The Ajax Protocol

CHAPTER 28

"Thank you for seeing me, Mister Vice President." General Westlake shook hands with Edmonds.

"My pleasure, General, my pleasure. Please, sit down." Edmonds gestured at a comfortable chair covered in a green and white striped fabric.

They were in the Vice President's office in the West Wing. The room was an odd combination of old and modern. Draped hangings on the tops of the windows could have been in style in Lincoln's time. The furniture was an expensive mix of modern reproduction and genuine American antique. The carpet was a deep blue, thick and soft underfoot.

Edmonds was a heavy man, with bushy eyebrows and dark eyes. Cartoonists had a field day drawing him in ways that made him look like a comical bowling ball. His feet were dainty for such a big man. His carefully tailored suits failed to conceal his enormous gut.

The Vice President liked sailing, as long as someone else was doing the work. The walls sported museum quality paintings of sailing ships from the early days of the U.S. Navy. The fact that he was not a very good sailor wasn't mentioned by those who knew him, at least not in his presence.

Edmonds had not made the transition to the heights of American politics by virtue of being stupid. He'd been CEO of one of the largest companies in the world, a man driven by self interest. Westlake did not make the mistake of underestimating him. He could be manipulated by fanning the flames of his ambition, but it would require subtlety.

His position a heartbeat away from the Oval Office gave him far more importance than he deserved. Rice had picked Edmonds for his running mate as a political move, garnering the support of big money in the business community. In terms of the leadership of the country, it had been a mistake.

Edmonds folded his hands. "I can give you 10 minutes, General. As you might expect, things have been a little chaotic around here since the assassination attempt."

Westlake put on a suitable expression of concern. "Yes, a terrible thing. I appreciate your taking time out of your busy schedule, Mister Vice President. The burden of running the country is now upon your shoulders. May I say that we at the Pentagon feel quite comfortable with you in charge during this difficult time."

Edmonds visibly preened. "Yes, well, I do what I can. Hopefully the President will return to office soon."

Westlake looked at this puffed up man and knew he was lying. Not likely, Westlake thought. I'll bet you can't wait to get your fat ass in that chair down the hall in the Oval Office. Play along, and it might be sooner than you think.

"Sir, as you know there are important military programs out of the public eye. There are several on a strictly need to know basis which do not include the President on the distribution list. It has always been felt that plausible deniability takes precedence over knowledge of programs that might be misunderstood by the electorate."

Edmonds' eyes narrowed. "Go on."

"One of those programs is called Ajax. It concerns development of a weapon which can be used with minimal cost and great efficiency against our enemies."

"What does this weapon do?"

"It causes great confusion and dispersion in the enemy ranks without destroying important infrastructure. We are at a sensitive stage in the testing and development of Ajax. Unfortunately, one of our own intelligence units is interfering with this highly classified program."

"One of our units? That borders on treason. Which one?"

"The Project."

"Ah. Rice's pet spies. I know who they are, a bunch of undisciplined troublemakers. They're led by that woman who created a lot of problems for the 9/11 commission."

"That's them," Westlake said. "They seem to be operating under some false assumption about this research. In time, I'm certain any misconceptions they have can be cleared up. But the fact remains, they are causing serious delays in the development of this important piece of our national security. This is a time critical program. We can't afford any more delays."

That ought to be enough, Westlake thought. Don't lay it on too thick..

"I appreciate your coming to me with this, General. And I appreciate your filling me in on this program."

You have no idea what this program is, Westlake thought.

Edmonds continued. "What do you think should be done?"

"That's up to you, sir. You are the only person who can tell them what to do. But I do think they should be prevented from further interference."

"Mm." Edmonds got up from his chair. Westlake stood at the same time. He came to attention.

"Interference with our classified military programs cannot be tolerated," Edmonds said. "I'll look into it. I am a believer in a strong military."

"We know that, sir. It's good to have someone in the White House who feels that way. The Pentagon would be grateful for anything you can do about this problem."

Westlake paused.

"Is there something else, General?"

"May I be candid, sir?"

Edmonds gave Westlake a careful look. "Please go on, General."

"Frankly, sir, many of us at the Pentagon feel that President Rice has undermined the country's interests by his insistence on negotiations with people who will never keep their agreements. Of course we hope that the President will recover but if circumstance elevates you to the presidency, I can assure you of our support."

Edmonds held out his hand and the two men shook. Their eyes met in unspoken agreement.

As he left the White House, Westlake was satisfied Edmonds was hooked. The man was self-important and ambitious and he wanted to be President. The thought of active support from the military probably had him fantasizing about redecorating the Oval Office. It would be interesting to see what he did to call off Harker's dogs.

His driver was waiting for him when he emerged from a side entrance of the White House. Westlake got into the back seat.

"The Pentagon," he said.

The car exited the White House grounds. Westlake watched the flow of cars and pedestrians through the windows of the car as it threaded through Washington traffic. He thought about when he had first come here. He'd only been a lieutenant then, wet behind the ears, proud to be part of a great military tradition. Over the years that pride had turned to confusion and then anger.

He'd watched politicians refuse to make the right decisions because of popular opinion or misguided notions of political correctness. Politicians like Rice, who backed away from victory even when they held it in the palm of their hand. Politicians who had sacrificed his son for nothing.

Westlake had been immensely proud of his boy. His death had been meaningless. Alan Westlake had died because he'd been ordered into an insurgent stronghold without adequate support. There had been no military or strategic value in the assignment. It had been a political gesture, meant to satisfy the arbitrary whims of a puppet president Washington claimed was an ally.

Westlake's wife had never been the same after that. She had gone into a deep depression. A year after Alan's death, she'd killed herself.

Westlake became known in military circles as an unrelenting hawk, an advocate of massive response with token concern for collateral damage. He'd been on the short list for a seat on the Joint Chiefs but as his views hardened and the political climate changed, he'd been shunted aside. He was given the satellite program, a poor substitute for the command of legions.

It was clear to him that political expediency had placed the security of the nation in danger. Washington's policies of appeasement and negotiation dishonored his son and every American. It was enough to make any patriot weep.

He would change that. America would reclaim her rightful place. At the end of World War II, the stars and stripes had flown in every corner of the globe. There was no reason why it shouldn't again. All that was needed was the right leader.

It was America's destiny.

His destiny.