Divide and Conquer

FIFTY-SIX

The Situation Room was a brightly lit chamber with a low ceiling, white walls, and soft, fluorescent lighting. There was a conference table in the center of the room and chairs along three of the four walls. Computer monitors were attached to the arms of the chairs. They provided aides with up-to-the-minute information. The fourth wall was fitted with a ten-foot-long high-definition TV monitor. The screen was linked to the National Reconnaissance Office. Real-time satellite images could be displayed there with magnification of objects up to three feet long. Most of these high-tech improvements were made within the last four years using over two billion dollars that had been allocated to fixing the White House recreation facilities, including the pool and tennis court.

Hood and the First Lady entered through the door that was under the high-definition monitor. The chiefs of the army, navy, and air force and the commandant of the marine corps were sitting along one side of the table with their chairman, General Otis Burg, in the center. Burg was a big, barrel-chested man in his late fifties. He had a shaved head and steel gray eyes that had been hardened by war and political bureaucracy. The joint chiefs’ aides were seated behind them. Along the other side of the table were the president, the vice president, NSA head Fenwick, Chief of Staff Gable, and Deputy National Security adviser Don Roedner. Judging by their tense expressions, either it was a difficult meeting or they did not appreciate the interruption. Or both.

Several members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff registered surprise to see Hood with the First Lady. So did the president. He had been in the process of rising to go into an adjoining study and talk with her. The president froze and looked from Megan to Hood, then back to Megan. The new arrivals stopped at the head of the conference table.

“What’s going on?” the president asked.

Hood glanced at the joint chiefs, who were a wall of impatience. He still did not know whether the frustration was with him or with the issue at hand. All he knew was that he would not have much time to present his case.

“Sir,” Hood said, “there is increasing evidence that the attack on the Iranian oil rig was executed not by Azerbaijanis but by Iranians under the direction of the terrorist known as the Harpooner.”

The president sat back down. “Why?” he asked.

“So that Iran could justify moving ships into the region and seize as many oil resources as possible,” Hood told him.

“And risk a military showdown with the United States?” Lawrence asked.

“No, sir,” Hood replied. He looked at Fenwick. “I believe there is an agreement in place to make sure the United States does not interfere. Then, when the tensions are defused, we simply buy our oil from Teheran.”

“And when was this agreement made?” the president asked.

“Yesterday, in New York,” Hood said. “Probably after many months of negotiations.”

“You’re referring to Jack’s visit to the Iranian mission,” the president said.

“Yes, sir,” Hood replied.

“Mr. Fenwick was not empowered to make such a promise,” the president pointed out. “If he did make one, it would not be valid.”

“It might be if you were not in office,” Hood said.

“This is ridiculous!” Fenwick declared. “I was at the Iranian mission to try and expand our intelligence resources in the Middle East. I’ve explained that, and I can document it. I can tell you who I met with and when.”

“All part of the big lie,” Hood said.

“Mr. Roedner was with me,” Fenwick said. “I have the notes I made, and I’ll be happy to name my contacts. What do you have, Mr. Hood?”

“The truth,” he replied without hesitation. “It’s the same thing I had when you vowed to keep me from seeing the president.”

“What I vowed was to keep you from bothering the president,” Fenwick insisted. “Secret deals with Iran. The president being out of office. This isn’t the truth, Mr. Hood. It’s paranoia!”

The vice president looked at his watch. “Mr. President, forgive me, but we’re wasting time. We need to get on with this meeting.”

“I agree,” said General Burg. “I’m not up to speed on any of this back-and-forth, and it isn’t my job to say which of these gentlemen is full of gravy. But whether we play offense or defense, we have to make some quick decisions if we’re going to match Iran’s deployment.”

The president nodded.

“Then get on with the meeting, Mr. President, General Burg,” Hood said. “But please delay taking military action for as long as possible. Give me time to finish the investigation we’ve begun.”

“I asked for evidence to back your claims,” the president said, his voice extremely calm. “You don’t have that.”

“Not yet,” Hood said.

“And we don’t have the extra time I thought there’d be to investigate. We’ve got to proceed as if the Caspian threat is real,” the president said with finality.

“Which is exactly what they want you to do!” Hood said. He was growing agitated and had to pull himself back. An outburst would undermine his own credibility. “We believe a crisis is being engineered, one that will call into question your ability to govern.”

“People have argued about that for years,” the president said. “They voted me out of office once. But I don’t make decisions based on polls.”

“I’m not talking about a policy debate,” Hood said. “I’m talking about your mental and emotional state. That will be the issue.”

Fenwick shook his head sadly. “Sir, mental health is the issue. Mr. Hood has been under a great deal of stress these past two weeks. His teenage daughter is mentally ill. He’s going through a divorce. He needs a long vacation.”

“I don’t think Mr. Hood is the one who needs a leave of absence,” the First Lady said. Her voice was clear and edged with anger. It quieted the room. “Mr. Fenwick, I have watched my husband being misled and misinformed for several weeks now. Mr. Hood looked into the situation at my personal request. His investigation has been methodical, and I believe his findings have merit.” She glared at Fenwick. “Or do you intend to call me a liar as well?”

Fenwick said nothing.

The president looked at his wife. Megan was standing straight and stoic at Hood’s side. There was nothing apologetic in her expression. The president looked tired, but Hood thought he also seemed sad. He could not tell whether it was because Megan had run an operation behind his back or because he felt he had let her down. The couple was silent. It was clearly an issue they would settle some other time, in private.

After a moment, the president’s eyes returned to Hood. The sadness remained. “Your concern is noted and appreciated,” the president said. “But I won’t jeopardize the nation’s interests to protect my own. Especially when you have no evidence that they’re at risk.”

“All I want is a few hours,” Hood said.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have a few hours,” the president replied.

For a moment, Megan looked as though she was going to hug her husband. She did not. She looked at Fenwick and then at the joint chiefs. “Thank you for hearing us out,” she said. “I’m sorry to have interrupted.” She turned and started toward the door.

Hood did not know what else to say. He would have to go back to the Cabinet Room and work with Herbert and Orlov. Try to get the proof the president needed and get it quickly.

He turned to follow the First Lady from the Situation Room. As he did, there was a gentle beep from somewhere in the room. A cell phone. The sound had come from the inside pocket of Fenwick’s suit.

He shouldn’t be able to get a signal in here, Hood thought. The walls of the Situation Room were lined with chips that generated random electrical impulses or impedence webs. The IWs were designed to block bugs from broadcasting to anyone on the White House grounds. They also blocked cell phone calls with one exception: transmissions relayed by the government’s Hephaestus satellite array.

Hood turned back as the NSA chief had slipped a hand into his jacket. Fenwick took out the phone and shut off the ringer.

Bingo.

If it got through IW security, it had to be a Hephaestus call. Highest security. Who wouldn’t Fenwick want to talk to right now?

Hood leaned over the NSA chief and pulled the phone from his hand. Fenwick reached for it, but Hood stepped away.

“What the hell are you doing?” Fenwick demanded. He pushed the chair back and rose. He walked toward Hood.

“I’m betting my career on a hunch,” Hood said. He flipped open the cover and answered the call. “Yes?”

“Who is this?” asked the caller.

“This is Jack Fenwick’s line at the NSA,” Hood said. He walked toward the president. “Who’s calling?”

“My name is David Battat,” said the clear voice on the other end.

Hood felt the world slide off his shoulders. He held the cell phone so the president could listen as well. Fenwick stopped beside them. The NSA head did not reach for the phone. He just stood there. Hood saw just where the weight of the world had shifted.

“Mr. Battat, this is Paul Hood of Op-Center,” said Hood.

“Paul Hood?” Battat said. “Why are you answering this line?”

“It’s a long story,” Hood said. “What is your situation?”

“A helluva lot better than Mr. Fenwick’s,” Battat said. “We just took down the Harpooner and recovered his secure phone. This number was the first one that came up on the Harpooner’s instant-dial menu.”