The Patriots Club (21 page)

35

James Jacklin, chairman of Jefferson Partners, adjusted his chair and slid the microphone closer to him. “Can you hear me, Senator?”

“Loud and clear, Mr. Jacklin,” said the Honorable Hugh Fitzgerald, senior senator from the state of Vermont and chairman of the Senate Appropriations Committee. “You are one man who never hesitates to make himself heard.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You may take it any way you like. Now then . . .” Fitzgerald cleared his throat, and the reverberation seemed to rattle through every nook, cranny, and crevice of his 350-pound body. “Mr. Jacklin has come to testify on behalf of the Emergency War Powers Appropriations Bill before this committee. He’s here to convince us why it’s so urgent for the taxpayers to hand over six point five billion dollars to the Pentagon to refill our pre-positioned stockpiles.”

Since the Cold War, it had become accepted doctrine to pre-position massive amounts of arms and weaponry (everything from combat boots to M1 Abrams tanks) at strategic points around the globe for rapid transshipment to a combat zone, the theory being that it was quicker, cheaper, and just plain easier to move a fifty-ton battle tank from Diego Garcia in the Indian Ocean to Iraq than from Fort Hood, Texas. “Pre-pos,” as the pre-positioned stockpiles were called, allowed the armed forces to field combat-ready troops in days, not weeks. Currently, the armed forces maintained pre-pos in Guam, Diego Garcia, and Romania, as well as floating platforms in the Pacific, the Mediterranean, and the Indian Ocean. Pre-pos were considered a linchpin of the United States’ ability to project power overseas.

“That’s right, Senator,” said Jacklin. “As a former marine and combat veteran, and as a consultant to the Government Accounting Office, I feel it’s my duty to speak on behalf of the fine men and women in the armed forces who find themselves in hostile territory with insufficient supplies.”

“We appreciate and share your heartfelt sincerity,” said Hugh Fitzgerald.

“Then you’ll know why it is that I was so shocked to learn from the GAO’s report that our pre-pos are nearly depleted. Our country is in a state of unprecedented danger. Our troops overseas are operating at the breaking point.”

“Now, now, I do think you’re exaggerating. The report says that only two-thirds of our pre-pos are
understocked,
and it doesn’t say anything about a breaking point.”

Fitzgerald slipped on a pair of bifocals and gave his attention to the papers lying before him. Behind the half-moon lenses, his blue eyes were hard and depthless as marbles. Ruptured capillaries shot through his sagging cheeks. He was dressed in his winter uniform: a black three-piece suit with a fob watch tucked into his vest like some relic from the nineteenth century. Black wool in winter, ivory linen in summer. He’d been wearing the same damn suits since he came down to the Capital thirty-five years earlier and Lt. James J. Jacklin USMC, freshly returned from Vietnam with a Silver Star pinned to his tunic, was a junior puke doing his two-year rotation as a White House fellow.

Fitzgerald went on. “Frankly, I’m hard-pressed to see how a war involving less than ten percent of our active-duty troops can strain anyone to the ‘breaking point.’ I’m tempted to suggest we take this as a lesson to be more careful before we intervene.”

“Senator, I’m not here to debate policy, but to speak about the facts stated in this eye-opening report,” said Jacklin. It was not his job to like or dislike any sitting member of Congress, he reminded himself. Just to use them. “We have over ten thousand pieces of rolling stock on the ground in the Middle East. Tanks, personnel carriers, jeeps, and the like. Almost all of it came from our pre-pos, not to mention ammunition, MREs, and most important, spare parts for these items.”

“And you propose that I recommend passage of this bill so that we can buy new ones?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Can’t we wait until hostilities have ceased, ship them back to the pre-pos, and use them again?”

Jacklin shook his head emphatically. “The desert is a harsh environment. Tanks break down and have to be fixed. We’re so short of engines and transmissions that we’re being forced to cannibalize our existing combat-ready machinery. I remind you those tanks may be over there for another five years. Less than ten percent of them will be worth bringing back.”

“So we need new ones?”

“Yes sir.”

“New tanks, new personnel carriers, new Bradleys?”

“Yes sir.”

“To refill our pre-pos.”

“That’s right.”

“All so we can go traipsing off to war at the drop of a hat again? I won’t have it!”

“So that we can protect ourselves!” retorted Jacklin.

“I didn’t see any Iraqi planes over Pearl Harbor, Mr. Jacklin. I caution you to differentiate between empire-building and protecting the republic.”

But they’re the same thing,
Jacklin replied silently. You couldn’t just sit back and wait till a snake bit you in the ass. They did that once, and it was called World War II. The only way to make the world safe was to spread democracy. You had to knock out the tyrants and despots, and let everyone have a chance at getting their own piece of the pie. It wasn’t empire-building. It was economics. An empty stomach breeds discontent, and these days discontent had one target: America. Get rid of the discontent, and not only did you get rid of the anger, you also opened up a new market.

“Senator, we’re simply talking about bringing our armed forces to a basic state of combat readiness. Not about gearing up for war.”

Fitzgerald theatrically removed a paper from his colleague’s folder and began reading it. “Eight hundred seventy-nine million dollars for combat helmets, boots, and silk underwear. One hundred thirty-two million dollars for bolt-on armor. Two billion dollars for new equipment. Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t we actually have all the equipment this bill is asking for, right here in the United States?”

“Most of it, yes. But it’s too expensive to transport overseas.”

“Will it cost six point two billion dollars?” Fitzgerald shook his head, and smiled his unctuous smile. “Lordy me, what’s going to happen when somebody decides to fight back?”

Jacklin knew better than to respond. He concentrated on his posture. His back was killing him, that damned piece of Gook shrapnel exacting its revenge thirty years after the fact. If he’d known the hearing would drone on so long, he’d have brought his Princeton chair. He blinked and kept his eyes focused straight ahead. An old warhorse, bent but not broken.

“Now then, Mr. Jacklin, there is one item in this bill I wanted to discuss personally with you. I see here in the bill a request for seven hundred Hawkeye Air Defense vehicles. The Hawkeyes are manufactured by Triton Aerospace Company of Huntington Beach, California, which your very own Jefferson Partners saw fit to purchase a few years back.”

“Seven hundred is the initial order,” responded Jacklin.

“But the Avenger—the system it is to replace—is only ten years old itself. I see here the Avenger shoots eight Stinger ground-to-air missiles. Can be reloaded in six minutes, and possesses a mighty machine gun. Doesn’t break down very often. Easy to use. And very effective. I like this Avenger more and more. Can you remind me why we need to replace one of the few weapons systems that actually does what the manufacturer promises?”

“It’s not a question of replacing the Avenger at this stage,” Jacklin explained. “But of augmenting our air defense capabilities. The country’s recent hostilities have required us to move over seventy percent of the Avengers into the battle zone.”

“Forgive me if I’ve missed the news of the enemy air force’s latest sorties. I thought it’s those roadside bombs that are doing our boys in.”

“The Avenger is outdated, outmoded, and obsolete,” Jacklin continued. “The Hawkeye shoots sixteen Stinger Two missiles—a newer and much more accurate weapon. It can be reloaded in only four minutes and possesses a heavier, American-made side armament. The Avenger’s machine gun is manufactured in Belgium.”

“And I thought that the Belgians only made lace,” said Fitzgerald. A laugh rippled through the gallery and Jacklin forced himself to go with it. Americans hated a poor sport. “The Avenger can shoot Stinger Twos, too, can it not?” Fitzgerald asked.

“Yes, it can.”

“Now refresh my memory. Did you not sit before me in that very chair some ten years ago and swear to me that the Avenger would last a minimum of twenty-five years?”

“I think we’re all astonished at the tremendous advances made in technology these past years.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“The army views the Hawkeye as a priority.”

“Speaking of the army, I’d like to ask you if the name Lamar King means something to you.”

“General King is a counselor working on Jefferson’s behalf.”

“A counselor?” said Fitzgerald with ceremony. “Is that what the rest of us mortals call an ’employee’?”

“He is employed by Jefferson.”

“And wasn’t it General King who placed the army’s original order for five hundred Avengers all those years ago?”

Jacklin nodded. “It was through our work together that I came to know and respect General King. In fact, General King is consulting on the Hawkeye program. All of us at Jefferson are proud of his association with our organization.”

Fitzgerald stretched his neck and directed his view to the highly decorated military officer sitting directly behind Jacklin. “General Hartung, I see by the three stars on your shoulders that you’re due to retire soon. May I ask if you have any intention of joining your predecessor, General King, in working for Jefferson at that time?” Fitzgerald was quick to wave away the question. “You do not have to answer that, sir.

“I do not doubt that the Hawkeye is marginally superior,” Fitzgerald went on. “Or that our armed forces deserve the very best we have to offer. I also have no doubt that we can put the two hundred and seventy million dollars earmarked for the Hawkeye program to better use.”

Jacklin stared hard at Fitzgerald. The fact was that Triton Aerospace desperately needed the contract. Its communications division was lagging. Its consumer electronics area was all but dead. The company was in the shithouse. Without the army’s purchase of the Hawkeye, no other allied nation would come aboard. Australia, Indonesia, Poland—they all wanted what the United States Army had. Scrap the army’s order, and he’d have to cancel the entire Hawkeye program. He might as well shutter the company. Jefferson’s investment in Triton would be a write-off. Five hundred million dollars down the drain. An embarrassing and costly defeat at the very worst moment.

“It’s our duty to be prepared for any eventuality, Senator,” he said. “Two hundred seventy million dollars is a small price to keep our fighting men and women out of harm’s way.”

“May I ask how many other companies Jefferson holds in its portfolio that will benefit from the swift passage of the Emergency War Powers Appropriations Bill?”

“Senator, I find your suggestions unseemly.”

“Not as much as I. Thank you, Mr. Jacklin, you are excused.”

36

The moment the hearing recessed, Jacklin got to his feet and signaled Hugh Fitzgerald that he’d like a minute of his time. The senator from Vermont lumbered to the stairs at the end of the dais and extended a hand for Jacklin to help him down.

“Well, well, J. J., to what do I owe this honor? A personal word with an honest-to-God billionaire. Should I swoon or just ask for an autograph?”

“Cut the crap, Hugh,” Jacklin said, managing to keep his smile in place and even sound the slightest bit respectful. “What’s all this resistance to the pre-pos?”

“Do you mean to the pre-pos or to the Hawkeye?”

“Both! We did a damn good job building and delivering the Avenger and we’ll do a better job with the Hawkeye. Give it a chance. Cut the initial order to six hundred units and I’ll knock ten percent off the unit cost and throw in some free spare parts.”

“Horse-trading, are we?” Fitzgerald picked up a scuffed briefcase and began a laborious walk toward the exit. “J. J., my old friend, this is just one program we don’t need. The Avenger’s got a good ten years left in it. Longer with upgrades. Look at the F-14. We’re still using that warplane after thirty-five years. Signing this emergency funding bill is like handing a drunk a loaded gun.”

“President McCoy will never steer us into a war. Be serious.”

“Things change. That’s the one thing that I’ve learned. Put a pacifist in the White House and before a month’s gone, they’re just as likely as . . . as . . .
well, as you,
to have us at war. I won’t have the blood of any more American boys on my hands.”

“For Godsakes, stop your moralizing. I’ll say this for you. You’re a cool customer, Hugh. It takes a stiff spine to turn down the army these days.”

“Nonsense. Just a sharp pen.”

Jacklin roared, clapping the man on the back. “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked almost sincerely. “It’s nearly one. Bar opens at noon on the Hill, doesn’t it?”

“ ‘Fraid not, J. J. No offense. Just doctor’s orders.”

“Time you looked after yourself a little better. You been here how long now? Thirty years?”

“Coming up on thirty-six. Sometimes I feel like the only way I’m ever going to leave is if they carry me out of here feet first.”

Jacklin moved closer to Fitzgerald, letting their shoulders brush. “There are other ways for a man of your accomplishment to end his career.”

Fitzgerald stopped and drew himself up to his full height of six feet four inches tall, effectively dwarfing the smaller man. “Is that an offer to join General Lamar King as one of your
counselors
?”

“We pay a helluva lot better than the taxpayer. Salary’s good, but equity’s the real kick in the pants. Turn around a company like Triton, find the right buyer . . .” Jacklin raised an eyebrow, saying nothing and everything.

Fitzgerald continued down the passage. “I’m flattered, but you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

“Nothing new to teach,” said Jacklin. “You already know how to use that pen. Just a question of finding one with black ink instead of red. Tell me you’ll think about it. You’ll find lots of your old friends over at our place.”

“More than I’d care to admit, I imagine. A regular revolving door, we’re made to understand.”

“Ah, Fitz, don’t be so damned hard on yourself.”

Reaching the door, the two shook hands. Jacklin covered Fitzgerald’s with his own and stepped closer to the bigger man, so the two were chest-to-chest. “Tell you what. We’re having a little dinner party this evening for a few of our better clients. Eight o’clock at my place, White Rose Ridge. Frances Tavistock has agreed to speak to us.”

Hugh Fitzgerald’s face dropped. “Don’t tell me, she’s signed on, too?”

Jacklin raised his eyebrows. The announcement that the former British prime minister had joined Jefferson Partners as a “counselor at large” was to crown the evening’s festivities. “You’ll be in good company, Hugh. It’s a regular pantheon these days. Time the nation paid you back. God knows . . . we owe you.”

Fitzgerald appeared to savor the words. “Eight o’clock?”