Drone Threat

43

“The Russians have more of this in stockpile than anybody,” Pearce said.

“The Russians? Are you insane?” Chandler asked. “They’re trying to get back in our good graces. If they were behind this attack, we’d be back in another cold war in a heartbeat. Possibly even a shooting war.”

Pearce sat back, trying to decide if he should divulge Moshe’s intel. Better not, he decided. No point in compromising his Israeli source at this juncture. “I don’t completely disagree, but I think we need to explore every option. We’re still not one hundred percent sure this is actually an ISIS attack and we still haven’t found any culprits.”

“What about the rental house in L.A.?” Garza asked. “Whoever rented or owned it might be who we’re looking for.”

“Checking on it now,” Peguero said. “Not likely the bad guys used their real names or left a forwarding address. Neighbors claimed they haven’t seen anybody for weeks.”

“That explains why Gorgon Sky wasn’t any help,” Pearce said. Ashley had managed to get three pervasive stare units in the air over the Los Angeles basin last night but nothing pulled up in the digital review except for Garcia’s car pulling up to the house earlier that morning.

“As far as I’m concerned, there are only two options on the table, Mr. President,” Chandler said. “Either we raise the black flag or we launch the war. This attack proves these animals are willing to kill millions of us.”

Pearce threw up his hands. “Whoa, let’s back this truck up. What do you mean they’re willing to kill millions of us? If ISIS really has dozens of these induction points loaded with nuclear material, why didn’t they just use them? Why isn’t the entire U.S. water supply irreparably contaminated right now? Or even just Los Angeles? We know they’re murderous fucks. ISIS wouldn’t hold back.”

Peguero read from the letter left behind in Los Feliz. “‘An act of restraint, an act of mercy before the final blow if you don’t bow the knee and raise the flag by noon tomorrow.’”

“Bullshit,” Pearce said. “These guys cut people’s heads off, gang-rape children, set prisoners on fire. There’s no mercy in their black hearts.”

“What’s your point?” Onstot asked.

“If this restraint was an act of mercy, then it couldn’t have been ISIS. Maybe it’s an American or some other Western group with a conscience. Hell, I don’t know. But if it really wasn’t an act of mercy, it could’ve been the work of a lone wolf — a radical, a merc, an earth worshipper — somebody who doesn’t have the capacity to poison our entire water supply. Maybe he or she or they just want us to think they can.”

“That really narrows things down,” Chandler said.

“Then why no ransom note? Why the demand to raise the black flag? Why claim to be ISIS?” Garza asked. “And how or why would the Russians be connected to it?”

Pearce ran his hand through his hair, a nervous habit. “I don’t know. I’m not convinced I believe anything I’m even saying. I’m verbally processing as much as anything. What I do know is that going to war is a nightmare. Many will die on both sides, and they’ll die for no good reason if we get this wrong.”

“There’s always the flag option,” Peguero said.

“I’m not raising that godforsaken flag, Julissa. I thought I made that perfectly clear,” Lane said.

“Am I free to speak my mind? Or is this just an exercise in machismo groupthink?”

Lane motioned with his hand. “Go ahead, please.”

“It’s just a flag. A piece of silk with ink on it. It’s all these flags and chest-beating rants that cause all the problems in the world. I say put your ego aside and raise the flag and see if that solves the problem. If it does, you’ve saved thousands of lives — maybe millions — and avoided a cataclysmic assault on our country.”

“He’ll be impeached the second he raises that flag,” Chandler said. “And we know ISIS doesn’t keep its word.”

“Just a flag?” Garza said. His eyes were daggers. “Flags mean something, lady.” He pointed at the American flag standing on a pole in the corner of the room. “I had good friends who died for that flag. Hundreds of thousands of Americans have been killed and wounded for that flag. I’ll be damned if I’ll stand by and watch that flag get lowered from the top of this building and replaced with that filthy do-rag.”

Peguero remained unflustered. “Mr. President, there will be blood on your hands if you decide to launch a war — American blood as well as the blood of innocent civilians. History will judge you harshly if it turns out you could have prevented all of that bloodshed if you would’ve set aside your ego and raised that meaningless piece of silk.”

Eaton shook her head. “You raise that flag and a billion Muslims will be dancing in the streets before sunset, including Muslims in this country. ISIS’s reputation will soar. They’ll double their recruitment in twenty-four hours. They’ll have ten times as many fighters within the week. They’ll all be smelling blood and mocking us in every mosque and madrassa from Mecca to Detroit.”

Lane nodded. He stood and stepped over to the box containing the black-and-white ISIS flag. He picked it up and examined it closely, thinking.

Pearce felt his stomach sicken. Was Lane wavering?

Lane held it up for the rest of the room to see.

“I greatly appreciate your comments, Julissa, and I respect your opinion. Thank you for sharing it. This is a flag that stands for death and the destruction of everything I hold dear.”

Lane’s hands flew apart, ripping the flag in two.

“Now you’re talking,” Garza said.

Lane tore the flag again and again, then tossed it on the floor. “Is my position on this matter clear?”

Heads nodded all around the table.

“Good.” Lane turned to Chandler. “Contact your friend Ambassador Tarkovsky. I imagine he’s already been in contact with Moscow. I want to run him through the paces with the rest of our team and see where they stand. Today, if at all possible.”

Chandler fought back a grin. “Yes, Mr. President.”

Grafton seethed. She needed to get the Tarkovsky option off the table. But how? “Excuse me, Mr. President, but if we’re considering a joint international effort, we should bring Ambassador al-Saud in on the meeting with Ambassador Tarkovsky.”

“Good point.” Lane saw the objection in Pearce’s eyes. Ignored it. “Can you arrange that, Vicki?”

“I’m on it.” Grafton picked up her smartphone and began texting, telling him to come quickly and to argue against Russian intervention.

Lane turned to Pearce. “I want you there at that meeting. And I want you to ask Tarkovsky directly.”

“No problem.”

“Him?” Chandler said, pointing at Pearce. “He’s a bull in a China shop.”

“You’ll be there, too, Clay. You can pick up the pieces when he’s done.”

“To do what? Try and glue them back together?” Chandler forced a smile. “I’ll do my best.”

The rest stood up to leave while Pearce checked his phone. It wasn’t Myers who had called.

It was Tamar Stern.