What bothered Fraser was that he didn’t understand the motivation behind many of the men and women sitting around the table. To him, motivation was always a matter of the bottom line measured in dollars. Anything that reduced the size of the next quarterly return was, by definition, wrong and these people were reaching the right conclusions for the wrong reasons. His finely tuned intellectual skills had no trouble following their reasoning; he just didn’t understand where they were coming from. He relaxed into his chair, certain that not having Carroll’s input had helped keep everything on track. The Air Force lieutenant colonel had definitely been too pro-Israel.
“When do you expect the main forces to engage?” Pontowski asked.
“They may not,” the director of central intelligence answered. “This may be only a maneuver on Syria’s part to consolidate its position in Lebanon. Some of my analysts are predicting that those three Syrian armies will hit before they come in full contact and then enter into negotiations for their withdrawal.”
“And what would they negotiate for?”
The secretary of state answered the President’s question. “The Syrians agree to withdraw their forces from Jordan but take over most of Lebanon. That’s predictable since Lebanon is one of their historical objectives. They’ll also try for more autonomy for Palestinians on the West Bank and the Gaza Strip.”
“Should we start to resupply Israel at this time?” Pontowski asked. “They are taking heavy aircraft losses.”
Fraser leaned forward. They had come to a critical point. Discussion around the table was lively, about equally divided for and against. Michael Cagliari, the national security adviser, took a cautious approach. “At this time, it looks like the Israelis can handle the Syrian threat. True, they are taking some heavy losses, but they can absorb those. We need to adopt a wait-and-see attitude. And there is the Soviet reaction to consider—”
“Which we must not underestimate,” the secretary of state interrupted. “We don’t know what’s going on in the Kremlin, and if the Politburo sees their clients getting waxed, the hardliners may prevail and throw more weight behind the Arabs. An easy Israeli victory followed up by an aggressive push into Arab territory could lead to a much wider war, becoming regional instead of local.”
“And that’s a line we don’t want to cross,” Cagliari added. “Who knows how the Russians would react to that.”
Fraser breathed easier when he saw Pontowski’s shoulders relax. “For now, we wait and see,” the President said. “Have our ambassador to the UN get a cease-fire proposal in front of the Security Council. Put MAC on alert and get ready to start a resupply. Stay on top of this.” He rose and motioned for Fraser to join him as he left the room.
“Where was Colonel Carroll?” Pontowski asked as they walked back to the Oval Office.
“I had to pull his security clearance,” Fraser answered. “There’s a hint of some impropriety and I want to check it out before he returns to work. He should be okay, but we don’t need to be blindsided by problems in the NSC when the Middle East is coming apart and the press is looking for a club to beat our administration with.”
“Get someone to replace him until it gets sorted out,” Pontowski said, making a mental note to speak privately to Stan Abbott, the head of the Secret Service, about the matter.
The combat mission Furry had flown was the key and the two Americans found themselves accepted as trusted allies by the Israeli pilots. It didn’t surprise them when Dave Harkabi asked them to join a mission briefing for another attack on the First Syrian Army headquarters. Recent intelligence had traced the headquarters as it moved south after Harkabi’s attack. The one bomb the Israeli major had managed to get on target had convinced the Syrian generals that they should move closer to the front line.
Matt listened intently, interested in how the Israelis would defeat the Gadfly SAM that was causing them so much trouble. The crew of the second F-4 that had been on Harkabi’s first mission was at the briefing. The pilot explained how they had taken heavy battle damage but had fought their way out and recovered safely. Their latest electronic countermeasures, the F-4 pilot explained, were not effective against the Gadfly.
“Why don’t they go in under the Gadfly’s envelope?” Matt asked.
“They do,” Furry answered. “But the Syrians use ZSU-23-4s for close-in defense.” Matt had read the reports on the ZSU-23 and understood how the 23-millimeter antiaircraft gun could track a low-flying fighter right down to the deck. The ZSU-23 and Gadfly protected each other and formed a tough defensive perimeter. “The Israelis use standoff weapons to stay outside the range of the ZSUs,” Furry continued, “but that means they’ve got to get above a hundred feet to acquire the target. That’s when the Gadfly gets ‘em. A no-win game; too close and a ZSU nails ‘em, too high and a Gadfly ruins their day.”
A petite young woman who Matt gauged to be no more than twenty years old entered the room. The three silver bars on her epaulets identified her as a seren, a captain. “That’s the woman I want to be the mother of my children,” Furry said, sotto voice.
“You’ve got a mother for your children,” Matt reminded him. But he understood Furry’s interest. The slender young woman was beautiful with dark hair framing a delicate face and high cheekbones. Her eyes reminded the pilot of Shoshana’s. The Israeli pilots fell silent and watched her update the big situation map at the front of the room.
“The Syrian First Army has forced the Litani River and is reinforcing its position here.” She was speaking English, acknowledging Matt and Furry’s presence as she drew a semicircle on the south side of the Litani River, a bump directly opposite a main Israeli force. “The Syrian First Army is made up of three armored division”—she glanced at Matt and Furry—“what you Americans call a corps. They are now in contact with our Northern Command here.” She drew a jagged line below the bump. “Fortunately, the Syrians are strung out in a long tail on the north side of the Litani as they move down the Bekáa Valley. But they are building up their mass and could break out of their enclave within twelve hours.”
A sergeant entered the room and handed her a slip of paper. She paused and read it, deep in thought. Then she stepped to the map and drew an arrow out of the bump pointing toward the coast. “The Syrians have broken out and have now reached the coast and are turning south. Their next objective is Haifa.”
The distance from the head of the arrow to Haifa was less than thirty miles. Matt’s face turned to granite.
“Which makes it imperative that we stop them now,” the intelligence officer continued. “We have monitored heavy communications coming from this area”—she pinpointed a spot north of the river crossing, well inside Lebanon—“and the recce photo is less than two hours old.” The room darkened and a slide flashed on the screen. A hodgepodge of trucks and vehicles were clustered around what looked like a small hill — a large camouflaged net. The captain pointed out three communications vans barely visible under the edge of the net. “This is your target,” she said, “the headquarters of the Syrian First Army that is threatening Haifa.” Then she pointed out six ZSU-23-4s and seven SA-11 Gadfly batteries. The room was absolutely silent.