“Soon I will outline my concern to the world community in an address to the United Nations. But in the meantime, let me simply say that I am deeply concerned about one country in the Middle East that without a doubt possesses weapons of mass destruction — including nuclear weapons — and the will to use them. You know of whom I speak, and it is not Iraq.”
23
Bennett sat outside the Oval Office.
He straightened his tie and chewed on another antacid. Meeting with the president of the United States no longer held the thrill it once had. All he could think of now was the last time he had been there with Erin and the sickness he felt over losing her.
When the president had called and asked him if he was up to stopping by, he had flat-out lied. Of course, he’d be happy to. The truth was he had no desire to be back in the White House, no desire to endure everyone’s pity and “deepest condolences.”
There was only one reason for showing up.
He needed this briefing. He needed to get back inside. No matter how much pain he was in, there was nothing he could accomplish sitting around his town house in Georgetown for the next few weeks.
It was his first trip back to Washington since just after the Fourth of July. Following a weekend biking and white-water-rafting trip in Colorado with old friends, he and Erin had come back to D.C. for a series of nonstop briefings at the White House, Langley, and Foggy Bottom before another lightning round of shuttle diplomacy in London, Brussels, Paris, and Moscow.
He remembered trying not to stare at her in the Oval Office, and he remembered everything she had worn. The light blue open-neck shirt under a new navy suit. Her favorite pearl necklace and earrings, the first gift he’d given her after they’d started dating. The Cartier watch. Her hair down and freshly cut. And, as always, Chanel No. 5.
He closed his eyes and could still smell it on her.
“Mr. Bennett, the president will see you now.”
Startled out of his dreamworld, he opened his eyes to find an attractive young aide offering to take his arm and help him up. He waved her off and struggled to his feet as the door to the inner sanctum swung open.
The president stepped out and gave Bennett a bear hug.
Bennett winced, and MacPherson suddenly realized what he’d done.
“Jon, I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”
“I’m fine, really, Mr. President,” Bennett lied again, “just a little sore.”
“Good. How long till we get you back full time?”
“Doc says a couple more weeks. But I can come in for daily briefings.”
Bennett couldn’t stand the idea of being out of the game so long. Events were moving too quickly.
But MacPherson shook his head. “No, no, you need your rest. How about if I send someone over to your place from Langley every afternoon to keep you up to speed?”
“Sir, you really don’t need to—”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jon. We need to keep you in the loop, all right?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President. I’d appreciate that. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” said MacPherson, waving him toward the door of the Oval Office. “Come on in. I’ve got some folks who’d like to catch up with you.”
Bennett was immediately greeted by Vice President Bill Oaks, Bob Corsetti, Marsha Kirkpatrick, and Jack Mitchell. And now that he was here, he was actually glad to see them. This group had been through a great deal together. They’d become family, and though it remained unstated, he knew they shared his sense that their darkest hours might still lie ahead.
MacPherson directed Bennett and the others to the couches as he and the vice president took their usual chairs by the fireplace.
“Where are we on Golitsyn’s warning about an imminent attack by Al-Nakbah?” the president asked. “Is there anything to that?”
“We’re doing everything we can, but so far we’ve got no leads,” said Kirkpatrick. “It’s like chasing a ghost.”
“Why haven’t you gone public?” Bennett asked.
“We’re still not entirely sure what we’re dealing with,” Kirkpatrick explained. “We’re not picking up any chatter about a possible attack. None of our usual sources seem to know anything. So is the threat real, or is Gogolov playing with our heads?”
“That’s a dangerous game,” Bennett responded. “It would be a nightmare for this administration if Al-Nakbah hits us again and people found out we knew it was coming and didn’t say anything.”
“But that’s just it, Jon, we don’t know it’s coming,” Corsetti noted. “We’ve got one unconfirmed, unsubstantiated rumor. That’s it.”
Bennett wasn’t satisfied, and he knew the president could see it in his eyes.
“I’m worried about the nightmare itself,” MacPherson said calmly, “not about the public relations.”
“I’m just saying—”
“Believe me, Jon, I know what you’re saying. We’ve been around this thing a hundred times. Let’s talk about your conversation with Gogolov.”
Bennett’s instinct was to argue, but he was too tired and in too much pain. That said, he wasn’t sure what more he could tell them. He’d already had an exhaustive debriefing by the CIA and FBI at Ramstein Air Force Base in Germany before coming back to Washington. He’d turned in all the notes he’d taken in the Kremlin, and he was certain everyone in this room had not only read but memorized them by now.
Still, he was the only American official to have ever met Yuri Gogolov face-to-face, and in their shoes he guessed he’d have wanted to hear the story firsthand too.
He backed up a bit, telling them first about his and McCoy’s meeting with Vadim, Golitsyn, and Zyuganov, and briefly described the coup. Then he fast-forwarded to the actual meeting with Gogolov and recounted, word for word, Gogolov’s message to the president.
“And that’s when he gave you the box?” Kirkpatrick asked.
Bennett clouded over. The image of Erin’s bloody finger was almost more than he could bear. He said nothing, just nodded.
Kirkpatrick looked at Mitchell, then to the president.
“Jon,” MacPherson began, “give me your hand.”
It was an odd request, but Bennett hadn’t the energy to ask why. So he held out his hand, and when he did, the president set McCoy’s engagement ring in his palm.
Bennett just stared at it, not sure what to say.
“Jon, what I am about to tell you…” The president paused a moment and cleared his throat.
Bennett slowly closed his fingers over the ring and pulled it toward him, then looked up at the president.
MacPherson composed himself and continued, “Well, it goes without saying that it’s highly classified, and not to leave this room. Understood?”
Bennett nodded.
“It also runs the risk of raising false hope, which makes me hesitant to say anything. But you’re a friend, and part of my inner circle, so I’m going to say it anyway, and I trust it will go no further. At least for now.”
Again Bennett nodded.
The president looked to the director of Central Intelligence to finish what he could not.
“Jon, what the president is trying to say,” said Jack Mitchell, “is that… the finger you saw wasn’t Erin’s.”
Bennett felt his chest constrict.
“What? I don’t… the ring was hers… it’s the one I gave her…. I…”