Kane nodded toward Falcone and said, “Cold Strike. I’m sure you have briefed the President on—”
“Don’t worry, George,” Oxley said. “The commander-in-chief knows that any day, at any hour, India might pounce on Pakistan. Yes, Sean has briefed me on Cold Strike. He has also briefed me on Pakistan’s deal with Saudi Arabia. You know, the cash-and-carry deal.”
Roberta Williams looked puzzled. Falcone’s briefing about the deal had been on a need-to-know, and he had believed that Williams had no need to know. Instantly sensing that she had been sidelined, she glared at Falcone. He made a mental note to brief her—and to apologize. He did not need her as an enemy.
“Sir?” Wilkinson spoke up. “Saudi Arabia? We believe the Saudis will remain on the sidelines. Of course, we’re not a hundred percent sure, but—”
“Well, General, what can we be one hundred percent sure of?”
“Nothing, sir. Nothing is certain in peace or war.”
“Mr. President,” Kane cut in to end the colloquy. “We are looking at other possible reactions. Perhaps the biggest challenge will be holding back the Israelis.…”
“The Israelis?’ Oxley asked, looking mildly stunned. “Why would we hold them back? In fact, if any attack is to be made, why shouldn’t they do it?”
Falcone shifted in his chair, looking as if he were about to speak. But he thought better of it and let Kane continue.
“Again, it’s complicated,” Kane said. “First, they don’t have the air-to-air refueling capability to go deep into Iranian territory to hit all of the suspect sites. They’ll need our help for aerial refueling or they’ll need to have clearance to land in Saudi Arabia to refuel.”
“The Saudis will allow them on their soil?” Oxley asked, looking more perplexed than he had when the meeting began.
“The Saudis won’t object as long as they can publicly deny that it happened,” Kane said. “They want someone—anyone—to hit Iran.”
“Do you think the Israelis will attack on their own, General?” Oxley asked, wanting to shift from Kane’s theorizing to Wilkinson and his warrior viewpoint.
“They’d have to use nuclear weapons to get at the deeply buried sites—that is, if they even know where they are,” Wilkinson replied. “And they’ll have to hope that neither the Syrians nor the Iranians have Russian S-300 antiaircraft missiles. They also might decide to try to decapitate Iran’s leadership and command and control capabilities. Probably also kill tens of thousands of Iranians in the process.”
The casual use of probably hung in Oxley’s mind, but he stayed with the topic, asking, “What if the Russians threaten the Israelis with retaliation? The PDB has some indications that Russia might be willing to sign a mutual defense treaty with the Iranians. Shouldn’t we warn the Israelis about this?”
Falcone again was tempted to speak, but he kept silent.
Before Wilkinson could respond, Kane cut in. “From Iran’s point of view,” he said, “that would be a pretty good trade to make. Israel bombs their nuclear sites and rallies all of the Muslim world against them. Then Russia puts a nuclear umbrella over Iran and threatens to take out Tel Aviv unless Israel surrenders all of its weapons, gives back all of the territory that belongs to the Palestinians and—”
“And basically agrees to commit national suicide,” Oxley added.
“Right!” Kane said, sounding like a teacher praising a bright pupil. “Of course, you would be under heavy pressure from Congress to declare a similar treaty arrangement with Israel.”
“So we’re back to the nuclear, hair-trigger days of MAD,” Oxley said. “Or don’t you know about Mutual Assured Destruction? Or duck-and-cover? Or air raid shelters?” He could wait no longer to break Falcone’s silence. “What’s your feeling about Israel, Sean?”
Falcone thought of the conversation with Rachel, and he thought of all the documents he had read in his eternal quest to understand the Middle East. He was glad to have a chance to speak in this room, which had begun to seem like a military garrison.
“Take a look at Iran from Israel’s view—a view shared somewhat with Saudi Arabia,” Falcone said. “Iran has become Iraq’s ally and is building a new eastern front in Iraq against Israel and Jordan. Those two countries see Iran replacing the U.S. as Iraq’s Big Brother. Don’t forget, Iran’s missiles were already threatening Israel from north and south. Now Iran, by becoming a strong force in Iraq, is threatening from the east.
“To Israel, our exit from Iraq ultimately means that Iran will be able to deploy their missiles—and Hizballah rockets—in the bases we leave behind. And those weapons will be pointing not only at Israel but also at Jordan and Saudi Arabia. There’s no doubt that the Saudis would not like Iran to have nuclear weapons.”
“But Sean,” Oxley said, “if the Saudis somehow help in the bombing and then deny it, won’t everyone see through their denial—a denial of helping Israelis kill hundreds, maybe thousands, of Iranians?”
“The Saudi people don’t get a vote, sir,” Falcone responded. “The king still controls everything. Besides, the Iranians are not Arabs, as they are quick to remind everyone. They’re Persians. And the only people the Arabs hate more than the Jews right now are the Persians.”
“Then I repeat, why not let the Israelis carry out an attack? Why us?”
Oxley was clearly asking the question of Falcone, but Kane answered, saying, “If the statements we heard tonight in the Senate are even remotely true, we are the aggrieved party and can respond under international law. We can make a better case than Israel ever can.”
“For God’s sake, George!” Falcone said, leaning forward, across the map, and turning toward Kane. “The Israelis have the real case. It’s existential, not retaliatory. The Iranian Mullahs have declared on many occasions that they want to wipe Israel off the map. This is game time for them. Not a dress rehearsal.
“Israel is ready to go nuclear from the get-go. And once they start they won’t tolerate any restrictions or requests for restraint. This is all or nothing for them. Half measures mean their asses will be hanging out for everyone to shoot at. If they strike, it will be a warning to everyone: Don’t ever fuck with Tel Aviv.”
Oxley had had enough to digest. He was about to declare an end to the session, but before excusing himself, he turned to Wilkinson and formally said, “General, you have given me a great deal to think about. Thank you for the brief. Just one further question. What is Option Three?”
“Sir, that’s to turn out all the lights in Iran.”
“You mean total war?”
“Yes, sir.”
Oxley stood, forcing the others to their feet. “Thank you, gentleman,” he said. “I’ll ponder what we’ve discussed and will want to go over the options with my entire national security team before I make any decision.”
Falcone followed Oxley out of the Situation Room and up the stairs to the second level of the White House. As they reached the top of the stairs, Falcone turned to walk down the short corridor and enter his office. But Oxley motioned for Falcone to follow him to the Oval Office. The President was moving at a fast clip and Falcone could tell that steam was about to pop from both ears.
49
AS OXLEY and Falcone entered the Oval Office, the President erupted. “Just what kind of fool do they think I am? I’ve about had it with Wilkinson. Kane, too. I should have fired both of them a long time ago.” He headed toward the windows and looked out at the darkness.
“I’ve given DOD just about everything they’ve asked for, Sean,” Oxley said, turning toward his desk. “I agreed to their request for more forces than we should have in Afghanistan, I— Oh, you know all this. I’m raving.” He sat down, looking wearier than Falcone had ever seen him.
Oxley had had what could at best be described as a “working relationship” with the military. He had not worn the nation’s uniform and he was not intimidated by all those who strutted into the Oval Office wearing a chest full of medals, thinking they could push him arou
nd. But he also did not want to make any enemies, knowing his critics would spread the lie that he was antimilitary. That put him at a disadvantage, and Oxley chafed at the reality that he had to cut back and compromise at times when he didn’t want to give an inch.
“Wilkinson said he was not there to make any recommendations,” Oxley said, mimicking the general’s voice. “And decisions, no. Okay, I get that. Those are mine to make. But no recommendation from the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the top military advisor to the President?”
“Mr. President,” Falcone said, taking the chair in front of the desk, “Wilkinson and Kane did what every department does: force you into a box. They presented you with two absolutely absurd options as straw men to force you into choosing the one they preferred but would not select.
“Light was too light and Heavy meant the total destruction of Iran. So, therefore, Mr. President, you must choose Option Two as the only responsible choice. That’s the game.”
“Goldilocks lives, Sean. This one’s too cold. This one’s too hot. Oh, but this one is just right! Well, bullshit,” Oxley exploded, pounding the desk with both fists. “The options were all bullshit.”
“Mr. President, I agree. But there is another option. And that’s a decision not to attack Iran or anyone else. At least not before we’re certain who did it.” He told Oxley about Lanier’s call.
Oxley took a few deep breaths and calmed down. “Sorry for the eruption, Sean,” he said. “You’re right about not acting rashly. But time is running out on me. You heard Stanfield. If I wait much longer, I won’t have any options. Events will be controlling me. And Stanfield has become one of those controlling events.”
Falcone thought again of Brothers and the underlined words: he knew time was going to run out.
Oxley stroked the back of his neck, trying to prolong his effort to calm down, but he felt his rage returning. “Pardon me if I explode again,” he said, “but where in hell did Stanfield get that information about the Iranians on the cruise ship? Is there any truth to what that son of a bitch said?”
“I put Anna on it when I went to the Sit Room. We got confirmation that two police officers were sent to the cruise-ship dock on the day the Regal left Boston. It was a very small incident, and the Boston PD records don’t show anything except the dispatcher’s report on sending the officers.
“The report only says they were responding to a quote request unquote, and that quote the suspects were handed over to federal officials unquote. No names, no titles. Anna asked Patterson to order the FBI to talk to the Boston PD, and J. B. jumped at the chance to get into the picture The FBI is still pushing, but—”
“But getting nowhere. Yeah. Heard that before.”
“Stanfield was deliberately vague,” Falcone continued. “He said that an ‘agent of the Department of Homeland Security’ ordered the men off the Regal. You know how big DHS is. An added complication is that Penny and her staff are all in Savannah. So we’re dealing at the moment with the second team.”
“Sometimes, Sean, I wonder how we get to know anything.”
“Yes, sir. Well, the fact is that an order like the one that Stanfield mentioned could have come from Customs and Border Protection, the Transportation Security Administration, U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, better known as ICE. My bet is on ICE. So, my last report from Anna was she was focusing there.”
“Okay, so maybe we get some piece of DHS paper. Then what?”
“We can legitimately send the FBI up to the Hill and ask Stanfield where he got his information. But—”
“Forget it, Sean. Stanfield would yelp that I’m siccing the Gestapo on him. But I do want to know how the hell he got that Regal manifest and the information on the Iranian passengers.”
“I’ll try, sir. I’m supposed to get you answers. And all I seem to get you are questions.”
“Damn it, Sean. You’re getting me what I want. One hundred percent,” Oxley said, adding with a quick smile, “And now I want more.”
“What’s that, sir?”
“Set up an ExComm videoconference. There isn’t time to assemble everyone in the Sit Room.”
“When do you want it?”
“As fast as you can put it together. I’ve got to talk to them all about Stanfield’s claims. Get Hawk and Anna to help round up the usual suspects.”
“Yes, sir. We should be able to have it set up in a half hour. Okay?”
“Fine, Sean, fine,” Oxley said, sounding, to Falcone’s ear, surprisingly detached. “I want you and Ray here with me. Let me know when you’ve got the rest of them in front of screens.”
*
WHITE House communications wizards, who kept track of the whereabouts of the ExComm members, easily tracked them down and made the technical arrangements that Oxley would credit to Falcone. Twenty-five minutes after he asked for a videoconference, the President had one.
Oxley’s face appeared on the scattered screens as he said, “Good evening. It’s been a long day, and I don’t want to deprive you of any more rest. But I felt that it was imperative that you all know the situation in the wake of Senator Stanfield’s speech tonight in the Senate.
“First, let me say that the evidence produced to date that Iran was responsible is circumstantial at best. It is tantamount to the allegation that Saddam Hussein had acquired yellow cake from Niger and was using it to make nuclear bombs. We have no authentication of Senator Stanfield’s accusations.
“Yes, Iran hates America and wants to destroy us and Israel. But hope is not capability. The intelligence that we have to date is that Iran is years away from having the ability to construct a functional nuclear weapon. Sean, do you have something to add to this?”
Falcone’s haggard face appeared. To the left was a partial view of the President’s face. Farther to the right, unseen at the moment, was Ray Quinlan’s face.
“Yes, Mr. President,” Falcone said. “I was advised by an intelligence source that the Israeli prime minister was to convey to you during his visit that Mossad had discovered some very disturbing information, namely that—”
The face of Sam Stone appeared. “Information that you didn’t think to share with—”
Falcone’s face appeared again. He ignored Stone and continued, “Namely that Iran’s bomb-making ability is progressing ahead of our predicted timetable. I chose not to share the information with anyone because I wasn’t satisfied the information was credible.”
“And when was it that you became an intelligence expert?” Stone cut in.
“Enough, Sam,” Oxley snapped. “Let Sean finish.”
“Thank you, Mr. President,” Falcone said. “The claim was that the previous Mossad assessment about Iran’s nuclear program was no longer valid, namely that Stuxnet and the other efforts to sabotage Iran’s centrifuges were successful. It seems that China, North Korea, or Pakistan—the Israelis don’t know which—has covertly provided Iran with new technologies that allowed them to accelerate their program. We have no evidence to validate this claim.”
“But why would you assume Mossad was wrong?” Ray Quinlan asked, jutting his face in, his tone angry. “They were the ones who disclosed the covert programs in the first place. They’d have no reason to feed us false information.”
“One reason,” Falcone said, “might be that the Israeli political cohesion continues to deteriorate and Prime Minister Weisman believes that we are never going to attack Iran. So he’s decided that Israel has the opportunity to strike a major blow now, while Iran is in our crosshairs.
“You know your history, Ray. This could be like 1956, when we were having a presidential election campaign and Israel hooked up with France and the UK to grab the Suez Canal while we were distracted.
“So now we have the same campaign-and-crisis perfect storm. And my source said the prime minister was going to ask our help in providing safe passage for Israeli pilots who are prepared to carry out a strike. If that—”
“To get back to Senator Stan
field,” President Oxley interrupted to reclaim control of the meeting, “as you all know, he declared that he has documentary evidence to back up his account about two Iranians planting a nuclear device on the Regal cruise ship.”
“Jesus,” Quinlan murmured, “what a major fuckup.” Quinlan could be heard but not seen. The President’s face remained on screen until, sensing that Falcone wanted to speak, Oxley shifted, and Falcone was seen saying, “There is no evidence that the two suspects now in custody were acting on behalf of the Iranian government.”
“Just a couple of rogues out for a cruise with a bomb in their Tumi luggage?” Quinlan sneered on-screen. “Come on!”
“It’s possible,” Falcone responded, “that they were on a scouting or spying mission, gathering intelligence on the weakness in our security system and—”
“But why the bomb?” Quinlan persisted. “Why the bomb?”
“We don’t know if they were the ones who placed the bomb,” Falcone responded. “We don’t know if—”
Oxley looked irritated when his face appeared. He cut off Falcone. “Let’s assume that they did place the bomb and did so under direction of the Iranian government. The question is, What to do?”
Oxley, who had a remarkable ability to control his voice, sounded eerily calm.
“I called this teleconference,” he said, “primarily to tell you that congressional leaders have responded to the rage precipitated by Stanfield’s speech by agreeing to hold a joint session of Congress. They’ve invited me to address the members and the American people on what action I plan to take. The Speaker has alerted me that he has polled the members in the House, and they expect me to ask for a declaration of war. Apparently, it’s the same feeling in the Senate.”
“You don’t have to accept the invitation, Mr. President,” Attorney General Williams said, her face glowering on screen. “You can address the nation from the Oval Office. It’s more dignified. You won’t have to deal with a hostile audience. You can—”
Blink of an Eye Page 29
