Transfer of Power

GENERAL FLOOD, GENERAL Campbell, Director Stansfield, and Irene Kennedy were all sitting next to each other at one end of the long table of the Joint Chiefs briefing room.

Across from them sat the secretary of defense and the secretary of state, both with one aide. When Vice President Baxter entered, he and Dallas King sat at the head of the table with the other members to their immediate left and right, leaving over two-thirds of the massive table’s seats unoccupied. The crisis was wearing on everyone. Eyes were bloodshot, and hands were a little shaky from either a lack of sleep or too much coffee or both.

Vice President Baxter folded his unsteady hands and placed them on the table. His kick in the pants from King had given him a newfound sense of focus and determination. Instead of asking for opinions, Baxter looked to the secretary of state and said, “Charles, I want you to light a fire under the UN’s ass and get this vote taken care of before the end of the day.”

Secretary of State Charles Midleton bowed his head and asked, “How much pressure may I use?”

“As much as you want. Threaten to veto every resolution midway into the next century, threaten to pull all funding-just do whatever it takes to get the vote passed by the end of the day. Once we get the hostages released, we can always go back later and pass a reversing resolution.”

“It might not be that easy,” warned Midleton as he adjusted his glasses.

“I don’t care. Get it done, and we’ll worry about the rest of it later.”

Director Stansfield cleared his throat.

“Excuse me. Aren’t we getting a bit ahead of ourselves?”

Baxter’s head snapped to his left. He wasn’t in the mood to debate anything. He was only in the mood to give orders and have them followed.

But now, as he looked across the table at the cool and grandfatherly Thomas Stansfield, his newfound confidence wavered just a touch.

Stansfield was quite possibly the most harmless-looking individual that Baxter had ever met, but the rumors about the old spymaster caused one to think twice before locking horns with him.

Baxter eased back several inches and asked, “How do you mean’ Thomas

“I think it would be prudent if we analyzed what was said and then decided on a course of action.”

“I feel that I have all the information I need to make this decision.

Aziz is willing to deal… deal for American lives, and in return we will have to give in and do something that, as humanitarians, we should probably do anyway.”

“And what would that be?” asked General Hood in an uneasy tone.

“Stop starving the Iraqi people.”

“We,” started an irritated General Flood, “are not starving the Iraqi people. Saddam Hussein is starving his own people by refusing to comply with the terms of surrender for a war that, I’d like to remind everybody, he started.” Flood stabbed his thick forefinger at the surface of the table.

“We have confirmed intelligence reports that Saddam has funded Aziz with the express purpose of carrying out a terrorist attack on U.S. soil.

With that information how can we even consider asking the UN to lift the sanctions?”

“We don’t know for sure if those reports are accurate,” retorted the vice president. Thomas Stansfield looked the vice president squarely in the eye and said, “I would stake my entire career and reputation on the validity of that information.”

Baxter felt himself losing ground. Leaning all the way back in his chair, he brought his hands up and said, “I’m not going to sit here and defend Saddam Hussein. I hate the man. I find him despicable, but what I want to do is free as many hostages as we can, and then we can go back later and fix things.”

“Fix things.”

“Flood was getting angrier.

“What if we can’t go back and ‘fix things’?”

“I think almost everybody will recognize that we were forced to make some decisions under duress. Hell, basically with a gun to our head.”

Flood moved his glare from the vice president to the secretary of state, who was sitting directly across the table.

“Charlie, how badly do the French want to get back into Iraq?”

The secretary of state replied without enthusiasm but bluntly, “Badly.”

“How about the South Africans?”

“Badly.”

“How about Russia?”

“Badly.”

“Do you have any reason to believe that after we’ve opened the gate, they would turn around a week or a month from now and pull back out?”

“I doubt it. They been itching to get the embargo lifted for years, and they’re already doing a fair amount of business with them on the sly.”

Flood turned back to Baxter.

“It won’t be that easy to just reverse course when, and if, this whole mess is resolved.”

“I know that there is nothing easy about this. General.”

Baxter knew he had to reassert his authority. “”Ybu don’t need to explain the obvious to me. My number one concern is the lives of the American citizens that are being held hostage. If I have to change a foreign policy, that isn’t even working, to gain their freedom, I will gladly do so.” Baxter tilted his head back indignantly.

“You would jeopardize the entire foreign policy and national security of this country for the lives of forty to fifty some people?”

“I think you’re being a little melodramatic. General Flood.”

“Melodramatic,” Flood repeated the word while his face reddened.

“This is a war. Vice President Baxter, and in war there are casualties.

Saddam Hussein has attacked us. He has paid this terrorist, this mercenary”-Flood flipped his hand in disgust-“call him what you want, to come and attack us. Men like Saddam and this Aziz only understand one thing, and that is force. Overwhelming force!”

Baxter looked at the general with scorn for challenging him.

Disagreement was one thing, but this was a show of disrespect.

“General Flood, your opinion has been noted. Now, if we could move on to some other issues…”

“Sir,” stated the general loudly.

“If or, more accurately, when it becomes known that Saddam had a hand in this whole mess, the American people are going to want action, and there will be some uncomfortable questions asked of those who were making the decisions.”

Baxter’s temper began to unravel.

“Are you threatening me. General Flood?”

“No.” Flood stared him right in the eye. “I am merely, once again, stating the obvious. We are not the only country in possession of this information. Some of our most faithful allies know what is going on, and they will not sit idly by while we jeopardize their security.”

“General Flood,” bellowed Baxter, his temper finally getting the best of him “Do I need to remind you how the chain of command works? I am in charge here.” Baxter pointed to himself.

“And I am going to put the interests of those hostages above everyone else’s, especially those of another country.

Whether they be an ally or not.”

Flood did not flinch, he did not twitch, he did not move a muscle; he simply returned the vice president’s stare and said, “First of all, I am very aware of the chain of command, and secondly, I would be derelict in my duty if I didn’t inform you that you couldn’t be more wrong in ignoring the national security of our allies. Israel has been one of our staunchest. In your effort to find a short-term solution, you are, in my opinion, moving one of our closest allies and possibly this entire nation toward war.”

Before Baxter had a chance to come completely unglued and Flood had a chance to elaborate, the door opened and a female naval officer entered.

She apologized to the group and approached Irene Kennedy. The officer handed Kennedy a piece of paper and left.

Dr. Kennedy opened the paper and studied the note. It concerned a little issue completely forgotten about. Desperately wanting to find out what her counterpart had to say, she stood and said, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to check on this.”

Kennedy waved the note in the air and left the room.