Jihad

CHAPTER 99

“This is all your fault,” Bing told Rubens. Her ears were tinged red and seemed to stick straight out from the sides of her head. “You bypassed all of the controls, all of the processes—”

“I bypassed nothing,” said Rubens. He tried to continue toward the conference room, but Bing put out her hand, blocking his way.

“You used a personal relationship with the president — you used George Hadash’s death to get around me.”

“I did nothing of the kind,” said Rubens sharply.

“If you had taken him when I suggested, he’d be alive and we’d know where the target was. You put your ego above what was best for the country.”

Second-guessing was standard Washington procedure, and Rubens had fully expected it. The accusation that he had used Hadash’s death, however, angered him greatly. Rubens pressed his teeth together to keep from saying anything. His silence did the trick — the red tinge on Bing’s ears spread to the rest of her face, and she swirled around and headed down the hallway.

“I see you’re warming up to Ms. Bing,” said Defense Secretary Blanders behind him.

Rubens managed a wan smile before continuing to the briefing room. The head of the NSA, Admiral Devlin Brown, had arrived earlier and was sitting on the far side of the room. Bing was stooped down behind him, whispering something in his ear; she saw Rubens come in and rose abruptly, moving over toward her spot at the head of the four-sided table.

Rubens pretended he hadn’t seen her and took his seat next to Brown. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the nearby carafe, even though he’d already had two that morning.

“Anything new?” Brown asked.

“We’ve identified the man who was with Asad and we’re looking for him. We’re looking for patterns in airplane flights and one of our people will be on the flight that we think Asad was to take from Detroit. Outside of that, we have nothing.”

More precisely, they had quite a lot: intercepts of possible messages, money transactions, telephone conversations, a vast file of rumors and innuendo compiled by the different agencies now involved in trying to determine the plot’s target. What Rubens meant was, they had so much information that they had nothing.

President Marcke burst into the room, moving as briskly as Rubens had ever seen him walk. At most sessions with his aides, the president assumed the role of a listener, waiting until all sides of the issue were raised. He’d sit back in his seat, often unconsciously twisting a paperclip, not quite Buddhalike, but generally impassive and as unemotional as a judge as his advisors debated an issue. It was only in one-on-one or very small meetings that he put the true Marcke on display, thumping his desk and occasionally jabbing his companion’s chest to make a point.

But today was different. Today he spoke as soon as he came through the door, his voice sharp, as if he were a football coach at halftime with his team down by a touchdown.

“Gentlemen, ladies. One thing I want to make clear from the start,” he said, walking to his usual spot at the table but not sitting down. “Some of you believe this crisis is a byproduct of my decision to allow Asad into the country rather than having him arrested in Turkey. I believe it was the best and most logical decision at the time. Some of you may disagree. Those disagreements are with me, and you may take them up at the proper time. That time is not now. Billy, what do you have for us?”

Rubens, cheered by what he interpreted as a not-so-subtle slap at Bing, began his briefing.