“We hope,” Wood added. “I’m not completely comfortable with the blown-cover deal. He could wind up dead.”
“That’s okay,” Jagger said. “That works for us, too. A dead Matt Garrett becomes a martyr for the cause. Woe is us. We pulled out of Afghanistan too early. Al Qaeda got away. We found them again in the Philippines. Now we’ve revealed the identity of our number one Al Qaeda hunter, blowing his cover and getting him killed.” Jagger theatrically waved his hands as he talked, as if he were rolling out one point after another.
“Hmm. I like it. Makes you wonder where the real conspiracy is,” Wood said, tapping his lip with his finger. He crossed his legs and sat back, sipping his Syrah and popping a bite of venison jerky into his mouth. Then he laughed at a thought he had. “This provides the perfect counterweight to Fox and his band of idiots, and I’m sure we can work it so that Garrett’s outing stems from something bold and audacious.”
“Good. We need the flexibility to pin all of this on him if it goes south,” Jagger said, concluding the point. “Okay, so our next move is to get some forces flowing to the Philippines and, as you say, that’s my tune. So, I’ve got that ammo detail thing I mentioned that is about to kick off. They’ll be leaving shortly under the guise of OEF-P,” Jagger said. “I’ll do a press conference tomorrow and an-nounce Patterson was killed, express our sorrow, the usual tap dance. Hold him up as a hero, and he’s our game changer. If Garrett is killed, then I think that seals it.”
“I’m getting satisfaction.” Wood smiled.
“Well, you know, it’s only rock and roll.” Jagger smiled in return.
“And we like it,” they said in unison.
Chapter 19
Media pundit and leading neo-conservative Dick Diamond checked his Blackberry, shielding it from Saul Fox’ view as he nodded with approval and pulled out a checklist written on a pad of yellow legal paper. He sat in the chair facing Fox, the deputy secretary of defense. A large, framed, oval world map hung on the wall behind Fox’s desk. The desktop was cluttered with stacks of papers and books, much the way a college professor’s might be. Puccini’s “Nessun Dorma” played softly in the background. Turandot was Diamond’s favorite opera.
The two men smiled at each other and held their right hands up simultaneously as if swearing one another in for a court appearance. Then Fox and Diamond performed a maneuver with their hands, a secret hand shake of sorts, nodded and began their discussion of what they called “conditions setting.”
If there was a counterpoint to the Rolling Stones, Fox and Diamond were it. Diamond was tall, soft and plump, and had a bad hair transplant, making his scalp look like something akin to a Chia Pet. Fox was an elfish man with a bald pate. Secretly toiling away with Central Command, they had built their own intelligence apparatus and were building the case for the Iraq War. The opera playing in the background served to underscore how very different they were from the clandestine Rolling Stones. Fox and Diamond were in the engine room of the train, shovels in hand, pouring giant heaps of coal into the combustion chamber. Speed was increasing. The Iraq war was looming nearer and nearer on the horizon, like a shimmering oasis. Their path was clear and, like a locomotive, they were going to blow through anything that got in their way.
“The checklist. Al Haideri?” Diamond said. He was referring to the Iraqi Saeed al Haideri from Kurdistan, who claimed he could vouch for Saddam’s massive forbidden weapons stockpile.
Fox looked at his friend and said, “Check. We’ve got him teamed up with our perception manager, Randall. They’re working his story. He’s solid.”
Diamond’s pencil scratched at the paper as he made a checkmark. “Solid,” he whispered. Then he asked, “Yellow cake?”
“The Italians guarantee that Saddam is getting it from Niger.” Fox smiled.
“Wonderful,” Diamond agreed, then paused. “Ah, our Italian connection. Perfect.”
“Perfecto, I believe, is the proper term.” Fox laughed.
“Metal tubes?”
“Some New York Times reporters are working leads there. They look solid,” Fox said.
“Solid,” Diamond echoed as he put another check mark on the paper. “And if not, we can send them some, right?”
Fox looked over his glasses at Diamond and stared at him a moment. He broke into a broad grin and pointed at him.
“You’re such a kidder, Dick. You know we did that last year before we even had jobs here.”
“Just checking to make sure you’re awake, Saul. Okay, Chalabi?”
“As solid as they come.” Fox smiled. “The future of Iraq. He will mobilize the Iraqis and unify them.”
“Unify,” Diamond agreed, nodding.
“Listen, Dick. This is going to happen.” Fox reached his hands toward his chest as if he were an actor about to belt out a Broadway tune and said, “I can feel it in here. We’ve been talking about this for years. We’re perfectly positioned. Nine-eleven is tailor-made for our purposes. The window is open, as if we opened it ourselves.”
“As if.” Diamond smiled.
Fox looked at Diamond with a knowing grin. “Well, maybe it was a bit more aggressive than we imagined, but it’s all about effect, you know.”
“Nine-eleven gives us unlimited opportunities.”
“That’s right. Anything less than what happened might not have opened the aperture enough,” Fox said, then stopped abruptly, his face growing pensive.
“Looks like we’re getting there.” Diamond put his pad down and looked at Fox, who was lying back in his chair with his hands laced behind his head. “Thinking?”
“Just wondering where this bullshit in the Philippines came from,” Fox said.
“Could it be Stone and his gang? I was wonder-ing the same thing. It’s as if it appeared magically out of nowhere,” Diamond agreed.
“Isn’t that the Lucky Charms commercial?” Fox said seriously as he leaned forward in his chair.
“No, that’s ‘They’re Magically Delicious,’” Diamond corrected.
Fox snapped his fingers. “Thought I had one there. Man.”
“It was a good try,” Diamond offered, and pursed his lips as if to lament Fox’s near miss at trivia.
“Anyway, back to the Philippines. Someone’s working it, I think, to try to stall our movement toward Iraq. They’ll make some tenuous connection to Al Qaeda in Afghanistan and Pakistan and say it’s an infestation everywhere. Blah, blah, blah. We’ve got to knock that bullshit right between the eyes every time it comes up. The road to Iraq should be a Montana autobahn not an Arkansas back road.”
Diamond thought about Fox’s comment a minute. “You’re good, Saul. I’m so glad we’re friends.”
Fox leaned forward and looked at Diamond’s round face, one he found appealing despite its shape.
“We’re good, Dick. We’re good. Just remember that.”
“I will. And we will knock this bullshit between the eyes. I mean we’ve got so many people lining up for our course of action anyway. The snowball is rolling downhill. It’s almost as if nothing can stop it. This is our idea. We are at the cusp of tectonic change in world history.”
“At the cusp,” Fox said. “You know, Dick, life is about ideas and eternal fame. Look at us.” He waved his hand between them. “We’re wealthy beyond imagination. We have incredible power. What else is there beyond having our ideas endure throughout history like Marx or Einstein or Jefferson?”
“Nietzsche’s Will to Power,” Diamond offered.
“Indeed, the Beast with Red Cheeks. Fame, legacy, eternal recognition are all awaiting us.” Fox smiled. “They will call us the ‘Brothers of Babylon.’”