I Do Solemnly Swear (18 page)

“No, General,” Kate said. “But we might be facing an all-out war.” She glanced across the table at Toni Mitchell.

The secretary of state just shook her head.

Kate said, “Why don’t we let the historians argue what could have or should have been done, and expend our energy on a judicious solution to the current crisis?” Kate opened her day planner and looked at notes from the last meeting. “General Cumberland, how are we situated in the Middle East?”

“Our battleships and carriers are in favorable positions in both the Persian Gulf and Arabian Sea. We’re locked and loaded and ready to strike Iran. And we have clearance to use Saudi airspace to bomb Jordan.”

“Jordan!” Toni Mitchell shouted. “Madam President, you
cannot
be thinking about an offensive against Jordan. The missiles were Iranian, not Jordanian.”

General Wolfe let out a bellowing howl. “And from where do you suppose they were launched, Ms. Mitchell?”

“We already know that Iran has long-range missiles capable of reaching Israel. Military action against Jordan would be insane. Madam President, I urge you not to do anything hasty.”

General Wallace said, “The Jordanian ambassador has vanished, and Secretary Alderson could not reach King Abdullah. Do we need more evidence of Jordan’s complicity, Madam President? My vote is to launch aggressive air strikes against both countries.”

General William Cumberland, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, stood up. Kate admired the medals decorating the front of his crisply pressed jacket. “Ms. Mitchell is correct. We cannot, under any circumstances, order military action against Jordan unless we have irrefutable evidence that they are directly responsible for the attack on Israel. Their posture toward Iran may be sympathetic, even supportive, but that does not give us authority to launch an offensive. Ahmadinejad is the culprit. We should employ every resource to rid the world of him and his entourage.”

“Whatever we choose to do,” Kate said, “it must happen quickly. I personally spoke to Prime Minister Netanyahu, and he’s prepared to initiate a massive offensive against Tehran and Amman. I convinced him to sit tight, but frankly, I don’t know how long I can keep him on ice.”

“You’re to be commended, Madam President,” General Cumberland said. “Mr. Netanyahu is very independent. And terribly arrogant.”

“He tried to grandstand,” Kate said, “but when I told him I’d cut his foreign aid faster than he could say four billion dollars, I captured his attention.”

General Wolfe said, “The time has come, Madam President, for us to coordinate strategic air strikes.”

General Charles Kelley spoke for the first time. “We can pinpoint Iran’s communication center, major air force base, armsproducing facilities, and artillery factories. We are capable of destroying them with the precision of a surgeon.”

“Do Iranian civilians occupy these targets?” Kate asked.

“Minimally,” General Kelley said. “But it’s impossible to launch such an offensive without some collateral damage.”

“How long will it take to organize an attack?” Kate asked.

General Wolfe said, “Twelve hours.”

Not in her wildest dreams had Katherine Anne Miles foreseen a day in which a simple nod would give her the power of God. One affirmative word and she could end the lives of hundreds of people. She realized that her decision was the lesser of two evils; there was no clear-cut right or wrong. But by employing conservative military measures, perhaps she could minimize casualties and circumvent a major war.

After several minutes of concentrated thought, Kate said, “I do not see a diplomatic solution. We must respond militarily.” Kate watched Toni Mitchell’s face turn white. “Here are the ground rules. First, no air strikes against Jordan. If a new development changes their role in this ordeal, we’ll reevaluate. Second, I will not consider Iranian facilities that employ nonmilitary citizens or those that are in a close proximity to populated neighborhoods. I want facts and figures on my desk within the hour. Prove to me that civilian casualties will be minimized. Third, I refuse to order an American pilot to risk his life for another country. Israel is our most valued ally, but I’m not going to order American pilots to launch such an attack. Admiral Canfield, can we recruit enough volunteers to initiate this offensive?”

“Absolutely. Navy pilots are a special breed. Dedicated patriots, Madam President. Manning this mission on a voluntary basis will not be a problem.”

“We have an agenda, then,” Kate said. “Let’s reconvene at six p.m. At that time, we’ll jointly decide which facilities will be targeted.”

They randomly filed out of the Situation Room. Kate sat at the center of the long table and reviewed her notes. She thought it strange that Walter Owens hadn’t uttered a word. Perhaps he wished to speak with her privately as he’d done after the last meeting. Concentrating on her heavy thoughts, Kate did not notice that Toni Mitchell was still seated at the end of the conference table. The secretary of state stood, and Kate jumped.

“Sorry, Madam President, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It doesn’t take much these days.”

Toni Mitchell walked around to the center of the table and sat opposite Kate. She looked over her reading glasses at Mitchell’s sympathetic face.

“You don’t have a choice, Madam President.”

“I wish I could believe that.” Kate removed her glasses and dropped them on the table. She massaged her throbbing temples with her fingertips.

“Anything I can do for you?” Mitchell asked.

“Just continue to support me.”

Mitchell smiled.

Kate remembered the dispirited look on Mitchell’s face when she’d outlined the guidelines of an air strike. “You don’t approve, do you?”

Mitchell shrugged. “It’s not a black-and-white issue. You’re doing what you have to.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’d be lying if I said I agreed completely. But if I were in your shoes, I’d be inclined to do the same thing. It’s easy being a judge and jury when someone else’s neck is over the chopping block.” Mitchell reached across the table and laid her hand on top of Kate’s. “You have my unreserved support.”

Kate wasn’t convinced that the secretary of state was a willing advocate, but at this juncture, she’d cling to any glimmer of support.

***

President Miles left the Situation Room and went directly to the West Wing. Emily was sitting at her desk just outside the Oval office.

“Urgent messages?”

“Emily shook her head. “None, Madam President.”

Kate stepped into the Oval Office and sat behind her desk. In less than two hours, she’d be faced with the most consequential decision of her life. Was there another way out of this dilemma? She buzzed Emily.

“Yes, Madam President.”

“Please ask Mr. McDermott to contact Richard Alderson at the American Consulate in Tel Aviv. I need to speak with him as soon as possible.”

“Right away.”

***

Lieutenant Kyle Stevers sat among eleven fellow shipmates wondering why he’d been awakened at four a.m. In the claustrophobic briefing room, the twenty-five-year-old fighter pilot passively listened to Lt. Commander Andrew Bradley growl. Bradley, as gracious and cordial as ever, stood before the group of yawning pilots and pointed to a map of Iran. Less interested in Bradley’s geography lesson than a lecture in quantum physics, Stevers’s
thoughts drifted to the impending reunion with his wife, Debra, and his two-year-old son, Todd. He hadn’t seen his family in over six months and anxiously waited for his tour of duty to end.

True to character, the Navy had made a seductive offer: a ten-thousand-dollar signing bonus for four more years. But no amount of money could induce Stevers to reenlist. Just twenty more days and he’d bid the USS
Ronald Reagan
farewell for the last time. No more cots as hard as a rock or substandard meals cleverly camouflaged with greasy gravy. No more wackin’ the weenie at two a.m. And no more Commander “Rip-Me-a-New-Ass” Bradley making his life a living hell.

To the rest of the world, the USS
Ronald Reagan
was the most sophisticated carrier the Navy had ever built. But to Lieutenant Stevers, it was one hundred thousand tons of floating aggravation in the middle of the Persian Gulf.

Joining the Navy had been the biggest mistake of his life. Since being seduced by the glitz and glitter of
Top Gun
when he was just a child, he’d decided to become a pilot. But once his dream became a reality, he soon discovered that a pilot’s life was not nearly as glamorous as Tom Cruise’s. In fact, it was only slightly better than any seaman recruit’s. What infuriated Stevers most was that, other than routine drills and mock dogfights, he’d not seen one
minute
of combat. He hadn’t joined the Navy to fly F-18 fighters on Sunday-afternoon cruises.

“Lieutenant Stevers!” Commander Bradley shouted. “Would you be interested in joining the rest of us? Or should I mail you a fucking invitation?”

This was
exactly
the sort of bullshit that made Stevers loathe the Navy. Stevers lifted his head. His ice-blue eyes locked on the fifty-two-year-old commander storming toward him. The veins in Bradley’s neck were standing out on livid edges.

“Sorry, sir.” Stevers smiled, sprouting dimples on both of his cheeks.

Bradley stood over Stevers, glaring at him, his bulldog face snarling. “You’re not out of this man’s Navy yet, hotshot. I still own your ass till the end of the month.”

Bite me, you big blowhard
.

“Since you’d rather play with your putter than listen to me, why don’t you set an example for the rest of us and be the first volunteer?”

“Volunteer for what, sir?”

“We’re organizing a little going-away bash for President Ahmadinejad. A BYOB party. Are you in?”

Lieutenant Wes Travis, Stevers’s best friend and navigator, elbowed him in the ribs and whispered, “Bring Your Own
Bomb
, stupid. He’s looking for volunteers.”

Stevers didn’t understand. “Yes, sir. I’d be honored, sir.”

***

President Miles picked up her telephone on the first ring.

“I have Richard Alderson on the line,” McDermott said.

“Thank you.” She pushed line seven. “Richard, how are things going?”

“Well, it’s been an exhausting couple of days, Madam President. Benjamin Netanyahu is quite a character. I honestly believe he’s hoping that the United States
doesn’t
intervene. There’s nothing that would please him more than ordering his air force to level Tehran and Amman.”

“He told me during a telephone conversation that he would not order military action until we’ve had a chance to respond. Has that changed, Richard?”

“It’s a money game, Madam President. If you hadn’t threatened to pull the plug on his foreign aid, he would have already retaliated.”

“It was just a bluff.” Apparently, Netanyahu wasn’t aware that Kate needed Congressional approval to alter any foreign aid. “Stick close to him, Richard. If you feel he’s getting an itchy finger, contact me immediately.”

“Yes, Madam President.”

Kate sensed more than fatigue in his voice. “Are you OK, Richard?”

“As good as I’m going to be under the circumstances.”

She didn’t want to burden him further, but his job was to advise. “I’m faced with a very difficult decision, and I’d like your opinion.”

“Are you considering military action, Madam President?”

She wasn’t sure if he was searching for a yes or a no. “I’m evaluating the need for strategic air strikes.”

“For all it’s worth, anything short of that and Prime Minister Netanyahu might do something catastrophic.”

She was more aware of that than she wished to be. Hearing it from Alderson confirmed it. “I’ll contact you right after my meeting with the Joint Chiefs.”

After examining the confidential file titled “Strategic Iranian Targets,” Kate forwarded it to the Joint Chiefs and asked them to review it prior to their meeting. She did not possess a wellspring of military knowledge from which to rationalize a strategy. Therefore, it was unlikely that the esteemed generals would recommend the same targets that she’d selected. How could they? Kate was not an Eisenhower or a Harry Truman. What had her political career taught her about military tactics? She knew a great deal about economics and the democratic process. Kate was even adept at foreign policy. But war games? All six members of the Joint Chiefs had served their country during the Iraqi War and were active during the military offensive against the Taliban regime in Afghanistan. They’d seen conflict and frontline battles. Wolfe, the senior member, had been a prisoner of war in Vietnam. McCormick had escaped from a North Vietnamese death camp. How could Kate expect to compare her strategies with those of war veterans? If ever she had to rely on her gut instincts and intuition, at what time in her life had it been more consequential than now?

When she entered the Situation Room, General Cumberland closed the top-secret folder and stopped talking in the middle of
a sentence. The room was stone still. Without ceremony or perfunctory greetings, Kate sat at her place in the center of the table.