"I was just coming to that, sir." Miller flipped his chart again.
The new page showed operating areas in Syria and Iraq. "Combined exercises have been held in these vicinities with Syrian, Iraqi, and reportedly some Iranian units. Our reports indicate a high degree of coordination between ground and air forces with good communications and control." This was new information, and its significance was not lost on those in the room.
"What this amounts to," Miller summarized, "is the possibility of Arab preparation for a combined offensive against Israel. This kind of alliance-political and military-has never been accomplished before. If it continues at current levels, the Israelis will be in for the fight of their lives."
"I assume the Israelis are as aware of all this as we are."
"Oh, yes, sir. In fact, we have confirmed some of our data with Tel Aviv."
Arnold perked up. "With Tel Aviv… Any chance they're feeding us some of this info just to gain sympathy?"
Miller was surprised-the president did not usually subscribe to Machiavellian theories. Perhaps three years on the job had taught him to consider more arcane and less apparent motives-even with longstanding allies.
"We considered that possibility, sir. All our data has been independently confirmed."
"How soon might such an Arab alliance move?"
Miller glanced at the intelligence representatives. "The Arabs have all the hardware they need, right now, sir. And they have a very large manpower pool-much of it combat-experienced. This is especially true of the Iraqis and Iranians. Additionally, the Israelis are overextended in Jordan. They really can't keep the lid on there and fully defend their homeland at the same time. "
Arnold rubbed his temple with one hand, his eyes closed. There was a long silence before he looked up again.
"General Miller, thank you. As usual, you're right up to date on things. "
Surprised to be dismissed so abruptly, Miller walked offstage. He still had more to say.
The president turned to the NSC staff. "Gentlemen, ladies, we're entering a difficult period. We simply cannot allow ourselves to be forced into choosing sides in another Arab-Israeli war. The economic and diplomatic considerations are too great. I'll pursue this discussion at the cabinet meeting tomorrow."
Walking to his limousine, Arnold strode out of earshot of his Secret Service escorts. Grabbing his chief of staff by the arm, he hissed, "See what Wilson and State can do. By God, we give the Israelis three billion a year, never see most of it again, and they perpetuate this situation despite us. I hate being in the middle like this. It just isn't fair!"
The chief of staff stopped in his tracks, watching the briskly striding figure of the President of the United States. The staff director pondered the wisdom of sending Arnold the speech by Henry Kissinger years ago. "Nations don't have friends. They have interests." Of course, the present situation was not fair. What's that got to do with anything?
Claudia Meyers knocked on the door of Bennett's hotel room.
The door swung open, a tanned hand reached out, grasped her forearm, and pulled her inside. The door slammed shut.
They hugged each other tightly for several minutes. At length Claudia said, "My God, I'm tired of living on letters and phone calls." She squeezed his neck. "You feel so good."
He touched her cheek. "We do have a lot to talk about, don't we?" They sat down on the bed, and Bennett moved a black zippered bag to one side. Curled up with one another, they talked.
Bennett said, "All right, here's what I'm thinking of doing." He looked directly into her hazel eyes. "War's coming. No doubt about it. My boys are ready, and I can't do much more. I'm thinking of asking to be released from my extended contract, going back home with you and setting up a house in California or Connecticut or wherever you like. What do you say?"
She returned his gaze. "Is that a proposition, sailor?"
He grinned the white grin she loved. "Consider it a proposal, Claudia. I've been thinking along these lines for quite a while. Now I want to marry you."
Her voice seemed small in the room. "Okay."
That afternoon they made love and made plans. The main concern was how to accommodate their different work and responsibilities.
Bennett said, "I can probably wrap things up in less than sixty days. If necessary, Ed can take over for me. We're down to the basic requirements of twenty-eight IPs now, including one for each squadron, since basic flight training is winding down." He tickled her ribs and she wriggled away. "What about you?"
"I'll put in for termination of my position here right away. I'm senior enough that it shouldn't be too difficult, especially since I've been at this station so long." She edged closer to Bennett, grasping his near hand to prevent more mischief. "I'd like to finish my full twenty years with the State Department, John. If I got a Washington posting could you tolerate that for a while? It would only be another couple of years. "
The disappointment showed on his face. "Oh, lord. Georgetown cocktail parties, small talk with the temporary acting deputy under-secretary from Lower Slobbovia. You'd really subject the man you love to that sort of thing?"
"Yes. If I was the woman he loved."
"Ouch." He raised his hands. "Okay, I surrender. But old John is going to look awfully funny in a tux. Besides, how will I communicate with anybody? You know fighter pilots can't talk with a teacup in one hand. It takes two, baby." He parodied the gestures common to aviators describing two aircraft engaged in a close dogfight.
Claudia laughed appreciatively, then turned serious. "What do you think you would do for two years or so in D.C.?"
He wrapped his arms around her. "I've never been a house husband. That seems all the rage these days. You know, send you off to work each morning with a healthy, nutritious lunch in your bag. Have a nice dinner waiting when you come home after a hard day with the Bulgarian ambassador."
Claudia kissed his cheek. ''That's a lovely thought, but for some reason I don't quite buy it. Really, what would you do?"
"I think I'd like to write a book about my time here in Arabia. I might not be able to find a publisher, and I couldn't describe some things, of course. But the people I've worked with, especially the students, they're the real story." He warmed to his subject. "I wish you knew some of these kids like I do, Claudia. Doggone, so many of them are really terrific young guys. It's like Chuck Yeager said. You fly with all kinds of pilots from all over the world and there isn't a dime's worth of difference among them. Training and experience are what matter.
"I don't mean to overstate this, but in a way Tiger Force has been my family. I raised these kids, most of them from teenagers. I'm really going to miss them. And most of the IPs, too."
"That reminds me," Claudia said. She got up to fetch her shoulder bag and pulled out a worn blue T-shirt. Returning to the bed, she sat down beside Bennett. "I've kept this but I don't really know what to do with it. What do you think?"
Bennett fingered the familiar garment. "I think you should keep it. Masher would like to know that you still wear it."
Claudia slid under the covers and nestled close. "What do you think will become of the others?"
"Oh, most of them will go back to what they did before. Airlines, reserve flying, commercial instruction. Some will just become beachcombers."
"It won't be the same for them, will it?"
Bennett inhaled, thinking of Ed Lawrence. "No, it won't. You know, in the business we talk about being warriors, of being entirely job-oriented. No bullshit, stick to the basics. Beyond that, we talk about the pure warriors. Well, Ed's the only really pure warrior I know anymore. And it's not a cheery prospect."