Three
Butler leaned against the wall in the corridor outside the Situation Room in the White House basement and yawned. It was early Saturday morning, and he needed a cup of coffee to jump-start his heart. Patrick Shaw emerged from the kitchen across the hall with two cups of steaming coffee and handed one to Butler. “I hear you’re a patient man,” Shaw said.
Butler took a sip before answering. What does he want? He allowed a cautious “It goes with the territory.”
“What do you think they’re talking about in there?” Shaw asked.
He doesn’t know? Butler thought. Fat chance. Shaw knows everything that goes on around here. Before he could answer, the door to the control room opened, and one of the duty controllers told Butler he was wanted inside. Butler gave Shaw a shrug as if to say he was sorry as the Marine guard opened the door to the Situation Room. One glance around the room as he entered told Butler all he needed to know. Every major policy player in the Turner administration was there, including the irascible secretary of state, Stephan Serick, and Robert Merritt, the secretary of defense.
“Well, Bernie,” the president said, “you certainly stirred up a hornet’s nest on this one.”
“I take it you have verification,” Butler said.
Serick coughed for attention. “My people tell me it’s all a false alarm. There is no secret alliance between Iraq, Iran, and Syria. There is no joint exercise. We’ve all lost too much sleep over this.”
“I’m not ready to totally discount it,” the DCI said, surprising Butler. The DCI had just admitted to a major intelligence failure.
Serick turned on him. “So what do you know now that you didn’t know twelve hours ago?” His voice filled with sarcasm. “No doubt you’ve unearthed the real expert on the Middle East — the little old lady who wears purple dresses and sleeps under her desk in the CIA’s basement?”
Secretary of Defense Merritt chuckled at the DCI’s embarrassment. “Not exactly,” the DCI replied, glaring at Merritt. “What I did discover was a power struggle going on between my China and Middle Eastern division chiefs.” He spoke without emotion. “Both those gentlemen were fired, and their replacements are taking a fresh look at the situation. So far the assessment isn’t good.” Madeline Turner’s warning about its not happening again had not gone unheeded.
Serick snorted. “Are you saying the Boys in the Basement made you look like fools?”
The DCI took a deep breath to control his anger. “What I’m saying is that we have a new development in the Middle East that needs close monitoring.”
Serick was shouting. “My people would know if—”
The DCI interrupted him. “Your people don’t know diddly—”
“Gentlemen,” the president said, her voice full of authority. “Enough.” A heavy silence ruled the room. Then, “Bernie, what is your sense of the situation?”
Butler thought for a moment. “The Islamic radicals have sensed a weakness and are moving in a new direction. It has the potential for serious trouble.”
“Don’t you think,” Serick said, “that our allies in the Gulf would be shouting for help if what you say is true? Besides, who exactly are these sources that are revealing all of this? Some janitor in an embassy? Pickpocket? Pimp? A whore?”
Butler almost laughed, but it wasn’t in his nature. Serick would never know how close he came to the truth. “Some things in my business,” Butler murmured, “never change.” He let that sink in. “Unfortunately, our erstwhile allies in the Gulf tend to rely on us for their intelligence. They know what we tell them.”
“If I may,” the DCI said, trying to speak with authority in his domain, “let me summarize. One: Iran, Iraq, and Syria have joined together in an alliance, calling themselves the United Islamic Front, or UIF. Two: We have an unconfirmed report from General Butler that the UIF intends to attack and capture the Kuwaiti and Saudi oil fields.”
Merritt finally spoke. “Which will never happen.”
“So you keep reassuring us,” Vice President Kennett said. There was no reply as Merritt slipped into one of his characteristic funks. He hated the vice president.
The DCI took the silence as consent to continue. “Three: The UIF has announced a joint training exercise to be held sometime in the future. We’ve seen this before. They flex their muscles, we cry wolf and react, they do nothing, and we end up with egg on our face. For now it’s fair to ask how much coincidence or speculation are we dealing with?”
The president sank back into her chair. “Patrick is fond of saying that ‘once is chance, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action.’” She leaned forward, her face frozen. “Every instinct tells me this is enemy action.” Again a silence came down in the small room.
“Madam President,” the DCI finally said, “we must not overreact. No one starts a war with the United States in an election year. Even the Arabs know that.”
“Assuming they’re rational actors,” Butler said quietly. The number of heads nodding around the room was ample indication that he was not alone in his doubt.
The president thought for a moment. “No more surprises. So what can we expect, and what options are available to us? I want to stay ahead of this, and they do not drive events in my country. Further, I will not be held hostage in the White House monitoring the Middle East. Mazie, I want you and Sam”—she nodded at her vice president—“along with the secretary of defense and the DCI to form a working group to spearhead our response. Call it the Executive Committee. ExCom for short. Mazie, you have direct access to me, anytime, anyplace. Anyone you need, you have. All doors are opened to the ExCom.” She looked around the room. “I hope everyone understands what I’m saying.” She rose to leave. “Stephan, please join me.” Everyone stood as the president left the room with the secretary of state in tow.
Butler allowed an inward smile. By taking the cranky Serick with her, the president had removed a major obstacle to progress.
“Well,” Mazie said, “I think the president was quite clear in what she wants. Sam, who do we need working with us?”
The vice president didn’t hesitate. “Bernie Butler.”
Mazie glanced at the DCI. “Anyone else?” He shook his head.
She turned to the secretary of defense. “I’d prefer General Wilding to stand in for me,” Merritt answered, refusing to work with the vice president.
Maddy walked into her private study next to the Oval Office and nodded at her assistant, Nancy Bender, to close the door. She motioned Serick to a comfortable seat. “Well, Stephan, what’s your take on all this?”
All the posturing, the grumpiness, the irritability that made him a legend, was gone. No longer was he the devil’s advocate keeping everyone honest. Now he was a trusted adviser giving his president the best advice he could. “There still exists a deep hatred of our country in the Arab world, and Butler certainly understands the Middle Eastern mind-set. We may have convinced them to forgo terrorism as a national policy, but if they sense a weakness they may well be striking out in a new direction. Timely action now might convince them otherwise.”
“We’re going to need allies.”
“I’ll do what I can, but France is going to be a major problem.”
“Why am I not surprised. Talk to them. The Russians?”