“Nothing from Syria, but maybe some progress with Iran. I’m working it, but I have to go through the king of Jordan.” He thought for a moment. “I wouldn’t place too much hope on it. They’re waiting to see if they can break out and threaten Riyadh. That will give them a much stronger bargaining position.”
She paced the floor. “Saudi Arabia must remain our number one priority. We don’t have a choice. But what can we do about Malaysia?”
Mazie answered. “Not too much at this time, Madam President. We can keep the supply lines open.”
Serick nodded in agreement. “SEAC should be able to handle it.”
“We need to disengage the Chinese,” Turner said. “Tell them we’ll respond based on their level of involvement. Everything is on the table: ending their most-favored-nation trading status, trade sanctions, floating their currency, even breaking off diplomatic relations.”
“That should get their attention,” Serick said.
“That is the idea,” Turner snapped. “Any attempt to stall while they wrap it up in Malaysia to make it a fait accompli will backfire. Make that very clear.”
“Perhaps,” Serick ventured, “they need to send a special envoy?”
“Only if he has the power to make things happen,” Turner said. “And happen quickly.” More pacing as she thought. She picked up the phone and buzzed Shaw’s office. “Patrick, we need to speak.” She hung up and sat down in her rocker. “This was a terrible intelligence failure on all fronts. I need to do something about that.” She rocked for a few moments as they discussed that situation. A knock at the door stopped Serick in midsentence. Shaw shambled in. “I have to speak to Patrick in private,” she said. Mazie and Serick quickly left. “Patrick, Leland is going to make this a campaign issue, which is the last thing we need at this time. I need to divert his attention.”
“That will take some doin’,” Shaw allowed.
“Can you do it?”
“I’ll work on it,” Shaw promised. “It won’t be pretty.”
“What about the DCI?” she asked.
“Fire his ass,” Shaw said.
She buzzed her chief of staff. “Richard, I’m going over to the NMCC. I want to meet with my key policy advisers at seven o’clock tomorrow morning. With any luck we’ll know where we are by then. Also, I need a short list for a new DCI.” She never mentioned the election.
For the Military Assistance Advisory Group, Saturday morning was just another workday at the U.S. Embassy. As usual, they were very alone in that endeavor, and a Marine guard escorted Pontowski and Janice Clark to their office on the deserted second floor. “Nice duty if you can get it,” Clark muttered, marveling at the vacant offices.
The lieutenant colonel and two captains who staffed the MAAG were waiting for them and came to attention when they entered. After the introductions were made, the lieutenant colonel cut to the heart of the matter. “As best I can determine, General, our job is to act as a logistics conduit to Camp Alpha. Unfortunately, we don’t have the manpower to manage that type of account.”
Clark had a solution. “I can have my resource manager work out of here and keep a satellite office at Camp Alpha.”
The lieutenant colonel nodded. “We can do that.”
Pontowski listened as they worked out the details and discussed the current logistics situation. While there were problems to solve, there was no doubt it was in good hands. He was about to leave when a civilian burst into the room. “Kuala Lumpur!” he shouted. He collapsed into a chair. “Missiles hit our embassy…we’re out of contact…the city is under attack. I heard on the news.”
“Call the DCM,” Pontowski told him. He handed the man a telephone to call the deputy chief of mission. He grabbed another phone and dialed the command post at Camp Alpha. The controller answered on the first ring. “This is Pontowski. Turn on the radio and listen to the news. Tell Colonel Stuart he’s got the hammer but I’d be generating aircraft. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He broke the connection. “I need to get to SEAC headquarters,” he said. “We have to work out how to employ our Hogs.”
“It’s down the road,” the lieutenant colonel said. Since SEAC was, at heart, a political alliance, it made sense that it was located close to the major embassies. “I’ll take you there.” He hesitated. “You’re not going to like it.”
“Confusion?” Pontowski asked.
“That’s a classic understatement,” the lieutenant colonel replied. “The younger officers understand what’s going on, but the senior generals are…” He stopped before he said something he’d regret. “There’s a group of younger officers — we call them ‘the young Turks.’ Very competent, part of the new breed. I’ll introduce you. They’re the ones you need to work with.”
“Let’s do it,” Pontowski said. “We’re running out of time.”
Everyone but the DCI was in the battle cab overlooking the NMCC when Turner entered. Wilding escorted her to the center captain’s chair overlooking the main floor and sat down next to her. “It’s not good,” he told her. “They’ve punched a hole in the center, right through the Saudi position, and are exploiting it in force.” He spoke in a calm voice as he detailed the situation on the ground and what they were doing in response. He took care to explain it in terms she understood, devoid of military jargon. “It’s going to be touch and go for the next few hours,” he cautioned. “But we should be able to contain it.”
When Wilding was finished, the vice president said, “Madam President, we’ve got the situation briefing you asked for ready to go in the conference room.” He motioned to the room at the back.
“Where’s the DCI?” she asked.
“I imagine he’s on his way from Langley,” Parrish said as he made a phone call. He spoke to the DCI’s assistant and then held his hand over the mouthpiece. “They haven’t seen him, and they’re checking his office…” Parrish’s voice trailed off, and his face blanched. “Oh, my God!” he looked at Turner, his eyes wide. “He’s dead. He shot himself.”
Twenty-one
Turner was sitting in the battle cab surrounded by generals when the two FBI agents arrived. Shaw hovered in the background and listened while they introduced themselves and explained how they needed access to the CIA to conduct a full investigation into the DCI’s suicide. The president promised them they would get what they needed and no doors would be barred. The CIA will have something to say about that, Shaw thought. No way them boys are gonna open up to you fellas.
Suddenly it was there, all the pieces on the board. The cancer might have been eating away at his brain, but he was still in the game. He moved a few of the pieces around his mental chessboard as he refined his strategy. Bait? What’s the bait? He moved a pawn forward and grinned. Holy shit! He forced the grin away before someone saw it.
Do I have enough time? He wasn’t sure and worked his way to the door. Unnoticed, he slipped into the corridor and forced himself to walk slowly. Fortunately, nothing was wrong with his sense of direction, and he made his way to the main concourse, looking for a bank of public telephones. Luckily, he found one that was tucked away in a corner and deserted. He quickly dialed a number. It was answered on the first ring. He looked around to be sure no one was listening. “I need the URL of a child-pornography site,” he said, all traces of his accent gone. There was no acknowledgment or questions, only silence. He waited, counting the seconds. A voice came back with an answer. He jotted it down and broke the connection. “Trace that one,” he muttered to himself.