Target America

42

“Where in Detroit?” the president was asking Tim Hagen. “Aren’t these al-Rashid brothers someone we can send the FBI after? Is it necessary to risk another fiasco like the one we just had in Las Vegas?”

General Couture hung up the phone. “Mr. President, NSA has just informed me the al-Rashids are not in Detroit. They’re in Amherstburg, Ontario, directly across the Detroit River from Grosse Ile. NSA pulled their names off a list of people to watch, and, apparently, Pope evaluated these two yahoos earlier this year — classifying them as low risk.”

“So Pope does make mistakes.” The president sat forward in his chair, feeling his acid reflux beginning to act up. “Okay, so where’s the plane now?”

“Just touching down on Grosse Ile, sir.”

The president looked at Colonel Bradshaw. “Get Pope on the phone.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sixty seconds later, Bradshaw had him on the line, and the president put the receiver to his ear. “Pope?”

“Yes, Mr. President?”

“You are not — I repeat not—to enter Canada. Is that clear?”

There was a slight pause. “Yes, Mr. President.”

“I’m going to call the Canadian prime minister right now. You will wait for the Canadians to pick up the al-Rashids and deliver them to you there on Grosse Ile. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“I’m serious,” the president said. “This isn’t Afghanistan we’re talking about this time. It’s Canada!”

“We’ll stand by here, Mr. President.”

“You’d better.” The president hung up the phone and looked at Couture. “What are the odds he’s going to listen to me?”

Couture was thinking, You got in bed with these maniacs. I should leave you to them.

“Sir, I don’t think there’s any reason at all to assume he’ll obey that order. I recommend you send the FBI to Grosse Ile immediately with orders to take the entire team into custody. This has gone far enough, Mr. President.”

The president stood from the chair and hitched up his pants. “Do it.”

He looked at Tim Hagen and nodded toward the door. The two of them stepped into the hall.

“This will be the FBI’s operation from here on,” the president said. “So get in touch with Shroyer at CIA and see to it that all of Pope’s clearances are revoked. That man is unemployed as of right now. Also, make sure the FBI knows that he’s to be held for questioning in regards to the Lijuan Chow affair. My God, Tim!” He lowered his voice. “He was actually going to invade another fucking country!”

“What if the Canadians screw it up, Mr. President?”

“What?”

“Sir, we’re wasting time. For all we know, the RA-115 could be set to go off any minute. Pope is directly across the river from the al-Rashids. He can probably have his hands on them within the hour.”

“You’re not actually suggesting—”

“Mr. President, I’m suggesting that you allow Pope to disobey your direct order to stand down. We can have an observation drone over the target area within the hour. That will allow us to wait until the last moment before calling the prime minister to tell him that one of our special operations teams has gone off the reservation. By the time the RCMP can respond to the target area, Shannon’s people will already be back on Grosse Ile with the al-Rashids.” Hagen was referring to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. “Then we’ll not only have the brothers and whatever information they can provide about the nuke, but we’ll also have enough to put both Pope and Shannon where they belong.” Hagen smiled. “Unless, of course, we choose to turn them over to the Canadians, in which case they’ll be completely out of our hair for the next twenty or thirty years.”

“Christ, you’re a devious bastard.” The president held a hand to his abdomen, the burning sensation creeping up his throat. “Okay. Suppose Pope doesn’t disobey me? Then what?”

“We’ll know that within the hour, sir. If he does stand down, then we simply call the prime minister and hope for the best.”

The president thought over the plan, and he could find no flaw in it. “Couture isn’t going to like it.”

“With respect, Mr. President, there’s no reason for you to give a shit what the general does or does not like. He’s a soldier, and it’s his job to do what you tell him to do.”