Checkmate

56

The Air Force captain opened the conference room door and waved Fisher through. Fisher had changed out of his tac-suit and had been given a spare pilot’s jumpsuit. It was too tight in the crotch. It felt funny when he walked.

The conference room was empty save for a dozen chairs and some prints on the walls depicting various events in Air Force history. On the far wall above was a plasma screen. Lambert was there. “Hello, Sam.”

“Colonel.”

“Nice duds.”

“When do we get out of here?”

The Cat’s aborted attack on the battle group had caused a dramatic reaction. Led by her Aegis cruisers, the Reagan had reversed course and moved out into the Gulf of Oman with DESRON 9 following in rear guard.

The cruiser and frigate that had peeled away from the group to intercept the Cat arrived forty minutes after Fisher dropped onto the boat. The frigate’s boarding party found Fisher sitting on the afterdeck, surrounded by five of Abelzeda’s men, each one bound and gagged.

Now, twelve hours later, he, Redding, Bird, and Sandy were still being kept incognito. Clearly, they had been vouched for and labeled off limits, which was fine with Fisher — except that no one could or would tell them what was happening in the outside world. Of course, given how they’d arrived on scene and what they’d brought with them — a stolen Iranian fast-patrol boat loaded with two Silkworm missiles; a handful of Iranian radicals; and an indignant former Turkmen Minister of Defense — Fisher couldn’t blame them.

“You certainly know how to make an entrance,” Lambert said.

“It’s not how I would’ve preferred it, Colonel.”

“I know. You got the job done, though. That’s what counts.”

Fisher nodded. “So, what’s new in the world? How’s the stock market? Read any good books lately? Are we at war with Iran?”

Lambert smiled. “No, we’re not at war. The documents from Abelzada’s house combined with his men from the Cat did the trick. In fact, the irony is something to behold: They were so anxious to take credit for the ‘glorious attack on the Great Satan’ that they haven’t stopped talking since they landed. Their own zealotry is their own worst enemy.

“The connections we put together between Zhao, the Trego, Slipstone, and Abelzada were enough for the President. As we speak, the Saudis are delivering a back-channel message from the President to Tehran. How they’ll react is anyone’s guess, but since Abelzada is a problem they failed to solve, I think they’ll jump at the chance for mutual stand-down. Over the next few days the Reagan will slowly withdraw into the Arabian Sea and Iran will recall the bulk of its Naval forces to their bases.”

“And how does all this get explained to the world?” Fisher asked.

“That’s a good question.”

“And it’s not our worry.”

“Right.”

“What about Zhao?” said Fisher.

“In about an hour, the Chinese ambassador will be sitting in the Oval Office. The message will be similar to the one to Tehran: Zhao was your problem; you let him run loose and did nothing about him. Give him up quietly or the world learns how a Chinese mafia kingpin who’s got half of Beijing in his pocket killed five thousand Americans, turned a town in New Mexico into a radioactive wasteland, and almost started Gulf War Three.”

“And if they refuse to cooperate or Zhao goes to ground?”

“He can’t hide forever,” Lambert replied.