CHAPTER EIGHT – SPREADING THE NET
There was the usual gang of newsmen, mostly photographers and TV cameramen, on the White House lawn when Minton and Carlucci got back. Minton always suspected that they hung around for the same reason they attended air shows - in case there was an accident. But the helicopter landed safely, and the President and his Chief of Staff hurried towards the building’s entrance, with a cheery wave, and yes, thank you, we had a good day and enjoyed the fishing.
As they reached the President’s office, Laura Billings greeted them.
“Yes, thank you. We had a good day, and enjoyed the fishing. Is the Secretary of State around?”
“He’s in his office, waiting for you. I gather you passed word that you wanted to see him as soon as you got back.”
“Quite right, Laura, but there really was no need for you to come in as well. It is Sunday after all.”
“It’s no problem,” replied his Executive Secretary. “I’ll get Mr Bragan for you if you’re ready.”
“I’m here already,” said Bragan, striding into the office. “I heard the chopper.”
“And before you ask,” said Minton, “we had a good day and enjoyed the fishing! Come in, and we’ll tell you all about it.”
“Not all about the fishing, I hope. OK if Greg joins us?” asked Bragan, as his Chief of Staff arrived.
“Sure. Come in. We’ll have some coffee, please Laura,” said Minton, turning to shut the door.
“So what happened?” asked Greg.
“One of the Marines landed a skipjack, and the Prime Minister a lovely bass, which we had for lunch,” grinned Colin Carlucci.
“And the United States,” added the President, sinking into his swivel chair behind the historic ‘Resolute’ desk, “caught its fifty first State.”
“You obviously had more than striped bass for lunch,” said the Secretary of State. “Will you two please stop arsing around and tell us what Prime Minister Weaver wanted to talk about in such a god-damned hurry.”
The President stopped grinning.
“I’ve told you already,” he said. “I knew you wouldn’t believe it - I hardly believe it myself - but we have been offered a fifty first State. Weaver has a plan to rid Northern Ireland of terrorism, and believes that unification with the south would then be possible, under our governance rather than the UK’s.”
“I’ll be damned!” exclaimed Bragan. “Was he really serious?”
“Not ‘was’, ‘is’. Very serious indeed.” replied the President.
Sam knocked, and came in with the coffee and his usual grin.
“You’re here, too!”
“Yessir, Mr President, sir! We all thought someth’n was up when we got your message, an’ I just knew you all would be needin’ coffee, so here I am.”
“Sam, I think we all need something stronger to go with this, too,” said Carlucci. “Any Bourbon about?”
“Sure thing, Mr Carlucci, sir. I guess Miss Laura will have some tucked away someplace. I’ll git her to bring it in.”
When they were settled and the door firmly shut again, Bragan turned to the President.
“Perhaps you’d better start at the beginning, Bill,” he said. “If Weaver has some plan to shuffle off his problems on us, then I want to know what we get out of it, too.”
“There’s plenty in it for us, Miles,” replied Minton. “If I hadn’t thought that, I wouldn’t have bothered you this evening. I know what your schedule looks like, but I think we need to start moving, and move fast.”
“Incidentally,” broke in Carlucci, “we were right to be so security conscious about this, and not to start putting memos about. We still need to keep all this off paper, and away from others, at least until us four have talked more and decided what, if anything, to do. Do you agree Mr President?”
“Absolutely.” replied Minton. “There must be no record of this meeting, and you must keep the tape of that phone call secure, too, Miles. Weaver and Algar did all their briefing without any notes whatsoever - and briefed exceptionally well, too, as you might expect. I hope I can recall everything they said - if I skip anything, Colin, fill the gap, please.”
Carlucci nodded.
“I’ll start where Weaver started, with the anti-terrorist part of the operation, then move on to the politics of it all.”
President Bill Minton outlined as best he could the scenario that had been sketched out by Prime Minister Weaver, while his Chief of Staff, Colin Carlucci, filled in the detail when prompted.
“We covered the fight against terrorism during the afternoon yesterday - was it really only yesterday - and slept on that before moving on to the political dimension today,” concluded Minton.
“Not that anyone, on either side, slept much,” said Carlucci. “There was too much to think about, not helped by the Prime Minister’s tantalising clue of what was in his mind, when he dubbed the political solution ‘the Hawaii formula’. We simply couldn’t work out the connection.”
“Off hand, neither can I, except that Hawaii was the last State to join the Union,” said Bragan.
“And that’s exactly the link,” said Minton, “but of course at the time we had no idea what was coming later.”
“There seems to me,” continued Minton, “to be considerable benefit in the US getting to grips with the IRA and other terror gangs in Northern Ireland. You know, Miles, that for a long time now I’ve wanted to get our war against international terrorism away from the Islamic world. I had thought that Spain might welcome our involvement with their fight against ETA and the Basque separatists, but they are by no means ‘international’. And we could hardly suggest interfering in the UK’s internal affairs, in spite of all the Irish/American support for what they see as an Irish liberation movement. But now we are actually being asked to help out, and at a time when the IRA really has started to get too big for its boots, what with their involvement in Columbia and McFosters’ trip to Cuba and all.”
“And it doesn’t seem,” interjected Carlucci, “that we shall actually be asked to do much of the dirty work, either. The UK seems happy to tackle that head on, with only limited practical help.”
“A change of direction now sure would be useful for us,” agreed Bragan. “It would help to make life a bit easier for me in trying to broker a deal in the Middle East.”
“Life gets even easier,” said Minton. “Just wait till you hear about the political proposals.”
“Shoot!” said Bragan. “Just what is all this about a fifty first State?”
“It means exactly that, if everything works out as Weaver suggests and predicts,” said Minton. “His theory is that because the UK is a major part of the problem, it can’t also be part of the solution. Nothing they’ve ever tried before has worked, and now everyone has had enough. Action, and no more talking, seems to be the theme, with a third party, which both sides can trust and work with, stepping in as the catalyst for peace and political stability. That’s us.”
The President lent forward.
“First of all,” he said, indicating the first finger of his left hand, “we get rid of the terrorist gangs in the north. That includes their arms, their top people, and their money.”
“Is that all”, said Bragan.
“Listen. This gets better,” continued the President, pointing to his second raised finger. “While that is being done, we convince the Republic that they should give up their sovereignty in the interests of a lasting peace, increased prosperity, a unified Ireland, and life under the Stars and Stripes. Third, we form a special, joint committee of our top constitutional brains to work out the political timetable - a draft State constitution, legislative structure, level of representation in Congress - all that, and a timetable for consultations, referenda, elections, and so on. Weaver thinks this could all be based on the sort of procedure used to gain Statehood for Hawaii in 1959, but much, much quicker.”
“So the UK shuffles off one of its longest standing and most intractable problems on us, does it?” asked Greg Harvey. “Just like that? Does Mr Weaver think we’re as mad as he obviously is?”
“He’s not as mad as he might sound,” responded Carlucci. “If he can, as he claims he can, bring a semblance of peace to Northern Ireland, then there’s all to play for. But peace without a lasting political solution is useless, and there’s no way the UK can engineer that. They never have been able to, and they never will. It simply has to be a third party.”
“So I ask again,” quizzed Bragan, “what’s in it for us?”
“How about this for a ball game, then?” countered the President. “We gain a fifty first state, on the very edge of Europe, which is already a member of the EU. Weaver reckons that membership will stand, not least because of the huge economic and trade advantages which will flow to Europe and its newer, poorer member states. If it’s good for them, it’s good for us, too. We establish a firmer foothold and greater political influence in Europe, and NATO, apart from the economic benefits. And here’s the crunch. We return their homeland to some fifty million Irish/Americans, Miles, and the third largest ethnic community in the States. I’m one of them. Just think what that does for votes.”
“I think I’m beginning to see things your way, Bill,” said Bragan.
“They would vote for us for ever!” exclaimed Minton. “And that means that we can take a little less notice of the Jewish votes and the Muslim votes.”
“And I can really get stuck in to the Middle East,” said the Secretary of State.
“Exactly.” said the President. “Exactly so.”
There was a pause.
“How very neat.” said Bragan eventually, with a grin. “How very, very neat.”
“And how very, very risky,” said Carlucci.
“Surely to God the Irish will never take any notice of such a British proposal as this, will they?” asked Harvey. “They’re not that stupid!”
“If we take this forward,” said the President, “it won’t be a British proposal. It will be ours, for that very reason.”
“Ouch!” exclaimed Bragan.
“Think about it, Miles,” said Minton. “Only we could convince the South to give up their sovereignty, and it will probably cost us to do it, too. But they will have a price - you and I both know that there’s a pretty high degree of corruption at every level of society in the Republic, although it’s not as obvious to outsiders as it is in many other countries. But public undertakings of massive inward investment and so on will do the trick, I’m sure. The Brits have the big problem, and that’s convincing the Unionists in the North. But Weaver reckons even that can be achieved, if we play the constitutional cards right - things like dual citizenship, representation in both the UK Parliament and in Congress, that sort of thing.”
“It all begins to look feasible, suddenly, and not so mad after all,” said Bragan. “The more I think about it, the more I see that there is, after all, plenty in it for the States, and plenty in it for the UK as well.”
“Certainly, they get rid of a problem that’s been round their necks for centuries,” said Carlucci, “and Weaver reckons that none of the costs relating to direct rule, the security situation and so on will fall on us. Without terrorism, the costs to the British exchequer, and therefore to us, will disappear.”
“Furthermore,” concluded Minton, “this country will gain enormously increased power and influence because of our diplomacy in proposing and concluding a resolution to such an age-old international problem.”
“It’s a daring and audacious plan,” said Bragan, “and I raise my hat to Prime Minister Weaver for having the balls to think it through and put it to us as he has. And it could just work, to the advantage of both our countries.”
“And to Ireland,” said Harvey, “if they can be persuaded.”
“So far, Mr President, I’m inclined to say that we should run with this one, and I sense that you are of the same mind.” said Bragan. “But I’d like to hear more about how they propose to defeat the terror gangs in the north, and what our role is likely to be in that.”
“Colin, you start, while I organise more coffee,” said the President. “And help yourselves to another shot of Bourbon, if you like. This could be a long night.”
It was.
Major Bill Clayton has been enjoying a quiet Saturday afternoon, in much the same way that he enjoyed any lengthy period away from the office. Since he was widowed a few years back, he had determined never to get morose, and always to keep himself occupied. It didn’t do to dwell too much on the past, and as he had no children of his own, he busied himself looking after other people’s, in a remote sort of way. He had always wanted kids, but what with his turbulent military life, and his wife dying so tragically so soon after they had married, it was not to be.
So there he was, trying to get an old clockwork steam engine to work again. The main spring had gone, but he thought he either had a spare somewhere, or, if not, could shorten the broken one a bit to make it fit again. It might not run for so long between winds with a shortened spring, but what small boy who’d never had a train set before was going to notice that. Winding it would be another problem. There wasn’t a key, but he’d face up to that when he had to. Probably a spare somewhere. He remembered that his uncle had sent him a couple of spares a short time ago. If not, he’d just have to make one. He’d done that before, many times.
Bill Clayton enjoyed working with his hands. It gave his brain a rest, although it also gave him a bit of thinking time when he needed it. The Army let him use a spare garage round the back of the Officer’s Mess, and this was now his workshop - his toy hospital. Every year, he managed somehow to collect and repair enough toys to fill a five ton truck, which, at Christmas, did the rounds of orphanages and the children’s wards of local Hospitals. Not that he went with it. Catch him dressing up as Santa Claus? No thanks! But the Army got lots of good publicity out of it - hearts and minds stuff - which is why they didn’t charge him for using the garage.
And he enjoyed the solitude. Only now and then did someone bang on the garage door, usually clutching a cardboard box full of broken bits and pieces, and other things which just needed a touch of paint, and even more that were beyond his skills to repair, and which got carefully taken apart for use as spares. He enjoyed rummaging around to see what challenges the box contained for him. He could even manage soft toys, although he had to get help for that. But there was a pleasant old biddy who worked behind the bar in the Officer’s Mess, who was quite handy with a needle, and she could usually manage to get the odd ear back onto a rabbit, or an arm on to a teddy bear. She was quite good, too, at making a dress for a naked doll when the need arose, thank goodness. He could never do that, and it would be a waste to throw the thing away. But he preferred boys’ toys, if he was honest.
So there he was, gently taking this old Hornby tin-plate engine to pieces, listening to quite a good rugby match on the radio, when there was a thump of the door. More work, he thought. He was right, too, but it wasn’t the sort of work he was expecting, or particularly wanted. It was the Duty Officer.
“Sorry to bother you, sir, but you’re wanted on the phone right away. Someone from London. They’re hanging on.”
Clayton swore quietly under his breath, got the grease off his hands with an even oilier rag, and followed the Duty Officer into the Mess.
He took the call still wiping his hands down the seat of his trousers. He was supposed to be better dressed than this in the Mess, he thought, hoping he wouldn’t be noticed.
It was the Prime Minister’s Office. The Prime Minister was on his way back from Washington, said the duty chap in London, and would like to see Major Clayton, please, in Downing Street around mid-day tomorrow, if that was possible. And, by the way, did he happen to know where Mr Anchor was? The Prime Minister rather wanted to see him as well, at the same time, but the said duty officer hadn’t yet managed to track him down. The people at Stormont were being particularly slow this afternoon, it seemed, and really ought to be able to contact Ministers straight away if they’re wanted, don’t you think?
“Leave it to me,” said Clayton. “I think I can find him. We’ll be there tomorrow.”
The Downing Street chap thanked him awfully. Clayton hung up, and said “Bugger!”
He went back to his room, and picked up the phone. He got hold of James Anchor first try.
“Your people at the Castle have been trying to find you,” he said. “And Downing Street thinks it’s a disgrace that they can’t get hold of Ministers when they’re wanted.”
“Well, I’m not duty Minister this weekend, but I did tell them where I was going,” replied Anchor. “At least I think I did. I certainly told someone. What do they want, anyway, and how do you know!”
“It’s my job to know - that’s what I’m paid for. Anyway, our presence has been requested again,” replied Clayton. “Weaver passed a message when he left the States. He wants to see us at mid-day tomorrow. Shall I fix it?”
“Would you mind?” asked Anchor. “You know the calibre of people we get on duty over the weekend - we’d probably end up in Berlin or somewhere.”
“Leave it to me,” said Clayton, for the second time that afternoon. “Nine o’clock plane out, and last plane back be all right?”
“Sounds fine if you can fix it.” said a grateful junior Minister. “Do you suppose we’ll get lunch?”
“Not on the nine o’clock plane out of Aldergrove, you won’t.”
“No, no - I meant in Downing Street. It was pretty good at Chequers, I remember.”
“Different place altogether,” replied Clayton. “The Navy used to do the catering at Chequers. Downing Street is contractors.”
“Sounds like a sandwich in the ‘Red Lion’ again then, if all else fails.”
“What about buying me lunch instead in that posh restaurant of yours in the House of Commons?”
“Not open on Sundays. What will you tell the General?”
“With any luck at all, I shan’t have to tell him anything,” said Clayton. “He’s in Wales for a break this weekend, and the Colonel’s away shooting poor bloody pheasants. God willing and a fair breeze, I should be out and back again before they notice.”
“Your lucky day,” responded Anchor.
“Not from here, it isn't. But I can’t keep dodging off to see the PM without someone finding out soon. I’ll have to warn Weaver that I must tell the boss what’s going on.”
“Tricky. Are you on a secure line, by the way?”
“I doubt it,” replied Clayton. “And I know you’re not, because I know where you are.”
“I won’t ask how! See you tomorrow, then,” said Anchor.
Clayton tidied up, and walked across to the Headquarters to see the duty Corporal in the Transport Office.
“Evening, Major. How can I help?” he said, standing up.
“I need two seats on the 0900 out of Aldergrove to Heathrow,” replied Clayton.
“What day, sir?”
“Tomorrow. And back tomorrow, too, on the last flight out.”
“It’s a bit short notice,” said Corporal Harrington, sitting down again. “There’s plenty of room on Monday’s - I checked it out earlier this morning for someone else.”
“Tomorrow,” demanded Clayton. “Please.”
“You and who else, then, sir?”
“Mr James Anchor, Minister of State, Northern Ireland Office.” replied Bill Clayton.
“At least I can off-charge his seat,” said the relieved Corporal. “I suppose there’s no chance of getting a reason for your trip this time, is there sir?”
“Not a hope,” replied the Major.
“The auditors are beginning to get quite stroppy, you know.”
“Tell you what, then,” suggested Clayton. “Put it down as ‘liaison’.”
“But that’s what you always say.” complained the Corporal.
“That’s because that’s what it always is.” explained Clayton. “Liaison. In London. We’ve been summoned,” said Clayton, trying to be helpful.
“Ah,” said the Corporal. “Then if I can say by whom, that’ll keep them quiet.”
“Well, you can’t,” retorted Clayton. “Liaison in London will have to do - again.”
The duty Corporal sighed. He knew full well that Clayton took priority over just about everyone, and he knew why. But he did wish it wasn’t always him on duty when the Major strolled in.
“If the auditors give you a hard time, refer them to me, OK?” offered a helpful Clayton.
“Thank you, sir. Tickets at the BA check-in tomorrow, then, by 0730. If there’s any problem, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks, Corporal. I look forward to not hearing from you!”
The resident Heathrow press corps was in attendance, as expected, when Weaver and Algar, a respectful distance behind him, emerged from the VIP suite in terminal four. Weaver waved cheerily, and in answer to their questions, said airily that, yes thank you, after their Middle East talks, he’d had a relaxing day with his friend the President, and enjoyed some fishing.
The Prime Minister headed straight for Downing Street, while Sir Robin Algar, as they had agreed on the aircraft, set off for home. It had been decided that the Cabinet Secretary did not need to be there when Weaver had his discussions with Anchor and Clayton later, since the ground that was to be covered during that meeting had been thoroughly discussed during the flight. Since Algar had not been at the earlier meetings of the trio, - indeed, he didn’t even know about them - there seemed no real point in him being present at this one either. It was, after all, only to brief the two men from Northern Ireland on what had happened this weekend, and to get them geared up for the next stage of the operation. And Algar had some planning of his own to do, too, before getting to the office the next day. All this new activity had to be fitted in to an already horrendously busy schedule, and done so discretely.
In the flat, Weaver slumped into his favourite armchair.
“You look exhausted, my dear,” said his wife Susan. “And I was so hoping you would enjoy your day with Bill. You get on so well together, and it was a lovely spot he took us to.”
“It was nice,” replied Weaver, “but I had a lot on my mind I wanted to talk about with Bill and Colin Carlucci, so I couldn’t really relax.”
“Such a pity. Us girls really got on well and had a wonderful day together. And the shops are so inexpensive, compared with London prices. But you did go fishing, and I know how much you enjoy that.”
“And I caught a fish,” replied Tony Weaver. “That was fun, while it lasted, although I think I may have landed an even bigger trophy at the same time.”
Susan looked puzzled, but knew better than to ask.
“I have a theory about Northern Ireland, which I wanted to share with Bill. I think he might support it - I hope so. I should know in a day or so.”
“Well, you can put your feet up for a bit now, I hope,” said Susan.
“Not for long, I’m afraid,” replied the Prime Minister. “I’ve asked James Anchor and Major Clayton to come over for a quick briefing at around lunchtime, so I’ll have to go down to the office for that. That reminds me - I’d better get some sandwiches organised.”
“While you’re doing that,” said his wife as he reached for the phone, “I’ll put the kettle on.”
It was a quarter to twelve when Anchor and Clayton arrived in Downing Street, and they were immediately ushered into the waiting room across the corridor from the PM’s office. Moments later, Tony Weaver stuck his head round the door.
“Come on in, gentlemen,” he greeted them. “Good of you to come over at short notice.”
“Not at all,” replied Anchor. “You’re the one who’s had the journey. You must be tired after your flight from Washington.”
“New York.” corrected Clayton.
The Prime Minister looked at him quizzically.
“And I hope you enjoyed the fishing.” Clayton added.
“How do you know that?” he demanded.
“It’s his job to know things, Tony,” replied Anchor with a smile. “It’s what he gets paid for.”
“Ah, yes. Of course. And that’s why you’re here, Major.”
The Prime Minister motioned towards the armchairs, and the three of them sat round the coffee table.
“There’ll be sandwiches and a glass of wine soon, if you’d like that, but let me first quickly tell you about my conversations with the President yesterday. As you know,” - he looked towards Clayton - “I had the Cabinet Secretary with me, and Mr Minton was accompanied by his Chief of Staff, Colin Carlucci. I broadly outlined the scenario that we three have sketched out at our earlier meetings, and I think I can say that, after their initial and natural shock and disbelief at the audacity of our proposals, they ended up appearing broadly supportive of what we have in mind. Naturally, too, they need to discuss all this with a few carefully selected colleagues, as I shall need to share it with some of my own soon. But I hope and expect that I shall have a positive response within the next few days. So we must be prepared to start work immediately that happens.”
“You assume, do you,” asked Anchor, “that your Cabinet colleagues will go along with the idea?”
“I don’t assume, James, but I shall persuade them. Tomorrow, I plan to brief Sir Percy Lewis, the Attorney General, Roy Salisbury and Peter Coombs, the Secretaries of State for Northern Ireland and Defence, Robert Burgess, the Foreign Secretary and Alison Judd, the Home Secretary. I shall then hold a second briefing with the Chief of Defence Staff, the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, and the Chief Constable of the Northern Ireland Police Service. Can either of you think of anyone else?”
Neither could, off hand.
“I shall brief the whole Cabinet about the political proposals only when it becomes clear that the first phase of this operation is succeeding, and that terrorism in Northern Ireland is becoming a thing of the past. Without that, the political solution won’t work, so they won’t need to know about it. Bill Minton and I have agreed to co-ordinate dates on this, because we shall then need to go wider as well - to the UN, NATO, the European Council, and so on.”
“What about the Irish Republic?” asked Bill Clayton.
“The President has undertaken to brief the Taoiseach, Michael O’Leary, fairly soon after he has convinced his colleagues to take part in this plan. Hopefully he will be meeting a select few of them tomorrow as a first step, as I am.”
“That should be fun,” said Clayton. “I only ask because at some stage, I shall need to liaise with the Guarda special branch, as well as the Yard’s.”
“And with all these people being told, I begin to worry about security,” said Anchor.
“I agree,” said the Prime Minister. “As always, there will be nothing about this scheme in writing - absolutely nothing. I propose to tell the people I brief tomorrow that they must not pass on a full briefing to anyone else, either. If they think someone needs to know the whole picture, they tell me, and I will brief them if I so decide. Otherwise, they confine themselves to briefing senior individuals about the range of specific tasks which they alone will have to carry out or take responsibility for.”
The two men were listening intently, and nodded.
“For example,” continued the Prime Minister. “The Chief of the Defence Staff will have to brief some of his single service chiefs about their individual role, and particularly about the role of the Special Forces, and the unit commanders will then need to be tasked to carry out a specific aspect of the operation. But none will have the whole picture, or even know that there are other units playing a similar role. Once a group of men has carried out a specific task, it will be disbanded, and although individuals may be tasked with other aspects of the operation later, no-one will be able to link the two as part of a larger operation.”
“That’s exactly the way the IRA operates,” commented Clayton. “Small units, unknown to one another, individually tasked, none knowing what the others are up to, or even who they are.”
“And I see no reason why we should not play them at their own game,” said Weaver.
“Neither do I,” agreed Clayton, whose idea it had been in the first place, anyway.
“Finally,” said the Prime Minister, “I shall make it abundantly clear to colleagues before I start tomorrow that they are about to be briefed about a highly dangerous and sensitive operation with world-wide implications, with no guarantee of success, and that the time has come to put their jobs, and possibly their lives, on the line. Any who are not prepared to take that risk will be invited to leave at that point. Otherwise, their loyalty and commitment to the operation will thereafter be assumed to be total. Then, to emphasise the need for absolute secrecy, I shall let them know that some of what we have in mind could be interpreted as state terrorism, with all that implies for war crimes and so on. They will then be given a last chance to withdraw.”
The Prime Minister looked closely at both men.
“I am only telling you this because, for both of you, that point has already been passed. You are part of it, and there is no going back for either of you.”
They nodded.
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