The Garden of Betrayal - Lee Vance [36]
“It was the only option America had at the time,” Simpson said dismissively. “And it’s the only option we’d have today.”
“So, let me see if I understand you,” I said, pissed off at having been used as his straight man. “You’re planning to run for president on a platform of invading more of the Middle East?”
He gave a patronizing laugh.
“Of course not. Three Democratic presidents and three Republican presidents committed America to defending our Middle Eastern energy supply against disruptions external to the region. My policy will build on those precedents to make clear that we’ll also intervene against disruptions internal to the region. The best war is the one that’s never fought. The Arabs would never have dared boycott America in 1973 if they’d known we’d respond militarily.”
It was an argument I’d heard before but never from a mainstream politician.
“So, if the Arabs don’t want to sell their oil to us, we’ll just take it, correct? What exactly do you call that policy?”
“I call it energy security,” Simpson riposted silkily. “And I think the time for it is now.”
White popped to his feet before I could respond, a greasy smile on his face.
“Questions?” he said.
The room erupted.
10
Walter calmed the crowd with another forceful application of his butter knife, insisting that anyone who wanted to speak raise his hand. White, moderating, proceeded to deliberately ignore me—not that it mattered much. Simpson was mainly ducking the questions, seeming to have said as much as he wanted to say. The tone of the questions reflected a pretty even split in the audience—half sounded as if they thought Simpson was on the right track, and half sounded as if they thought he was a dangerous lunatic. Walter kept quiet, not giving anything away. I knew which camp I was in. America was going to have to transition from oil and gas at some point—far better we begin addressing the issue now and try to avoid the implicit moral hazard. Because no matter what Simpson might argue, American insistence on unfettered access to oil and gas wouldn’t just be about busting boycotts. When the supply and demand curves crossed, and genuine energy shortages arose, it would be about maintaining an automobile-oriented lifestyle at the expense of heat, food, and potable water for the developing world. It was a choice I didn’t want to have to make.
Alex got up and left the room just before White brought the session to a close, leaving his suit jacket on his chair. I followed a moment later, brushing past the security staff and searching left and right for the men’s room, where I assumed I’d find him. I wanted a word in private, to get to the bottom of the Theresa Roxas business. Someone touched my arm from behind, and I turned to find myself face-to-face with Nikolay Narimanov. I’d been so worked up that I’d forgotten about him.
“Mr. Wallace,” he said, offering me his hand. “I’m an admirer of your work.”
He had a strong grip and an incongruous hint of a Scottish burr.
“Thanks,” I said. “Call me Mark, please. I wasn’t aware that you read my work. Do you mind my asking who’s been forwarding it to you?”
“Friends send me things of interest. I hope that’s not a problem.”
I was a little taken aback by how good his English was. I’d read that he’d been the Soviet equivalent of a scholarship student—a bright kid from the butt end of nowhere who’d gotten fast-tracked to a top engineering program after he won a regional math competition. My line of work brought me into contact with a lot of foreigners who’d learned English as part of a technical secondary education. They were rarely so fluent, no matter how much exposure they had to the language later in life.
“Not at all,” I said. “I only wish I’d known sooner that we had a connection. It might be interesting to talk from time to time.”
“Perhaps a word in private now? I have my car. I can give you a lift.”
“That’d be great,” I said, making a spur-of-the-moment decision to let Alex go for the time being. He couldn’t avoid me for long, and the opportunity to get to know