Weapons of Mass Deception

CHAPTER 15

Going to Sine’s Irish Pub the night before the election had been a mistake.

Don scanned the packed bar from his high-top table. Already he’d had to fend off three guys who wanted to take the empty chair opposite him. He flagged the waitress down.

“I’ll have another. Harp,” he said, holding up his empty glass. She eyeballed the empty chair and the standing-room-only bar. “And I’ll have a grasshopper for my friend.”

Don had only a vague idea what a grasshopper was, and no idea if Liz would drink one, but at least the waitress would know he was meeting someone. She raised her eyebrows in a “whatever” expression and pushed back into the crowd.

Sine’s was the place for happy hour on Pentagon Row. People from all over the government circle migrated here for drinks after work, and no small amount of deals were done over beers at Sine’s.

But not tonight. It was all about the election tonight. The Republicans smelled blood in the water and the Democrats were already making apologies for “off-year election” results. The TV over the bar had the sound muted — not that Don could have heard it over the din — and was showing a graphic of election issues: jobs, economy, healthcare, the list went on. Afghanistan was number ten and Iraq wasn’t even on the list. The surge was over, troops were coming home, and the public had moved on. Out of sight, out of mind.

Don wished she would get back with that beer. This afternoon’s briefing had been a complete disaster. With the off-year election looming, the only thing less interesting than Iraq to the Washington establishment was Iran, and his briefing had been on the Iranian nuclear threat. The admiral had sent his aide and the CIA guy hadn’t even shown up. Not that he’d had that much to tell them anyway. The Iranians certainly had the wherewithal to go into the nuclear weapons business, he just didn’t have any evidence that they actually were doing it.

He spied Liz in the crowd. She was jumping, trying to see over the taller people as she looked for him. Don half-stood on the rungs of his chair and waved to her with both hands.

Liz squeezed between two fat lobbyist-looking guys fawning over a middle-aged man who looked vaguely familiar, like Don had seen him on TV before. She hugged him fiercely, and Don felt her powerful shoulders under his hands.

Liz had matured since he’d seen her last. Her dark hair was longer, and pulled back into a silver barrette at the nape of her neck. Her features had sharpened into a square jaw and defined cheekbones that set off her dark eyes and the slight hook of her nose. She wore a dark blue suit that flattered her blocky frame.

The waitress arrived with his drinks. Her eyebrows went up again when she saw Liz was there. “One Harp.” She dropped the beer in front of Don. “And for the lady,” she said, placing the martini glass filled with green liquid on Liz’s side of the table. “That’ll be fifteen.”

Don dropped a twenty on her tray. “Keep the change.”

Liz waited until the waitress moved away before she leaned across the table. “What is this?” she asked.

Don flushed. “It’s a grasshopper. I thought you might like it…”

Liz leaned all the way over and planted a kiss on his cheek. “It’s perfect, Don. Thank you. It’s been awhile since a man bought me a drink.”

He knew she was just saying that, but it felt good all the same. The lobbyists noticed the kiss and Don sat up straighter in his chair, sucking in his gut a little.

“What do you mean?” he asked, pointing to her engagement ring, a two-carat beauty in a platinum setting. “I thought you were engaged.”

Liz held out her hand, staring at the ring for a long moment. “Oh, I am. James is a dear. Our families have known each other since we were kids.” Her voice trailed off.

“How long have you been engaged, Liz?”

Her brow knit together, and she pursed her lips. “Three years and change, I guess.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s a great guy. A dentist, maxillofacial surgeon, actually. He just got back from a trip to South America where he fixed cleft palates for indigenous people. He’s a great guy.”

“So when’s the wedding?”

Liz blew out her breath and took sip of her drink. “It’s complicated, Don. James’s work keeps him busy and my deployment and training at Quantico keeps us apart.” She brightened and sat up. “Oh, but I have news. I’m getting transferred to LA when my training’s done. I got a slot at the JTTF. James went to school there and has lots of friends. It’s perfect for us.”

“Joint Terrorism Task Force, huh? I thought maybe you’d go for something in the Midwest, maybe Minneapolis… that’s where Brendan’s from, you know.”

Liz avoided his eyes as she sipped her drink. “Have you heard from Bren lately?”

Don leaned forward. “Liz, what’s stopping you two? You were perfect together at the Academy and then it all just fell apart.” He paused when he saw Liz’s eyes start to fill up with tears — he’d never seen Liz cry before. He held up his hands. “Look, it’s none of my business, but you two should—”

“Riley!” The voice that cut him off made Don want to scream. Clem Reggins slammed his drink down on their table, spilling a little in the process. He positioned his arms on the high-top so his tanned biceps curved at just the right angle. He leered at Liz. “Are you going to introduce me, Riley?”

The only thing worse than Clem Reggins was a drunk Clem Reggins, and he seemed well on his way to drunkdom already. Clem snagged the waitress’s arm as she passed by. “I’ll have another Jack and Diet Coke — make sure it’s Diet, babe — and whatever these two are having.” He pulled a wad of bills from his pocket and peeled off a twenty. He dropped it on her tray. “If you make it back before I finish this one, there’s more where that came from.” He watched the waitress’s ass as she plunged back into the crowd.

He turned back to Don and Liz. “Where were we? Oh, yeah, Riley was going to introduce me to this lovely lady.” He raised his eyebrows at Don, and winked at him with the eye that Liz couldn’t see.

Don gritted his teeth. “Liz, this is Clem Reggins, my boss at NCPC. Clem, Liz, an old friend.”

Liz extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Clem.”

Clem gripped her fingers and flexed his pecs at Liz. He bent over to kiss her hand. Liz tried to extract her hand but Clem hung on. Don felt the table shift as Liz’s foot kicked out. Clem’s eyes bugged out for a second, and he released Liz’s hand.

She covered her mouth. “Oh, I am so sorry. Was that you?”

Clem’s jaw was set as he breathed through the pain. “No problem. Coulda happened to anyone.”

Don hid his laugh by downing the rest of his beer.

Clem clenched his drink in his hand and took a long sip. “So, did Riley tell you about his shitty afternoon? What a shit storm of a briefing, am I right, Riley? Nobody gives a flying fuck about Iranian nukes anymore. And when you started in on the legend of the rogue nukes, I thought the admiral’s aide was going to puke right on the table. Whatever possessed you to bring that up?”

Clem’s tirade was cut short by the arrival of the waitress. She dropped another beer in front of Don, a replacement grasshopper for Liz, and another Jack and Coke for Clem.

“This is Diet, right?” The waitress nodded, lingering at the table for the promised tip.

“I only drink Diet,” Clem continued. He flexed his arms at her. “This body is a temple.”

“I can see that,” the waitress replied. “And it looks like I replaced the temple drink before your last one was gone. You said there was more…”

Clem pulled the wad of bills from his pocket and peeled off another twenty. “Here ya go.” He held onto the bill as she tried to grab it. “But it’s gonna cost you.”

The waitress let go. “What?”

“Your number.” Clem winked at Don. “You give me your digits and I’ll give you the twenty.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll pass.” The waitress walked away, leaving their empty glasses on the table.

Clem turned back to them with a laugh. “That line usually works for me. What a bitch.” He spied someone across the room. “Excuse me, Riley and Lisa. I believe I have a date with destiny.” His bodybuilder frame seemed loosely jointed as he pushed away from the table and into the crowd.

Liz looked at Don with wide eyes. “That’s your boss?”

Don nodded.

“Holy shit.”

Don nodded again. “Shit being the operative word.”

Liz shook her head, and raised her glass. “To the good guys. That was not one of them.”

Don clinked his glass with hers and drank deeply. He cleared his throat, intending to get back to the topic of Brendan, but Liz was too quick for him.

“So what was all that talk about rogue nukes?” she asked.

Don laughed and shook his head. “It’s just something I can’t seem to let go of.”

“Tell me.”

Don knew she was just avoiding the obvious conversation, but what the heck, it might be good to talk to someone else about it. He leaned across the table and dropped his voice.

“You remember all the press about WMDs before the Iraq War?”

Liz nodded.

“We were sure Saddam Hussein had nukes,” Don continued, “and there was a good reason for it. We know he bought centrifuges from the Soviet Union in the ’70s and was producing weapons-grade material at Osirak, before it was destroyed by the Israelis in ’81. He had the material, he had the scientists, he had the time — but we never found anything.”

Liz took a sip of her drink and raised her eyebrows. “Well, finish the story. Where did they go?”

Don laughed. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be working for that asshole.” He jerked his thumb in the direction Clem had gone.

“Okay, where do you think they went?”

Don glanced around the bar. No one was looking at them, and the two beers already in his belly gave him a confident feeling. “Iran.”

Liz sat back. “Iran? I don’t get it — didn’t Iran and Iraq fight a war in the ’80s?”

Don nodded. “Yeah, but they also have a history of working together. In the First Gulf War, when Saddam Hussein’s air force was getting pounded by coalition forces, he flew every single plane to Iran for safekeeping.” Don made air quotes with his fingers. “And the Iranians kept ’em all. War reparations, they called it.”

Liz gave a low whistle. “You’re really into this, Don. Okay, keep going. How does this link to the mystery nukes?”

Don blushed. “Well, my theory is that Saddam did the same thing with his nukes. He gave them to Iran for safekeeping. Unfortunately, he’s dead, his sons are dead, and anyone who might have known about the program or the exchange is either dead or not talking.”

“So you gave up on the trail?”

Don laughed. “Liz, you have no idea what DC is like. If you even mention Iraq and WMDs in the same sentence, anybody who’s anybody will run from the room. It’s a toxic subject. Guys who were there when it all went down tell me that for the first year in Iraq, that’s all anyone did was look for WMDs, anything to justify the invasion. But when they didn’t find them, it became the topic no one wanted to touch.”

“Except you.”

Don touched his mug to the edge of her martini glass. “Except me.”