Larry Bond - Vortex

Some of the left-wingers in Congress were using the situation to scream for an immediate end to U.S. support for Unita. Forrester snorted. As if that would solve anything. Abandoned by the United States, Unita wouldn’t have any choice but to do everything its sole remaining backer, South Africa, asked. Instead, the CIA had been working behind the scenes, urging Unita to stay neutral in the Namibian conflict. So far, though, all attempts at persuasion had failed. Castro’s troop trains and tank flatcars were targets simply too tempting to pass up.

Hurley’s fourth and final slide showed a grainy, news agency photo of Karl

Vorster at an AWB rally. Every surface was covered with banners

emblazoned with the AWB’s three-armed swastika.

“At home, Vorster continues to integrate members of the AWB and other radical right-wing groups into South Africa’s governmental structure. We don’t have precise numbers, but there have clearly been a tremendous number of personnel changes at all levels-national, provincial, and local. The results are equally clear. Vorster has gained undisputed control over all levels of government. In other words, ladies and gentlemen, he has consolidated his power base and will no longer have to move so cautiously.” The last sentence was heavy with irony.

The room lights came back up as Hurley switched the overhead projector off and slid back into his chair.

Forrester nodded his thanks and looked around the table.

“Right. Even with

Pretoria’s news blackout, smuggled video makes it clear that things over there are bad. Very bad.”

He frowned.

“Let’s not mince words, people. This is killing us politically here in the States. The American people want us to act. They feel that if this administration can’t stop the violence in South Africa, it’s our fault, too. Everyone with an ax. to grind is getting a free fide out of this thing.”

The other members of the NSC nodded sagely. Congressional leaders such as

Steven Travers, press commentators, and other “I told you so” specialists were on the airwaves day in and day out-all hammering away at administration “inaction.” Technically, NSC meetings didn’t revolve around domestic political concerns. In practice, though, domestic politics was all too often inseparably intertwined with national security issues.

Forrester leaned forward.

“That’s bad enough. What’s worse is that Cuba and the other communist states are getting a lot of good press out of their aid for Namibia. They’re sure as hell expanding their influence in the region.”

He fixed his eyes on the small cluster of dark-suited intelligence-agency representatives and uniformed military officers at the other end of the table.

“Now what the President wants to know is, how much worse can we expect this situation to get? Are there any signs that the fighting in

Namibia could escalate?”

“Mr. Vice President, I have some new information on that point. “

Forrester looked at the speaker. Christopher Nicholson, director of the

CIA, looked as smoothly self-confident as ever.

“Yes, Chris?”

Nicholson signaled a junior aide, who stepped up to the table and began handing out copies of a two-page document.

“The first page is a report from our people in Israel. They report several C-130 Hercules aircraft are missing from Hatzor airfield, an Israeli Air Force transport base. And we’ve also heard that the Israelis are making discreet enquiries in other countries operating the C-130, looking for spare parts or even surplus aircraft. They’re offering payment in gold. “

Everyone in the room knew where that gold was coming from-Pretoria’s central bank. South Africa and Israel had a long history of joint arms transactions and weapons research programs. Neither country especially liked the other, but both were adept at justifying their relationship on the old “the enemy of my enemy” principle.

Forrester shook his head. Trading gold for needed transport planes made sense, but it would cut dangerously into South Africa’s on-hand reserves.

And that was a good measure of Pretoria’s growing desperation.

“But South Africa isn’t the only one looking for help. Cuba’s out in the arms marketplace, too.” Nicholson flipped to the next page.

“The data on this second page comes from signals intercepts and from satellite photos taken over Libya. Our SIGINT group in Italy has been picking up increased activity at all Libyan Air Force bases, and we’re now seeing only a fraction of the transport planes nonnafly stationed at those bases. “

Nicholson rocked back in his chair, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

“Naturally, that aroused our curiosity. So I ordered a satellite pass over

Libya’s military equipment storage areas, especially the one southwest of

Tripoli. Qaddafi’s always had more hardware than he has troops or pilots hardware he keeps parked out in the desert. “

The CIA director tapped the table with a single, fleshy finger.

“My imagery analysts tell me there are definite indications that equipment is disappearing out of those storage areas. We are still trying to determine exactly how many tanks, APCs, and artillery pieces are missing, but it could be quite a lot. “

Forrester sighed. Somehow Libya’s Colonel Qaddafi always managed to poke his nose into every world hot spot. Bombing raids, attempted coups, and diplomatic isolation nothing seemed to faze the bastard.

“Could the Libyans simply be scrapping obsolete equipment?”

Nicholson shook his head, snatching away that faint possibility.

“Unlikely.

Qaddafi’s a lunatic, but he’s not a wasteful man. He’s much more likely to have sold these missing weapons or to have sent them where they could cause the most trouble. “

“Someplace like Namibia?”

Nicholson nodded.

“Exactly. What little we’ve been able to confirm indicates the missing gear was all second-or third line equipment-T-62s,

BTR-60s, and the like. Precisely the kind of hardware the Cubans are using in Namibia. “

Forrester felt his frown slide into a grimace.

“Wonderful. So both the

South Africans and Cubans are making new friends. Is anyone else getting into the act?”

Nicholson looked suddenly uncertain. It wasn’t a look Forrester was used to seeing on the CIA chief’s face.

“I don’t have anything definite…”

“But you have other information?”

“We’ve identified some other possible weapons shipments, Mr. Vice

President, but the data could support several different conclusions. I’d prefer not to confuse the issue until we’ve been able to obtain confirmation.”

Forrester stared right into Nicholson’s eyes.

“I’ll keep the caveat in mind, Director Nicholson, but I think we should hear what you’ve got. “

“The data is extremely sensitive, sir, and we have no way of knowing if it’s related to the Namibian crisis or not.” Nicholson twisted slightly in his chair. He was uncomfortable with ambiguities and liked to have everything he presented tied up in a nice, neat, typed package. He also hated to be wrong.

“Sensitivity is obviously not an issue here. Please fill us in. “

Although Forrester used the word please, his harsh tone made it clear that he wasn’t asking, he was ordering.

Several of the other NSC members coughed lightly or turned away, hiding sudden grins. Nicholson’s innate Ivy League arrogance often rubbed his colleagues the wrong way.

The CIA director knew when he’d made a mistake. He swiveled in his seat and took a folder bordered with red and white stripes from a silent aide.

He was careful to keep the folder turned so the label on the front was hidden.