Somewhere in Texas
2100 hours

It is a windy and blustery night. Leaves and old trash is dancing wherever one looks. The Cadillac Escalade had tan seats. Not much in comfort in comparison to the limo and sedans - but this was a utilitarian transport.

In each major city and in certain regions where the President and his men travel regularly, the secret service maintains a fleet of specialized vehicles, in some areas these are aging armored 80's Cadillac Formal Limo's in other areas these are state of the art - technological testing grounds with wheels, coming in many makes and models.

This one was jet black as the night and was a low-profile model for going around unmolested and without attracting the crowds. The Suburban’s and the rest of the SS contingent were left behind, a violation of protocol, and the President was sitting next to me, in the second seat, where a PCC Presidential Command Console was at his disposal.

Rumsfeld was in the front passenger seat and one of the Bush detail's finest was driving. We were going through a Carl's Jr. drive thru for something to eat.

"Give me a Chicken Sante Fe, an order of criss-cut fries and an extra large Diet Coke." I say to the driver.

"What'll you have Don?"

"I'll have a Famous Star, fries and a coffee."

"What about you, GW?"

He looked at the menu through the limo-tint glass, "I remember the crispy burrito they used to have back around the 80's and have a heckuva a longing for one - but some things are denied even to the President." He looks over and smiles, "I guess I'll have a Western Bacon Cheeseburger, with all the fixin's and a large chocolate malt."

The driver pulls up and orders. After what seems an eternity, we are pulling away with two bags full of food and a cardboard tray full of drinks.

We park in the center of a well-lit parking lot. All the shops are closed now and the lot is nearly empty.

The winds in an ebb and flo tide push against the large vehicle. The wind whistle is muted but still present.

We start to enjoy our "all-American" meal.

"I saw the footage of those Russian planes - and I can't say I'm all too happy with it, Don...what do you recommend?"

Rumsfeld wipes a bit of ketchup from the corner of his mouth with a napkin, "I talked to some of the project managers and they in turn talked to the design teams working on the F-22. They say a supercruise higher than the present 1.5 mach and comparable to the 2.1 mach supercruise these new Russian MiGs have attained is doable - but costly. They also say that Clinton was handed a classified report detailing the potential for losing superiority, but that the report was shelved as soon as it arrived."

"Well we are on watch now," Bush says, "no more excuses or surprises."
He takes a sip of his shake and turns to me.

"The intelligence the Russians have shared panned out. I told Sharon to pullback, but he hasn't. Now that we have a team on the ground and Israeli Intelligence knows you can take out Sharon, he will probably pull back within 24 hours."

I take a long sip of the Diet Coke and nod at the same time, "Yes, yes we have -- Techs on the ground now. If you want...we can give em a good scare?"

Bush let's loose,

"I tell you what if that --- ---- doesn't pull back his troops by Monday morning - you give him one hell of a scare. He's got em killing defenseless kids and women now, and I got a clip smuggled out by our “friendly” CN- reporter which shows them killing four young kids - two girls and two boys. Sharon's just like a nazi, he's loving this sh--! He's just like the terrorist scum we're taking out. What's wrong with all of them down there? They're worse than filthy, mad, rabid frothing dogs."

I am reminded of the former KGB officer's analogies, regarding dogs, as he continued.

"You know, that's the difference between us. Even when we kill we don't slaughter non-combatants pelly-nelly. We make mistakes, sure - lots - but not like this, this is premeditated cold blooded murder of civilians. I won't stand for it."

I looked at Rumsfeld who was just finishing off his Famous Star and since he was still chewing, I spoke, "The Russian's said their Israeli Intelligence plant called the targeted genocide "Sharon's justice" - the willful killing of innocents to settle the score. They also said that you wouldn‘t dare risk the political fallout of... "

Bush interrupts, "It's things like that which make me sick - and angry. We cut them a 3 billion dollar check yearly, provide weapons and support and they can't even control themselves when they know we are about to move on Saddam! They have the willpower of a Clinton! And few of them voted for me anyway - they voted for Lieberman/Gore!"

“Do what you have to do to get him to pull out.”

“Understood.”

“Damn this a fine sandwich! Why can‘t the chef at the White House make a burger like this?” Bush asks only half-jokingly.

The PCC comes to life an automatic conference call from Powell which has also triggered Cheney’s laptop unit. Bush keys in an authorization code, and Powell’s face comes in clearly, his short-cropped gray hair crowns a weary countenance. Bush adjusts the camera towards him and flips open a lens cap.

Cheney’s screen flickers in. “I’m here.’

“So Colin...what’s the deal?” Bush asks somewhat impatiently.

“Not real good news George. The King clearly informed me that there will be less support for our attack on Saddam unless we get Sharon to disengage right now. I heard some pretty disturbing reports of the fighting on the ground. According to one of the aides I spoke with, Sharon’s military is going after everyone who has ever been imprisoned and whose name and last address they had on file.. a town by town purge. That’s number reportedly reaches the thousands...some folks are terrorists - but the rest...”

“We’re going to raise the pressure a bit. We’ve finally got a team in position to “motivate” our ungrateful friend.”

“Is this one of Tenet’s teams,” Cheney asks, “or are we using our own people?”

I lean over, in front of Bush and smile in front of the camera.”

“That answer your question?” Bush says.

“Good. This is going to be one of the more delicate scenarios and we can’t afford any mistakes.”

Powell’s brow is slightly furrowed. I know he generally prefers to avoid the use of Exec-Or personnel like SDAI. So be it.

“This one is going to require finesse ----- don’t blow it.” Powell tells me.

“C, trust me...I realize the magnitude of future history we are dealing with here...and will not let Uncle Sam down.”

“You better not...or future texts on World War III may have a small footnote explaining how it started - one of which references SDAI.”

“True, but why do I doubt there’ll be small footnotes referencing SDAI in future history texts to explain how it was avoided?”

“Touche”

Rumsfeld has finally finished and is eager to get his ten cents in.

“We got him on a real short leash, Colin - don’t worry. Better than letting the whole middle east erupt in flames, and ending up shipping oil with pumpers instead of tankers. That is if anyone there would still be willing to sell us oil”

The PCC screen shifts slightly and a new face appears, to make a total of three.

“The pope’s people are calling folks in Europe and this Church of the Nativity bit is going to spill over here soon through the channels.”

“More good news. Any feedback yet?”

“Blair’s people checked in. Chirac is about to make another public statement.”

“Ok...ok...I get the picture let’s get rolling.”

The engine starts up and a throaty purr of an awakened beast comes to life. Clearly, this vehicle has duals with the highest flowing mufflers on this thing.

I look at the glass storefronts and see our reflection - the mirror polished chrome Denali rims turning slowly at first then pick up speed, crushing the small leaves which pass underneath their wide track.

Out on one of the lonely lone star highways, the moon races with us, while next to me the leader of the free world informs his wife he'll be back shortly. Rumsfeld has taken out some paperwork from his briefcase and is signing papers and reading things.

Downtown crawford looks like an old ghost town at this hour. Old brick buildings, decaying with age, seem to characterize the town. We pass an old silver water tower with black letters CRAWFORD painted along the side and this one-horse town is asleep.

My eyes are weighing in heavily...and 40 winks in one of the guest rooms sounds mighty fine...

To be continued...

SDAI-Tech1