by Jack Mars
“Do you know where Ahmet or Hashan is?”
Kamal shook his head. “No. Dead, I would guess. But I suppose you could ask his parents.”
Luke perked up at that. “His parents?”
“When I met him, he was concerned about his parents in Hajin. They had lost two of their three children to the Americans, and soon they would lose their last child. They were in mourning at that time. I assume little has changed for them.”
“You believe Ahmet’s parents are still in Hajin?”
Kamal nodded. “Yes. I think so. Where else would they be?”
Big Daddy eyed the man closely.
“Wouldn’t someone move them from there? The most important of all the mujahideen on Earth is their son. It seems risky to leave them there.”
Kamal took another drag on his cigarette. “You make a lot of assumptions, don’t you? Who said Hashan is the most important mujahid? You say it, because you are blind. Your President’s daughter is important to you. Her taking is sensational, yes. It will give hope to some who were wavering. It will recruit new soldiers. But true believers don’t need a sensation to sacrifice their lives to Allah, and we have more important goals than slaughtering this young cow.”
He paused for a moment, to allow that word to sink in. Cow.
Big Daddy stared down at his own hands. His fingers made a strange, wavelike motion. They looked like the tentacles of an octopus. He was showing remarkable restraint. Again, Luke wondered at his interrogation strategy. He had seen Big Daddy break men’s teeth for less than what Kamal just said.
Kamal continued speaking. “Anyway, who believed Hashan would ever complete this mission? I told you he was an incompetent. I thought he would die in an explosion in a Shiite market square. They sent him to Geneva, to kidnap the daughter of the President of the United States? Who would dream such a thing would work? I can only guess they did this out of pity. Hashan is a bright young man. He is very kind. He has no business in a war zone.”
“What are you saying?” Big Daddy said.
Kamal shrugged. “This kidnapping took place last night. It is a surprise to everyone.”
“Yes, and?”
“His parents are still in Hajin. I’m certain of it. But if you wait much longer, perhaps they won’t be.”
Big Daddy looked at Luke. He raised an eyebrow.
“Can’t hurt to check it out.”
Luke looked at Ed Newsam.
“Let’s go,” Ed said.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
7:05 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time (3:05 p.m. Arabian Standard Time)
The Oval Office
The White House
Washington, DC
“It’s a disaster.”
David Barrett, the President of the United States, was back behind the Resolute Desk. If anything, he looked even less resolute and smaller than he had the night before. His eyes were dark and hollowed out. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all.
Lawrence Keller nodded. He was once again standing in front of the desk. “I know it. These people are barracudas. They have no mercy.”
An hour before, David had received the audiotape of himself coming unhinged the night before. He said he wasn’t sure where it came from. A young interoffice messenger, already at work at 6 a.m., had brought him the tape in a manila envelope.
“What do you want to do?” Lawrence said.
Barrett shook his head. “I don’t want to step down.”
Lawrence nodded. “No. Of course not.”
“But I think I should step aside for now.” He clenched his fists. “I had no idea that Mark was this… ambitious. That he would go to these lengths to unseat me.” He shook his head again. “Maybe it’s for the best. Mark is a tough man. No one has stolen his daughter. Maybe he can… help me… get her back.”
“I think Mark Baylor will make an exceptional Interim President,” Lawrence said, feeding David the term.
For a second, David’s eyes showed confusion. “Interim…”
Lawrence nodded. “Of course. David, you’re my friend. I’ve never seen you like this. I’ve never seen you so indecisive. You can’t simply take a leave of absence when you’re President of the United States. If you’re going to leave, even for a week, even for a couple of days, you’ve got to appoint Mark as the Interim President. Mark will need the power that comes with the title—do you think the Joint Chiefs of Staff are going to obey a substitute teacher? Also, the American people need to have confidence in their leadership. They need to know they have a President. They need to know someone is in charge. When we get Elizabeth back, after you have some time with your family to recuperate, then maybe…”
Now David was staring at Lawrence. He stared for what seemed like a very long time. Lawrence did not look away. There was a light of recognition in David’s eyes.
“Did you… did you do something to me, Lawrence? Were you in on it with them? I mean, I figured they bugged the Oval Office. That made sense, but…”
Those eyes stared and stared, imploring him.
Keller shook his head. Now that the secret was out, there was no sense dancing around the topic. Still, it was best not to confirm or deny anything. You never could tell who was listening.
“David, whatever I did or didn’t do, all of my actions have been for the benefit of the United States of America. Please trust me on this. We’re going to get your daughter back. Then we’re going to demonstrate to some people who the boss is around here. There’s going to be a show of power.”
Barrett was hanging his head now. “Please, Lawrence. Please get her back. That’s all I really care about.”
Keller nodded. “I know that, David. And we’re going to do everything we can to make it happen. This is for the best. You’re not thinking clearly right now. You wouldn’t have been able to manage. No one would. There’s no way to have objectivity in a situation like this. There’s no way to make decisions. Mark is fresh and alert. He can step up to the plate for you.”
Barrett’s shoulders slumped. He seemed to be withering right in front of Keller’s eyes. He sighed heavily.
“I am so tired.”
“I understand, David. There’s only one thing left for you to do. Then you can go back to bed for a few hours. Wake up, maybe feel refreshed a little, and be with your family. You can go to Camp David and stay secluded for the duration. No prying eyes. No questions. No decisions to make.”
Barrett looked up. “What do I need to do?”
Keller slipped a piece of paper on the desk in front of him. “I drafted some very brief remarks for you. All they say is everything we’ve discussed. For the good of the country, you’re stepping aside indefinitely. You are appointing Vice President Mark Baylor to the role of Interim President on your behalf. President Baylor should be considered to have all the powers of the Presidency until further notice.”
Barrett picked up the paper. He stared at it, but didn’t seem to read it. It seemed like it could have been upside down for all he cared.
“We can tape the segment right here in the office. No reporters. No questions. A simple statement from you. Twenty minutes later, Mark takes the Oath of Office.”
Barrett slid the paper back onto the desk. He gazed around the Oval Office for a long moment.
“Okay,” he said.
* * *
The surge in confidence was palpable. Even a jaded old hand like Lawrence Keller, a man who had been through decades of political infighting in Washington, could feel the difference.
A new group moved through the hallways of the West Wing. At the head of the pack, aides and assistants double-stepping to keep pace, was Interim President of the United States Mark Baylor. Keller the long-distance runner moved along fluidly beside him.
Baylor was tall, like they all were. He was broad, a little broader now than was probably healthy. His hair was white. He was from a rich family, like David Barrett, but somehow it was a different kind of wealth.
Eight generations before, a har
dscrabble male ancestor of Baylor’s had stepped off a sailing ship from England, and immediately set about acquiring vast areas of northern wilderness, regardless of how the people who already lived there felt about it. The Baylor family were lumber barons, and had been for two centuries.
Mark Baylor had attended East Coast prep schools, just like any other member of the ruling class. But he took no military deferments—his family wouldn’t hear of it. He deferred his entry to Yale instead, and joined the Marine Corps as a raw recruit on Parris Island. He took his lumps, served in Vietnam, and came back with two Purple Hearts for his troubles. Then he went to Yale.
It had seemed all along to Keller that Mark Baylor wasn’t the Vice President. He was the President in waiting. The shadow President.
Circumstances had proved him right. Keller was not technically Baylor’s Chief of Staff, not yet, but he had long been a confidant of his, and he was very much on the man’s team.
“Lawrence, after this briefing, I’m going to want a smaller, private meeting in the Oval Office, where we can speak frankly with relevant parties about what needs to happen, and who should do it. You’ll know better than I who those parties are.”
Keller nodded. “Consider it done.”
The group piled into the elevator. They pressed shoulder to shoulder as the elevator descended into the Earth.
“We owe it to David Barrett to bring his daughter home safely,” Baylor said. “I want to focus like a laser on that outcome.”
The doors opened and the entire Mark Baylor entourage stepped into the egg-shaped Situation Room.
Lawrence Keller glanced around the room.
The plush leather chairs at the table all looked like the captain’s chair on the command module of a spaceship crossing the galaxy. Big arms, deep leather, high backs, ergonomically correct with lumbar spine support. Nearly all the chairs were filled with thick bodies.
The seats along the walls—smaller, red linen chairs with lower backs—were filled with young aides and even younger assistants, most of them slurping from Styrofoam coffee cups or murmuring into telephones.
Mark Baylor took a seat in a leather chair at the closest end of the oblong table. Keller stood by his side and a little behind him. People continued to talk among themselves as if the President of the United States hadn’t just entered the room.
“General Stark,” Baylor said.
The chatter went on.
“General Stark!”
At the head of the room, Richard Stark of the Joint Chiefs glanced his way. His face was jagged and hard. He smiled when he saw Baylor.
“Mr. President,” he said.
Baylor nodded. “I took the Oath fifteen minutes ago. Can you please bring this room to order? We have a lot to go over, and I feel like I’m playing catch-up.”
Stark stood. He clapped his hands. “Order, everybody! Come to order, please.”
The place went silent. Almost. A couple of young men in suits along the wall continued to whisper to each other, heads leaned in close.
Stark looked at them. “You two! Either shut up or get out.”
Startled, the two men looked up. Their eyes were wide.
Now the room went dead quiet.
Stark nodded. “Good. Welcome, President Baylor. We are very glad to have you here.”
To Lawrence Keller’s ears, the general lingered on the word very. People at the Pentagon were no fans of David Barrett. Baylor, on the other hand, was a frequent visitor to the Pentagon. As a senator, he had been a consistent advocate for increased military spending, increased recruitment, and the pioneering of new weapons systems.
Baylor nodded. “Thank you, General. Get me up to speed. Where are we with the search for Elizabeth?”
Stark stood. He referred to some papers he had on the desk in front of him.
“We are moving along at a very fast pace, uncovering, then following up on leads. In the past eight hours, special operations units have raided dozens of known and suspected militant compounds throughout Iraq—both in Sunni- and Shiite-held areas, in the mountains of northern Syria and western Iran, in Libya, Egypt, Lebanon, Tunisia, Algeria, and Yemen, as well as Afghanistan and Pakistan. Turkey, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and the United Arab Emirates all assure us they are doing the same within their own borders—for obvious political reasons, we cannot make incursions on their territory.
“Thus far, we have inflicted enemy casualties in the many hundreds, possibly thousands. I regret that we have also already lost over thirty men in these raids, with at least another ninety wounded. We have managed to keep these casualty tallies out of the newspapers for now, but eventually that information is going to be leaked.”
“What is the upshot of all this?” Baylor said.
Stark shrugged. It was an oddly ineffectual movement. “It’s a needle in a haystack, Mr. President. Countless intelligence agents are poring over data, seeking to find a clue as to where she may be held. There are hundreds of suspected militant sites. For obvious reasons, each one needs to be approached in a sudden, unexpected, and surgical fashion. So while we are moving fast, we also have to move carefully. Whoever has Elizabeth, if we set them off, they are going to kill her.”
“They are likely to kill her anyway,” Baylor said.
The general nodded. “Yes. That’s true. In the meantime, we proceed as best as we can, and as fast as we can. Across Europe, police and intelligence agencies are doing the same. They are raiding known and suspected terrorist safe houses, on the chance that the kidnappers never left Europe. In particular, French SWAT units have hit at least eighty homes since the abduction.”
“And we’re not putting any information together from this?” Baylor said. “I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s not that we’re not gleaning information. It’s that we’re moving so fast, we are generating a massive pile of information. We are being flooded with data. It could take weeks or months to make sense of it all. We have hundreds of people detained, many of whom have been trained to resist interrogation, or have memorized false narratives designed to make us chase our tails.
“Meanwhile, entire networks are being taken down or destroyed, including ones that have been under surveillance for years. A who’s who of rogues and baddies have been killed or captured. If there is an upside to this unfortunate situation, it’s that it has lit a fire under everyone, and a lot of house cleaning that should have been done long ago is getting done now. But not without cost, as I indicated.”
“How long before Elizabeth is killed?” Baylor said.
The general glanced at his watch. “A little over seventeen hours. But I caution you, Mr. President, not to take the word of terrorists as bond. Elizabeth could be dead even now.”
“And where are we with the prisoner release?”
An aide whispered in Stark’s ear.
Stark shook his head. “For reasons I can’t get into here, there are numerous people on that prisoner list who we cannot even consider releasing. Some of them are among the most dangerous men on Earth. There are others we have no control over whether they’ll be released or not, because we’re not the ones holding them. The horse trading involved, for example, in getting terrorists released from prison in Egypt, Tunisia, or Malaysia would be long, protracted, and probably not worth our while in terms of what we would have to give. I’m sorry to say that as far as the intelligence community and the Pentagon are concerned, trading prisoner releases for Elizabeth’s life is a non-starter.”
There were a few quiet gasps around the room at that pronouncement.
Baylor only nodded.
“Are you saying that we are forfeiting Elizabeth’s life?”
The general shook his head. “I’m saying that we are in a very difficult position, and our longstanding policy is not to negotiate with terrorists.”
Baylor took a deep breath and then sighed.
“Here’s what I want,” he said. “I want a list of the five or six most likely countries or territories where E
lizabeth could be held. Then I want to know how we can apply the most amount of pressure to the populations who might be harboring the terrorists.”
“Pressure, sir?” General Stark said. “On the civilian populations?”
“General, you seem to believe that David Barrett’s daughter Elizabeth is going to die, and there isn’t much we can do about it,” Baylor said. “Would you say that’s an accurate assessment of your position?”
“I wouldn’t necessarily phrase it that way, sir.”
“How would you phrase it, General?”
“I would phrase it that Elizabeth is very likely to die, and we are doing everything in our—”
“I’m not interested in semantics, General. What I want after this meeting is a menu of options available to us. If Elizabeth dies, I want the people who harbor terrorists—their mothers and fathers, their neighbors, their children and loved ones, their entire communities—to feel our collective pain.”
* * *
“What are your ideas, General Stark?” Mark Baylor said.
The men were standing in the Oval Office. Lawrence Keller was there, along with a few others. The tall blue drapes were pulled, shutting out the natural daylight. Two big Secret Service men stood by the door. David Barrett was nowhere to be found. There was no sign of him. It was almost like he had never existed in the first place.
This was not a “let’s settle down, everybody get comfortable” meeting. Baylor hadn’t offered anyone a chair. There were no sandwiches or coffee coming from food service. It was clear that Baylor was going to be no-nonsense.
The general referred to three sheets of paper his aide handed him. “Mr. President, we have an entire menu of options available to us.”
Keller liked that the general was already referring to Mark by his new title. Generals in the Pentagon were nothing if not political animals—Stark had clearly smelled which way the wind was blowing.
