Code Word: Paternity, A Presidential Thriller (10 page)

Happy to tweak the vice president,
Battista said, “Bruce, the North Koreans didn’t necessarily
do
this—they probably provided the bomb
to others.”

Christ!
thought Griffith,
she’s
so legalistic.
“Anne, we don’t know who actuall
y
detonated that bomb and
might never know. It would be disastrous to
focus only on the perpetrators. The world would conclude that there’s no
penalty for enabling terrorists to nuke us! We have to treat the North Koreans
just as if they planted the bomb and pushed the button. We can’t afford to make
a distinction between nations who provide WMDs and the individuals or groups
who use them.”

 
He
smiled bleakly. “We should announce that Las Vegas
was destroyed by North Korea.
That would
really
wrong-foot them!
Force them to make a case, if they can, that it was al-Qaeda or Hezbollah, or
whoever!”

Battista’s lip curled. “But that’s completely
contrary to the principles of our laws! We don’t hold the manufacturer of a
pistol responsible when someone uses it to kill a convenience store clerk.”

Griffith
rolled his eyes. “Anne, that law is
based on the premise—which I agree with—that society must and can stand letting
some otherwise preventable murders happen because some of the steps necessary
to stop them all are worse than the crimes. But now we’re talking about events
that our society
cannot
withstand. If
we can’t prevent nuclear attacks, America is done! And if we have to
prevent them solely by defensive measures, that also will destroy us—we’ve seen
what happens. We have to
deter
nuclear attacks, and only one side of the unholy partnership between nuclear
powers and terrorists can be deterred!”

The VP’s fist slammed the table.

This
has gone far enough!
thought Guarini. “OK, I take your points. This is going to be one hell of a
tough call for the president. I guess that’s why they play that fanfare when he
enters the room,” he said, referring to “Hail to the Chief” in an attempt to
cut the tension. It wasn’t successful, but he no longer feared Griffith might reach across the table and
start shaking the secretary of state by her Hermès scarf.

John Dorn made haste to end the
confrontation. “I’ll write this point up as a key pending issue requiring
further consideration. I think that will be all for now.” Fingers moving with
the dexterity of a bank teller, Dorn neatly stacked his papers, clipped them,
and retreated through the door, followed by Hendricks and Hitzleberger.

Hendricks paused at the threshold and
turned to Battista. “By the way, Anne, be sure your lawyers take into account
that the Korean War never ended. There’s a cease-fire, nothing more.” He
flashed a “gotcha” smile.

The
man is insufferable!
thought Battista. Then the vice president stepped toward her. “I’m sorry that I
got a little loud. But this really is critical—we can’t let North Korean off
the hook!”

“And we can’t beat them by being like
them!” said Battista, eyes boring into his. Griffith appeared ready to let fly, but
pulled himself up. “We’ll discuss this again, Madame Secretary.”

Guarini and
Battista were alone in the room.

“That man is
dangerous, Bart!”

“Maybe, but he might just be right. I
hate to sound like Dick Cheney, but Bruce reminded us that this really
is
an existential threat we’re facing.”

“You’ve changed,
Bart.”

“Probably. Working for the
commander-in-chief is a whole lot different than working for the chairman of
the Foreign Relations Committee.”

 
No way is Bart going to lecture me. I’ve been
with Rick as long as he has, hung in there when it seemed hopeless and
self-destructive to keep fighting Glenna Rogers.

“No shit,
Sherlock, but that doesn’t mean shelving your principles!”

“I’m not shelving them, but I have to
consider the cost of sticking to them!”

“Remember Lord
Acton, Bart?”

“Yeah—‘power corrupts and absolute power
corrupts absolutely.’

“Anne, he had a
good ear for a phrase, but, except for one lackluster term as MP, the guy never
accepted responsibility for anything other than his own well-being. I don’t
deny the aptness and even the wisdom of his observation. But I can’t forget
that it was made by someone living in a bubble protected by the immense power
of his class and the British Empire. He didn’t
find power corrupting when it was his! He
may
have been a reformer; for
sure
he was
a hypocrite. You should keep that in mind, Anne.”

Battista’s mouth flew open, a volcano’s
maw, then clamped shut as her eyes went from fiery to uncertain. She shut her briefcase
and stalked out.

What
brought that on?
she
thought.
Is the pressure too much for
Bart?

Chapter 18

An Army Compound
in Pakistan.

“Of course, the Americans are frantic to
get their hands on everyone who could possibly be implicated in the bombing or
help them find out who is.”

President Bahadar Sharif was speaking,
his eyes probing the group. “Two days ago I received a call from Martin. The
Americans want access to A. Q. He was polite but clear: if we do not grant them
access the consequences for Pakistan
will be as bad as he can make them. Martin gave me his version of Bush’s
declaration that those not with the U.S. are against it.”

The men sat around a table in a room as
full of tension as it was of cigarette smoke. They rarely gathered, this group:
the current and former political and military leaders of Pakistan. Some
had imprisoned or exiled others; some, or their fathers, had hung or blown up
close relatives. One had become president after others assassinated his wife,
whose father had been hung by his presidential successor. On this occasion, the
threat they felt was enough to make them put aside animosity, even hatred, and
accept the invitation of Pakistan’s
president to meet secretly.

One of Sharif’s predecessors, General
Pervez Musharraf, smiled bitterly. “At least
he
told you that.
I
got
that speech from a deputy secretary of state.”
  

The general who headed Inter-Servi
ce Intelligence, the ISI, said,
“The Americans are
naive, but they are powerful. They are confused, but they are dangerous. Even a
blind tiger can kill you, eventually, if you if are locked in his cage. Since
American nuclear missiles can reach anywhere on earth, we are locked in the
tiger’s cage.”

Looking around, Sharif said, “What do we
know and what is the worst we might not know?”

Musharraf said, “What we
know
is that al-Qaeda did this to avenge
bin Laden, or even if they didn’t, will happily bask in rumors that they did.
That some al-Qaeda leaders are still in Pakistan, where they have been
sheltered by certain of us for years. That our own, esteemed father of the
Muslim bomb, Dr. A. Q. Khan, ran a nuclear black market for over twenty years
and we don’t know the full extent of his customer list. That in response to far
less deadly attacks in 2001, the Americans decimated the leadership of al-Qaeda
and every group thought to be involved in the attack or potentially able to
launch new attacks. That in the process the Americans invaded and conquered two
countries, hanging the leaders of one of them.”

Musharraf felt their complete attention
now and gave a tight little smile.

“The worst we might
not
know is that A. Q. is directly linked to making the Las Vegas bomb. He denies
it, but of course he would, now. However, I can tell you that in 1999 I heard
that he was airlifting some irregular cargo to North Korea. I tried hard to find
out what it was but could not.”

The chief of staff of Pakistan’s army
said, “This is not 2001! The Americans have learned the costs and limits of the
power they are willing to use, their non-nuclear power. Even after losing tens
of thousands in the attack, President Martin has made
statements
less threatening than Volkov’s—and the Russians didn’t even
get bombed! What do we have to worry about, even if A. Q.
did
enable the Koreans to have nuclear weapons and they sold one to
al-Qaeda?”

Musharraf said, “You can
say
that, even after they easily
penetrated the heart of Pakistan
to assassinate bin Laden?”

“We knew the bird was there; he was in
our cage. We could pluck him out and hand him over to the Americans at the time
of our choosing. Who could have known bin Laden would be so careless, so
incompetent, as to allow couriers to lead the Americans to him?”

Musharraf looked at the group, shaking
his head, a teacher saddened by obtuse pupils: “What you have to understand
about the Americans is that they themselves do not know how bloody-minded they
are; or, at least, they‘re unable to acknowledge it. Because those idiots,
whoever they are, used a nuclear weapon, the world is in a new situation. Now,
the only resolution Americans will accept is the total destruction of the
individuals and countries they hold responsible. In the case of Korea–or
Pakistan–that can be done in about one hour, with less than a tenth of
America’s nuclear missiles.

“President Martin is giving speeches
about responding to this tragedy by building a safer world for all, but behind
him American anger is building. Before long, Martin will find himself
scrambling to catch up to the cowboys who want to find everybody who had a hand
in this and nuke them until they glow, as I believe their expression goes.”

“So,” said
Bahadar Sharif, “where does that leave us?”

“In great
danger,” said Musharraf.

The group was
quiet.

“So let’s preempt the cowboys!” said a
former head of the ISI, General Daud. “Let’s feed the blind tiger, so that it
won’t eat us. Let’s round up some Arabs and hand them to the Americans. And A.
Q., too! Th
at bastard lied to us
, Pervez, and
never shared the millions he got from being a nuclear peddler. I’m sure that
money is in Switzerland.
Let’s give him, too, to President Martin!”

Musharraf started to respond, but the
chief justice of Pakistan’s
supreme court said, “What about the reaction among the people if we do that?
There will be terrible unrest! A. Q. is a hero to our entire nation.”

“I for one don’t want to explain to Pakistan’s people why their government turned A.
Q. over to the Americans!” said the leader of Pakistan’s second-largest political
party. “A. Q. is old, sick, and rightly admired for giving us the bomb. Without
him, we’d have to cower every time those Indian bastards fart. The Americans
haven’t asked to take him, only to speak to him. If they do ask, then we
decide. No, let’s give them some Arabs, but not A. Q., at least not yet.”

Sharif looked at the others, saw
agreement. He said, “We in this room are the heart and soul of Pakistan. If we
are agreed in taking this step and each of us controls our followers, unrest
will be manageable.”

“How will you do
it?” asked Daud.

“That’s for my government to determine,”
responded Sharif. “But, I don’t mind telling all of you what I’m thinking.
We’ll give that greedy bastard A. Q. one chance to save his miserable skin: We
will require that the American interrogation be conducted in A. Q’s home, under
our supervision. If he is clever enough to avoid implicating himself, he stays
in Pakistan.
If he does not, we will let the Americans have him.

“Martin will be so grateful that, even if
it does turn out that A. Q. helped build that bomb, he’ll be willing to shield Pakistan.”

Bahadar Sharif
went around the table, and each man agreed. It was done. The group dispersed
rapidly, glad to be free of each other

Chapter 19

“Ella, I’ve been thinking about what I
said on the plane, about you wanting an eye for an eye. That was mean of me. I
apologize.”

Her look told
him she was glad for his apology but wasn’t going to let him off the hook.

They were together in the White House
family quarters but alone, each cocooned by festering anger. Rick knew Ella
wanted to talk about his dismissive words on the plane. He also knew she
wouldn’t bring it up. After a day of nonstop decision making, he felt as if he
couldn’t form even one more coherent sentence. But he knew continued silence
wasn’t an option.

 
“Rick, it’s not our disagreement: it’s the way
you handled it. You acted like I’m some hockey mom who doesn’t have a brain! I
have a law degree from Columbia,
for God’s sake, and my GPA was better than yours. I’m as smart as anyone on
that plane!”

He grimaced,
hands up in appeal. “I said I was sorry!”

She slammed her book shut. “I don’t think
you get my point, dammit! If you include me in meetings I’m going to express
opinions. I’m not going to sit there like a piece of arm candy. And if you dis
me again, I’m not just going to take it quietly! You know, Rick, you’re admired
for listening to all points of view. All, that is, except mine. It’s time you
started
hearing
me.”

“OK, OK—Uncle!”
he said, flashing his never-fail disarming grin.

“And you are
going to begin now!”

Rick groaned
inside. This conversation was a chasm between him and bed. “OK, what’s on your
mind?”

“As if you
didn’t know!”

“What?”

“An eye for an
eye.”

“What do you
mean?”

“I mean you can’t dismiss it. There’re
lots of Americans who think that’s the way to go when we find out who did this.
Maybe they’re not the people who voted for us, although I’ll bet some did, but
you’re going to have to engage their point of view. You can’t just look down
your nose at it and them. And you are going to have to do it
soon
.”

Rick’s eyes
dropped. “I know.”

“And you are going to have to consider it
seriously
. That call from Aaron
during the flight tells me we’ve figured out where the bomb came from—at least
as solidly as we can. You haven’t said anything and you don’t need to. It’s got
to be either North Korea or Iran, or, just maybe, Pakistan. None of the other nuclear
governments is so out of touch with reality as to run the risk or, like Pakistan, so
lacking control over their country.”

She looked into
his eyes. “What are you going to do, Rick?”

He held her
gaze. “What’s best for this country and the world.”

“Suppose what’s
best for this country isn’t what’s best for the world?”

“I’ll deal with
that if it plays that way.”

“Which comes
first?”

“This country,
of course—why do you ask?” he snapped.

“Just wanted to hear you say it! Rick, do
you realize that you haven’t once said ‘my country,’ or ‘our country’? That
seems disconnected to me, as if you’re some impartial judge.
Is
this about
your
country and
my
country?”

Rick shot to his feet as if her words
were electricity. “Ella, you’re being silly, like those people who think it
matters whether or not I wear a flag pin!”

“No, Rick, I’m
not! Answer my question.”

Her eyes felt
like searchlights probing for his soul. “All right.
Of course
this is about my country and your country!”

“Rick, you’re famous for your cool.
You’ve accomplished some amazing things because you stayed detached, didn’t get
caught up in emotions. I understand why you’re that way—you saw your parents
destroy each other with their anger. But remaining emotionally unattached also
means you can only draw strength from yourself, from that cool, quick, bright
intellect of yours, and from God.”

She glared. “You
with me?”

He nodded.

“Rick, could you order a nuclear attack
on North Korea or Iran? I don’t
mean do you have the authority, I mean could you
do
it?”

“Ella, it’s not
going to come to that.”

Her eyes
flashed. “Don’t duck the question, Rick!”

The searchlights
had found their target. He looked away, then back. “Tell me why I would do such
a thing, something that would make me as bloody as whoever set off that bomb,
as bloody as Saddam, as bloody as that butcher in Serbia!”

She flung her
right hand toward him. “How about your duty as president of the United States,
how about the oath you took to preserve, protect, and defend?”

Rick’s eyes
narrowed. “I didn’t agree to become a mass murderer when I took that oath!”

“What
did
you swear to do?”

He took a breath, exhaled slowly. “I
swore to preserve, protect, and defend the
Constitution
.
The Constitution is about life, about living freely—not about murder. There
will
be a way to do this without
becoming a murderer like the ones who destroyed Las Vegas!”

Ella sat up straighter, glanced at the
book in her lap, then said, “Rick, I pray you’re right. But this may reach a
point where there’s no way to protect the people of our country, except by
destroying the country—and its people—whose government is giving or selling
nukes to terrorists. And if that happens, you’ll need more than your intellect and
detachment. You’ll need at least some fraction of the feeling of belonging to
the tribe, the tribe of Americans, which led other Americans to endure torture
in Hanoi, to attack the men with box cutters
knowing it meant crashing their airliner, to endure the sickness and the terror
of Guadalcanal, and to stand sentry barefooted
in the winter of 1778.”

Then her words stabbed: “I don’t think
you have that feeling right now, Rick—you’d better begin working on it!”

Wonderful!
Rick thought, scowling.
You’ve just asked me to become part of
mankind’s greatest problem, tribalism. The tribe is
mankind,
not Arab or Jew, Korean or American!

He felt like countering with a zinger
, but Ella
had begun her diatribe by ordering him to
hear
her.
He knew he would lose her
respect and earn her anger if he tried to
brush by this moment, so instead he did something unusual: He spoke without
calculation or circumlocution.

“Ella, I’m not
sure if I can do that.” His face was troubled.

She stood,
facing him and taking his hands. “Tell me what you felt when Steve Nguyen
appealed to you.”

“That my soul is accountable to his soul
and the souls of his wife and kids, for making this come out OK.” He felt her
hands squeeze his.

“That’s a start.
What else did you feel?”

His eyes narrowed. “Rage. Nobody has the
right to do that to the people of this country, no matter what our differences
may be!”

“The people of
this country. Would those be
Americans
?
She smiled at him.

Smiling back he
said, “Yes—
Americans
.”

“OK. Keep thinking about them. Keep
thinking about those doomed, suffering
Americans
we watched wandering the no-go zone until they collapsed.”

All right, she thought.
He is strong enough to do this! I just have
to keep helping him break through his detachment, his damned
neutrality.
Suddenly she was bursting with tenderness for this good man who was facing a
decision so horrible that he could not yet acknowledge it.

Pulling him to her she said, “OK,
bedtime. You come wit’ me, sojer. I show you good time.”

Rick couldn’t
stay awake for the good time.

As she watched him sleep, Ella thought,
not for the first time since arriving in the United States, what an odd sense of
self many prominent Americans exhibited.

It’s
as if they think of themselves as people who happen to live in America, rather
than as Americans. Do they consider that because they “happen” to live here
their lives are longer, richer, safer than if they “happened” to live in the Congo or Yemen
or Sudan or . . . Mexico?

No, they show no sign of realizing that
their safety and freedom are not givens.

Are
they aware that if America
“happens” to become less secure, less wealthy, less free, their lives will
change for the worse? They don’t act like it. It’s as if they believe they have
only to click some “opt out” button. Observing their detachment, I think of
dinosaurs munching placidly, while their changing environment prepares to kill
them.