Divide and Conquer

FORTY-SEVEN

Hood shut the door of the Cabinet Room behind him. There was a coffee machine on a small table in the far comer. The first thing Paul did upon entering was brew a pot using bottled water. He felt guilty doing that in the midst of a crisis, but he needed the caffeine kick. Desperately. Though his mind was speeding, his eyes and body from the shoulders down were crashing. Even the smell of the coffee helped as it began to brew. As he stood watching the steam, he thought back to the meeting he had just left. The shortest way of defusing the crisis on this end was to break Fenwick and whatever cabal he had put together. He hoped he could go back there with information, something to rattle Fenwick or Gable.

“I need time to think,” he muttered to himself. Time to figure out how best to attack them if he had nothing more than he did now.

Hood turned from the coffeemaker. He sat on the edge of the large conference table and pulled over one of the telephones. He called Bob Herbert to see if his intelligence chief had any news or sources he could hit up for information about the Harpooner and possible contact with the NSA.

He did not.

“Unless no news is news,” Herbert added.

Herbert had already woken several acquaintances who either worked for or were familiar with the activities of the NSA. Calling them in the middle of the night had the advantage of catching them off guard. If they knew anything, they would probably blurt it out. Herbert asked if any of them had heard about U.S. intelligence overtures to Iran.

None of them had.

“Which isn’t surprising,” Herbert said. “Something of that magnitude and delicacy would only be conducted at the highest executive levels. But it’s also true that if more than one person knows about an operation over there, then everyone has heard at least a piece of the story. Not so here.”

“Maybe more than one person at the NSA doesn’t know about this,” Hood said.

“That could very well be,” Herbert agreed.

Herbert said he was still waiting to hear from HUMINT sources in Teheran. They might know something about this.

“The only solid news we have is from Mike’s people at the Pentagon,” Herbert said. “Military Intelligence has picked up signs of Russian mobilization in the Caspian region. Stephen Viens at the NRO has confirmed that. The Slava-class cruiser Admiral Lobov is apparently aleady heading south and the Udaloy II-class destroyer Admiral Chebanenko is joining it along with several corvettes and small missile craft. Mike expects air cover over the Russian oil installations to commence within a few hours.”

“All from something that started with the Harpooner — or whoever first hired him,” Hood said.

“Eisenhower was the first to use the metaphor in 1954,” Herbert said. “He said, ‘You have a row of dominoes set up; you knock over the first one and what will happen to the last one is that it will go over very quickly.’ He was talking about Vietnam, but it applies to this.”

Herbert was right. You could count on the fact that dominoes not only fell, but they dropped quickly. And the only way to stop dominoes falling was to get far enough ahead of the chain and remove a few tiles.

After hanging up, Hood poured himself coffee, sat down in one of the leather seats, and called Sergei Orlov. The fresh, black coffee was a lifesaver. In the midst of chaos even a small respite seemed enormous.

The general brought Hood up to date on the situation with the Harpooner. Hood could hear the tension in the Russian’s voice as he explained what the overall plan was. Hood related to Orlov’s concern completely. There was worry for his operative Odette and a desperate desire to end the career of a notorious terrorist. Hood had been in that place. And he had both won there and lost there. This was not like a film or novel where the hero necessarily won.

Hood was still on the phone with General Orlov when the door opened. He glanced up.

It was Jack Fenwick. The time to think was over.

The NSA head entered the room and shut the door behind him. The Cabinet Room was a large room, but it suddenly seemed small and very close.

Fenwick walked over to the coffee and helped himself. Hood was nearly finished with the call. He ended the conversation as quickly as possible without seeming to hurry. He did not want Fenwick to hear anything. But he also did not want to show the NSA chief a hint of desperation.

Hood hung up. He took a swallow of coffee and glanced over at Fenwick. The man’s dark eyes were on Hood.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Fenwick said. He indicated the coffee.

“Why should I?” Hood asked.

“I don’t know, Paul,” Fenwick shrugged. “People can get protective about things. Good coffee, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

Fenwick perched himself on the edge of the table. He was just a few feet from Hood. “We’ve taken a little break,” Fenwick told him. “The president is waiting for the joint chiefs and secretary of state before making any decisions about the Caspian situation.”

“Thanks for the update.”

“You’re welcome,” Fenwick said. “I can give you more than an update,” he went on. “I can give you a prediction.”

“Oh?”

Fenwick nodded confidently. “The president is going to respond militarily. Emphatically. He has to.”

Both Op-Center and the NSA had access to photographic reconnaissance from the NRO. No doubt Fenwick knew about the Russians as well.

Hood got up to freshen his coffee. As he did, he remembered what he had been thinking just a few minutes before.

The only way to stop the dominoes falling was to get far enough ahead of the chain and remove a few tiles.

“The question is not what the president will do, what the nation will do. The question is what are you going to do?” Fenwick said.

“Is that why you came here? To pick my brains?”

“I came here to stretch my legs,” Fenwick said. “But now that we’ve gone there, I am curious. What are you going to do?”

“About what?” Hood asked as he poured more coffee. The dance was on. They were each watching their words.

“About the current crisis,” Fenwick replied. “What part are you going to play?”

“I’m going to do my job,” Hood said. He was either being interviewed or threatened. He had not yet decided which. Nor did he care.

“And how do you see that?” Fenwick asked.

“The job description says ‘crisis management,’ ” Hood said. He looked back at Fenwick. “But at the moment, I see it as more than that. I see it as learning the truth behind this crisis and presenting the facts to the president.”

“What truth is that?” Fenwick asked. Though his expression did not change, there was condescension in his voice. “You obviously don’t agree with what Mr. Gable, the vice president, and I were telling him.”

“No, I don’t,” Hood said. He had to be cautious. Part of what he was about to say was real, part of it was bluff. If he were wrong it would be the equivalent of crying wolf. Fenwick would not be concerned about anything Hood had to say. And Fenwick could use this to undermine Hood’s credibility with the president.

But that was only if he were wrong.

“I’ve just been informed that we captured the Harpooner at the Hyatt Hotel in Baku,” Hood said. He had to present it as a fait accompli. He did not want Fenwick calling the hotel and warning the terrorist.

“Then it’s definitely the Harpooner?” Fenwick said.

Fenwick took a sip of coffee and held it in his mouth. Hood let the silence hang there. After a long moment, Fenwick swallowed.

“I’m glad,” Fenwick said without much enthusiasm. “That’s one less terrorist Americans have to worry about. How did you get him? Interpol, the CIA, the FBI — they’ve all been trying for over twenty years.”

“We’ve been following him for several days,” Hood went on. “We were observing him and listening to his phone calls.”

“Who are we?”

“A group comprised of Op-Center, CIA, and foreign resources,” Hood replied. “We pulled it together when we heard the Harpooner was in the region. We managed to lure him out using a CIA agent as bait.”

Hood felt safe revealing the CIA’s role since it was probably Fenwick who had given the information about Battat to the Harpooner.

Fenwick continued to regard Hood. “So you’ve got the Harpooner,” Fenwick said. “What does all this have to do with the truth about what’s going on? Do you know something that I don’t?”

“The Harpooner apparently had a hand in what happened in the Caspian,” Hood said.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Fenwick said. “The Harpooner will work for anyone.”

“Even us,” Hood said.

Fenwick started when he heard that. Just a little, but enough so that Hood noticed. “I’m tired, and I don’t have time for guessing games,” Fenwick complained. “What do you mean?”

“We’re talking to him now,” Hood went on. “He seems willing to tell us who hired him in exchange for limited amnesty.”

“Of course he does,” Fenwick said dismissively. “That bastard would probably say anything to save his hide.”

“He might,” Hood agreed. “But why lie when only the truth can save his life?”

“Because he’s a twisted bastard,” Fenwick said angrily. The NSA chief threw his cup into the wastebasket beneath the coffeemaker and got up from the table. “I’m not going to let you advise the president based on the testimony of a terrorist. I suggest you go home. Your work here is finished.”

Before Hood could say anything else, Fenwick left the Cabinet Room. He pulled the door shut behind him. The room seemed to return to its former size.

Hood did not believe that Fenwick was concerned about the president getting misinformation. Nor did he believe that Fenwick was overworked and simply venting. Hood believed that he had come very close to exposing a relationship that Fenwick had worked hard to conceal.

A relationship between a high-ranking adviser to the president and the terrorist who had helped him to engineer a war.