A hint of worry crossed the president’s face as he rested his cigar in an oversized crystal ashtray.
“We can’t deny the obvious,” Chalmers persisted. “Terrorism is rapidly engulfing our world, and that includes the heartland of America. There are millions of zealots — Islamic or otherwise — who believe they’re the agents of Allahu, or some other God. These kooks see terrorism as a way to punish their enemies in God’s name.”
Macklin slumped in his chair and quietly tapped his fingers on the table.
Chalmers spoke slowly and clearly. “We have to take away Iran’s nuclear capability, and we have to do it now… before we’re caught in a crossfire in the Gulf.”
The president leaned forward and folded his hands on the table, then caught Chalmer’s eye. “They aren’t going to take this lying down. We’re a major target for states or terrorist groups whose ambitions are frustrated by our superpower status.”
“Sir,” Chalmers said as his mouth tightened, “we have the biggest and heaviest hammer on the block. I’m not overly concerned about Iranian reprisals once we destroy their nukes, and I’m damn sure not worried about keeping oil flowing through the strait.”
“Les,” the president said impatiently, “this situation is ripe for miscalculation. I don’t mean to sound like the harbinger of doom, but those people are going to strike back — and strike back with a vengeance. There’s no doubt about it. They’re absolutely convinced it’s their moral responsibility to attack their tormentors. If we’re not careful, we could find ourselves backed into a very uncomfortable corner.”
Macklin gritted his teeth. “If we get drawn into a major regional conflict — like the Gulf War — we could be vulnerable to aggression by a host of potential enemies.” The president narrowly eyed his former wingman. “Enemies who might be convinced that we lack the military capability to oppose them.”
Prost quickly intervened. “Sir, if we become paralyzed with fear, then the terrorists have already won the war.”
“Dammit,” Macklin exclaimed in frustration. “We have to consider the consequences of our actions. We’re dealing with a primary supporter of terrorism here. Forget about their submarines, antishipping mines, cruise missiles, and nukes. No other thug regime on the planet employs terrorism more effectively as an instrument of national policy.”
Prost became rigid with indignation.
“Terrorism,” the president went on contentiously, “that reaches every corner of the globe. There was a time when the World Trade Center bombing would have seemed unthinkable. Now, the friggin’ terrorists are crawling in our back doors, and they have chemical, biological, and nuclear weapons. Think about it. One nuke concealed in a truck or car could take out Los Angeles or New York.”
When no one said a word, the president realized his voice had trembled in frustration. He quickly gathered himself together. “Gentlemen,” he said with a wide smile, “enough of this discussion.”
With a trace of embarrassment, Macklin took a slow, deep breath. “We’ll discuss our options after dinner.”
Pete Adair and Les Chalmers exchanged a brief glance. They had known the president for many years and he wasn’t his usual self.
Seconds later Attorney General Sandra Hatcher and Jim Ebersole, the director of the FBI, were quickly ushered into the Situation Room. Sensing trouble, Macklin braced himself against the tension in the air.
“Mr. President,” Sandy Hatcher said without hesitation, “we have a serious problem.”
9
The dark cumulus clouds were turning an angry greenish black when Scott and Jackie finally arrived at the airport. Running late, they had been delayed by a mix-up in arrangements for their ground transportation.
“You go ahead,” Scott said as they neared a set of rest rooms. “I’ll catch up with you at the gate.”
“We don’t have much time.”
“I’ll be right behind you.”
Suppressing a growing concern about the weather, Jackie quickly made her way to their gate. With the exception of a few stragglers, including Ed Hockaday, most of the passengers had boarded American Airlines Flight 1684 to Washington, D.C. Jackie and Ed saw each other at the same moment.
“Jackay,” exclaimed the robust, jolly giant.
“Hi, Eddy,” she exclaimed, hurrying to greet him.
Sporting a green-and-white polka-dot bow tie and a thatch of hair best described as fire-engine red, Hockaday’s bulldog features invited a cheery smile. “I daresay you’ve given me a bit of a fright.” He beamed as he opened his arms to hug her. “I just knew I was going to miss the pleasure of your company.”
“Well, we made it — barely.” Jackie laughed as she squeezed the friendly bear of a man. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Likewise, my dear.”
Scott walked up as she and Hockaday were reminiscing and Jackie introduced the two men.
Turning to Scott, she smoothly slid an arm under and around Hockaday’s forearm.” ‘E’s honest, ‘e’s loyal, but ‘e can be bought for a pint or two.”
Hockaday belly-laughed and hugged her around the shoulder. “For a Beefeater martini, I’d even do your windows.”
Scott smiled and started to speak when he was interrupted by the ring of Jackie’s cell phone. She plucked it out of a pocket on the leg of her jumpsuit and snapped it open. “Sullivan,” she answered tersely, then gave Scott a concerned look.
“We’re about to board our flight,” she challenged the caller, then changed the tone of her voice. “I understand,” she said in a mild state of surprise as she absently closed the phone.
“Scott,” she said with a sudden intensity. “Hartwell has an urgent message for us, but he won’t discuss it over a cell phone. We have to find a pay phone, call him at the White House, then wait for a return call in about ten minutes.”
“The White House?”
“Yes.”
Dalton nodded, but remained quiet. I wonder if we’ve squared off against the Iranians?
A gate agent with a flattop haircut lifted a microphone. “All passengers holding confirmed seats on American Airlines Flight 1684 nonstop service to Ronald Reagan Washington National should now be onboard.”
Jackie gave Hockaday a sad look. “Eddy, we’re going to have to take a later flight. I’ll give you a call when we get to D.C.”
Hockaday glanced at the airline agent who was about to close the door to the jetway passenger boarding bridge. “Sounds good,” he said cheerfully as he started toward the door. “Give me a ring when you get settled in.”
“I’ll do it,” she said, and waved good-bye, then turned to locate a phone.
“What’s going on?” Scott asked as he fell in step.
“You know as much as I do,” she answered as she spied an empty stall. “If it’s any consolation”—she shrugged indifferently—“they tried your phone first.”
“I never take it on vacation,” Scott said, then quietly waited while Jackie picked up the receiver. When she was sure she would not be overheard by passersby, she called and left their number.
Less than two minutes later Jackie flinched when the phone rang. “It’s for you,” she said without rancor.
Scott reached for the phone and surveyed everyone around him as he quietly spoke to Prost. The conversation was short and tense. When he hung up the receiver, Scott stared at the phone for a moment, then closed his eyes. Farkas is just the opening act.