The president walked behind his desk, shrugging off his suit jacket as the two CIA officials picked out chairs. A navy steward moved into the room and deposited a tray bearing a small carafe, cups, and creamer. The man withdrew as Brenneman joined them in the meeting area, smoothing a blue silk tie against his crisp white shirt.
“So,” he said, fixing them both with a serious look. “I have quite a few questions for both of you, but first, let’s make sure we’re on the same page. My advisors seem to agree that this was a deliberate assassination attempt, as opposed to a random attack on a target of opportunity. I know how it’s being carried in the press, but I’d like to hear your opinions.”
“I don’t think there’s any question.” Ford crossed her legs and focused her gaze on the president.
“Of course, I’d like to know what he was doing outside the zone in the first place. Setting that aside, though, it’s just too much of a coincidence. A ‘target of opportunity’ would warrant nothing more than a suicide bomber on foot or an RPG. We certainly wouldn’t be seeing anything like the devastation that actually transpired.” She didn’t need to expand on this; they had all seen the video footage aired by CNN.
“I agree,” Harper said. “And there’s something else: the Babylon has gates that are manned by the Iraqi Police Service. It would have been almost impossible to get something past them without a great deal of planning.”
“Or their help,” Brenneman muttered.
“That, too,” Harper conceded. “We’ll be looking into that, sir, but it might be difficult, since they’ll be the ones tasked with the investigation.”
“That’s true.” Ford fired her subordinate a disapproving glance. “We do need to be careful about whom we trust in the IPS, but I wouldn’t recommend trying to cut them out of the loop. That will set a negative tone at a very sensitive time, especially if al-Maliki doesn’t survive the assassination attempt.”
And you’re advising the president on things that don’t concern you, Harper thought. Ford was an outside appointee; most of her career had been spent serving the constituents of Michigan’s 3rd Congressional District. After four terms in the House, she had turned her attention to Harvard’s Kennedy School of Government, where she’d served as dean prior to accepting the president’s nomination earlier in the year. In Harper’s opinion, she still had a lot to learn about her new position, particularly the limits of her questionable expertise.
It looked like Brenneman caught it, too. He glanced sideways at his deputy DCI, the message clear in his stern expression, but she missed it entirely as a noise intruded. Ford snatched her cell phone off the table and flipped it open impatiently. “What is it?” She listened intently, then turned to the president. “Sir, this is urgent. May I…?”
He nodded abruptly. Ford jumped to her feet and walked into the adjacent Cabinet Room, closing the door behind her somewhat harder than necessary. Brenneman shot his subordinate a bemused glance. Harper worked to keep his face impassive, but suspected the president knew exactly what he was thinking.
His suspicions were confirmed an instant later. “Something on your mind, John?”
Harper shook his head in the negative. Leaning forward to pour himself some coffee, he idly wondered why he harbored such an intense, transparent dislike for Rachel Ford. It wasn’t that he found her lacking in intellect; her education, beginning with Sarah Lawrence and culminating in a JD from Harvard Law, could hardly be found wanting. The fact that she was technically his superior didn’t bother him, either; Jonathan held no reservations when it came to working for a woman. After all, he had done so often enough in the past, and it had never been a problem before. In short, he didn’t know how the animosity, which was decidedly mutual, had come about.
The president was leafing through a briefing folder. “Seventeen American casualties? Is that right?”
The DDO cleared his throat and said, “Actually, sir, that report is several hours old. The latest numbers in from the embassy confirm nineteen dead. Five more are critically injured.”
Brenneman’s dark brown eyes grew darker still, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he tossed the folder onto the table and appraised his visitor for a long moment. Finally, he said, “She brought up a good point, you know.”
Harper was momentarily caught off-guard. “Al-Maliki,” Brenneman reminded him. “What was he doing outside the zone?”
The other man considered his response for a moment, wondering if the president’s main concern lay with the American loss of life or the attempted assassination of the Iraqi prime minister. “Sir, when was the last time you were in Baghdad?”
“Six months ago, I think. I went to address the troops and to take a look at the new embassy.”
“What were the roads like?”
“God awful, and that’s probably generous on my part. Of course, it’s a straight shot from the airport to the zone, so at least the travel time wasn’t too bad.”
“A straight shot for you, sir. Moving around Baghdad is different for everyone else, even senior Iraqi officials.”
A slight frown appeared on the president’s face. “How so?”
“Well, first they have to fill out a form that states where they’re going and why. Then they have to request vehicles and bodyguards. All of this has to be done the day before a scheduled movement. It’s very inconvenient, especially when, even after all of that, you still get stopped at three different checkpoints on your way in and out. Most of the top guys look for ways to avoid it.”
“Like avoiding the zone entirely.”
“Exactly. Only problem is, once you’re outside, you’re fair game.”
Brenneman nodded slowly, a little piqued at Harper’s description. Iraq had topped his foreign policy agenda for the past four years; he didn’t care to hear the place described as a war zone, though, in fact, it could hardly be described as anything else. “Okay, next question. How did they know he would be there?”
“It’s all speculation at this point. I’m guessing we’ll have to wait until they come up with a list of casualties. Then we’ll focus on who’s missing, such as bodyguards and hotel employees. We’ll also take a look at building security… Like I said, sir, the gates were manned by the IPS. That might be a good place to start.”
Brenneman sighed heavily and ran a hand through his silver brown hair. “It doesn’t sound like we have much to work with.”
“I know,” Harper agreed. “But we’re just getting started, sir.”
“Fair enough. What kind of fallout can we expect from this?”
The DDO mulled over the question for a moment. “It’s been unusually quiet over the past several months, but this could definitely serve as a catalyst. We’ll probably see increased insurgent activity in the major cities, particularly Baghdad and Fallujah. Of course, some of that depends on what happens with the prime minister.”
Brenneman got to his feet and moved to the windows, looking over the South Lawn for a long moment. “This couldn’t come at a worse time,” he finally murmured. “Even if he makes it through. It’s hard to justify troop withdrawals when we can’t guarantee the safety of the senior leadership.”
He suddenly seemed to come back to reality. “What kind of assets do you have over there?”
Harper ran through the list in his head. “Exley, sir. He’s one of our guys in the embassy, used to be army intelligence. He’s connected in all the right places. Keith Moore is chief of station.
Jenna Thompson’s the head tech officer—”
“What about Kealey?”
The question seemed to hang in the air for a long time. “He’s in the area. A little farther to the west,” Harper replied cautiously. “But I don’t know if he’s…”