The Lions Of Lucerne

30

The White House situation room buzzed with noise, most of which came from Vice President Marshfield’s chief of staff, Edward DaFina. The VP had wasted no time moving himself and his people into the power positions in the White House, and DaFina had bullied anyone who resisted or resented the changing of the guard. He was a perfect example of a man who sought power solely to lord it over others.

Because of his background and top secret clearance, Harvath had been invited to attend a comprehensive tactical briefing with the general. He spent two hours listening to the general and his staff discuss the makeup of the JSOC team and the reliability of their intelligence. The insertion and extraction methods were reviewed, and as the team would be supported by Israeli intelligence, the makeup and components on that end were gone over as well.

Several recent security and communications enhancements at the White House made it possible to use the situation room as a command-and-control center for the mission. Using the sit room, as it was known, meant that not only could the vice president preside at the head of the table in the high-backed leather chair reserved for the president, but all of the players would come to him. The idea of getting the Washington establishment used to seeing him in power greatly appealed to Marshfield’s ego, and so he was adamant that the main command center for observing the operation be the White House.

The directors of the FBI, CIA, and Secret Service had grudgingly agreed, only with the caveat that NSA and CIA headquarters be kept available on open lines. If the satellite picture went down, the consensus among those truly in the know was that the White House’s redundant backup systems were not entirely fail-safe and might not be something to count upon.

As Harvath entered the sit room behind General Venrick, he quickly glanced around, assessing those assembled. The aforementioned directors of the various agencies were present, accompanied by their aides. JSOC brass who hadn’t shuttled to the Mediterranean to be on-site were in attendance. Harvath was well acquainted with several of those present, and he nodded in their direction as he caught their eyes. There were also other military and governmental personnel present whom no one bothered to introduce.

Scanning the long cherry-wood table, Harvath saw Gary Lawlor and at first thought the comment that rang out from that end of the room had come from him.

“What the hell is he doing here?” asked the voice.

As Scot focused upon a group of people who were not seated, General Venrick said, “I believe Agent Harvath can be of service to us in this operation, and I have asked him to join us.”

“From what I hear, the only person Agent Harvath seems to be of service to is himself, that is, when he is not being of service to CNN. And he was considered such an impediment that our own deputy director of the FBI had to have him removed from the case.” The man stepped away from the group and leaned on the far end of the table. Scot could see him clearly now, Edward DaFina.

Director Jameson piped up before anyone had a chance to respond. It was obvious that there was no love lost between the two. “That is all still under investigation, DaFina, and you know it.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but the Secret Service did succeed in losing the president, didn’t it? I mean, that’s why we’re all here, right?”

Scot had never been one to let others fight his own battles. “Chief of Staff DaFina, I personally knew every single one of the Secret Service agents who died trying to protect the president and his daughter. As a matter of fact, from what I saw in Park City, had I not been retasked to Goldilocks’s detail, there’s probably no doubt she and I would be among the dead as well. So considering that you have absolutely zero idea of what the Secret Service has been through and what we go through on a daily basis, I suggest you get to the point. If you have one.”

Gary Lawlor shook his head and began to massage his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He hadn’t been able to believe it when Harvath arrived with General Venrick and the Secret Service director. The kid had as many lives as a cat. Somehow, somewhere, someone had decided to cut him some more slack, but once again he was quickly hanging himself with it. Lawlor was still upset about what had transpired in Park City and was not going to stick his neck out to help defend the headstrong Secret Service agent anymore. Harvath was completely on his own as far as Lawlor was concerned.

“My point, Agent Harvath,” said DaFina, warming to the challenge, “is that you and your agency were charged with a task and you failed. Failed miserably, I might add. To compound the damage, you tampered with no less than three related crime scenes and, until I am convinced otherwise, leaked sensitive information to the press. That is my point.”

“This is a bunch of bullshit,” said the general. Anyone who had sheepishly been listening to the exchange, pretending not to hear it, now turned his or her eyes toward the man who had drawn himself to his full height. “None of this has any bearing on why we’re all here. We have asked Agent Harvath to come along because of his vast antiterrorist experience and in the hopes that as one of the sole survivors of the kidnapping, he might be able to help us shed more light on what we are facing and what we will do going forward.”

“‘Going forward’?” asked DaFina. “General, you don’t sound as if you believe this operation tonight will be successful. Why is that?”

“Why is that? It’s because we haven’t had sufficient time to gather the appropriate intelligence to mount an effective recovery.”

“General, when this whole thing blew, were you or were you not involved in our strategic assessment meeting?”

“I was, but-”

“General, you were the one person who advocated moving as fast as we could as soon as we had reliable information to act upon-”

“Mr. DaFina, that’s the last time you are going to interrupt me. As far as what I said, you seem to have ignored the fact that the word I used was reliable.”

Unfazed, DaFina continued, “General Venrick, I don’t know how much more specific you need your information to be. One of the kidnappers, a freelance Middle Eastern sniper who often worked for pro-Palestinian liberation groups, was found dead at the scene. We received proof that some organization does indeed have the president, and then they asked for the release of two Islamic terrorists with suspected FRC connections who are being held in this country. When their ransom demand was phoned into the FBI, we were able to pinpoint where it came from. What more do you need?”

“What more does he need?” interjected Harvath. “For starters, how about intelligence that the phone that was used is actually in the same location the president is being held?”

“Agent Harvath,” said DaFina, “I don’t really care for your opinion, but I’ll answer you anyway. The Israeli Mossad has assets throughout Lebanon and in particular the area we’re concentrating on. The Syrian government also has its sources-”

“The Syrians?” It was now the CIA director’s chance to interject. “You contacted the Syrians without consulting with my office first?”

“First of all, Director Vaile, it was Vice President Marshfield who contacted the Syrian president, and secondly, I hardly think-”

“No kidding,” said Harvath.

DaFina glared at Harvath, and the CIA director took the opportunity to continue his attack. “You have absolutely no idea what you are doing. This whole operation may have been compromised.”

“Director Vaile, the vice president and I are confident that the participation of the Syrians and the Israelis can only help this endeavor.”

“Jesus,” said Harvath. “That’s it, isn’t it? Not only will the vice president look good if he can get the president back, but a U.S.-Israeli operation that involves the Syrians could go a long way on the world stage in helping to begin mending their fences. You and Marshfield are going to squeeze as much political juice out of this thing as you can.”

“Agent Harvath, you are way out of line,” barked DaFina.

“Am I? I don’t think there’s a person in this room who isn’t well aware that the president seriously doubts whether he will run for a second term. This whole thing stinks. This is a half-assed game to you, and you’re asking good men to put their lives on the line for it.”

“Agent Harvath, you sound as if you don’t want the president to be recovered,” continued DaFina.

“What I want is for the president to be recovered, but with no further American lives lost in the process.”

“A commendable goal that I think we can all agree with. Good evening all,” said Vice President Marshfield as he strutted in.

A chorus of “Good evening, Mr. Vice President” rang throughout the sit room. The assembled men and women took their places around the table, and as expected, the vice president sat at the head in the chair that had always been reserved for the president himself.

“Gentlemen,” the vice president began, “I know we are on a tight schedule, so I think it’s best if we turn this over right away to General Venrick, commander of the Joint Special Operations Command. General?”

The general stood. “Thank you, Mr. Vice President. As you all know, the intelligence we have been able to gather thus far indicates that the president was taken hostage by the Abu Nidal organization, the Fatah RC, to be ransomed in exchange for Egypt’s unfreezing certain assets and the return of the Disneyland bombers. Our attempts at gaining further intel as to the health and well-being of Abu Nidal, the group’s supposed leader, have been unsuccessful. What we do know is that the call the FBI received from the kidnappers was traced to a building south of Beirut outside the town of Saïda, or Sidon, as it is better known, on the Lebanese coast of the Mediterranean Sea.

“According to intelligence provided by the Israelis, this building is believed to be tied to the FRC organization, though further information than that is not available, which is troubling.”

“Troubling?” said the vice president, raising his eyebrows, his hands crossed in front of him.

“Yes, sir,” continued General Venrick. “The only surveillance of the building we have been able to run is via satellite, which took us longer than we would have liked due to retasking and getting it into an alternate orbit. While the Mossad does have assets in and around Sidon, there has not been proper time to conduct full-fledged surveillance.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, General, but you were the one who said we needed to strike fast if we were to have any chance of getting the president back,” said the vice president. Chief of Staff DaFina leaned back in his chair with a smug look of satisfaction and stared at the general, daring him to defy the vice president.

“Yes, sir, I did say that, but-”

“Are you having second thoughts, General? I am sure you would agree with me that this is a time for action and not indecision,” said the vice president.

“I do agree, sir, but going off half-cocked can result in the loss of not only lives on our recovery team, but also the president’s, if he is actually in that building.”

“You have doubts as to whether the president is actually there? Why didn’t you bring these to my attention earlier?” said the vice president, knowing full well why the general had not been able to communicate his concerns.

“Mr. Vice President, I tried to contact you several times, but Chief of Staff DaFina told me you were busy and that he would have you get back to me.”

Marshfield looked at DaFina. “Is this true?”

Feigning contrition, DaFina said, “Mr. Vice President, the past forty-eight hours have been absolute turmoil for all of us. If the general was having trouble getting through, I don’t know why he didn’t come to the White House to share these feelings with you in person.”

Incredulous, the general answered, “Number one, I figured if I couldn’t get him on the phone, I certainly wasn’t going to be able to get in to see him here, and number two, I had an operation to assemble.” Turning his attention back to the vice president, he continued, “Sir, even with our most sophisticated technology, the building in question has not offered even the slightest clue as to who or what might be inside.”

“And this troubles you because…?” asked the vice president.

“It troubles me because our men will be going in blind. They don’t know how many terrorists are inside or where the president is being kept, if he’s there at all.”

“Are we going to go through this again?” asked DaFina, pretending to be exasperated.

The vice president silenced DaFina with a wave of his hand. “General, do you have any information that suggests that the president is not being held at this location?”

“No, sir, but by the same token we don’t have enough to suggest that he is either. After lengthy discussion with my staff as well as Agent Harvath-”

“Agent Harvath?” asked the vice president. “Is he now a member of the Joint Special Operations Command?”

“No, sir, but his past experience in counterterrorism and JSOC coordinated operations I think more than qualifies him to-”

The vice president raised his hand, this time indicating that he wished for the general to be silent. “Agent Harvath, do you have something you wish to add to this, because I’m sure we would all be very interested to hear it, considering everything that has happened already.”

Ignoring the vice president’s sarcasm, Harvath stood as the general retook his seat. “Thank you, Mr. Vice President. I have to admit that I am in agreement with the general.”

“And why is that?”

“There are a lot of pieces in this puzzle that don’t make sense. We think we are making progress, when the truth is, the kidnappers are three steps ahead of us. They have anticipated every move we make and are ready for it. With the level of sophistication we have seen on their part, I find it suspicious that they allowed the ransom call to be traced.”

Lawlor’s head tilted almost imperceptibly to the left as he pondered the implications of what Harvath had just said.

“And you enlightened General Venrick with your wisdom?” asked the vice president.

“Everything except my opinion about the trace.” Not wanting to admit that his constant headache might be affecting his judgment, Scot offered his excuse for not having come up with this insight earlier. “It wasn’t until I arrived here that this piece of information fell into place. It just doesn’t feel right.”

“‘Doesn’t feel right’? You want me to forgo maybe the only chance we have to get the president back because it doesn’t feel right? Agent Harvath, despite your feelings, do we have any information that indicates the president is anywhere else?”

“No, sir.”

“And have you thought about what kind of situation we might be in if we pass up this chance tonight and the president is moved tomorrow to another location from which the kidnappers do not make any further phone calls that can be traced?”

“No, sir.”

“And even if the recovery team does not find the president at this location tonight, have you thought about the intelligence we might be able to gather if we are able to take into custody any operatives of the Fatah organization who might have some connection to the kidnapping?”

“No, sir,” said Harvath for the third time. He could see exactly where the vice president was going with this reasoning. It was drastically flawed, but as he was the acting commander in chief, there was no way he could be overridden, no matter how many holes there were in his plan. The deck had been stacked against Harvath and General Venrick, but it had been used to make a house of cards. It wouldn’t take much to topple it, but by that time it would be too late.

“Agent Harvath, as far as I can tell, you have not thought this mission and its consequences out in their entirety. We proceed as planned,” ordered the vice president.

Choking on a response that would only have gotten him in deeper trouble and surely thrown out of the sit room, Scot sat back down. He reached for the carafe in front of him, poured a glass of water, and popped two more Tylenols. This was going to be a very long night.