The way it presently stood, the UN delegate would not talk at all about Taiwan during the special emergency session on Monday, other than claiming the huge military moves purely an internal matter. He would say it was just a military exercise concerning national defense. That was the truth, but it would be seen as a lie, and would cause even more excitement. At the end of his address, the diplomat would shift to a different subject: the immediate need for the United Nations to place an international peacekeeping force in Saudi Arabia to secure the vital resources of that nation. The kingdom was in the throes of a rebellion and now there were rumors of nuclear weapons. The United Nations must intervene!
By then, Chinese planes would be in the air to start Phase Two.
48
WASHINGTON, D.C.
HALFWAY AROUND THE WORLD in a different time zone, it was only approaching noon on Saturday at the White House. President Mark Tracy picked at the tuna salad that had been served at his Oval Office desk. He would be unable to eat much of it. He had too many other things on his mind, a perfect storm of international events that still might end with a nuclear holocaust if not carefully handled. He had on tan slacks and a blue golf shirt, casual weekend clothes, as if he was awaiting a tee time. In reality, he had not played golf in weeks. Being president had a way of wrecking a social schedule.
“Let’s do the Saudi thing first,” he said. “This Ebara guy is dead. Where does that leave the attempt to overthrow the government?”
CIA Director Bartlett Geneen was on a small cream-colored sofa in front of the president’s desk. As always, he was wearing a crisp white shirt and a dark suit and tie. He also had pushed his tuna salad aside after a few bites. He scanned a summary in his folder and said, “We think the coup attempt is in real trouble. King Abdullah is still having to deal with some hot spots, but without the incendiary presence of Mohammed Abu Ebara, the coordinated attacks we saw earlier have stopped entirely and military support is evaporating.”
The President breathed a sigh. “That’s what he told me in our call a little while ago. He seemed pretty confident. Plans to turn the tables and put the clerics in a box to get some modernizing social reforms going in his country. Try to curb the hate. That’s a good thing.”
Geneen cleared his throat before bringing up something that was out of the ordinary run of the intelligence community. “Along that line, one of our best ground agents in Saudi Arabia has been co-opted into some secret operation run by the Pentagon, working for something called Task Force Trident.”
Tracy feigned innocence. “Really? Isn’t that General Middleton’s special ops group?”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Did you ask the general about it?”
“I did. He said to take it up with you.”
“Hmmm. Strange. I’ll talk to him. Now what about the Saudi nuclear weapons? We have four of the five, right?”
Geneen was jolted by the brushoff. He was the director of the Central Intelligence Agency and recognized that he was being kept out of the loop. Then his eyes widened behind his round glasses and a little smile creased his lips. Ebara! They nailed Ebara! Sometimes it is best to be kept in the dark, particularly if he was ever called before Congress to explain certain things.
“Yes, sir. We have retrieved four of them, sir. One more to go.”
“I let King Abdullah off the hook on the secret that we had put the one in Khobz in safekeeping. I did not give any details, which he did not really like, but rather than protesting, he kept his eye on the big picture and was relieved that it was not in terrorist hands. Abdullah was a terrific diplomat and I think I’m going to enjoy working with him as a head of state.”
The president looked at the digital clock on his desk. “Generals Turner and Middleton will be here in a little while so we can talk about China. Meanwhile, Bart, I’m going to make an important executive decision without informing Congress. Screw this tuna salad: I’m ordering us a couple of Philly cheese-steak sandwiches and a pile of greasy french fries. The prospect of nuclear war makes me hungry.”
THE PENTAGON
“Lieutenant Commander Freedman, you are a malcontent, a troublemaker, an irritating nerd, and an asshole. The entire intelligence community has its panties in a wad because of you.” General Bradley Middleton had to brief the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and the Lizard was not making things simple.
“Yes, sir. Sorry. I’m right and they are wrong, sir.” The Lizard knew Middleton was only forcing him to prove his idea, one last time.
“You got some pieces of paper, some pictures, some satellite intel, some fortune cookies, ANYTHING I can take before the Chiefs?”
“No, sir, I cannot prove a negative, that something is not going to happen. Think in terms of the Sherlock Holmes story about the dog that didn’t bark.”
“Can’t do that, Lizard. The Chiefs may want a little more than Holmesian deduction. Look. All the hard intel points toward an imminent invasion of Taiwan. On that we have pictures, sat data, the works.”
Freedman was determined not to wilt under the pressure. “Yes, sir. All of it, sir. It is much too accurate and easy to come by. So it is false.”
Middleton glared at him. “They cannot move all that stuff into place in secret. It’s right there in front of you, Liz. Plain as day and NSA traffic is showing orders are being given to start moving in a few hours.”
Freedman’s eyes drifted for help to the large bulk of Master Gunnery Sergeant O.O. Dawkins, who was leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head, watching the exchange. “The game, Liz,” Double-Oh gently coaxed. “Show him your game.”
“Game?” asked the general.
“Yes, sir. I have been running some private war game scenarios. Not the usual Red Team versus Blue Team stuff, but trying to figure out how the Chinese can beat the distance problem in getting to Saudi Arabia.”
“Now tell him how you win, Liz.”
“Right. Yes. I win…I won…by eliminating the distance as the determining factor. Squeezed the map tighter.”
Middleton rolled his eyes. “Speak English, for Christ’s sake.”
“What the lieutenant commander is trying to say, sir, is that this invasion of Taiwan has everything out there for public viewing except long-range bombers and airborne troops. Those would be absolutely needed to carry out such an operation, and are nowhere to be found. Liz believes that about the time the loaded ships are ready to leave the China coast, a whole shitpot load of big airplanes is going to head up toward Saudi Arabia from bases in the Sudan, Yemen, Ethiopia, and Somalia.”
“Is that it, Lieutenant Commander Freeman? Is that how you squeezed the map?”
“Yes, sir. That’s it. I cheated.”
The general clapped him on the shoulder and went out the door, into the wide, polished halls of the Pentagon to find General Hank Turner, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.
49
AL-TAIF, SAUDI ARABIA
KYLE SWANSON CROSSED HIS legs and puffed out his cheeks in a sigh of exasperation, and the invisible clock that had been quietly bugging him for the past few days was now clanging in his head. He tied the boot laces. Let’s go, he thought, throwing a questioning look at Prince Colonel Mishaal bin Khalid.
Mishaal was at the front of a spacious briefing room at the huge base, where officials of both the Saudi and U.S. military forces were conducting a real-time teleconference with counterparts in Riyadh and Washington. Swanson, as only a gunnery sergeant, was not even at the big table with the senior officers. Kyle would not have been there at all if he had a choice, but the king had ordered Mishaal to lead the meeting, and since the prince was not going to let Swanson out of his sight again, he almost dragged him into the room.