Jihad

CHAPTER 17

William Rubens was due at the White House at noon to brief the new national security advisor on the operation. With things running well, he decided to leave Crypto City early enough to stop and visit the old national security advisor, his friend and one-time teacher, George Hadash. But as he approached Hadash’s hospital room, he was suddenly filled with dread; it was only out of a sense of loyalty and duty that he forced himself to continue down the corridor. Two days before, Hadash had undergone an operation to remove a brain tumor. The doctors had pronounced the operation a great success, but Rubens, visiting him a few hours later, had a completely different impression.

“Come,” said Hadash when he knocked on the door. Rubens was pleasantly surprised to find him sitting up in bed, the newest issue of Foreign Affairs in his hands. A pile of books sat on the bed next to him; two laptops sat on the rolling tray to the left.

“William! How are you?” said Hadash, his voice as strong as ever.

“I believe the question is how are you?” said Rubens. He shook Hadash’s hand — a good grip, though a little cold — and looked for a chair to sit down in. The nearest one was covered with books: all on the Civil War, Rubens noted as he piled them on the floor.

“Have you read this?” Hadash held up the Foreign Affairs. “McNally on Russia?”

Before Rubens could answer — he had read a few paragraphs and then moved on in disgust — Hadash launched into a lengthy and devastating critique, punctuated several times by the phrase “and people in Congress talk seriously of McNally as the next secretary of state.”

“A comment on the ability of Congress, surely,” said Rubens when the former national security advisor finally paused for a breath.

Hadash burst out laughing.

“You’re doing much better than the other day,” said Rubens. “When will you be out?”

“When they’ve grown tired of poking me. I have another MRI session scheduled for this afternoon. They promise a date then.”

Rubens nodded.

“Do you think about death, William?”

“I don’t,” Rubens answered honestly. “But I don’t think you’re going to die.”

“Eventually we all do,” said Hadash. “I’m ready, if it comes to that.”

Death seemed an impossible thing to be ready for. Rubens changed the subject, asking what Hadash was doing with all the Civil War books.

“I have been thinking of General Lee and McClellan. An interesting pair, symbols of their age,” said Hadash. “Brilliant, yet both deeply flawed.”

McClellan, commander of the Army of the Potomac, had faced off against the Confederate Robert E. Lee in the first half of the war; Rubens knew enough Civil War history to realize that most historians regarded him as a poor military leader. But Lee’s flaws were less known, at least to him.

“He overextended his army,” Hadash quickly explained. “You see, the critical difference — well, look at George Washington during the Revolution. The turning point of the war comes after the British take New York and the Revolution doesn’t collapse. General Washington realizes what sort of war he’s fighting. All he has to do is survive. Lee missed that.”

“I doubt Lincoln would have settled for that,” said Rubens.

Hadash smiled. He relished well-reasoned arguments and was just revving up. “True. Lincoln was not King George. But there were elections to contend with. Lincoln might not have been there had events gone differently.”

Hadash charged into a short lecture on McClellan, laying out how he would have sued for peace had he won the election. There was a glint in his eye that Rubens realized meant he was purposely overstating his case.

This was an excellent sign, Rubens thought; Hadash was clearly on the mend.

“I’d like to hear more, but I’m afraid I’m due at a meeting,” said Rubens finally. “I’ll call you tonight, to see how your scan went.”

“Yes, very good. And we’ll talk about Grant,” added Hadash.

“I’m afraid I know relatively little about him and the war in general.”

“Then I’ll have the advantage.”