The Lance

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

Morning. The team gathered at the apartment. The smell of fresh coffee drifted across the room. The TV was on. Every station carried stories about the freak gas explosion at Greenwood's home that had killed the Vice President. After a few minutes Nick turned it off.

"Greenwood had everything on his computer," Stephanie said. She held up a disc. "It's all here. The Jerusalem bomb came out of Syria. Greenwood's son planted it at the Mosque. One of the council was Eric Reinhardt, the industrial magnate. His father wrote the diary you found on the sub. Reinhardt provided the explosives and the nuke in Tel Aviv."

"Where did he get it?" Lamont said.

"On the East European black market, one of those warheads that went missing after the Soviet Union collapsed."

"What else was on the computer?" Nick asked.

"They were plotting a coup. Rice was going to be assassinated. There was going to be an 'incident' in the Gulf of Hormuz, a casus belli pointing at the Iranians. Like the Tonkin Gulf in '64."

A North Vietnamese gunboat raid in the Tonkin Gulf provided the excuse President Lyndon Johnson needed to escalate the war in Vietnam. Nick thought it had been a set up. That war had bled the country for ten years and cost 58,000 American lives and more than a million dead Vietnamese. Greenwood and his Nazi Council had wanted to do it all over again, on a bigger scale.

Greenwood was dead, but the war he'd started was alive and well.

Nick tugged on his ear. "It's the proof Rice wanted. I don't know if anyone will believe it."

"Speaking of Rice, you're going to the White House again. He's sending a car. You can take this to him."

"I keep going over there, maybe he'll give me a spare key."

Stephanie gave him the disc.

"Does he know what's on it?"

"Yes."

"I wonder how he handled it? Freak gas explosion looks a lot better than what happened."

"If you find out, let me know."

The black Lincoln Rice sent took Nick to a rear entrance of the White House. A grim faced Secret Service escort took him to a workout room on the third floor. Rice was riding a stationary bike. He was dressed in sweat pants and a green tee shirt that said USMC across the front.

Rice got off the bike. He mopped sweat from his forehead with a towel and beckoned Nick over to a bench. His Secret Service detail stood a discrete distance away. Carter gave him the disc. There was tension in the room Nick hadn't felt on his previous visits.

"Tell me about it," Rice said.

Carter told him. Rice drank from a bottle of water. He sat for a moment, thinking.

"Do you know how the situation was sanitized, Carter?" It wasn't "Nick" today.

"No, sir."

"Wendell Lodge will become the next Director of the CIA."

He didn't need to say more. Nick thought it was a devil's bargain, like clasping a snake to your breast.

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir."

"Yes. However, it's done and my VP is an honored victim. I may get my second term, after all." He drank from the water bottle.

"Carter, you and your team have done a great service. You understand, I cannot acknowledge it."

"Of course, sir. We never considered that. I'll tell them what you said."

Rice set the bottle down. He looked frustrated. "Israel and Iran are at war. The Israelis took out the Iranian nuclear facilities at Natanz and Arak last night. They hit Qom as well. We're at DEFCON2."

Natanz was where the Iranians had most of their centrifuges for uranium enrichment. Arak was a heavy water plant. Aside from sheltering another enrichment plant, Qom was a holy city with a famous mosque. Because of that it was another Muslim flash point.

Nick kept quiet.

Rice continued. "The Iranians retaliated with missiles. No nukes, though, thank God. They still don't have them. There are heavy civilian casualties on both sides."

He mopped sweat from his face. "Two hours ago Israel fought an aerial battle over Lebanon and the Sinai against a combined strike of hundreds of planes sent by Syria, Iran, and Egypt. It was the biggest air battle since World War Two. The Israelis drove them off.

"The Saudis and the Turks have held back so far, which means we can still preserve an illusion of cooperation with them. They're our last hope for any kind of diplomatic solution in the Islamic world."

Rice paused.

"The Saudis stand to lose a lot if the war spreads. They cannot appear to compromise with us, but they're panicked. They're worried about Israeli nukes. They should be. I know Litzvak, the acting Prime Minister of Israel. He's a rabid Zionist, brought in by Ascher to placate the extremists. He'll use nukes if Israel is pressed too hard. Mecca and Riyadh are probably on top of his target list. He hates the Arabs."

Rice sipped from his water.

"Iran, Iraq and Syria have announced a pact of 'mutual military cooperation' and Iran is beginning to move troops and supplies across southern Iraq. They're setting up an invasion and using Iraqi airspace. Litzvak will never allow it to happen. He'll throw everything he's got at them."

"What are you going to do, Mr. President?"

Rice gave him a calculating look. "What would you do, Carter, if you were me?"

"Well, sir." He stopped. "Sir, it seems to me that you have two problems that combine to give you a third."

"Go on."

"There's the trigger event, the bombing at the Mosque. Then there's the underlying situation in the region. The hatred, the fanaticism, the religious beliefs. That's what's driving things now. Nothing you do can change that."

"You don't think reason will prevail." Rice's voice was flat.

"No, sir. I don't."

"You said three problems. You've defined two. What is the third?"

"The third is the war itself. If it can't be stopped by reason, it has to be stopped by emotion. The only emotion I can think of that's strong enough is fear. There's plenty of that already. I think you have to use that, find a way to, ah, encourage these governments to see it's in their own best interest to back off. Then sweeten it with something that lets everyone save face and claim they won something valuable for themselves and their people."

Rice smiled. "Encourage?"

"I always liked Teddy Roosevelt's philosophy."

"Speak softly and carry a big stick?"

"Yes, sir. If you can get some other big sticks to go along, maybe the combatants will listen."

"I can't reveal what really happened. You brought me the proof I asked for, but it can't be used. Someone must be held responsible for the bombing."

"Then I guess you'll have to make something up, Mr. President."

Rice looked at Nick as if he had just realized he was there.

"Perhaps you should consider a career in politics after all. You're suggesting I manufacture a bomber and a plot and sell it to the world."

Nick said nothing.

"I'll think about what you've said, Carter."

"I'm sure you'll find a way, Mr. President."

"That's what I like about you, Carter. Confidence." He stood up and Nick rose with him.

"I'm told that Director Harker will be unable to return to work for some time. In your opinion, is her deputy competent to take over?"

"Yes, sir. She's been with Harker since the beginning, she knows all the players. She's a good choice."

"You're sure you wouldn't like the job?"

"Stephanie will make a great Director, Mister President."

No way did he want the job. No way. He'd last about ten minutes in the political snake pit of the Capitol.

Rice nodded. "Then here's what I want you to do. I want both of you to assume leadership of the Project. Will you do that for me?"

"Sir…"

Rice held up his hand. "Don't say anything right now, Carter. Take some time off. Think about it."

"Yes, sir." What else was he supposed to say?

Rice stopped at the door. "I was supposed to be assassinated in Chicago today. It's a strange feeling." He looked at Nick. "Well done," he said. Then he was gone.

Nick left the White House. He wondered what the rest of the day would bring. He wished he was sitting on his cabin porch or maybe lying on the beach in Maui. Maybe he should resign. Maybe he would.

Years ago, he'd talk with Megan when he had a tough decision to make. She'd had a way of looking at things that helped him get his head straight. But Megan was gone. He'd talk it over with Selena.