Code Word: Paternity, A Presidential Thriller (26 page)

Chapter 48

Ray Morales walked toward the White House
through the tunnel from Treasury
, met by a
silent, impassive Secret Service agent whose one moment of human contact was to
look him in the eye and say, “Semper Fi, sir!”

Morales responded automatically but
proudly, “Semper Fi, Marine.”

Semper
Fidelis . . . Always Faithful. After The Corps, many Marines gravitate to
positions where, at some point, they’ll be required to stand firm. Perhaps
that’s why there are so few of us in politics. The Art of the Possible isn’t a
high calling after Always Faithful. When the fact that something looks
impossible justifies inaction, what have you got? The best of my congressional
colleagues accept responsibility, but none of them even
understands
duty, much less embraces it.

Trudging behind the agent, Morales shook
his head.
And now I’m on my way to meet
the president of the United
States. I have no idea what he wants. Ella
wouldn’t tell me, just said she can’t help him and she’s praying I can.

He entered the private office, and Martin
rose from a small desk, hand outstretched.

“Thanks for coming
right away, Ray.”

“Mr. President, when the bell rings, old
fire horses feel the same adrenaline as young ones. Pavlov was right.”

The president smiled, although it was
clearly strained, and gestured to the chair.

“Ray, you haven’t been in the White House
loop, but I’ll bet you know what I’m dealing with these days.”

“Yessir. As my Marine buddies would say,
you’re deciding how big a can of whup-ass to open up on North Korea or,
as my congressional colleagues would put it, you’re searching for the most appropriate
combination of carrots and sticks.”

“You got it, Ray.

 
“Can we agree that this meeting is in
strictest confidence, entirely between the two of us?”

“Certainly,
sir.”

“Ray, could you stop calling me sir? I
need your frankness much more than your deference!”

“You’ll have my frankness, sir, but
you’re The Man. When I was a brand new second lieutenant, my Marines always
called me sir. They also let me know when I was being a dumb-ass. I’ll be
frank, I promise you . . . sir.”

Yessir,
nosir, three bags full. I wonder if this meeting Ella insisted on will be a
waste of time. But after all, this man is the only JCS chairman ever to resign
on a matter of conscience—and he was right. No, Ray Morales isn’t just a Clint
Eastwood poster.

“Ray, what’s it like to kill someone?
What’s it like to give orders that kill a lot of people?”

Jesus!
thought Morales.
Are
we going into psychoanalysis?

“That’s quite a
question, sir! Under what circumstances?”

“In the
military, in doing your duty.”

“Well, sir, depends a lot on who’s
getting killed. I never had second thoughts about plinking some bastard trying
to kill me or my Marines. I’ve had many second thoughts about orders I gave
that got Marines or civilians killed.”

“But every time you ordered an attack,
usually Marines, or civilians, or both were killed. How can you carry a burden
like
that
?”

“Because what I meant was, killed
unnecessarily, killed because I made a mistake, because I missed something or
because I just fucked up.”

“So killing is
OK with you when it’s not the result of a mistake?”

“Depends on what you mean by OK, sir.
It’s never OK in a cosmic sense. God doesn’t like it. I’ll have to answer for
the killing I’ve done. But it’s also part of being human. We’ve got a lot of
good in us, but we’re also weak, confused, greedy, jealous, cruel, the whole
nine yards.”

Morales’ voice rasped from deep inside:
“So I’ve killed because it seems to me that in this world as it is, a group
that doesn’t protect itself will be killed—or enslaved. God help me, I’m
willing to kill to prevent that happening to me, my family, my friends, my
country!”

My
country,
thought Rick,
leaning forward.
That’s how Ella puts it;
if only it were that simple! If we can’t see beyond country, the world will
never have peace.

He forced himself to back off. “I’m
sorry, Ray, I just started firing questions at you. Would you like some
refreshment? I don’t mind saying I could use a taste. It’s been a long day.”

“Sounds good,
sir. Can the White House come up with a Miller?”

After the steward had delivered their
drinks and withdrawn, Morales said, “Sir, why’d you ask me to come over
tonight? I’m flattered, but I know I’m an ex-general who’ll probably serve only
one term in Congress. I’m the most junior member of the House Armed Services
Committee. And I’m a Republican, to boot.”

Well, here goes,
thought Rick.

His words
tumbled out: “Ray, I’ve never knowingly harmed anybody in my life and now I’m
being urged to sign an order that will kill at least fifty thousand people!”

“And?”

“I don’t know if it’s the right thing and
I don’t know if I can live with myself if I do it, even if it
is
right!”

“So how do I fit
into that situation?”

“I don’t know
exactly, but Ella insisted I speak with you about it.”

“You know that
Ella and I . . .”

“Are way over it. But she respects you.
Frankly, I don’t know whether she respects me any longer.”

“I’m not a
marriage counselor.”

With a scowl and a dismissive wave, Rick
said, “That’s not why you’re here!

“Look, the only other president who ever
used a nuke did it after six years of bloody world war had conditioned him and
this country to killing and death just like they were conditioned to the
weather! It was part of life. It couldn’t be predicted exactly, but it happened
each day and you lived with it.”

“Sir, the bulldozers are still scraping
trenches in the desert to bury our dead. We’re damn lucky they’re not also at
work in Maryland!
And somewhere out there those bastards are pulling together another attack.
Look, if eighty thousand dead—and civilians at that—isn’t bloody warfare, what
is?”

“Ray, nobody but Himmler has ever—
ever
—signed an order to kill fifty
thousand human beings in cold blood, and even he couldn’t do it in a single
moment, like Zeus throwing a thunderbolt. That’s what they tell me I should do,
but how
could
I?”

Morales saw agony, indecision, and fear
as Martin sat bolt upright in his chair.

 
“Tell me what happens if you don’t do it.”

“I don’t know of course; that’s one part
of the hell of it! But the NSC believes Kim will continue bombing, or
furnishing bombs; my domestic advisors believe the country will unravel beyond
repair; and I’m certain to be impeached in favor of Bruce Griffith, who
will
sign that nuclear attack order.”

“What else?”

“What do you
mean?”

“How are you
going to feel if they’re right about those consequences?”

“Terrible, but
not like a murderer!”

Morales nodded. “OK. Look, sir, you’re
having to learn in a few weeks what people like me learn to live with over
years. That’s hard, really hard, but you’re going to have to. Or, if not,
you’re going to have to accept what happens as the price—to others as well as
yourself—of protecting your own soul.”

“But, Ray, what’s right? How can killing
fifty thousand human beings be right?”

“Let me tell you a story. I was about
five years too young for Vietnam.
But I got my first Marine officer training—we call it The Basic School,
TBS—from men who’d led Marines there.

“In wartime, people get killed. There’s
nothing a second lieutenant, or a general, or a president can do about that,
until both sides decide to end it. You have an ability to influence how many
get killed and who they are, but there’s no course of action in combat that’s
free of killing. Marines are taught this from their first day; I imagine most
presidents have to learn it.

“One of my TBS instructors called this
situation prepping the tree line. It’s a Vietnam story, but it applies to
most wars and I think it describes your dilemma.

“Imagine you’re leading your platoon
through open ground toward a village in a group of trees on a slight hill. Your
job is to occupy this village, today. You know from experience the enemy will
be waiting, hiding among the trees and huts, keeping the villagers under guard
until you get real close. They may even have a few out in the open doing normal
things. As you reach the village, the enemy will open up from cover and kill a
lot of your Marines before they can overrun them.

“Unless . . . unless you prep the tree
line. That means calling for artillery and air strikes to kill some of the
enemy dug in there and shake up the rest, before your guys get within range.
Doing that will also kill villagers. And of course, there’s always the chance
that there are no enemy in this village today, that it’s just as it appears.

“What do you do?
You prep the tree line.”

“How can you live with that, with
knowingly killing people who have done you no harm and in fact couldn’t harm
you?” Martin asked.

“Duty. Because it’s your duty to occupy
that village today. Because you have a duty to your Marines, who trusted you to
value their lives and use them wisely and carefully.”

 
“You sound like Ella. She calls it protecting
the tribe.” Morales saw skepticism in his eyes.

“OK—that’s
another way to put it, I guess.

“My own combat was Gulf One, and I was a
battalion commander. That’s not as personal as leading a platoon or a company,
but still I made several of those decisions. Each time, I lost a little piece
of my soul.”

“But you were
prepared.”

“As prepared as you can get by listening
to others. It tore me up inside anyway.”

Rick gazed off, seeing Las Vegas. He thought about Steve Nguyen, who
wanted punishment, and the grieving woman, who wanted no more killing. But he
was left with Nguyen’s final words, words that had drained the last energy of
this life from his soul: “Don’t let us down!”

Seeing Rick’s sight turned inward,
Morales waited. After a while, he said, “Sir, is there any better way to do
your duty than signing that order, anything your advisors might have overlooked
or withheld from you?”

“No, I don’t
think so.”

“Then what’s
stopping you?”

Martin picked up an index card and tapped
it on the desk, gathering his thoughts.

“Maybe because it’s so personal. I’ve
selected a North Korean city for death and I’m going to kill it. I’m going to
kill the same kind of people who were killed in Las Vegas—grandparents, infants, kids
playing.”

“Yes, you are. But the words you just
said make no connection between those people and the bombing of Las Vegas. I’d say there
is a connection. Those eighty thousand Americans were killed by North Koreans.
And you’re killing the North Koreans to protect Americans from more of the
same—right?”

“Yes, but the North Koreans I will kill
have no control over what Kim does. They are as much his victims as the
Americans in Las Vegas!”

“I don’t agree with that entirely, sir,
but if you’re correct, doesn’t that mean responsibility for what happens to
them is Kim’s? You’re going to destroy this city because Kim continues to
threaten the people you took an oath to protect, after already killing eighty
thousand of them. You’re doing it for no other reason than to force Kim from
power before he can bomb again—right?”

 
“You’re talking as if North Korean lives have
less value than American lives!”

“No, sir. You’re not listening carefully
or thinking clearly. I believe that, to God, all lives are equally valuable.
But you aren’t God. You’re the president of the United States. Didn’t you swear an
oath to carry out the duties of president? Don’t those duties include defense
of our people and the preservation of the Constitution? Aren’t they both being
attacked by North Korea?
You’re not some mediator. You’re our leader—and God help us if you refuse to
act like it!”

Martin’s eyes
flashed. “I don’t have to kill thousands with a nuclear weapon to be your
leader!”

“Then what
do
you have to do, Mr. President?”

“I have to find
another way out of this.”

“What else,
sir?”

“What do you
mean, Ray?”

“What’s the rest
of that sentence, the one that begins I have to find another way”

Rick looked away.
I know what he means. Can I say it? If I do, I’m back up against it
again. I can deflect his question, and if he were a reporter, I would. But he’s
not. He’s someone who’s trying to help me. After I asked him to.