Target America

46

General Couture leaned back in his chair in Operations, where everyone was in limbo waiting for the UAV to arrive at Grosse Ile so they could determine whether Pope had obeyed the president’s order to stand down. He secretly wanted to kill the White House chief of staff for talking the president into delaying his call to the Canadian prime minister. He could see by the smug look on the deviant little fucker’s face that Hagen had cooked up some kind of scheme, and he suspected it probably had something to do with sticking it to Shannon and Pope.

He checked his watch. The UAV was due over Grosse Ile in ten minutes.

Colonel Bradshaw came into the room and looked at Couture, arching his eyebrows for only him to see, and then moved toward the back of the room. The general watched him for a moment, the gears slow to mesh, as Bradshaw gave him another look, stepping around to the far side of the computer console.

“Excuse me a moment, Mr. President?”

“Certainly,” the president said.

Couture crossed to the far side of the room, standing with his back to the president as he looked over the top of the console where an air force major sat monitoring one of the data streams. “What is it, Gene?”

Bradshaw stood behind the major and placed his hands over the major’s ears; if the major even noticed this, you wouldn’t have known it to see his face. “Bob Pope’s on the line in my office. He’s asking to speak with you out of earshot of the president.” Bradshaw took his hands from the major’s ears and patted his shoulders.

Couture felt his hackles rise. A glance over his own shoulder, and he saw Hagen leaning close to the president, the two of them talking in hushed voices. “Be right back,” he said, and slipped from the room.

He picked up the phone on Bradshaw’s desk. “This is General Couture.”

“Bill? Bop Pope.”

“What can I do for you, Robert?”

“Bill, I need you to locate the nearest Life Flight helo and get it to Grosse Ile Municipal Airport as soon as humanly possible. Make sure they bring plenty of O-negative blood.”

“What’s happened?”

“I’ll wait on the line while you arrange the helo, Bill. There won’t be a moment to spare.”

Couture released an annoyed sigh, setting down the phone as Bradshaw was stepping into the office. “Gene, Pope needs a Life Flight with plenty of O-negative blood to rendezvous with him on Grosse Ile. Please make that happen ASAP—without POTUS hearing you.”

“Yes, sir.” Bradshaw disappeared and Couture picked the phone back up.

“Okay, Robert. What have you gotten us all into?”

Pope told him about the incursion into Amherstburg, Ontario, and that the Zodiac was due back at NAS Grosse within twenty minutes.

Couture bit back the obscene comment that came to his lips, instead going with “Robert, are you insane?”

“Bill, I know the president is set to double-cross me, but I need you to change his mind — to convince him to let us continue with our mission.”

“Robert, I’m not even about to try to do that.”

“I know you’ve been against ST6/B from its inception, Bill — conceptually, so have I — but you’re an old enough soldier to know that you don’t change horses midstream. Especially if the second horse can’t swim.”

Couture knew the reasons for Pope’s bias against the FBI were mostly hyperbole, but he also knew the CIA man was right about switching horses midstream. It would take the FBI hours to get caught up and organized if it was suddenly put in charge of an operation it so far knew nothing about — and those hours could prove to make all the difference.

“How do you know POTUS is set to double-cross you?”

“Has he called the Canadian PM yet?”

“No.”

“And is the FBI en route to take us into custody?”

“Yes.” The general did not volunteer that involving the FBI had been his idea.

“And why do you think that is, Bill?”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Robert.” Why do we keep calling each other by name? Mutual respect? Or contempt?

“Of course it’s dangerous,” Pope retorted. “We’re looking for a loose nuke in the hands of madmen.”

“Suppose I talk the president into it. What’s your next move?”

“I won’t know until after I’ve had time to interrogate al-Rashid.”

“Interrogate him? Muhammad Faisal claims you stabbed him in the face with an ice pick! The surgeon says you could have killed him.”

“I don’t even begin to understand the relevancy of that,” Pope replied. “Faisal told us about the al-Rashids. They may know where to find the bomb. We’re following a very definite trail here, with no time to spare.”

“Never mind,” Couture said. “How do you plan to get off Grosse Ile and continue the mission? It’ll take an entire day to JATO equip the C-5 for short runway takeoff… if it can even be done.” JATO stood for jet-assisted takeoff.

“I’m finished with the C-5,” Pope said. “My Gulfstream is due to land here in half an hour. We’ll use that. Which reminds me… I’ll need you to authorize a refuel for it ASAP. This is a civilian airfield, and I don’t carry that kind of cash.”

Couture shook his head. “Anything else, Robert?”

“Yes. Call off the FBI, and tell the president there’s no need to contact the PM. Our people left no witnesses or bodies behind — just some blood from our wounded man.”

“I’ll see what I can do. No promises.”

“Thanks, Bill. I’ll wait to hear from you.”

Couture put down the phone and returned to Operations, where he retook his seat across from the president. “Mr. President, sir… I’ve just been informed that ST6/B has already taken one of the al-Rashid brothers into custody. He’ll be ashore on Grosse Ile within thirty minutes, so there won’t be a need to contact the prime minister after all. In light of this new development, it is now my professional opinion, Mr. President, that — purely in the interest of time — our wisest course of action might be to allow ST6/B to continue their mission.”

The president blinked once and sat gaping at him.