Patriot

CHAPTER 54

Rosow waited for the British intel chief to proceed, but he seemed to have nothing more to add. By now, it was apparent to all that the president had retreated to fight his corner. He was on the ropes now, just suffering the body blows, not truly engaged, hanging on by his fingernails and yet another cup of coffee.

The silence lingered on. Trulove looked around for guidance from his colleagues, found none, and sat back down. The old spymaster closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. He could not remember being in a more tension-filled room in his entire life. It seemed as if they were all sitting around having coffee and discussing the end of the world.

“Anything else?” the president finally muttered, his voice colored with exhaustion and tinged with sarcasm.

Brick Kelly was quick to speak up.

“Mr. President, here’s what we’re trying to say. I can’t emphasize this enough. We are going around the world creating power vacuums. Like the one that gave rise to ISIS in Iraq. The isolated political space America now occupies vis-à-vis both our friends and enemies around the world is untenable. Shaky ground at best. We need to return to terra firma, sir, and we need to do it right now. We need a strong hand on the tiller. We’re out of options.”

“What the hell are we supposed to do, Brick?”

“Show some strength, for God’s sake. Some guts, some backbone. Some goddamn courage. Some goddamn leadership.”

The truth was finally out in the open. And it hurt. Not only the president, but every man in the room. A deep silence pervaded the Oval Office. Everyone seemed to be staring at their shoes. After an eternity, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Admiral Moore, seemed barely able to contain his anger as he got to his feet.

“He’s right, sir. We’re knee-deep in the shit, if you’ll pardon an old navy saying. You asked us if there was more. I’m afraid there is a great deal more. Kelly’s right. Because the White House failed to follow my suggestion and leave a force multiplier of marines behind when we pulled out of Iraq, ISIS has now moved to within mortar distance of Baghdad and closing. Because we have failed to subsequently augment air strikes in Iraq and Syria with boots on the ground, ISIS is rapidly gaining ground and territory. Even Yemen has fallen to them. They are hell-bent on conquering the Arab world.”

“Now, just a damn minute. Are you saying you and Secretary Matthews now disavow any State Department role in these goddamn decisions?”

“I’m saying, Mr. President, that I personally cannot and will not take public responsibility for the loss of that historic city to barbaric terrorists. Cities, like Tikrit, Mosul, and Ramadi, that we paid dearly for in blood and treasure. Add that to the copycat homegrown terrorists now beheading our citizens in the streets of the Midwest and — need I really go on, sir?”

No answer.

The president seemed to have wilted. He slumped back in his chair with his hands clasped quietly in his lap. His greying head was back against the tufted yellow cushion and he was staring at the ceiling; soon tears were running down his cheeks. His visitors were aghast. This man, who once seemed so charismatic, so much bigger than life that he was bulletproof — now he was shrunken and shrinking, disappearing inside an empty suit.

No one dared speak.

After a while, Rosow seemed to summon strength from somewhere. He looked across at them and spoke.

“You know, it’s funny. My father used to say something to me back when I was knee-high to a grasshopper. Made a lot of sense, the old guy. He’d say, ‘Son, always surround yourself with folks who come to you with solutions, not problems.’ And that’s what he always said, you know, when I went to him with one of my problems. So how do I respond to this — to this laundry list of problems? How? You tell me. You’re all here now. Tell me what — tell me what to do.”

“Mr. President,” Kelly said, “would you like a glass of water? Some more coffee, sir?”

“No, thanks, Brick, I’m fine.”

“May I make a suggestion, sir?”

“Please do.”

“I know we’ve given you a lot to think about. But I think it prudent to deal with the closest problem to home first. The incursion and sabotage just carried out by Russian-sponsored terrorists in South Florida.”

“Go on.”

“Sir David and I drove over here from Langley together. We had a chance to talk about this in the car. I think we’re very fortunate in one respect. We have personnel already on the ground who are best equipped to remove the current threat from Cuba. Sir David, will you tell the president our thoughts on Cuba?”

“Mr. President, as was mentioned earlier, Alex Hawke witnessed the explosion firsthand and was in touch with CIA station, Miami, in the immediate aftermath. If I may go off the record for a moment, I will reveal some highly classified information. I will tell you that Commander Hawke has a personal and long-standing relationship with Vladimir Putin.

“It’s actually a friendship, as bizarre as that may sound, but it’s been of some benefit. A couple of months ago, Putin gave Hawke a demonstration of a new Russian explosive called Feuerwasser. Virtually undetectable and more powerful than anything we’ve got by a factor of ten.”

“Hawke thinks the Russians are behind this Florida outrage?”

“Think it through, Mr. President.”

“One more remark like that and I’ll have your ass sent packing on the next thing smoking, Sir David,” the president said, barely concealing his mounting rage.

Trulove, aghast, looked around at his friends for support before continuing. He was determined not to let the American president’s bizarre behavior intimidate him.