“Mr. President! You cannot be talking about a possible war between our two countries?”
“No, sir. Not at all. It is not our wish to take any action against your country. But I am talking about reality. Your government is drifting toward the rocks and the fanatics may pick up some nuclear missiles as part of the coup. That would place Israel and the oil shipping routes under a nuclear threat. We cannot let that happen.” The president stood, signaling an end to the meeting.
“Very well. I understand your position,” said the prince as he also stood. “Sadly, I am sure I speak for my government in stating that we will not allow any outsiders to meddle in what we consider to be internal Saudi affairs. But I thank you for your time and guidance, sir.”
President Tracy said, “Please express our warmest regards and friendship to His Majesty.” The president grasped the hand of the ambassador and placed his other hand on the man’s elbow and looked him in the eyes to be sure he had his attention. “Now, off the record, you guys have gotten yourselves, and us, into a hell of a mess and you have to figure a way out in a hurry. Don’t let things get out of hand.”
SCRETARY HART RETURNED TO the State Department immediately after the meeting to start picking up the reins of her new job. Once she had cleared the White House grounds, President Tracy went down to the Situation Room, which was as secure as electronics could make it. CIA Director Bartlett Geneen and General Hank Turner, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, stood when he entered the room, and he shook their hands. Steve Hanson sat to one side of the room, leaving only the three men at the big table.
“It didn’t go well,” Tracy said. “I think the ground is shaking beneath their feet over there, and the information about the nukes blindsided him. He even indicated the Saudis would fight us if we tried to militarily intervene.”
General Turner picked absently at a loose thread on his tunic. “It’s not our best option. It would take months to really do it right, and we don’t have the time. If we have to go in, it could get messy.”
“Nevertheless, the United States must not allow another government in the Middle East to be taken over by religious fanatics. Particularly Saudi Arabia. What about the guy who is leading the rebellion, Bart?”
Bart Geneen had been around the spook business for a long time. Wisps of white hair curled around his balding head and deep worry lines etched his face. He opened a folder, then worked a keyboard and a grainy picture of a tall, bearded man wearing a red headdress flashed onto a wall screen. He had deep, dark, mad eyes that seemed to reach through the lens of the camera. Geneen had spent a career looking at ruthless men like this one. “He is Mohammed Abu Ebara, the top dog in the Committee for the Propogation of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice, better known as the muttaween, or the Religious Police. Officially, the Grand Mufti is in charge of religious matters in Saudi Arabia, but Ebara already has become the face of the coup. He and his cops are absolutely vicious.”
“If the king falls, would Ebara replace him?” asked the president.
“More likely is that they would do away with the throne entirely. The government would become something along the line of the Iranian model, sir. Some goofy front men would be set up with a titular head, but Ebara would be the man behind the scenes, with his religious police forming the backbone of the enforcers. The Grand Mufti would be isolated.”
“Well, gentlemen, I simply am not going to allow that to go forward much further. This emergency is to be placed beneath the Al Qaeda Network Executive Order. Bart, do I have to increase the ExOrd authority in order to do that?”
“No, sir. Al Qaeda could very well be involved. The ExOrd was designed to combat terrorists on many levels. This certainly qualifies.”
Under the secret ruling issued shortly after 9/11, the United States was allowed to employ its military assets beyond official war zones. The members of the Principals Group that performed oversight were all in that one room of the White House at the moment. Secretary of State Waring had also been part of it, and his successor would be brought aboard only after she had settled into her new job.
“General, I want you to put Task Force Trident on this Mohammed Abu Ebara. If the rebellion spins much further out of control, he will be dealt with. Bart, your Agency will assist in every way possible.”
“Are we talking about an assassination, sir?” asked Geneen.
Tracy dodged the question. “At this time, I just want to bring Task Force Trident and Kyle Swanson into the game. In fact, Swanson can pull double duty for us by going into Saudi Arabia to help check on the nuclear weapons at the same time that he checks on Ebara.”
“A precise and low-visibility solution, Mr. President,” said Geneen. “Swanson is effective and reliable, and after all, he was the one who brought us this development about the nuclear weapons in the first place. And the actions of any one man will be lost in the chaos of a national rebellion.”
General Turner laughed. “Gunny Swanson is not just any one man, Bart. He’s a dangerous weapon himself and has to be carefully deployed. Things happen when Swanson gets involved. What kind of authority do we give him, Mr. President?”
Steven Hanson moved to the table and laid a leather folder before each man. Inside the folders were orders that gave Trident a Green Light Package, pre-authorized permission to do whatever was necessary.
20
ENGLAND
SYBELLE SUMMERS ENTERED THE clinic dressed for success: blue silk blouse beneath a cream jacket, a single gold locket and matching earrings, black high heels, and her long legs striding beneath a black skirt cut several inches above her knees. Her eyes were startlingly clear. Her hair had been freshly trimmed, with a few touches of gold offsetting the black sheen. Light makeup. Men turned for another look as she went through the hospital doors, unaware that a large caliber pistol rested near her manicured fingernails in the leather purse over her shoulder. She pulled a small black suitcase behind her. A Green Light Package had come in from Washington, so she would not be returning to the hotel.
The repair and cleanup of the damage from the terrorist attack was well underway, the smell of fresh paint lingered on the hallway walls and the destroyed door had been replaced. As Sybelle entered Sir Jeff’s room, she took in a scene that reminded her of old, melancholy Dutch paintings. Muted sunlight reluctantly illuminated three tired people seated in chairs near the bed, where Jeff lay thoroughly still, sedated, and sound asleep. His head was swathed in bandages and an array of medical devices monitored his condition, constantly reporting electronic readings. A clear plastic oxygen mask was on his face, but no breathing tube was down the throat.
“Hey, everybody,” she said quietly and took a knee between Lady Pat and Delara Tabrizi, kissing both on their cheeks and taking their hands. “How’s our boy?”
“Hey,” Kyle said. “What’s with the fashion show?”
“None of your business.”
“You went out on a date, didn’t you?” His head was cocked to one side as he took in the outfit, head to toe, and mischief played in his eyes. He was used to seeing her in casual jeans or battle dress camo, but he thought that Sybelle could make a burlap sack look good.
“There was no date, so drop it, Kyle.” Her voice was soft but with a hard edge. “We have some urgent business to discuss.”