Primary Target (1999) (9 page)

The president still hoped to come up with a less forceful way to deal with the crisis. "Before we start lobbing ordnance at the Iranians, we have to establish some form of meaningful dialogue with Tehran."

Prost sighed heavily, betraying a dry patience. "Sir, as of two hours ago, we don't have diplomatic representation with Iran. We can't even muster a contact at the level of charge d'affaires, let alone pursue critical dialogue with the foreign minister."

"That's ridiculous," Macklin said with open irritation. "Brett and Dave are on their way to the Gulf, and you're telling me that we can't communicate with anyone in Tehran?"

"Not at the moment, sir."

Vice-President Dave Timkey and Secretary of State Brett Shannon were en route to the Gulf to meet with members of the Gulf Cooperation Council and the assistant secretary of state for Middle East affairs. In addition, Timkey and Shannon hoped to persuade the Saudi Arabian leaders to allow U
. S
. Air Force aircraft stationed there to fly cover for the naval vessels in the Gulf.

"Mr. President," Hartwell said firmly, "we've tried everything. We even appealed to the Russian and the French ambassadors to intervene on our behalf. They both refused, citing their strong financial ties to Iran. Israel isn't going to get onboard either. They're afraid of getting nuked if things go south."

With a look of disgust on his face, Macklin stared at Prost. "Tell Tehran that the president of the United States is calling."

Hartwell hesitated for a few seconds. "We, ah ... already tried that, sir."

"And?" Macklin prompted, his eyes narrowing.

The muscles along Hartwell's jaw stood out in ridges. "The message was quite clear; they despise us for attempting to turn their oil industry into their Achilles' heel. After the harangue, they pulled the plug."

Macklin bristled, then spoke in a tight voice. "What an absolutely insane region--beyond comprehension."

"Mr. President," Pete Adair said hastily, "we're clearly on a collision course with Tehran. The powers that be would like nothing better than to see you get on CNN or MSNBC and beg them to negotiate with us, especially after you've formally declared Iran a slum of global society."

Macklin's neck and face reddened, a clear signal to back off.

Adair paused to measure his words carefully. "Sir, we have to eliminate their nukes before some zealot in Tehran decides to rearrange the topography of Israel, or some other place in the neighborhood.

"And," Adair went on, "one of those neighbors is sitting on the world's richest oil field. Alarm bells have been ringing all over Saudi Arabia, especially after the terrorist bombings there."

"Pete's right," Prost quickly added. "We all know that tensions in the region have been growing since the Gulf War, primarily because of the increased presence of our military forces, and the westernization of the region."

"It's an assault on traditional Arab culture," Adair asserted. "We're viewed as the bad guys, no question about it." Prost nodded in agreement. "Another factor we have to consider is the national instability facing Saudi Arabia, and the possibility of a political shake-up within the House of Saud. Between the royals' succession issues, the disaffection in the middle class, and the passions of the Islamic puritans, the monarchy could literally collapse overnight."

Pausing to gaze at each man, Prost continued. "Then, gentlemen, we'd have a bunch of squabbling ministates ripe for Iran and Iraq to fight over. Of course, if Iran uses their nukes, the entire Gulf region could become a huge ghost town." "And," Adair quietly added, "we'll be out one fifth of our oil imports."

The president suddenly looked tired. "If we launch a unilateral, preemptive strike on Iran's nuclear stockpile, they'll unleash the terrorist factions on us--we know that. They could use crop dusters to spray chemicals all over this country and remotely activated atomizers to disperse biological agents almost anywhere."

With a look of confidence, Pete Adair countered. "They've already threatened to terrorize us if we don't pull our troop
s
out of the Gulf. I'm convinced we have the capability to deal with their thugs, and we have the military muscle to keep the Strait of Hormuz open."

"Their thugs may not respond to your deterrence calculus," Macklin retorted, and shifted his gaze to the Air Force general. "Les, what do you think about this? I want to hear your thoughts."

Chalmers answered without hesitation. "I agree with Secretary Adair and Mr. Prost. There'll never be any insurance against human folly. We're dealing with people who don't behave rationally, at least not according to our accepted principles of logic. They've been accustomed to arbitrary rule for nearly 3,000 years, so I seriously doubt that Tehran--at our request--is going to peacefully destroy their nukes and become model citizens."

Macklin glanced at Prost and Adair, then fixed the JCS chairman in his gaze. "What do you recommend?" Chalmers spoke in a confident, clear voice. "Sir, Tehran is the real threat in the region, not Baghdad. Iran has already demonstrated their ability to launch cruise missiles from the air, sea, or land. I recommend we take away their nuclear capability, before our conventional power becomes checkmated."

Chalmers poured himself a glass of water. "With the aid of certain Islamic fundamentalist groups, Tehran may feel that the time has come to purge the United States from the Holy Land, then destroy Israel."

"He's right," Prost declared. "The Israelis have been passing out gas masks and updating their emergency kits." "Nuclear missiles," Chalmers continued, "or even conventional cruise missiles, are a surefire way to take advantage of the situation and destabilize the whole peninsula. If we, or one of our allies, take a major hit, then cut and run, the fanatics in Iran will be doin' the boogie-woogie right down Main Street, Tehran."

The president eyed him skeptically.

"We have to consider every possibility," Chalmers stubbornly persisted. "If Saudi Arabia is ruled by Islamic extremists, we're going to see an oil shock that'll dwarf the one of the seventies. But that'll pale in comparison to the tremendous oil wealth the Islamic extremists will devote to anti-American terrorism worldwide."

Chalmers leveled his gaze at the president. "When you consider the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction to Islamic extremists, transnational terrorism quickly emerges as our primary national security threat. It isn't if they'll use the weapons, it's a question of when they'll use them ... and where."

A hint of worry crossed the president's face as he rested his cigar in an oversized crystal ashtray.

"We can't deny the obvious," Chalmers persisted. "Terrorism is rapidly engulfing our world, and that includes the heartland of America. There are millions of zealots--Islamic or otherwise--who believe they're the agents of Allahu, or some other God. These kooks see terrorism as a way to punish their enemies in God's name."

Macklin slumped in his chair and quietly tapped his fingers on the table.

Chalmers spoke slowly and clearly. "We have to take away Iran's nuclear capability, and we have to do it now ... before we're caught in a crossfire in the Gulf."

The president leaned forward and folded his hands on the table, then caught Chalmer's eye. "They aren't going to take this lying down. We're a major target for states or terrorist groups whose ambitions are frustrated by our superpower status."

"Sir," Chalmers said as his mouth tightened, "we have the biggest and heaviest hammer on the block. I'm not overly concerned about Iranian reprisals once we destroy their nukes, and I'm damn sure not worried about keeping oil flowing through the strait."

"Les," the president said impatiently, "this situation is ripe for miscalculation. I don't mean to sound like the harbinger of doom, but those people are going to strike back--and strike back with a vengeance. There's no doubt about it. They're absolutely convinced it's their moral responsibility to attack their tormentors. If we're not careful, we could find ourselves backed into a very uncomfortable corner."

Macklin gritted his teeth. "If we get drawn into a major regional conflict--like the Gulf War--we could be vulnerable to aggression by a host of potential enemies." The president narrowly eyed his former wingman. "Enemies who might be convinced that we lack the military capability to oppose them."

Prost quickly intervened. "Sir, if we become paralyzed with fear, then the terrorists have already won the war." "Dammit," Macklin exclaimed in frustration. "We have to consider the consequences of our actions. We're dealing with a primary supporter of terrorism here. Forget about their submarines, antishipping mines, cruise missiles, and nukes. No other thug regime on the planet employs terrorism more effectively as an instrument of national policy."

Prost became rigid with indignation.

"Terrorism," the president went on contentiously, "that reaches every corner of the globe. There was a time when the World Trade Center bombing would have seemed unthinkable. Now, the friggin' terrorists are crawling in our back doors, and they have chemical, biological, and nuclear weapons. Think about it. One nuke concealed in a truck or car could take out Los Angeles or New York."

When no one said a word, the president realized his voice had trembled in frustration. He quickly gathered himself together. "Gentlemen," he said with a wide smile, "enough of this discussion."

With a trace of embarrassment, Macklin took a slow, deep breath. "We'll discuss our options after dinner."

Pete Adair and Les Chalmers exchanged a brief glance. They had known the president for many years and he wasn't his usual self.

Seconds. later Attorney General Sandra Hatcher and Jim Ebersole, the director of the FBI, were quickly ushered into the Situation Room. Sensing trouble, Macklin braced himself against the tension in the air.

"Mr. President," Sandy Hatcher said without hesitation, "we have a serious problem."

Chapter
9

Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport
.

The dark cumulus clouds were turning an angry greenish black when Scott and Jackie finally arrived at the airport. Running late, they had been delayed by a mix-up in arrangements for their ground transportation.

"You go ahead," Scott said as they neared a set of rest rooms. "I'll catch up with you at the gate."

"We don't have much time."

"I'll be right behind you."

Suppressing a growing concern about the weather, Jackie quickly made her way to their gate. With the exception of a few stragglers, including Ed Hockaday, most of the passengers had boarded American Airlines Flight 1684 to Washington, D
. C
. Jackie and Ed saw each other at the same moment.

"Jackay," exclaimed the robust, jolly giant.

"Hi, Eddy," she exclaimed, hurrying to greet him. Sporting a green-and-white polka-dot bow tie and a thatch of hair best described as fire-engine red, Hockaday's bulldog features invited a cheery smile. "I daresay you've given me a bit of a fright." He beamed as he opened his arms to hug her. "I just knew I was going to miss the pleasure of your company."

"Well, we made it--barely." Jackie laughed as sh
e
squeezed the friendly bear of a man. "It's so good to see you."

"Likewise, my dear."

Scott walked up as she and Hockaday were reminiscing and Jackie introduced the two men.

Turning to Scott, she smoothly slid an arm under and around Hockaday's forearm. "'E's honest, 'e's loyal, but 'e can be bought for a pint or two."

Hockaday belly-laughed and hugged her around the shoulder. "For a Beefeater martini, I'd even do your windows." Scott smiled and started to speak when he was interrupted by the ring of Jackie's cell phone. She plucked it out of a pocket on the leg of her jumpsuit and snapped it open. "Sullivan," she answered tersely, then gave Scott a concerned look.

"We're about to board our flight," she challenged the caller, then changed the tone of her voice. "I understand," she said in a mild state of surprise as she absently closed the phone.

"Scott," she said with a sudden intensity. "Hartwell has an urgent message for us, but he won't discuss it over a cell phone. We have to find a pay phone, call him at the White House, then wait for a return call in about ten minutes." "The White House?"

"Yes."

Dalton nodded, but remained quiet. I wonder if we've squared off against the Iranians?

A gate agent with a flattop haircut lifted a microphone. "All passengers holding confirmed seats on American Airlines Flight 1684 nonstop service to Ronald Reagan Washington National should now be onboard."

Jackie gave Hockaday a sad look. "Eddy, we're going to have to take a later flight. I'll give you a call when we get to D
. C
."

Hockaday glanced at the airline agent who was about to close the door to the jetway passenger boarding bridge. "Sounds good," he said cheerfully as he started toward the door. "Give me a ring when you get settled in."

"I'll do it," she said, and waved good-bye, then turned to locate a phone.

"What's going on?" Scott asked as he fell in step.

"You know as much as I do," she answered as she spied an empty stall. "If it's any consolation"--she shrugged indifferently--"they tried your phone first."