The Scorpion's Gate

14

“Thank you so much, for the briefings and the tour of the ship— for everything, Mr. Secretary,” the Egyptian minister of defense said as he walked down the red carpet on the deck, toward the awaiting V-22 Osprey. “We are doing the right thing. And I know, when the time comes, my President will do the right thing, too. And you and I will be ready to carry out his instructions.” The Egyptian stopped and placed his hand on Secretary Conrad’s arm. “We cannot let these people in Islamyah think they can change regimes and replace rulers with religious fanatics and terrorists. We should never have let this happen. We should have acted sooner, but now, with your help, we can correct this mistake and restabilize the region. Inshallah.” He stood back, saluted the Secretary, and climbed into the big vertical-liftoff aircraft.

Conrad, wearing a Navy flight jacket, returned the salute and then walked back inside the ship before the big rotors started to turn, creating a strong prop wash across the entire carrier deck. The Secretary was escorted to the CIC and to a small conference room just off the floor of the war room. “Well, I thought that went well, Ron,” Conrad said as he shut the door.

Under Secretary of Defense Ronald Kashigian had been alone, waiting for his boss. “We’ll see. When he tells President Fouad that we’re going in to stop the chaos and to stop the Iranians, then we will know if we have Egyptian troops with us. Not before.”

“Ron, it’s critical that we have another Arab state going in with us. A big one, not some little pissant sandhill,” Conrad said as he sat down at the little table. “How’s the press play on the dogfight fuckup?”

Kashigian handed him a pile of printouts. “Actually, quite good. Not what we wanted.The Iranians all got shot down, amazingly. But I think it adds to the impression of instability in Islamyah. The Pilots’ Revolt, that’s how the Chicago Courier headlined it. What bothers me is how it got screwed up. I can’t believe that Islamyah’s air defense system was that good. All the intelligence briefings I got said—”

“Christ! How many times do I have to tell you that you can’t believe intelligence!” Conrad said, throwing the papers back at his subordinate. “But it worked, well enough. Now, what else can go wrong?”

“Well, let’s see. The Saud princes leave Los Angeles and Houston tonight and fly forward to Geneva. The rioting in the Shi’a neighborhoods in the Eastern Province in Islamyah should begin tonight, and then Tehran will hold a big rally tomorrow afternoon to protest the persecution of the Shi’a in Islamyah. They have stood down their air and naval forces to get them ready for the assault. Our fleet has just about left the Gulf, so you need to sign out the order to Adams formally modifying his mission from Bright Star to setting up a picket line to block the Chinese… ” Kashigian went down a timeline and checklist in a black leather folder. “Has the President signed the order yet to intercept the Chinese ships with the troops and the nukes?”

Conrad looked up with a disgusted grimace. “No, the President hasn’t signed the order yet,” he said, mimicking Kashigian. “Goddamn lawyers in the White House are debating whether it’s an act of war. Of course it’s an act of war! So what? I’ll order it myself if it comes to that. National Command Authority, right?”

“Yeah, but I thought we wanted to save that card in case you have to, shall we say, spontaneously decide to go in to Saudi to stop the Iranians, after their landings,” Kashigian said.

“Stop the Iranians from spreading across from the enclave they will have on the Gulf side, but also to stop the chaos in Jeddah and Riyadh, which will be threatening Westerners,” Conrad added.

“Right, although I don’t know how much evidence we will actually have of any chaos there to show anybody,” Kashigian admitted.

“Evidence? This is not a court of law!” Conrad pounded the table. “The press will report it, if we say it.”

The two men sat for a moment, looking at the map of the region on the wall in the small room. “What else…” Conrad thought out loud.

“There’s that guy MacIntyre from IAC, who has been snooping around,” the Under Secretary replied.

“Nah,” Conrad scoffed. “He’s a pipsqueak.”

“Our Special Forces will seize the oil infrastructure right away to prevent any destruction. We want to get the production up and going to us directly again as fast as possible. But that oughta work. Let’s see, what else? I’m not confident about this guy Adams in Fifth Fleet,” Kashigian suggested. “I’ve had Counterintelligence checking on him, too.”

“Oh, I know you aren’t happy with him, but I met with him on the plane. He’s fine. Good Navy officer. Wants to be a CinC someday. He’ll handle the Chinese,” the Secretary assured Kashigian.

“What if they don’t want to be handled?” the Under Secretary asked.

“They are in way over their head and they know it. The admiral, Tian-something, the Australian source, says that if it comes to a possible shooting war, they will back down because they don’t want to lose to us. Face, and all that. And right now they would lose. Maybe not in ten years, but, shit, they only just started with carriers a few years ago. They can’t take on the United States Navy. And besides,” Conrad said, stroking his chin, “remember, I have a surprise for them.”

“Let’s hope Tian-something is right, Mr. Secretary.” Kashigian smiled back. “I just don’t like to ever believe intelligence.”

“Fuck you,” said the Secretary of Defense.

“I have confirmation on almost all of it now, Ray, and it all checks out, from what Ahmed gave me,” Kate said into the cell phone. “I’m about to meet a guy from Dominion Commonwealth Partners who is going to give me more.” She sat in the rented Ford in the parking lot off the parkway, looking down at the Potomac.

“Who’s the guy?” Ray Keller, managing editor of the New York Journal, asked. He was in his office on the 42nd floor, looking out on Manhattan.

“When I went out to Tysons Corner to this hedge fund’s office, they sent out this flack to deal with me. I didn’t get past reception, but I gave the flack my card. Then, two hours later, he calls and says he couldn’t talk there, but he has the answers to the questions I faxed them. Said he would meet me after work at the Second Overlook and give me the files,” she said, scanning her notes on her PowerBook.

“Well, at least he’s got a sense of the dramatic, or humor.” Keller laughed. “You do know that the Second Scenic Overlook was where some of the Watergate figures met Tony Ulasciewicz?”

Kate laughed, too. “No, I didn’t know that. But I know it’s just down the parkway from Turkey Run. Isn’t that where the conspiracy theorists say that Bill Clinton killed Vince Foster? Nut jobs.”

“Yeah, which reminds me, be careful. This is big stuff and I don’t like that your hotel room was broken into down in Houston, or that you thought those thugs were following you up here,” Keller said, using his deeper tone, which meant he was serious.

“Now who’s being dramatic?” she replied. “Listen, I want four columns above the fold when this runs. Here’s the first four ’graphs.” Kate read from the laptop, which was plugged into the car’s outlet,

Ray Keller responded with his usual line to reporters. “That’s close, Kate, but it’s going to need some polishing. When will you be back?”

“By the time I’m done with this source tonight, it may be too late to get the last shuttle up to New York. I haven’t even checked out of the Marriott yet, so I’ll come up first thing in the morning. Be in the office around eleven. See you then,” Kate said, stretching and realizing how tired she was from jet lag and all the running around she had done since she returned from the Gulf. A Park Police car drove slowly through the parking lot. She looked to her right, where, in the distance through the bare trees, she could see the Washington Monument, brightly lit, standing guard over America’s capital city.

But, Kate thought, it is really an active, investigating, questioning media that guards the capital against people like Conrad. Against people who put the welfare of their rich friends over the national good, people who would so easily send the children of the poor and middle class off to fight their wars instead of trying to solve the problems that cause the wars. Like the failure to find alternative energy. God, she thought, if I wrote that, they’d fire me. Her reflections on power were broken by flashing headlights in her mirror.

Kate Delmarco turned around to get a good look at the car. That was the car he had said he would be in, the gold Lexus.

She was about to get the proof that Dominion Commonwealth Partners was a hedge fund with twenty investors, all of whom ultimately were funded, through layers of fronts, by a Saudi government account. And every employee at DCP had made big donations to the same set of political action committees within a week of a special dividend distribution. If that isn’t foreign financing of a U.S. election campaign, she thought as she got out of the Ford, I don’t know what is.

Her blood raced in anticipation as the man got out of the Lexus.

“I will leave you here,” the Pasdaran general said.

“You do not participate in the prayers enough, General,” the cleric said, changing into a robe for the service he would lead.

“There is much still to be done,” he replied, tightening the lacing on his boot. “But you saw in the tour, they are ready to go into this battle, they are well trained and equipped.”

“I cannot judge such things.” The cleric’s voice was soft and his tone mild, unlike what it would be when he gave the sermon later in the hour. “That is why I place my trust in you. Just as I trusted our airplanes would perform their secret mission: kill the Americans, cast blame on Islamyah, and return home.”

The general straightened up, standing tall above the cleric. “It was a minor piece of the puzzle. It did not work perfectly, but the Americans are telling the world that it was a revolt in the Islamyah Air Force, a further sign of the chaos in that country. When the explosions take place in the Shi’a cultural centers in Islamyah tonight, it will add to the chaos, to the persecution of our religious brethren, whom we must then rescue.”

The cleric looked up from the Koran that was open on the table. “The American Navy base in Bahrain did not blow up. The American spy plane was not shot down. Both because Islamyah stopped them from happening. Have you thought that perhaps Islamyah has a spy in our midst, General?”

The general had not told him about the discovery made by the Foreign Ministry security staff. About the man who had downloaded sensitive documents, killed two security staff, and then committed suicide. The fingerprints they had found were those of a British spy, who was still at large. Not of a spy from Islamyah.

“I can assure you that we have looked very hard and that there is no evidence of any such Islamyah spy,” the general said in a crisp military way.

The cleric moved toward the door of the anteroom. He adjusted his robes and placed the Koran in his right hand. He turned back toward the general. “I must pray for our forces. I must pray with our forces. For Allah to give us another victory!” With that, the cleric left the room, empty except for the general.

“We shall have another victory,” the general said. “I will give us that.”