Drone Threat

13

Vice President Chandler dried his hands over the blower, waiting for his bowling ball to return, studying the pin reset.

“A seven-ten split, Mr. Vice President,” Tarkovsky said. “How will you negotiate that one?”

“I’ve seen worse,” Chandler replied. His tie was uncharacteristically loose and his French cuff sleeves rolled up. He’d draped his suit coat over one of the two chairs at the scoring station, where Tarkovsky was sitting.

“It’s the hardest split in bowling. You don’t have a chance.”

The sweeper arm cleared and the automatic pinsetter lifted. Chandler analyzed the bowling pins standing on either side of the rear of the pin deck. The dreaded 7-10.

“Actually, the four-six-seven-nine-ten Greek church is the hardest split in bowling. You only have a point-three percent chance of catching all of those. The seven-ten has a point-seven percent chance.”

“You take your bowling seriously!” Tarkovsky said.

Chandler’s custom ball chunked into view out of the return. “I take everything seriously, Mr. Ambassador. Especially bowling.”

“Why bowling, if I may ask?”

“I was raised in the back of a six-lane alley in Devereux, Georgia, by my maternal grandmother. Started setting pins and frying hush puppies when I was nine years old.”

Chandler whipped a microfiber cloth out of his pocket and polished the ball lightly before picking it back up. He stepped up to the approach dots in his custom-fitted bowling shoes and raised the ball with both hands to the front of his face like a prayer. Chandler’s tailored shirt highlighted his narrow shoulders and back but couldn’t hide the spare tire bulging just above his waistband. But when Chandler stepped into his throw, he lifted the ball far behind him and swung it down hard with a vicious curling spin. The ball exploded out of his hand and down the lane, hugging the right gutter until it smashed into the ten pin just right of center. The force of the strike was so strong it threw the ten pin crashing into the back wall at an oblique angle from whence it rocketed back out onto the pin deck and smashed into the seven pin.

“That’s a spare, I believe,” Chandler said, grinning ear to ear.

Tarkovsky stood to his feet and slow-clapped his admiration. “And that’s the game. Congratulations.” He added, “Again.”

Chandler fell back into his chair and grabbed up the can of Coke in the koozie marked with the vice presidential seal. He held it aloft. Tarkovsky raised a bottle of water and they toasted. “Cheers.” Chandler took a long, satisfying pull. He loved the burn.

The two of them were all alone in the little two-lane White House bowling alley Nixon had originally built in 1969. It was one of Chandler’s favorite hangouts. It thrilled him to think that every president from Nixon to Greyhill had stood exactly where he was and bowled the same game he loved so dearly. It was a good omen.

Few people outside the White House knew about this place — most were familiar with the Truman bowling alley over in the EEOB — and even fewer had access to it. Thankfully, neither Lane nor his children cared for bowling, so Chandler had it all to himself. White House staff knew to stay clear of it no matter the day or time. It was Chandler’s sanctum sanctorum.

Chandler liked to bring down very special guests to his secret sanctuary. It made them feel like insiders. It was also one of the rooms that he could keep his Secret Service detail out of when he was using it without arousing any kind of suspicion, and he was assured by the senior agent that the room was free of surveillance cameras and recording equipment.

“Next time you’re in Moscow, I’ll have to take you out on the ice for a little hockey. Bowling is too hard.”

“You’d wipe the ice with me like a Zamboni. But I appreciate the invitation.” Chandler took another sip, wondering if Tarkovsky had finally made his opening bid.

Tarkovsky pointed his water bottle at one of the muted TV monitors. CNN was showing footage of yet another village in the Middle East. Still more crying women and dead children in the midst of fire and ruin. “So tell me, Clay, how would you navigate something like this?”

Chandler rose and crossed over to Tarkovsky. “Are you asking me personally, or the American government?”

“The two aren’t the same?” Tarkovsky smiled.

“I’m a loyal servant of this administration, no matter how misguided it can sometimes be.”

“Are you referring to the ‘no new boots on the ground’ policy? The so-called Myers Doctrine?”

“It’s a glorified form of isolationism. The world goes to hell without strong American leadership.”

Tarkovsky nodded thoughtfully. “Some would argue that ‘strong American leadership,’ as you have put it, has caused just as many problems.”

“Strong American leadership means forming strong alliances with reliable partners to manage the world’s problems. We haven’t done that. The world is in chaos now because we’ve failed to bring order.”

“And out of that chaos comes the Four Horsemen, flying the black flag of ISIS.”

Chandler nodded. “We must first deal with ISIS and then with all of the other Islamic terror groups. The Europeans have proved to be largely worthless in that regard, especially in the Middle East. Only your country has proven it has the strength and determination to tackle the Islamic terrorism issue.”

Tarkovsky raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised. I thought your country viewed mine as an international pariah.”

“President Titov has made a few strategic blunders of his own, and the political class in my country has exploited those blunders for their personal political gain.”

“Your sanctions have crippled our economy. It would be hard to form a strong relationship without first removing them.”

Chandler sighed. “Unfortunately, the president has been advised that removing the sanctions would send the wrong signal to the rest of the world that we’re weak on human rights and the rule of law.”

“A very strange idea, considering the fact you make alliances with governments that behead, whip, cripple, and imprison their own citizens for minor civil and religious infractions.”

“We aren’t consistent in our moral umbrage, I’ll grant you that.”

“You in the West don’t play a very smart game. Israel funded Hamas to discredit the PLO when Arafat was preeminent, but now Hamas is built up and they are Israel’s implacable enemy. The same with Bin Laden and the CIA. Over and over, you keep supporting religious terrorists as a weapon against your secular enemies, but you create worse enemies in the bargain.”

“We supported Bin Laden and the mujahideen in response to your invasion of Afghanistan.”

“We invaded to stop an Islamic uprising that was overthrowing the secular government. If we had been allowed to crush the rebellion and restore the government in Kabul, would you or the world be any worse off? Would there have been a Bin Laden or 9/11?”

“Perhaps not. But the way you brutalized the Afghan people—”

Tarkovsky raised a hand. “I was speaking only in geopolitical terms. I make no excuses for the brutality of Brezhnev and the Communists. Good riddance to all of them. But from our perspective — you and me, here, just friends speaking in a friendly way — I think we can both acknowledge that mistakes were made on both sides. The fact we have been and still are competing at the tactical level causes our respective governments to make strategic errors. By not cooperating with each other on the grand strategic issues, we become desperate to find weaker allies to achieve our goals. In my country, the scoundrels invoke historic paranoia to justify their irrationality. In yours, selective humanitarian concerns.”

Chandler nodded. “The purpose of national security is to protect the nation from its enemies, period. We need statesmen at the helm, not Sunday-school teachers.”

“You are one of America’s most articulate leaders. If I may be so bold, I’m not sure why you made common cause with President Lane, who so clearly does not favor Realpolitik.”

“I’m just a soldier, Aleksandr. I serve my country any way I can. I hope to serve her even more effectively once I’m president.”

Tarkovsky’s eyes widened. “You intend on challenging Lane in the next election?”

“Not at all. He’s a very popular president, and while I might not agree with many of his policies, he possesses one priceless talent above all others.”

“You mean his military background?”

“No. His luck. And like Napoleon said in regard to his generals, it’s better to be lucky than clever, and Lane is the luckiest politician I’ve ever known.”

“And you are hoping his luck will rub off on you?”

“I make my own luck. I agreed to run as his VP only because the party assured me that Lane would endorse me after his eight years, but I’m no fool. I need to lay my own firm foundation in the interim. President Lane is about to conduct the Asia security initiative with China as his partner. My intention is to launch a European security initiative with Russia as a partner. A true partner. It’s time we bring stability to the European continent, not to mention the Middle East.”

Tarkovsky smiled. He knew that it was actually Vicki Grafton that had planted the idea in Chandler’s head, part of the plan the two of them had engineered. “What you are proposing is quite brilliant, actually.”

“Do you think Titov would be supportive of a mutual alliance between our governments?”

“Yes, wholeheartedly. I have even heard him mention the possibility. But not until the sanctions are lifted.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“It seems we’re at an impasse.”

“I’m sure we can figure something out.” Chandler crossed over to a replica vintage vending machine. “Another water?”

“I’m still working on this one, thank you.”

Chandler swiped a White House debit card and selected another Coke. “If we can’t put our boots on the ground, perhaps our Russian allies will do it for us. I have several friends in the Senate who would support a quid pro quo like that.”

“Our forces have trained for just such an eventuality. No one has a longer history of fighting these cockroaches than we do, with the possible exception of your own government.”

“It won’t be easy to pull it off. The moralists and the isolationists don’t understand what’s at stake.”

“A war between civilizations,” Tarkovsky said. “A war between modernity and brutality.”

“Exactly.”

“How shall we proceed?”

“Let’s start by having a chat with the president. Feel him out. Maybe we can tie our proposal into his Asia security initiative. Part of a new, comprehensive, global strategy.”

“But if the president disagrees with our assessment?”

Chandler sighed. “Then we must do whatever it takes to get both of our governments moving in the right direction.”

Tarkovsky nodded. “I couldn’t agree more.”