Tom Clancy - Op-Center 06 - Divide and Conquer

by Eikeltje

voice extremely calm.

  "You don't have that."

  "Not yet," Hood said.

  "And we don't have the extra time I thought there'd be to investigate.

  We've got to proceed as if the Caspian threat is real," the president

  said with finality.

  "Which is exactly what they want you to do!" Hood said. He was growing

  agitated and had to pull himself back. An outburst would undermine his

  own credibility.

  "We believe a crisis is being engineered, one that will call into

  question your ability to govern."

  "People have argued about that for years," the president said.

  "They voted me out of office once. But I don't make decisions based on

  polls."

  "I'm not talking about a policy debate," Hood said.

  "I'm talking about your mental and emotional state. That will be the

  issue." Fenwick shook his head sadly.

  "Sir, mental health is the issue. Mr. Hood has been under a great deal

  of stress these past two weeks. His teenage daughter is mentally ill.

  He's going through a divorce. He needs a long vacation."

  "I don't think Mr. Hood is the one who needs a leave of absence," the

  First Lady said. Her voice was clear and edged with anger. It quieted

  the room.

  "Mr. Fenwick, I have watched my husband being misled and misinformed

  for several weeks now. Mr. Hood looked into the situation at my

  personal request. His investigation has been methodical, and I believe

  his findings have merit." She glared at Fenwick.

  "Or do you intend to call me a liar as well?" Fenwick said nothing. The

  president looked at his wife. Megan was standing straight and stoic at

  Hood's side. There was nothing apologetic in her expression. The

  president looked tired, but Hood thought he also seemed sad. He could

  not tell whether it was because Megan had run an operation behind his

  back or because he felt he had let her down. The couple was silent. It

  was clearly an issue they would settle some other time, in private.

  After a moment, the president's eyes returned to Hood. The sadness

  remained.

  "Your concern is noted and appreciated," the president said.

  "But I won't jeopardize the nation's interests to protect my own.

  Especially when you have no evidence that they're at risk."

  "All I want is a few hours," Hood said.

  "Unfortunately, we don't have a few hours," the president replied. For a

  moment, Megan looked as though she was going to hug her husband. She did

  not. She looked at Fenwick and then at the joint chiefs.

  "Thank you for hearing us out," she said.

  "I'm sorry to have interrupted." She turned and started toward the door.

  Hood did not know what else to say. He would have to go back to the

  Cabinet Room and work with Herbert and Orlov. Try to get the proof the

  president needed and get it quickly. He turned to follow the First Lady

  from the Situation Room. As he did, there was a gentle beep from

  somewhere in the room. A cell phone. The sound had come from the

  inside pocket of Fenwick's suit. He shouldn't be able to get a signal in

  here. Hood thought. The walls of the Situation Room were lined with

  chips that generated random electrical impulses or impedence webs. The

  IWS were designed to block bugs from broadcasting to anyone on the White

  House grounds. They also blocked cell phone calls with one exception:

  transmissions relayed by the government's Hephaestus satellite array.

  Hood turned back as the NSA chief had slipped a hand into his jacket.

  Fenwick took out the phone and shut off the ringer. Bingo. If it got

  through IW security, it had to be a Hephaestus call. Highest security.

  Who wouldn't Fenwick want to talk to right now? Hood leaned over the NSA

  chief and pulled the phone from his hand. Fenwick reached for it, but

  Hood stepped away.

  "What the hell are you doing?" Fenwick demanded. He pushed the chair

  back and rose. He walked toward Hood.

  "I'm betting my career on a hunch," Hood said. He flipped open the

  cover and answered the call.

  "Yes?"

  "Who is this?" asked the caller.

  "This is Jack Fenwick's line at the NSA," Hood said. He walked toward

  the president.

  "Who's calling?"

  "My name is David Battat," said the clear voice on the other end. Hood

  felt the world slide off his shoulders. He held the cell phone so the

  president could listen as well. Fenwick stopped beside them. The NSA

  head did not reach for the phone. He just stood there. Hood saw just

  where the weight of the world had shifted.

  "Mr. Battat, this is Paul Hood of Op-Center," said Hood.

  "Paul Hood?" Battat said.

  "Why are you answering this line?"

  "It's a long story," Hood said.

  "What is your situation?"

  "A helluva lot better than Mr. Fenwick's," Battat said.

  "We just took down the Harpooner and recovered his secure phone. This

  number was the first one that came up on the Harpooner's instant-dial

  menu."

  Washington, D.C. Tuesday, 4:41 a.m.

  Paul Hood stepped to a corner of the room to finish speaking with

  Battat. It was important that he get all the information he could about

  the Harpooner and what had happened. While Hood did that. President

  Lawrence stood. He glanced over at his wife, who was standing by the

  door. He gave her a little smile. Just a small one to show that he was

  okay and that she had done the right thing. Then Lawrence turned to

  Fenwick. The NSA chief was still standing beside him. His arms were

  stiff at his side and his expression was defiant. The other men

  remained seated around the table. Everyone was watching Lawrence and

  Fenwick.

  "Why did the Harpooner have your direct number and the Hephaestus access

  code?" the president asked. There was a new confidence in his voice.

  "I can't answer that," Fenwick said.

  "Were you working with Iran to orchestrate a takeover of Azerbaijani oil

  deposits?" the president asked.

  "I was not."

  "Were you working with anyone to organize a takeover of the Oval

  Office?" the president asked.

  "No, sir," Fenwick replied.

  "I'm as puzzled as you are."

  "Do you still believe that Mr. Hood is a liar?"

  "I believe that he's misinformed. I have no explanation for what is

  going on," Fenwick said. The president sat back down.

  "None at all."

  "No, Mr. President." The president looked across the table.

  "General Burg, I'm going to get the secretary of state and our UN

  ambassador working on this right away. How would you feel about

  coordinating a midlevel alert for the region?" Burg looked at his

  colleagues in turn. No one voiced a protest. The general looked at the

  president.

  "Given the confusion about just who we should be fighting, I'm very

  comfortable with yellow status." The president nodded. He looked at his

  watch.

  "We'll reconvene in the Oval Office at six-thirty. That will give me

  time to work with the press secretary to get something on the morning

  news shows. I want to be able to put people at ease about our troops

  and about the
status of our oil supply." He regarded vice president

  Cotten and Gable.

  "I'm going to ask the attorney general to look into the rest of this

  situation as quietly as possible. I want him to ascertain whether

  treasonable acts have been committed. Do any of you have any thoughts?"

  There was something challenging in the president's voice. Hood had just

  finished up with Battat and turned back to the table. He remained in

  the corner, however. Everyone else was still. The vice president leaned

  forward and folded his hands on the table. He said nothing. Gable did

  not move. Fenwick's deputy, Don Roedner, was staring at the conference

  table.

  "No suggestions at all?" the president pressed. The heavy silence

  lasted a moment longer. Then the vice president said, "There will not

  be an investigation."

  "Why not?" asked the president.

  "Because you will have three letters of resignation on your desk by the

  end of the morning," Gotten replied.

  "Mr. Fenwick's, Mr. Gable's, and Mr. Roedner's. In exchange for

  those resignations, there will be no charges, no prosecution, and no

  explanation other than that members of the administration had a

  difference of policy opinion." Fenwick's forehead flushed.

  "Three letters, Mr. Vice President?"

  "That's correct, Mr. Fenwick," Cotten replied. The vice president did

  not look at the NSA chief.

  "In exchange for complete amnesty." Hood did not miss the subtext. Nor,

  he was sure, did the president. The vice president was in on this, too.

  He was asking the others to take a fall for him--though not a big one.

  Quitting an administration, high-ranking officials often tumbled upward

  in the private sector. The president shook his head.

  "I have here a group of administration officials who apparently

  conspired with an international terrorist to steal oil from one nation,

  give it to another, reap foreign policy benefits, and in the process

  steal the office of president of the United States. And you sit there

  arrogantly declaring that these men will be given de facto amnesty. And

  that one of them, it appears, will remain in office, in line for the

  presidency." Cotten regarded Lawrence.

  "I do declare that, yes," he said.

  "The alternative is an international incident in which the United States

  will be seen as having betrayed Azerbaijan. A series of investigations

  and trials that will ghost this administration and become its sole

  legacy. Plus a president who was unaware of what was going on among his

  closest advisers. A president who his own wife thought might be

  suffering from a mental or emotional breakdown. That will not boost

  public confidence in his abilities."

  "Everyone gets off," the president said angrily.

  "I'm supposed to agree to that?"

  "Everyone gets off," the vice president repeated calmly.

  "Mr. Vice President, sir?" General Burg said.

  "I just want to say if I had my weapon here, I would shoot you in the

  ass."

  "General Burg," the vice president replied, "given the pitiful state of

  our military, I'm confident you'd miss." He regarded the president.

  "There was never going to be a war. No one was going to shoot at anyone

  or be shot at. Peace would have been reached with Iran, relations would

  have been normalized, and Americans would have had a guaranteed fuel

  supply. Whatever one may think of the methods, this was all done for

  the good of the nation."

  "Any time laws are broken, it is not for the good of the nation," the

  president said.

  "You endangered a small, industrious country trying to get its footing

  in a post Soviet world. You sought to undo the will of the American

  electorate. And you betrayed my faith in you." Cotten rose.

  "I did none of those things, Mr. President," he replied.

  "Otherwise, I would be resigning. I'll see you all at the six-thirty

  meeting."

  "You will not be needed there," the president said.

  "Ah," said the vice president.

  "You would prefer I go on the Today Show to discuss administration

  policy in the Caspian region."

  "No," the president replied.

  "I would prefer that you draft your letter of resignation to submit with

  the others." The vice president shook his head.

  "I won't do that."

  "You will," the president replied.

  "And attribute your resignation to mental exhaustion. I won't make you

  a martyr to an anti constitutional fringe. Find some other line of

  work, Mr. Cotten."

  "Mr. President, you are pushing the wrong man," Cotten warned.

  "I don't think so," the president replied. His eyes and voice grew

  steely.

  "You're correct, Mr. Cotten. I don't want a national or international

  scandal. But I'll suffer those before I leave a traitor in the line of

  succession to the office of president. Either you resign or, in

  exchange for that amnesty, I will urge Mr. Fenwick and his associates

  to tell the attorney general what they know about your involvement in

  this operation." Cotten was silent. Red and silent. The president

  reached for the phone in front of him. He pushed a button.

  "Corporal Cain?"

  "Yes, Mr. President?"

  "Please have an unarmed detail report to the Situation Room at once,"

  Lawrence told him.

  "There are some gentlemen who need to be escorted to their offices and

  then from the grounds."

  "Unarmed, sir?" Cain repeated.

  "That's right," Lawrence said.

  "There won't be any trouble."

  "Right away, sir."

  "Wait outside the door when you're finished," the president added.

  "The men will be joining you in just a moment."

  "Yes, sir." The president hung up. He regarded the four men.

  "One more thing. Information about your participation in these events

  must not leave this room. Amnesty will not be based on anything I

  intend to do for you. Pardoning you would be a sin. It will be based

  solely on the absence of news." The men turned and walked toward the

  door. Megan Lawrence stepped aside. Hood's eyes met hers. The First

  Lady was glowing with pride. They were obviously thinking the same

  thing. She was the only Lawrence who would be stepping aside this day.

  Saint Petersburg, Russia Tuesday, 12:53 p.m.

  In most intelligence agencies it's often difficult to tell night from

  day. That's because conspiracy and espionage never rest, so the counter

  terrorists and spy busters also work around the clock. Most are usually

  fully staffed. The distinction is even less noticeable in the Russian

  Op-Center because the facility is below ground. There are no windows

  anywhere. But General Orlov always knew when it was afternoon. He knew

  because that was when his devoted wife called. She always rang shortly

  after lunchtime to see how her Sergei's sandwich was. She phoned even

  today, when she had not had time to prepare a bag lunch before he left.

  Unfortunately, the call was brief. It often was. They usually had

  longer conversations when he was in space than they did at the

  Op-Center. Two minutes after Masha called, Orlo
v received a call from

  Odette. He told Masha he would have to call her back. She understood.

  Masha always understood. Orlov switched lines.

  "Odette, how are you?" the general asked eagerly.

  "I'm very well," the woman replied.

  "We accomplished our mission." Orlov was unable to speak for a moment.

  He had been worried about Odette and concerned about the mission. The

  fact that she was safe and triumphant left him choked with pride.

  "We terminated with complications," Odette went on, "but we got away.

  There were no other injuries."

  "Where are you now?" Orlov asked.

  "At the U.S. embassy," she said.

  "Mr. Battat is getting medical care. Then I'll be going to the police

  station. I had to show my badge to a hotel worker, but I think I'll be

  able to work it out with my superior. The Harpooner set a fire. I can

  tell the captain that I went there to see if I could help."

  "So you don't want to leave, then?" Orlov asked.

  "I think there will be some interesting problems because of all this,"

  she said.