Lethal Trajectories - Michael Conley [123]
“We believe so, but there’s always an element of risk in a clandestine meeting of this nature,” Mullen answered.
“What do you think, Jack?” Clayton asked, concerned.
“This is an unusual situation, but I believe the risks are worth taking,” Jack replied. “The CIA gave me their dossier on Prince Khalid, and he sounds like a legitimate contact.”
He didn’t remember when Clayton had left the meeting, but he recalled the dash to Andrews Air Force base to catch his plane—glad that he had packed his bags the night before. He’d met his entourage at the base, and they boarded the plane shortly thereafter. He advised them they would meet in the special conference room on the plane thirty minutes after takeoff to prepare for the meeting in Geneva.
As he gazed out the window at the moonlit Atlantic Ocean miles below, he reflected on the improbable alliances formed throughout history to defeat a common enemy. An amateur historian, he wondered what it must have been like for a couple of capitalists like Churchill and Roosevelt to team up with an old Bolshevik like Joseph Stalin to defeat a common enemy, or how difficult it must have been for General Dwight Eisenhower to maintain a workable alliance with prima donnas like George Patton, Bernard Montgomery, and Charles de Gaulle. Did historical circumstances produce great leaders, or was it great leaders who made extraordinary historical events happen? Either way, he had to keep touchy personalities and old tapes of China out of it and concentrate on the common enemy. He had advised his four-man cadre of exactly that imperative shortly after taking off.
“Gentlemen,” he had said, “we’re about to be part of an historic meeting that your children will read about in decades to come. You’ve been briefed on our mission, and I won’t dwell on administrative details. Instead, I’ll share a few thoughts on the tone I’d like us to take.
“I want you to approach this meeting with the big picture in mind. We’re there to establish a beachhead, not write an operator’s manual. Don’t get hung up on dogma or details. Our job is to sketch out a blueprint that others can fill in later and to work out a common vision with China. The tone we set—a collaborative and flexible approach regardless of past differences—will be as important as content in setting the future direction of our alliance. Am I totally clear on this?” They had all nodded, and Jack continued.
“Good, now let me share with you some of the things we discussed at the NSC meeting earlier today.” They were sharp guys, and for the next two hours they discussed potential platforms for erecting and activating the new alliance. He had dismissed them with orders to get some sleep, if they could.
As the featureless Atlantic Ocean slid by beneath him, he knew he should follow his own orders and get a little shuteye before touchdown, but his mind refused to obey. He was not uncomfortable meeting with the Chinese—mainly because of his friendship with Wang Peng—but his covert meeting with Prince Khalid was another matter.
He reminded himself that Clayton had assigned him merely to assess the mettle and legitimacy of Prince Khalid and set the hooks for future dialogue and collaboration; it was not his job to decide whether or not the United States would team up with the man. This, at least, was a comfort to him.
As he drifted closer to sleep, he wondered at how his life had changed so dramatically over a short period of time. His preoccupation with climate-change and the world’s energy problems had expanded into a far broader geopolitical context. I shouldn’t be surprised, really, he mused. I’ve been watching these threat multipliers for years, and now they’re about to become part of the perfect storm Clayton described. Heaven help us.
He slid into a nightmarish dream starring himself as a climatologist by the name of James Bond tracking down an Arab version of Dr. No. He woke up, sweating, just as the wheels touched down at Geneva International Airport. Whew, only a