of course not.’ Benson’s face was genial but to anyone who knew him, it was just a mask. Inside he was seething at Teller’s stupidity. But he smiled warmly and said, ‘I think we can allow you to get back to your office now, Walter. You’ll keep us informed of further developments at your end, of course?’

It was a dismissal and they all knew it, Conkley most of all. He was sufficiently versed in the subtleties of atmosphere to know when it was time to leave. It had happened before with these men, but he’d chosen to look on it as part of their secret games, nothing more. A gathering of old men with long memories and more snap than teeth, they at least had a talent for analysing world events that proved occasionally useful for the administration. He stood up and buttoned his jacket, then left without a word.