The Hamlet Warning (24 page)

President Robertson sat for a moment, feeling the pressures of office as he’d never felt them before. On his decision within the next few minutes would rest the fate of hundreds of thousands of people. He was tired and sleepy. Dawn was arriving and with it his bedtime. He had pondered all the issues and he still couldn’t decide. He felt the need of one more painstaking examination of the matter. Rising, he faced the council.

“Ultimately, of course, this is my decision,” he told them. “Harry Truman defined my position. Harry faced the heat of the first two nuclear disasters in human history. I’m now feeling the heat of the third. There’s no way I can pretend I didn’t know or avoid facing the responsibility. Less than eight hours from now, we will have one of mankind’s major disasters unless something is done. Before I decide what action our government will take, I would like to have the benefit of your thinking. A brief assessment from each one of you. Charlie?” 

The Defense Secretary didn’t hesitate. “Intervention,” he said. He pointed to the map. “Santo Domingo is a relatively compact town. In four hours the bomb might be found. And in taking that risk, we might get a lead on where the other bomb is located, and possibly some clue as to the identity of the extortionist group.”

“State?”

“We’re too late,” the Secretary insisted. “I say let’s consider this a lost cause, seek whatever redemption we can in helping the Dominican Republic in the wake of the disaster, and bring everything we have to bear on finding the other bomb, in nailing the Hamlet people.”

“Emergency Planning?”

“Nonintervention, Mr. President. Every time we’ve entered another country in the last twenty-five years we’ve lived to regret it. We’ve lost face, lost ground. I think the chances of finding the bomb are minimal, the risk excessive.”

“Mr. Vice-President?”

“I’m afraid I’m for landing, Mr. President. I’m aware that the odds are against us, the risks overwhelming. But I don’t see how we can sit back and do nothing, when we have an entire naval strike force within range. Now, I’ll admit, Mr. President, that if you had a heart attack in the next ten minutes, flopped over right here deader’n a doornail, and the decision was then
mine
to make, I might feel completely different. But from where I sit, I move for intervention.”

“You don’t always have to be so candid, Hank,” Robertson said. The Vice-President smiled, winked at the Defense Secretary, then laughed.

“Mr. Adviser?”

“Nonintervention, Mr. President. I feel that the scales are just about balanced pro and con. But my gut feeling is for nonintervention.”

President Robertson nodded slowly, thinking. He toyed with his brandy snifter for a moment, then reached for a phone. His private secretary was not in her office yet, so he dialed her dictaphone. “Please have Ron inform the press I will speak to them at ten o’clock EDT on a matter of national security. Full television coverage approved. If the question arises as to whether it concerns the Dominican Republic, the answer is affirmative. But Ron is to say no more at this time.”

He hung up the phone. “A gambit,” he said. “Speculation beforehand might be damaging. This will provide a solid news lead for the early editions and hold off the pack until ten.”

He rubbed his eyes, forcing himself to recheck every angle one last time. He felt the subject had been covered adequately.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” he said. “As it so happens, I agree with everything you’ve said. You’ve helped me to define matters.”

He paused, wondering if his decision was the wrong one. Time was the only true test. The man in the hot seat had to block all personal and emotional considerations, listen to his logic, then stick to his decision through all that would follow.

President Robertson again faced his advisers. “I have decided
not
to intervene,” he said. He turned to State. “Please forward my regrets to El Jefe. Word it softly, but imply strongly that he simply waited too long to ask, that we are convinced our assistance at this time would not be of benefit to him, to us, or to the people of the Dominican Republic.”

The President studied reactions. Around the table there were no signs of disappointment or of protest — only of relief that the decision had been made.

The President felt he should add one more thing. “There is no need to burden El Jefe with this thought, but my main concern in the decision is that I see no way of finding that bomb in time. And I do not intend to go down in history as the stupid son of a bitch who sent twenty thousand U.S. Marines marching into a nuclear blast.”

Robertson again turned to State. “Let’s get word to Johnson and Loomis: they’re on their own. They’d better find that bomb. They’re our only hope.”

He turned to his assistant. “Have the staff prepare a simple statement to the effect that although unconfirmed reports have led us to consider seriously — and stress unconfirmed reports — the possibility of intervention in the Dominican Republic, I have decided not to take action on a request from the President of the Dominican Republic for military intervention. Add that a naval task force is standing by to protect, and possibly to evacuate, any Americans or other foreign nationals who may be in danger, the usual shit. I’m going up to the Oval Office now. Bring me the first draft as soon as it’s prepared.” As he walked toward the elevator, the Vice-President came and put an arm around him. “I sure hope you don’t take my little jokes seriously,” the Vice-President said. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. Why, I’ve got a red hot domino tourney going on over in my office, and I’m two games ahead!”

He walked on into the elevator with the President, roaring with laughter.

Chapter 27

Minus
04
:
14
Hours

One by one, the Super Sabres and Mirages swept low over the
palacio
, engines, rockets, and cannon blending into an earsplitting barrage. The rebel targets were now so close that the rockets and cannon were fired well to the north of the
palacio
, the shells angling over the roof and plowing into the rebel emplacements near the Parque Independencia.

The government’s ten French AMX-13 tanks were now arrayed along the Avenida Simon Bolívar, their 90-mm cannon steadily pounding rebel entrenchments south of El Conde Gate. From his balcony, Loomis could hear the chatter of the tanks’ 7.62-mm machine guns. Tracers arced across the park and disappeared into the buildings beyond.

The battle was now an hour old. The lines had not shifted since daylight, but on the army’s radio net the government generals seemed confident that the sheer pressure of firepower would soon push the rebels back.

Loomis had no such illusions. He remembered other bombardments, other wars.

As the earth-shattering roar of a Mirage faded into window-rattling explosions, Loomis heard the ring of his bedside phone.

“What do you think now?” El Jefe asked.

“If we wait more than another thirty minutes, I can no longer be responsible for your safety,” Loomis said.

“The tanks are not holding?”

“They’re holding. But they’re too concentrated. Ramón will flank. He will come in from the east.”

“We have moved reinforcements there.”

“Not enough. It’s time to bail out, at least until the battle is decided.”

“No, Loomis. If I leave the
palacio
, I will be admitting to four million Dominicans, and to the world, that Ramón has won. I simply cannot do that until I am convinced no other course exists.”

“It’s almost nine o’clock,” Loomis told him. “We will have to evacuate within four hours, in any event. I think we will have to assume that we are close enough to ground zero to put the
palacio
in danger.”

A shrieking Mirage interrupted the argument. El Jefe waited until after the explosions.

“We still have time,” El Jefe said. “My generals are much more confident than you. We may be able to push them back. Even the hint of some U.S. Marines would make the difference. I still have not heard from Washington. Can you call your friend Johnson? Perhaps he has heard something.”

“I’ll try,” Loomis promised. “But in the meantime, just in case your generals are wrong, why don’t I institute Contingency Plan B, on a standby basis?”

El Jefe’s reply was interrupted by a tremendous explosion. The first rebel rocket had penetrated the south wall of the
palacio
.

“Perhaps you’re right,” El Jefe said in the ear-ringing silence that followed. “Having the plane ready won’t hurt matters.” 

*

Minus
03
:
48
Hours

Johnson was not at the hotel. Loomis reached him at the embassy.

“I don’t have much time to talk, Loomis,” he said. “We’re about to haul ass over here.”

“You’re not waiting for the Marines?”

“What marines?”

“Haven’t you gotten the word?”

“Sure, we’ve gotten the word: ‘Get out of that stupid country while you can.’”

“Just personnel, or the whole factory?”

“Personnel. And all the factory we don’t want to lose. How are things shaping up over there?”

“I think the roofs about to fall.”

Johnson lowered his voice. “Loomis, I don’t want to sound like an alarmist, but why don’t you get out of there before you get your balls shot off?”

“We’re waiting word on intervention.”

Johnson sighed into the mouthpiece. “Loomis, when loyalty becomes stupidity, it ceases to be a virtue. Come with us. Bring María Elena, if you want. We’ll worry about legalities later.”

“You know something I don’t?”

“Only that we’ve got a 707 waiting on the runway, and this place is going up like a roman candle at one o’clock. But of course don’t let your decision be influenced by the fact that I’ve jeopardized my career — maybe wrecked it — trying to get you out of this mess.”

Loomis thought about the 707. And María Elena.

The offer was tempting.

But he would have to face his own conscience.

“I’ve signed on for the full cruise, Johnson,” he said. “I’ve got to see it through.”

Johnson didn’t argue. “If you change your mind, let me know,” he said. “You won’t have any trouble recognizing me. I’ll be the first one on the plane.”

*

Minus
03
:
37
Hours

Loomis found El Jefe in his office, head lowered, tears rolling down his cheeks. He handed Loomis a yellow dispatch. Johnson’s impression of events was now official: the President of the United States sent his regrets that after due consideration, the request for intervention in the Dominican Republic must be denied. However, a United States Navy task force was standing by to take whatever measures were necessary to safeguard the lives and property of United States citizens and other foreign nationals. The President begged El Jefe’s cooperation in whatever assistance the Dominican government might be able to offer …

“The son of a bitch,” El Jefe said.

Loomis put a hand on El Jefe’s shoulder. “I think it’s time to go,” he said.

El Jefe sat without moving, his face expressionless. “You go ahead. Take my brother, his family. I will stay here and die as I should,” he said.

Loomis suddenly was so angry he almost hit him. “Bullshit!” he said. “This is no time to give up!”

El Jefe showed no signs that Loomis’s anger had reached him. “It’s all over,” he said. “I have failed.”

“It’s a long way from being over,” Loomis said, almost shouting. “It may be just the beginning.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look ahead. If that bomb goes, the country will be in shambles. Your people will need leadership. If the bomb doesn’t go, if Ramón takes over, how long do you think he’ll last?”

“Not long,” El Jefe agreed.

“Accept Ramón’s offer!” 

“No,” El Jefe said, shaking his head violently. “I will not give him that satisfaction.”

“Look at the future,” Loomis insisted. “Your brother is a theorist. He has no practical experience. He is not an administrator. And Ramón’s head is in the clouds. He’s never done anything but talk. Your generals couldn’t agree on which way is straight up. In six months the country will be begging you to come back.”

El Jefe considered the possibility, then shook his head. “I can’t believe that,” he said.

“They asked Juan Bosch to come back,” Loomis reminded him. “Perrin was driven out of Argentina, and they brought him back. You owe it to the country …”

“You are right in one respect,” El Jefe said. “They would make a mess of it. The generals are inept, jealous, quarrelsome.”

“I think either of us could write the script,” Loomis said. “And whatever you decide, however the battle goes, we will have to evacuate the
palacio
.”

El Jefe studied the knuckles of his right fist for a long moment. Through the halls of the
palacio
Loomis could now hear the machine guns on the balconies firing toward the east and the occasional
carumph
of a mortar shell taking flight.

“All right,” El Jefe said. “You have convinced me. Get word to Ramón that I accept his terms. Notify my brother. I will make a statement to the press to the effect that I am leaving for the good of the country, to prevent further bloodshed. Notify my pilot. I will go pack a few necessities.”

Loomis hurried to a phone and dialed Ramón’s number. He heard the receiver lift at the other end, then silence.

“This is Clay Loomis,” he said. “I was given this number by Ramón himself. I must speak with Ramón on a matter of greatest urgency.” 

“I do not know a Ramón,” a voice said. “Are you certain you are calling the correct number?”

“Just tell Ramón that Loomis wants to talk to him.” There was a moment of hesitation, then Loomis heard the sound of the receiver being dropped on a hard surface. He held the phone impatiently for several minutes. Then he heard the scrape of the receiver as it was picked up.

“Ramón,” a voice said over the wire.

“Loomis here. El Jefe accepts your terms as per our discussion last night. He only asks safe conduct to his plane. He will leave the country within the hour.” Ramón chuckled. “That was last night,” he said. “At the time, I felt the odds were against me. I was ready to settle for part of the cherry. Now, things look much better. I can hear machine guns over your end of the phone.”

Loomis tried to put as much conviction as possible into his voice. “Ramón, I know you only half-believe the bomb exists …”

“I don’t believe at all.”

“But you have doubts.”

Ramón’s silence was his answer.

“The bomb exists, Ramón,” Loomis said. “We know how the material came into this country. We have established the identity of the scientist they brought in to put it together. We’ve intercepted communications on the time of detonation. One o’clock. We only have three hours and forty-five minutes left.”

“Then tell me who is behind it.”

“That we still don’t know,” Loomis admitted. “But the plot is directed against the United States. We’re only peripherally involved. We’re the horrible example, so they can say to the United States, ‘Look what we did,’ with forty, fifty, maybe a hundred thousand
dead
.
Then
they can threaten the United States from a panic situation.” 

“A hundred thousand?”

“We are told we may expect something on that order. Maybe more. Maybe many more. And you’re the only person who can stop it.”

Ramón’s end of the line was silent almost a full minute. Loomis could hear muffled, heated argument. Ramón’s voice was hesitant when he returned to the line.

“My men are mentally prepared for total victory,” he said. “I don’t see how I can settle for less.”

“Ramón, damn it, there can be no victory for
anyone
unless we find that bomb,” Loomis shouted.

Ramón was quiet for a moment. “Loomis, if you’re staging this, if this is a trick, I’ll see that you are paid in full.”

“If this is a trick, the U.S. Government and a lot of other people have gone to elaborate lengths to fool
me
Loomis told him.”

Ramón left the phone again, apparently covering the mouthpiece with his palm. But Loomis could hear an occasional voice raised in anger. Loomis waited patiently until Ramón returned with his answer.

“My advisers believe this is a trap. But you have convinced me. You and María Elena. I accept the ceasefire, on the basis of a coalition government as outlined by María Elena. But Loomis, it will be difficult to stop the fighting immediately.”

“I understand that,” Loomis said.

“What can I do to help?”

“You might pull your men back from the downtown section, to disengage, so there will be no clashes between our troops.”

“I’m not certain that would be best, psychologically,” Ramón said. “My men fought for those positions, foot by foot. If you’re agreeable, I would much prefer to put them to work, searching. That would give them something to do, something to burn up the adrenaline flowing in their blood.”

The suggestion made sense. Loomis found a new appreciation of Ramón’s abilities. “O.K.,” he said. “If you’ll organize your men into search teams for the sectors they hold, someone will be back to you soon with the grids of the search plan.”

“All right. I will issue the cease-fire order now, if El Jefe will do the same.”

“Consider it done. I hope we can stop the fighting within thirty minutes — by eleven o’clock. That will give us an hour, maybe an hour and a half, to turn the town upside down. If we don’t find it, we’ll still have thirty minutes left to evacuate the downtown section.”

“Impossible,” Ramón said. “There’s not enough transportation …”

“I know,” Loomis said. “But we’ll have to make the gesture.”

*

Minus
02
:
45
Hours

El Jefe made the calls to inform the generals of the cease-fire. Loomis knew they would believe no one else. While El Jefe argued, pleaded, and cursed on the line, Loomis dialed the United States embassy and for five minutes was transferred from terrified secretary to terrified secretary until he learned that Johnson and his staff had left for the airport.

Loomis groaned. Las Americas International Airport was twenty miles from downtown.

Loomis dialed Pan Am and talked with a friend. A runner was sent across the field. Several minutes later Johnson came to the phone. “This better be good,” he said, breathing heavily.