“And just what can they do?”
“Detonate a nuke.” He paused to let it sink in. “The FBI needs time to roll them up. Give it to them.”
Mazie sensed rather than saw a slight change in the president’s mood and shot Shaw a look. “Mrs. President,” Shaw said, “we all need a short break.” On cue, her advisers stood and filed out, leaving Pontowski and the president alone. Mazie was the last out and closed the door behind her.
Maddy turned to face him. “Oh, Matt, it was terrible. Thank God our media edited the tape. But I saw it all. The Iraqis actually showed the beheading on TV.”
Now Pontowski understood. “It was meant to be horrible,” he told her.
“But why? They were prisoners.”
“From their point of view it made sense. Remember all the coverage of Iraqi soldiers surrendering in the Gulf War? This was payback and geared to inspire their soldiers.”
She was incredulous. “Inspire?”
“That’s the way they think. Also, they wanted to intimidate us.”
Her back grew rigid. “Well, they thought wrong!”
“By our standards they’re not rational.”
“Rational or not, if—”
He interrupted her. “We hit them with our strength and they hit us where we’re vulnerable. It’s called asymmetrical warfare.”
She glared at him. “I will respond with force. They must know that.”
“They fully expect you will. But they’re betting you won’t go nuclear.”
“Why?”
“We’d pay too high a price with our allies and world opinion.” He paused. “Are you willing to create a nuclear Armageddon, level three nations, maybe destroy Israel in the process, in retaliation for a few thousand American deaths?”
She looked at him, and every bit of her humanity was on full display. Of all things, Madeline O’Keith Turner was not prepared to be a wartime president and had never steeled herself for the reality of what it entailed. Despite that, she stood in front of him alone and defiant, not about to collapse, not needing comfort or a refuge.
Pontowski gave a little humph. “I could use a drink.” She stared at him, not believing he’d said that. “Coffee.” She shook her head, her mood broken, and buzzed the steward. The steward carried in a tray and quickly retreated. Pontowski poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her. She took a sip and sat down while he poured one for himself. “After you’ve heard all the options, set clear objectives for the military, but don’t—”
She interrupted. “But don’t micromanage operations. I’ve been through that with General Wilding.”
“You can trust Wilding. Merritt I don’t know about. But you’ve also got to give Wilding the means to win the war. Big emphasis on ‘win’ here. That’s where Congress comes in. I assume you’re talking to them.”
Her head came up. “Congress starts consideration on a bill funding the war tomorrow.”
“With Senator Leland leading the opposition,” Pontowski added.
“He’s so damn partisan,” she said. “Patrick says he’d do anything to see his boy Grau win in November.” She gave a little shudder. “I need to put him in a box.”
“Show Congress the unedited TV tape of the execution. Take the high ground and turn it into a Pearl Harbor or World Trade Center.”
“But what if the parents or spouses see it? You know there is at least one bastard who will leak it. I don’t know if I can do that.”
“You’ve got to beat the average congressmen over the head to get them focused,” he told her. “How often do they quit playing politics and do the right thing?”
“Not often,” she said. “You mentioned options and objectives. Mazie and the ExCom are doing a good job with that.”
Pontowski gave a little shake of his head. “Mazie will do whatever you ask and is totally reliable. But she’s so rational and loyal that she may not be able to consider the unthinkable, which is exactly what you need to know. You’ve got this big bureaucracy at your beck and call, which has a lot of talent and brains. Make it work for you. Call your advisers in and tell them you want six options, with consequences, about how to conduct the war. Two that are the easiest; two that make the most sense, given the players and means available; and two that are totally out of the box.”
“What do I do if they detonate a nuclear weapon?”
“You want six more options. Now. Before it happens.”
She set down her coffee cup and stood. “Where did you learn all this?”
“I had a good teacher.”
“Your grandfather.”
“Well, he did have a clue.”
Maddy walked to the door to call in her advisers. “Matt, thank you for coming, but…”
He gave a little smile. “I know. You’ve got a war to run, and you don’t need me around to complicate things with the media.”
“It won’t always be this way,” she promised. She reached out and touched his cheek.
He touched her hand. “Better not.” Then he was gone. The president stared at the open door as her advisers filed in again.
Outside, Bernie Butler escorted Pontowski back to the Situation Room. “Matt, you were in Israel the last time the Israelis and Arabs went at each other. I’m worried the Israelis might get involved. If you’ve got some time, would you mind taking a more detailed look at the situation?”
“Can do,” Pontowski said, a little too eagerly. It had been a long time since he’d had access to current intelligence. He gave Butler a sideways look. “What are the Boys telling you?”
“They don’t like all the signals they’re seeing. But nothing concrete.”
“I’ll take a look,” Pontowski told him. Butler cleared him into the Situation Room, and the duty officer called up the current intelligence summary for the Middle East. While Pontowski read, Butler waited patiently and soon dozed off. He hadn’t slept in over thirty hours. When Pontowski finished with the Middle East, he glanced at Butler, saw that he was asleep, and decided to go fishing. What the hell? They can only say no. He asked to see the summary for Russia. Since Pontowski had been in before with Shaw and the national security adviser, the duty officer simply gave it to him. There was nothing of interest, although the Russian economy was showing signs of growing stability. “Latin America.” Again the screen scrolled with the latest intelligence summaries. The drug lords were effectively consolidating their political power. “China,” he said. The duty officer pulled up the most current summary for him to read. Something started to scratch at the back of his mind, but nothing came into focus. He rapidly scanned India and Pakistan. But the itch refused to go away. “Southeast Asia,” he said, about ready to give it up. The screen scrolled, and again he read. “What the hell is this?” he said, reading a report about recent disturbances in eastern Malaysia.
Butler came awake, and Pontowski pointed to the report. Butler’s eyebrows furled into a worry line as he read. “We’re seeing conflicts like this everywhere. At last count forty-four this year alone have reached the level of what we class as ethnic war.” He changed the subject. “So what’s your take on the Middle East? Do you think Israel is coming in?”
“Not at this time,” Pontowski replied. “But I keep wondering why the UIF aired that tape on TV. It’s almost like they wanted us to see it and overreact.”
Butler shook his head. “They don’t think like we do.”
Brian Turner rolled over in his bunk, which was built into the overhead above his desk, and looked directly into his best friend’s face. “Sumbitch,” he muttered, turning back over, not wanting any trouble from one of New Mexico Military Institute’s TLAs, or training and leadership advisers.