Now that Bush appears to be possibly looking for a way to wriggle out of the latest announced deal to hand over the running of six major U.S. ports to a company owned by the government of the United Arab Emirates, according to the latest trial balloon released by the White House (Bush didn't know about the deal, suppossedly, until it was finalized, according to White House sources), one can only hope that he will decide to do the sensible thing-for once-and put an end to this ill-advised venture. At the very least, he could be persuaded to not veto any Congressional bill forbidding the project. Hopefully the measure would pass by a large enough margin to override a presidential veto, in any event.
Otherwise, this has the makings of a potential disaster of epic proportions. Consider the possibilities. A Dubai company takes control of six major ports, a number of which are located in the Gulf of Mexico region. Typically, only seven per cent of the cargoes that enter U.S. ports are inspected, even in this post 9/11 world. Somewhere along the line, terrorists come into the picture, bribing officials in Dubai to insure they have visas that will pass scrutiny. They make it to this country, and await further instructions. They all ready know what to look for, a ship which contains a thermo-nuclear device. Their pre-arranged mission: to insure it's safe passage into the port of Miami, for example.
The ship is docked at the port, it's legitimate cargo unloaded, it's secret cargo safely hidden away. Then, inadverantly, it is ordered to remain docked, as it is discovered to be in need of repairs. Coincidentally, it is now the beginning of hurricane season.
Before long, a hurricane is spotted, or a tropical storm that eventually becomes a hurricane. One of these eventually comes dangerously close to the port of Miami, or a least close enough that it can be quickly reached. The ship departs, and before anyone realizes what is happenning, it follows a path that will take it right to the path of the on-coming hurricane. It might be a category two,or three, or four, or even just a weak category one. The stronger the better-but it doesnt really matter. The ship strays, with seeming great carelessness, into it's path. Or, it stays right where it was docked, in the port of Miami, and awaits the approaching storm.
Before the storm reaches landfall, however, or before it reaches the part of the Gulf to where the ship makes it's eventual way, disaster strikes. The long hidden and disguised-and protected-thermonuclear device explodes, unleashing the fury of the atom right in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico, or the port of Miami-right in the path of the storm.
When that storm finally hits, the temperature of the water that it eventually passes over has been heated to an unimaginable degree, hotter than ever. For a time the water boils, and the ship is totally vaporized, along with all people on board. By the time the storm finally hits the area, there is nothing that can be done, but watch and wait. The water is no longer boiling away, but it is still extremely, excessively hot, steaming hot-and radioactive.
Then, the hurricane hits. It roars quickly up into category five status, and may even warrant the creation of an entirely unheard of category six, or seven. It engulfs the entire Gulf Coast in a blanketing wave of hot and radioactive wind and rain. Winds and rain of utter annihilation.
The Gulf Coast is left all but uninhabitable from this point on unto the foreseeable future, as the hurricane makes it's way up into the interior of the country, up into the Midwest region, perhaps even up into the upper Midwest, possibly as strong still as a category three hurricane, or even greater. Eventually, in it's rage, it spews out an uncountable spawn of devastating tornadoes.
The land is flooded, the winds howl as the nation is brought to ruin-and to it's knees.
And so writes finis to the record of George W. Bush, the terror warrior President-and to the nation as well.
But nahhhh-we shouldn't assume the worse about an "ally" on the war on terror. Right, George?