“Beverly’s son is on the Eisenhower,” the nurse whispered.
The large black man turned up the volume as aggressively as he could. Neval saw a smoking aircraft carrier for a moment, and then the news bulletin switched back to the studio announcer. “Seven have been confirmed dead, and fourteen are missing,” the news anchor reported as Beverly sobbed loudly.
A security guard patted her shoulder gently. He bent down to whisper encouragement into her ear as the scene changed again, back to the wounded carrier.
“Flight operations continue and all fires have been controlled, but the USS Ronald Reagan has now assumed control of the battle group.”
An aerial view of a second aircraft carrier filled the screen.
“I’m sorry for interrupting you, John, but the president is just about to address the nation.”
The president’s tired and sagging face suddenly replaced that of the news anchor. “My fellow Americans, for the second time today, I have the sad duty of informing you of an attack upon the United States. Eight hours ago, the Islamic Republic of Iran, without provocation, fired more than three dozen cruise missiles at the USS Eisenhower. Sadly, one of them penetrated her defensive screen and struck her.” He paused, not so much for effect, but out of genuine grief.
“She has suffered casualties, and so have we.”
Neval had never seen the Californian so sincere.
The president’s face hardened. “The Eisenhower and her battle group had been in the Persian Gulf for three months and were in international waters when she was attacked. It has long been an assertion of the Islamic Republic of Iran, in contradistinction to international law, that they maintain sovereignty out to fifty miles from her coast. The Eisenhower and her battle group were seventy-two miles out to sea, steaming away from Iran. She posed no threat to the Iranians or their interests. These are irrefutable facts that can be, and have been, confirmed by British, Japanese, and Russian satellites.
“Two hours ago, combined naval and air forces of the United States of America responded.” He paused again only long enough to lean slightly towards the camera. “It has not been a proportionate response.”
The words hung in the air across the globe.
“The naval and airbase on Kefer Island has been destroyed. The Revolutionary Guard training facilities in Teget, Al Kum, and Teheran have also been destroyed. The six fast attack submarines that the Iranians purchased in secret over the past two years have been destroyed.”
The president continued for two more minutes and then finally took a sip of water. “I have instructed my commanders to destroy every piece of Iranian military hardware over the next two weeks. Further, I have ordered that the nuclear processing facility outside of Quom be destroyed. Finally, all air and sea traffic within the territory of Iran will cease immediately. If you choose to violate this order, we will see you, and we will destroy you.” There was no bluster in his voice, which made the message all the more penetrating.
“I would like to address Iranian military personnel. The United States has no quarrel with you. The responsibility for this attack lies with your leaders. Therefore, I encourage you to abandon your posts. Otherwise, you will die needlessly. I extend this advice also to the personnel of the nuclear plant outside of Quom. You have twenty-four hours from this moment.
“To the president of Iran and the Grand Ayatollah. I hold you both personally responsible for this attack and will pursue this matter through the United Nations and the World Court. In addition, if you or one of your citizens retaliates by harming any American citizen in Iran or anywhere else, we will begin to destroy your civilian infrastructure.
“And now to the rest of the world. To our allies and those who stand with us against terrorism and rogue states, I thank you, and assure you that the United States of America has always and will always abide by the rule of law. We have a sovereign right to defend ourselves. To those who stand against us, let me assure you that we will exercise that right. Good night.”
The television switched back to a wide-eyed anchorman. “Strong words and actions from President Wilson following the attack. .”
Neval melted away back towards Phil’s room. The world is coming apart, he thought. He couldn’t really blame the president; a weak response would have only encouraged the radicals.
A respiratory therapist eyed his approach and addressed him more formally than usual. “He’s extubated; his breathing is stable, rate of twenty with good tidal volumes.” She finished a note in the chart and walked away without comment.
Damn them, he thought.
Chapter 39
“A spy, a Russian spy!” Martin screamed.
“Dr. Martin, you are not helping matters,” Martha whispered. “I think you should take a break; walk around a little bit and clear your head. Let me handle this.”
He didn’t like being “handled,” but he saw her logic. Without another word, he walked out of his office. The last thing he heard was Martha demanding that everyone leave the room.
Nathan gave her twenty minutes and then crept back into his office. He lifted Maria’s head, and her eyes opened dreamily. Given the dark hair strewn across her face, the half-open but piercing blue eyes, and the torn blouse revealing flawless breasts, it was easy for Martin to see how this woman could have infiltrated his department. She radiated raw sexual energy, and even now, when he wanted nothing more than to strangle her, a part of his mind had reverted to teenage form and wanted nothing more than to touch her. “What did she tell you?”
“Everything,” Martha said, frowning at her boss.
Nathan looked up at his secretary, and although she was striking in her own right, he couldn’t help but notice how much older she looked. “Tell me,” he said, letting Maria’s chin drop unceremoniously back onto her chest.
“She’s from Bosnia, educated in Berlin. Recruited to the SVR seven years ago and has worked for Avanti the last five. The Russians wanted him almost as much as we did.” Martha had donned her reading glasses and read from her notes. “I gotta hand it to her, she is good. Aside from her obvious talents, she’s got other things going for her. She worked out Avanti’s contacts; even he didn’t know who he was really working with.”
“Who?” Spies, undercover agents, and international intrigues were all very interesting, but what he really wanted to know was why she was here. What was so important that Avanti would risk putting a mole right under his nose?
“A group of eight men. In this incarnation they were funneling money and guidance through a Saudi prince named Al-Rhodan, who doesn’t exactly share his great uncle’s Western bias. On the surface he appears credible enough, in fact eight years ago the Saudi royal family issued a death warrant for him. She didn’t know what he did to deserve that, but it had to be something for the royals to want to kill one of their own.” Martha answered.
“So he’s Avanti’s contact, but someone else is pulling his strings,” Martin clarified. “So who are they?”
“That’s where things start to get a little fuzzy. She turned up only two names; one here in the States: David Moncrief. He’s a French national living in upstate New York.” Martha paused to see if Martin recognized the name. “I hadn’t heard it, either. Avanti never even knew these guys existed, so I’m guessing she’s found herself another source.”
“It was nothing like that,” Maria said unexpectedly. Her words were slightly slurred, but she was starting to speak on her own volition. “We knew of the Group of Eight from Igor Nachesha.”