But that really wasn't fair. Galishnikov couldn't have been nicer to him and his family and those who worked for Sa'id's company. But didn't all that was happening just prove the Palestinians couldn't be trusted, that they were a bloodthirsty and barbaric people, that they wouldn't be satisfied until they drove the Jews into the sea?
It didn't prove that at all, of course. This wasn't the work of all Palesti nians. It was the work of a few extremists, hell-bent on destroying any pros pects for peace. Sa'id knew that. He knew it all too well. But did Galishnikov? Did Bennett or McCoy? How could they all have come so far and achieved so little? Actually, it was worse than that. Maybe their vision of Arab-Israeli peace and prosperity was naive, even dangerous. It was now clear to Sa'id, they'd be lucky just to make it through the day.
A cheer went up inside the war room.
Mitchell got back on the line with Kirkpatrick.
"You see that?" he asked.
"Sure did," said the National Security advisor. "I've been giving the VP a play-by-play. He's on the other line — about to call the president and give him the good news. How soon can you get here from Langley?"
"Twenty minutes?" said Mitchell.
"Make it fifteen."
McCoy glanced at Bennett.
She knew what he was thinking. After all these years, she could read him like a book. And he knew she could, which made him uncomfortable. So she didn't say anything. He'd talk when he was ready. Until then, it was better to leave him alone with his thoughts. She looked back at the wreckage and silently said a prayer of thanks. They were all still alive, and she knew why. She knew exactly what had happened. She knew what Marsha Kirk-patrick had just authorized, what Jack Mitchell had just ordered, what Danny Tracker had just orchestrated. It wasn't exactly fire from heaven, the kind that destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah, not that far from where they now were. But it was certainly a miracle. Of that, she had no doubt.
Andrews was dead ahead.
MacPherson could see the snow and ice-covered trees of Prince George's County, Maryland, as Air Force One approached the home of the Eighty-ninth Airlift Wing, the Eighty-ninth Security Forces Squadron, and some 24,000 military and civilian personnel who lived and worked on the country's premier air force base.
The call from the VP was certainly good news — but now his thoughts were shifting back to Stuart Iverson's fate.
Bennett and CIA director Jack Mitchell were taking a completely opposite position from Justice and the FBI. What message did it send if people with information that could lead to the arrest and conviction of terrorist cells became convinced they couldn't cut a deal with the U.S. government? Of course Iverson deserved the chair or worse. But this was no longer about one man. It was about the fate of a nation in the fight of its life with a terrorist network about which the CIA obviously knew far too little.
"Andrews control, this is Air Force One, over," radioed the pilot.
"Go ahead, Air Force One, this is Andrews."
"Request permission to land, over."
"Roger that, Air Force One. You 're cleared for immeiiate landing on runway One-Lima. We're at Threatcon Delta. The base is locked down, ready for your arrival."
"Good to hear, Andrews. Gambit's wings ready when we get there?"
"That's affirmative, sir. Marine One is fired up and ready to roll. Apache security package is also on the tarmac and ready when you are. "
"Thank you, Andrews. ETA, four minutes."
"Roger that, and welcome home, Air Force One.' "Thanks, guys — it's good to be back."
At Langley, rivers of information were now pouring in.
It came in from Gaza Station, from the U.S. embassy in Tel Aviv and the consulate in East Jerusalem. It came from Cairo Station in Egypt and Beirut Station in Lebanon. Reports were also beginning to flow in from Damascus and Amman and Riyadh, and it was threatening to overwhelm the Agency's ability to sort, process, and analyze it all in a timely, effective manner.
CIA operations officers in the field were pressing their informants hard to give them any scraps of hard data or rumors or whispers — anything at all— that might help explain how this could have happened and what else might be coming. At the same time, NSA and CIA analysts were simultaneously trying to track all kinds of electronic intercepts, as well as Arabic radio and television coverage of the mushrooming crisis.
The problem was that this was a classic case of drinking from a fire hose. They had too much information and it was coming in too fast. The buzz on the Arab street and among foreign embassies and intelligence services and terrorist factions — what the CIA typically called chatter — had become a deaf ening roar. Theories and threats and counterthreats were being bandied about throughout the region. But what was real? What was true?
"Snapshot, this is Prairie Ranch, do you copy?"
Kirkpatrick's voice startled Bennett and McCoy. There'd been no traffic on the Black Tower wireless radio system for the last few minutes, just an eerie silence, a silence that spoke volumes about just how alone in Gaza they really were.
"Prairie Ranch, this is Snapshot — go ahead," said McCoy.
"You guys OK?"
"We are — just trying to catch our breath. Thanks for the help."
"Hey, what good is a forty-million-dollar toy if you can't take it out for a spin?"
Bennett jumped into the conversation.
"Now what?" he asked.
"You 're wondering why I sent you south?"
"You got it."
"It's pretty simple, actually — do you know where the Bat Cave is?"
"What are you talking about?"
"The Bat Cave," Kirkpatrick repeated. "McCoy knows what I'm talking about."
"Look, we haven't got a lot of time to chitchat down here."
"You mean Gaza Station?" McCoy asked.
"Exactly — the guys in the field call it the Bat Cave"
"I've spoken with JZ," said McCoy, regaining her bearings. "But no, I don't know where it is."
"Stay put. I've got a guy coming to get you. Let me check his ETA. "
The line was silent. They were on hold.
McCoy opened the glove compartment and fished out a pair of high-powered night-vision binoculars. She scanned the rods, apartment buildings, and storefronts around them. She could see a VW ran about a mile and a half away down the coastal road. It was approaching without headlights or lights of any kind. The night-vision technology picked up the heat signature of the engine and McCoy used the binoculars to zoom in. No license plate. No markings of any kind. But it was coming up fast.
Was it hostile or friendly? They were about to find out.
NINE
"Mr. President, you've got a call from the vice president." "Put him through. Bill, that you? What have you got?" "Looks like Bennett and McCoy may be all right — we're trying to get them to Gaza Station. I'll let you know the minute they're secure." "Good. I want Bennett and McCoy on the NSC videoconference." "Yes, sir. Also, I talked with Doron. The Israelis are finalizing their mo bilization. They're willing to hold off until they hear from you unless the fighting spills over. If Israelis start getting killed, Doron said they'll go in immediately."
MacPherson didn't know quite how to react to that yet. "We're getting reaction in from around the world," the VP continued. "Morocco's king was the first to call. He's furious at the extremists and offered any assistance we might need. Also, President Aznar called from Ma drid. Most of the NATO leaders are still there. We did a conference call with them. They sounded quite shaken up, actually, even the French. Paine was well liked, as you know. They're all ready to help. They just want us to hold back the Israelis from doing anything rash." I bet.