“Any nationality on the perps?”
“The report is Middle Eastern.”
“And they haven’t gone home? Why?”
“Speculation is that the ship that was supposed to pick them up didn’t show. Maybe because half the Indian navy was in the bay searching for pieces of the plane. But that’s a guess. The Indians are keeping this guy to themselves. The minister has refused our requests to talk to him.”
The President’s left ear suddenly itched terribly. The ear canal. He had a powerful urge to dig a pinky inside. A Q-Tip. He wasn’t prone to tics or itching, and he didn’t need a psychiatrist to tell him why he had suddenly developed one. Back in the day, Jack Kennedy had gotten by with muscle relaxants.
“Is this the usual sovereignty nonsense? We are a great nation, not just cricket and lamb vindaloo.” The last sentence in a mock Indian accent that wouldn’t have won him any friends on the subcontinent.
“Yes, the usual sovereignty nonsense. We will push. I think they’ll drop the pose soon enough.”
“It’s morning there, yes?”
“A little before three a.m. in Mumbai.”
“I want us in there before noon their time. If I have to call Gupta directly to tell him, let me know.” Anil Gupta, the Indian Prime Minister. “And I want Rooney in here to tell me exactly what they have and how we’re going to make sure the Indians don’t blow it.” Tim Rooney, the FBI director. “I want these men taken alive.”
“Yes, sir.”
The itch migrated from the President’s ear to his throat. At least that problem was fixable. He tapped a button discreetly attached to the underside of his desk. Almost before he lifted his finger, a steward opened the door to the hallway that connected the Oval Office with his private kitchen.
“Mr. President?”
“Club soda with lemon, please. Donna?”
“Sounds good,” Green said.
“Yes, ma’am. Yes, Mr. President.”
Sixty-four seconds later, the sodas arrived on a sterling silver tray.
The President raised his glass. “Salud.”
“Salud.”
“Let’s assume the Indians are right. We get these guys, they turn out to be Iranian. Like I told you earlier. I want your best guess, why provoke us this way? Attack a civilian jet when we were so careful to stick to legitimate military targets?”
“I think it’s dangerous to guess at motivation, sir. Especially when we have such poor intel into the Iranian government.”
“Your objection is noted. For the record. Now, guess.”
“A couple possibilities come to mind. Here’s one you won’t like. We’re wrong. The Iranians aren’t responsible for the HEU. They’ve decided that since we’re attacking them on false pretenses, they might as well hurt us.”
“Before I ordered the drones in, everyone agreed the evidence pointed to Iran. Everyone. DCI, DNI, our nuke experts. You, too.”
“It did. It does. But it’s still circumstantial. Even now, we don’t have confirmation from communications intercepts or human sources.”
“Then why don’t they just let us in?”
“Would we let them in if the situation were reversed?”
The President suddenly found himself very tired.
“What about aliens?”
“Sir?”
“Maybe it’s not Iran. Maybe a UFO dropped that uranium in Istanbul.”
“You asked me to speculate, sir.”
“I asked you to speculate. Not give me a stroke. I went on television and told the world that Iran was responsible. Are you seriously telling me that’s open to question?”
Before the President took office, he’d vowed not to make the mistake of putting himself in a bubble, surrounded by staff too frightened to challenge him. But this situation was exceptional. The die was cast. He had made his choice. He could tolerate a lot of uncertainty. But not the possibility that he had just attacked another nation under false pretenses.
She cocked her head, looked at him, seemed to recognize how he felt. “No, sir. It’s very unlikely.”
“Then let’s move on.”
“Yes, sir. If the Iranians are committed to protecting their program at all costs, the jet could be a warning shot. Their way of telling us that if we invade them, we can expect terrorist attacks all over the world.”
“That’ll backfire in the worst way. People will want me to bomb Tehran into ash.”
“In the short run. Imagine if it stretches for months. Not just planes. Attacks on military bases, police stations. Shootings in malls. Movie theaters. Almost a low-grade military campaign. The Iranians make sure we know that the attacks will continue as long as we have soldiers on their soil.”
“They couldn’t possibly pull that off.”
“But if they could. We’re not used to being attacked. September 11 aside, we haven’t had major civilian casualties since the Civil War. Maybe a pacifist groundswell starts? Why are we bothering about this bomb? Why are we interfering anyway?”
The President shook his head. “I can’t believe they’d have the guts to try that.”
“If more planes go down—”
“I’ll reconsider. Next guess.”
“This is the simplest. They’re convinced we’re going to attack and they can’t do anything about it, so they’re taking their pound of flesh in advance. It’s not a strategy as much as a lashing-out.”
“Don’t you always say, never assume the enemy is irrational?”
“People get locked in and panic.”
The President wondered whether that sentence held a second message for him.
“Anything else?”
Green nodded.
“One more, the most likely. Plenty of different factions inside Tehran. Plenty of folks over there were never on board with the program. They may not even have known about it. Now that we’ve busted it open, they feel like fools.”
“They want to close it down.”
“Plus they see a chance to break the conservatives for good. But the mullahs and generals who approved it know that if they walk away, they’ll lose the government. Wind up dangling by their necks from cranes.” The preferred form of execution in Iran.
“So they’re doubling down.”
“Correct. They don’t care if we find out they shot down the plane. In fact, they’d rather we did. The worse it gets, the more control they have.”
“Until the Airborne and the Marines level them.”
“They may figure they can survive a limited invasion. Or that once they beat the liberals, they can walk back from the brink, open up the program at the eleventh hour long enough to stop us from coming over the border. They’re dealing with the immediate problem and hoping the future will take care of itself.”
“So do you have anything that’s not speculation?”
“With any luck, the guys who shot the missiles can give us some answers. Especially if they’re Hezbollah.” The Lebanese Shiite militia group that Iran funded. “The hardliners are the ones with the lines into Lebanon. They’d rather use Hezbollah than their own security services and risk having the liberals find out.”
“Okay. Say that last theory is right. The jet got taken down because of an internal Iranian power struggle. How do we hit back without helping the hardliners? Assuming a public attack would play into their hands.”
“Agree. Better to come back with something quiet and with teeth.”
“I’m sure SOCOM has options,” the President said. Special Operations Command.
“No doubt. Meantime, this is more out there — but you might think about dangling a carrot as well, sir. Give Rouhani and the good guys something. So that the Iranians can’t just say you want to give our program up and get nothing back.”