The Camel Club

him. It now appeared clear that neither the Sharia Group nor Syria had had anything to do with the abduction. In the colder light of reason the Sharia Group had no assets in the United States capable of having orchestrated such a scheme. The body of one of the group’s leaders had been found, and the man had obviously died of torture. And no one had explained how so many skilled Arabs could have infiltrated the United States with America’s intelligence sector having no record of any of them.

Damascus was still in shambles, but not nearly as bad as it would have been if the Trident had hit it. The Syrians and the rest of the Middle East were still understandably shell-shocked, but it seemed that with the world so close to the abyss people were looking at things with a more cooperative eye. It remained to be seen if this mood had permanence, though.

Vice President Hamilton had taken some time off from his official duties. Coming within a second of being the first American president since Harry Truman to order the use of a nuclear bomb was more pressure than any person should have to bear, and it had taken its toll on the man. However, Hamilton was expected to make a full recovery.

Brennan had been astonished to learn that the kidnappers had died nearly to a man while intentionally not inflicting any casualties on the United States. While he was still contemplating this stunning news, the president watched a recording of one of his favorite political roundtable shows that had been broadcast while he was still missing. Each of the four pundits on the show concluded that what was going on was a trick of some sort.

“And if the president is delivered back safely?” the moderator asked.

All of the pundits said that that would be another trick of some sort.

“With what goal in mind?” the moderator asked. “They sacrificed over twenty people. They could have killed the president quite easily at any time. And if they return him safely, what have they gained?”

“You have to understand, these people will stop at nothing,” one of the pundits declared. “First they tried killing us. But that didn’t work. We fought back and are winning the war on terror. So they’ve clearly changed tactics.”

“And now they’re trying the ploy of not killing us?” the bewildered moderator asked.

“Precisely,” the smug pundit answered.

Brennan had received a copy of the kidnappers’ demands and spent a long time in his private quarters going over them. He also reviewed with horror the details of how close the U.S. had come to launching a nuclear strike against a nation that, it turned out, was innocent of the alleged wrongdoing. While Brennan praised his vice president publicly, he was shocked when he learned how quickly Hamilton had been persuaded to authorize the use of nuclear weapons and how close he’d come to launching one. Brennan was now thinking seriously of other VP candidates.

He held lengthy meetings with his various experts in Muslim affairs and other Western leaders and spent long hours with his wife and family. He went to church several times in one week, perhaps seeking divine advice for the secular problems of humankind.

Now that the president was safely back, the international press started to report more openly about the kidnappers’ demands. Throughout the capitals of Europe, South America and Asia, people were actually focusing more on the substance of the demands, since, for once, they didn’t have an accompanying pile of human bodies and rubble to overshadow them.

Finally, Brennan called a meeting of his cabinet, his National Security Council and his top military advisers. There he brought up his abductors’ demands.

His national security adviser immediately protested. “Sir,” the NSA said, “it’s absurd. We can’t comply with any of them. It’s beyond preposterous.”

Secretary of Defense Decker spoke up. “Mr. President, to even consider those demands is a sign of weakness on behalf of this country.”

Brennan’s response was terse. “We came within seconds of killing six million people on what turned out to be deeply flawed evidence.”

“We didn’t start this thing. And there’s always risk involved,” Decker countered.

Brennan stared the man down. “We are the world’s sole remaining superpower. We have a nuclear arsenal capable of destroying the world. Even if others don’t show restraint, we have to!”

The way Brennan was looking at Decker, it was clear a new secretary of defense would be joining a new vice president in Brennan’s second administration.

Brennan pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket. It was the note that had been found on him after the kidnapping. He read it to himself. “From great sacrifice comes great opportunity.” And as history had shown and Brennan well knew, great presidents were often created during such times.

He turned away from Joe Decker and his Pentagon folks and looked at Andrea Mayes, his secretary of state.

“I think it’s time we got to work,” President Brennan said.

CHAPTER

70

JACQUELINE SIMPSON WAS LAID TO rest in a private service at a cemetery in northern Virginia. In attendance were her grief-stricken parents, close family friends, political dignitaries, representatives of the Secret Service and her godfather, Carter Gray.

Nearby but hidden behind a copse of trees stood Oliver Stone, wearing a brand-new black suit and tie that his friends had purchased for him. As the minister spoke words of religious wisdom and comfort, Stone didn’t hear them. His gaze was transfixed on the coffin that held his daughter, Beth. He didn’t cry. He was having trouble deciding what he should feel. He was her father, but then again, he wasn’t. He had had her for three years; the Simpsons for the rest of her life. Simply from a time standpoint, he had little claim to be here. And yet he could not have stayed away.

When the ceremony was over and all the others had left, Stone emerged from his hiding place and walked down to the burial spot. The cemetery workers were about to lower the coffin into the hole in the ground, but Stone asked them to wait.

“Are you family?” one asked him.

“Yes,” he answered. “I’m family.”

For twenty long minutes Stone knelt in front of the coffin, with one of his hands resting on its smooth, polished surface.

He finally rose on shaky legs, bent over and kissed the coffin, placing a single flower on top. It was a daisy.

“Good-bye, Beth,” he said quietly. “I love you.”

The Camel Club, Alex and Kate met at Stone’s cottage the following day. Reuben had been treated for his wounds, and the doctors had taken care of a couple of bothersome kidney stones at the same time. Chastity was fully recovered from her ordeal, something she had absolutely no memory of.

Alex brought with him the newspaper account of Jackie Simpson’s death. “She was a damn hero, and all she’ll be remembered for is being a victim of a carjacking,” he said bitterly.

Stone was sitting behind his desk. “You’re wrong. That’s not all she’ll be remembered for,” he said firmly.

Alex changed the subject. “It’s killing me that Carter Gray is now some national hero when he was going to murder the president. There has to be something we can do.”

Reuben said, “But if we go public, then everything else comes out. I’m not sure the country can handle that after everything that’s happened.”

Stone said quietly, “Carter Gray will be taken care of. I’ll personally see to that.”

They all looked at him curiously, but the man’s expression did not invite questions.

Reuben stood. “Okay, I think it’s time to make it official.” He cleared his throat. “I hereby call a special meeting of the Camel Club to order. Because of their exemplary work on behalf of the United States, and their