He showed her to one of the two chairs in front of his desk and took the other one. Across from each other, their eyes met for a moment. Her sea-green eyes were part of her psychological disguise, he remembered, for her eyes always looked innocent and unaware.
“I’m sorry for what’s happened, Sean. It’s horrible. We’ve been terrified for so long that such a thing could happen to us.… Now you…”
“Everyone’s nightmare,” he said. “Everyone’s.”
“I don’t want to intrude. Not at a time like this … I had hoped to see you at the state dinner—”
“I was coming off a long trip and I—”
“At first I thought you might be avoiding me.…”
“Hardly. Actually, I wanted to congratulate you on your … new line of work. Quite a shift in responsibilities for you. I mean, at the UN.”
“Times change. Jobs, too.”
“You’re right,” Falcone said. “But I never thought of you as the diplomatic type.”
“I must admit,” Rachel said, smiling, “that I have a lot to learn when it comes to diplomacy.”
“There are rumors that you’re in line to become Israel’s next foreign minister.”
“The thought strikes fear in the hearts of some. Maybe one day. Not now.… Sean, let me ask you. Do you have any leads on how this happened or who?”
“Nothing yet. Lots of speculation, no facts,” Falcone said, pausing to decide whether to say more, then adding, “I was hoping you might be able to help.”
“If I had to guess,” she said without hesitation, “it would be Iran.”
“Guess? Really? Never thought the Mossad was in the guessing game.”
“I’m no longer Mossad.”
“But you still have access to … Look, let’s not play game about this. What makes you say Iran?”
“Motive. Capabilty…”
“Capability? Our intel people insist that the mullahs were at least a year away—possibly two to three years away—from making a nuclear bomb. The Cerberus computer worm worked,” Falcone said.
He was referring to a destructive computer program that nearly everyone assumed U.S. and Israeli technicians had developed to sabotage Iranian nuclear centrifuges. The complex devices were used to produce enriched uranium for weapons. The Cerberus worm was introduced into the computers that controlled the speeds of the spinning centrifuges. Falcone had seen a PDB reporting that about 20 percent of the Iranian centrifuges had spun out of control and destroyed themselves. “Even your former director of Mossad publicly declared that Iran had been set back several years.”
“Sean, do you really think Mossad would declare such a thing if it was true? Please. It was disinformation. To buy time, to reduce Iran’s anxiety about the immediacy of any plans we might have to attack them. Allow them to think they had more time to take defensive measures.…
“Prime Minister Weisman had intended to tell your president that the Iranians crossed the threshold months ago. Cerberus had not changed that fact. We believe that your CIA and others doubt our estimates and say we fabricate intelligence to serve our own ends.”
“We are not talking fabrication,” Falcone said, allowing an irritated tone in his voice. “We were convinced that Iran couldn’t move that fast. And isn’t it true that some Iranian nuclear engineers have died mysteriously?”
Rachel unknotted her scarf and said, “Perhaps because we’re closer, we see things more clearly. Measure speed differently.”
“Or perhaps you want us to run a little faster for you.…”
“We gave you hard evidence, but your president insisted—personally to Prime Minister Weisman and then publicly at a press conference—that sanctions were working, and he let it go at that.”
“Well, he certainly couldn’t mention Cerberus.”
She carefully reknotted her scarf, as if that task had to be accomplished before she could respond.
“No, he couldn’t,” she finally said. “I must say I was greatly relieved to see it did not show up in the WikiLeaks. Those leaks greatly concerned us, Sean. And then we see Cerberus revealed in the New York Times.”
“Well, we don’t have a monopoly on leaks. Remember when the whole world got to see a video of a Mossad hit squad assigned to kill Al-Mabhouh in Dubai?”
“Nothing can be served by you and me having a leaking contest.”
“But the fact is that very few secrets can be kept secret anywhere these days,” Falcone said. “Especially assassinations of Hamas leaders. Everyone who can use the Internet knows that you tried to kill Al-Mabhouh once before and failed. Tough on the Mossad’s reputation.”
Rachel shrugged with a flair that Falcone fondly remembered at that moment. Usually shrugs like that were followed by silence, her shield of feigned indifference.
“So, to get back to here and now,” Falcone said, “was Prime Minister Weisman going to ask President Oxley to attack Iran?”
“No. Of course, he would have liked to ask America to destroy Iran’s potential weapons. After all, you have the power to do so. But no. He was going to request that if Israel decided to act, America would guarantee that our pilots would have safe passage over Iraq and Saudi Arabia.”
Falcone stood, and shifting his gaze toward the tranquility outside his window, said, “So we—the United States—would be complicit?”
“No. You’d be able to publically condemn us … just as you did when we took out Saddam’s nuclear plant. Then you could join hands with your Saudi pals and what remain of your Arab friends in the Gulf and thank us privately.”
“You’re not being very diplomatic.…”
“As I said, I have a lot to learn about diplomacy. For now, I prefer just telling the truth.” Rachel walked toward the windows to a world globe mounted on a mahogany stand. She stabbed a finger at Iran and said, “Here is where it all begins. We can talk forever about whether Iran got the bombs six months ago or will get the bomb in six years.
“The point is that Iran wants the bomb. It has done and will do whatever is necessary to get it. And a bomb there really means a bomb here.” She moved her finger through the Middle East, giving the globe a slight movement. “If Iran gets the bomb, Iran becomes the godfather for those who do not have it.”
Falcone walked to where she stood, her scent stirring a memory. He placed a finger on her hand, moving it back to Iran. “So, I suppose, in your scenario, your enemy is the enemy of the entire Middle East and beyond. Iran must be the villain beyond redemption and we must be the heroes—the crusaders—who defeat the villain.”
She grasped his hand for a moment, let go, walked back to the chair, and sat down without speaking.
Falcone, still standing, said, “New subject. Why Savannah? Why would Iran decide to attack the United States by attacking a minor port?”
“I can think of two reasons, Sean. First, your main ports are relatively well guarded and defended. Second, Savannah is a major port for sending supplies to Afghanistan. It’s an old idea: attack the supply train. The Iranian leaders can be fanatic or even crazy. But they’re not stupid. Hasn’t your intelligence come up with those answers?”
Before Falcone could respond, Rachel continued, “Or Saudi intelligence? Can you tell your Saudi friends that you want some intelligence help?”
“You must know that Saudi Arabia does not listen to us—especially since the whole Middle East erupted. And neither does Pakistan. I’m sure you know about the Saudis’ nuclear-weapon deal with Pakistan.”
“Yes,” she said. “Pakistan has sent Ghauri-II long-range missiles to the Saudis. They are in silos at the Sulayyil Missile Base.”
“And the Pakistani bombs?” Falcone asked.
“Oh, we are playing the do-you-know-what-I-know game? Yes, we understand that the Saudis have flown two transport planes with civilian markings to Pakistan’s Kamra Airbase. When and if the Saudis decide they want nuclear bombs, Pakistan will load two of its bombs onto the transports, which will carry the bombs to Saudi Arabia.
Correct?”
“Correct,” Falcone said. “We call it the cash-and-carry deal. The easiest way to get a bomb is to buy it.”
“So you believe that this little sideline deal”—another shrug—“would be carried out if Iran is attacked? And so that influences your hesitancy to attack?”
“Yes, among other hesitations. And while unlikely, there is always the possibility that Pakistan could be tempted to take advantage of a Middle East crisis to lash out at India. The Ghauri-II’s range has been extended. It can strike targets deep within India. Yes, we consider consequences. And does Israel?”
“Muslim rage? Hezbollah rockets? Hamas suicide bombers? Of course.”
“All that—and worse—for a year’s delay in their program?”
“When every day is a stay of execution, a year is a lifetime.”
“So, what will you do now that it is America that must react to an actual bomb?”
“Wait … To see what your president will do now. We wouldn’t want to compromise his decision … or mission.”
“And that’s why Weisman left you here? An agent in place? Five minutes from the White House?”
“Please, Sean. He felt—and I felt—that I might be of help. A direct line from what I believe is still the best intelligence service in the Middle East.”
“Whatever help you can give will be greatly appreciated, I assure you.”
“Thank you, Sean. But what’s wrong? You sound like a man who has something else to say.”
“Oxley’s under a lot of pressure to act,” Falcone replied, hesitating before deciding to add, “and a lot of it is generated by some of your friends on the Hill.”
“Indeed, we have many friends in your Congress. We’re a small country surrounded by those who hate us. We take our friends wherever we find them.”
“But not all of your friends are your friends. Not your real ones.”
Their dialogue had been swift, each statement ricocheting off each response. Now there was a pause. Falcone surmised that Rachel suspected he knew more than was saying. He thought of the photograph in the receiving line. She looked radiantly beautiful, he thought, then drew back to his job. But—what about the warning? The Brethren. The Israelis—the Mossad—was feeding the same line to Dake.
Falcone thought for a moment about mentioning Dake’s information and its probable source. Instead, he turned lawyerly. Resuming his seat to begin the deposition, he said, “Let me ask you something. A hypothetical. What if the Iranians saw that you were preparing to attack their country—”
“Believe me, they would not see it coming—”
“But assuming they did. That your disinformation campaign had not worked—and then decided to strike first?”
“They would not have time. We would eliminate them before they could fire a missile. And, just in case, thanks to you, we have the Arrow defense system that can knock down their Shahab missiles.”
“But what if they were able to do something else with a bomb: smuggle one … just one … into an American city, and leave no fingerprints?”
“They could never be sure that President Oxley would not discover their perfidy and order their destruction.”
“I thought you were convinced that Oxley would never act.”
“True. But not after an American city was destroyed.”
“But what if they assumed—and they weave their strategies as fine and complicated as their art—that Oxley would not strike back? Not before Russia and China step in and demand that the UN Security Council prevent any response. They urge restraint and then use the forum as a reason to call for immediate reductions in nuclear weapons, and a nuclear-free Middle East.”
“Sean, an interesting hypothetical. Not terribly reasonable, but interesting. Fortunately, I don’t live in a world of fantasy. My world is very real.”
“You’re right. It’s hypothetical, perhaps fantasy, to assume that the Mossad was right about Iran having a nuclear bomb or that the Iranians had anything to do with Savannah.”
“Sean, as I said, I’m not skilled quite yet as a diplomat, but speaking to you as a friend, I think President Oxley has no choice. It would have been better if he had acted before Iran got close to making the bomb. But it’s not too late to prevent another one from going off—somewhere.”
Falcone did not immediately respond. He again thought of Dake and the information that most likely came from Mossad wiretaps and bugs. He was wondering whether to brace her about The Brethren and their own fantasy world of Armageddon … when his phone rang.
He knew that Mae would hold all calls when he was meeting with a ranking visitor. Visibly annoyed, he picked up the phone and curtly answered, “Falcone.”
“Hawk here. Anna said for me to find out what Secretary Kane wanted. Said he wants to talk with you about the legal status of the Fort Stewart troops; he’s getting queries from members of Congress, especially Southern members, telling him it’s undeclared martial law down there. I was just leaving his office when the President called. Said he wants to view war plans. Iran war plans. Thought I’d give you a heads-up.”
“Got it. Thanks,” Falcone said, hanging up. As usual, Mae instinctively knew when to trump Falcone’s no-calls orders. He turned to Rachel. “Sorry. Reminder I’ve got a meeting coming up. We’ll have to continue—”
The presidential phone rang.
“You’re a busy man, Sean,” Rachel said. “We’ll talk.” She rose, walked to the door, and hesitated long enough to hear Falcone answer the phone: “Yes, Mr. President. Thank you.” He hung up.
“Something going on?” Rachel asked, right hand on the doorknob.
“Routine meeting,” Falcone replied.
“Like the one we just had?”
“Yeah. It will be full of hypotheticals,” Falcone said. Then, trying to sound casual, he added, “By the way, the President enjoyed meeting you.”
“We didn’t get much of a chance to talk. He had to rush away and—”
“Not at the state dinner. I was talking about that fund-raiser in Connecticut. He was quite surprised to see a diplomat there.”
He hoped that he would jolt her, but all she said was, “I like to surprise people. He is a very charming man.”
Ice in her veins, Falcone thought. But what else would I expect from a professional assassin?
“It was great seeing you again, Rachel. I appreciated the geography lesson, but Iran attacking the United States still doesn’t make any sense.”
“You asked for my opinion. I simply gave it. And by the way, how much of what’s going on in the world today makes any sense?”
He stood in his doorway and watched Rachel and her White House escort walk down the hall. Then he called the President back.
“Mr. President, I’m sorry I couldn’t speak,” he said. “I had someone in my office. About the meeting. I strongly suggest that you hold back until this evening.” He told Oxley about Cunningham’s visit and Stanfield’s scheduled speech.
“Okay, Sean,” Oxley said. “Let’s aim for nine thirty.”
“Fine, Mr. President. See you at nine thirty.”
“Right,” Oxley said, a hint of hesitation in his voice. Then he added, “Sean, have you read Brothers? The book about the Kennedys?”
“No, sir. Heard of it, haven’t read it.”
“I’ll send it over. Take a look at the pages I marked.”
As soon as the President hung up, Falcone called Dabrowski. “Anna, you know everything. What do you know about a book about the Kennedys, titled Brothers?”
“I’m bringing it up on Google. The author is David Talbot. Started Web magazine Salon. Here’s a review on Amazon. It looks at JFK’s assassination and Bobby’s fears of a conspiracy. There’s also a look at JFK and the military—Cuban missile crisis, Bay of Pigs.”
“The President has read it and is passing it to me. Why would he be reading it?”
“Maybe our president is interested in how another president dealt with the military in a cr
isis. Maybe that’s it.”
“Maybe, Anna. Thanks.”
As Falcone was hanging up, Mae Prentice entered and handed him a manila envelope containing the book. Falcone opened it and flipped to a cluster of yellow stickers marking pages about the missile crisis. Falcone felt a shiver go down his spine, for the book recounted how Kennedy had kept a key civilian adviser, Ted Sorensen, out of a crucial meeting with military leaders “to avoid provoking the Pentagon chiefs.” President Oxley was doing the opposite, inviting Falcone into the upcoming war-plans meeting perhaps because he wanted to provoke General Wilkinson.
Underlined was Sorensen’s recollection of how Kennedy burst out of the meeting, hot under the collar and he pointed at the meeting and he said, ‘They all want war.’ Another underline: he knew time was going to run out.
The commander of the Strategic Air Command had, without presidential or secretary of defense authorization, raised SAC’s alert status to DEFCON Two. The alert message, incredibly, went out in the clear so that the Soviet Union would know about it. And here we are very publicly at DEFCON One, Falcone thought. Ready for war.
Now Falcone looked at the book as a coded message from Oxley in anticipation of the war-plans meeting. Other underlined sections referred to General Edwin Walker, a name Falcone recognized. Kennedy’s secretary of defense, Robert McNamara, had relieved Walker of his command of an infantry division in Germany for his extreme right-wing activities.
One of Walker’s rants implied that President Kennedy was the “anti-Christ.” In a bizarre incident never understood by Kennedy assassination analysts, Lee Harvey Oswald had attempted to kill Walker, firing the same rifle that he later used to kill President Kennedy.
Tucked between two flagged pages was a sheet from a notepad bearing the presidential seal. The paper was folded over twice and sealed with transparent tape. On it was scrawled SEAN—PERSONAL.
From the moment that Falcone held Brothers in his hands, he had been trying to figure out why the President had sent him the book. He hoped that the note would help. But all that Oxley had written was, Me the anti-Christ? Walker = Parker?
Blink of an Eye Page 26
