Jerry.
“Comments on the XO’s idea. Alex?” Guthrie asked.
“The XO’s legit, sir,” responded Carlson favorably. “He has an intuitive feel for the minisub; he can do it.”
“Vern?”
“Concur with Alex, sir.”
“Travis?”
“Concur, Captain.”
A visibly relieved Guthrie turned to Jerry and said, “Okay, XO, you got the job.”
Facing the assembly, Guthrie offered a final opportunity for comment. “Anything else?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Frederickson. “Captain, I’d like to request restricted access to the BMC and missile compartment lower level to enable my guys to properly prepare for this mission.”
Guthrie had seen SEALs go into a similar isolation mode in the past. It helped the SEALs mentally prepare for a mission. He thought it was a little strange, but it was their way and it did seem to bear fruit. “Granted, Travis. Only the navigator, Mr. Carlson, the XO, and myself will have access. Everyone else has to get your permission. Jerry, make sure you pass the word.”
“Aye, aye, sir,”
“Thank you, Captain,” responded Frederickson.
“Alright, people, we have a job to do, so get hot,” ordered Guthrie.
Everyone in control clearly heard the SEALs. “HOOYAH, Skipper!”
4
SORTIE
Joanna Patterson concentrated on staying two steps behind the national security advisor. Ray Kirkpatrick was shorter than her by a good six inches, but he walked fast, and she worked to keep up. They were a little late, and that only added to her adrenaline level.
She knew the West Wing very well, and had been in the Oval Office dozens of times, but this was a new job, with a new administration, and of course, a new boss — two new bosses if you counted Dr. Kirkpatrick. A close friend of President Myles, he’d been a deputy undersecretary of defense in the Huber administration. It was a big jump from deputy of whatever to national security advisor, but Kirkpatrick had made a name for himself. Energetic, almost to a fault, with good communications skills and ambition, he’d transformed his little acre in the Pentagon from a disaster to “a model of efficiency,” according to the cover of
Getting the briefing perfect had taken a few minutes too long. They arrived almost breathless, five minutes late, but the president’s secretary waved them inside. “You’re not the last. We’re still waiting for Admiral Hughes.”
“Thank you, Mrs. McDowell.” Kirkpatrick headed inside and Patterson followed. A memory, of going to the dean’s office with a professor to ask for a grant, flashed in her mind.
She’d only met President Kenneth Myles a few times, and then only briefly, without getting a real chance to talk with him. She’d enjoyed a long relationship with President Huber, based on their common advocacy of environmental issues. Her relationship with the new president was based on a glowing recommendation from Huber and a vetting by the Myles transition team.
The room was crowded, in her opinion much more than necessary. The secretaries of state and defense waited near the president. It seemed like half the U.S. Intelligence apparatus was in the room: General Duvall, Chairman of the National Intelligence Council was here, as well as his boss, Gregory Alexander, the Director of National Intelligence, and Dr. Randall Foster, Director of the CIA. The military side included the secretary of defense, chairman of the joint chiefs, and General Ramsdale, head of Special Operations Command. Too many people drew too much attention and too much talk.
The president was speaking to the Secretary of State, Andrew Lloyd. Lloyd was an old-school diplomat, with over thirty years of experience in the state department. Myles’s vice president had been picked to balance the ticket, but Lloyd was Myles’s closest political ally. He’d helped shape the president’s foreign policy platform before the election, as well as taking state after the inauguration. They’d been friends for decades, sharing interests in Asian history and Italian cooking.
President Myles had taught in Asian studies and written extensively before becoming involved in foreign policy, and then politics. He had the gravitas of a scholar, with a shock of snow-white hair that the political cartoonists loved, over an angular face with a strong jaw. Politically, he was more pro-business than many Democrats would like, but Patterson approved of his environmental record, and he’d said all the right things about national security. This would be his first real test.
Admiral Hughes, the Chief of Naval Operations, hurried in and took a seat next to the General Dewhurst, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
“We have a quorum, gentleman, and we’re ten minutes late,” Myles’s chief of staff announced. “Dr. Foster, please begin.”
The CIA director s tone was grim. “Good morning Mr. President, ladies, and gentlemen. Nothing has changed since the initial briefing last week. There has been no indication of what happened to Pilot, who was supposed to convey Opal out of Iran to our agents in Kuwait. To the best of our knowledge, Opal is still safe and is following the instructions we provided for the backup extraction plan. Contact with Opal has been irregular since the loss of Pilot. It is possible that Pilot has been arrested, but we have no proof either way. While he had no information on Opal’s identity, Pilot did have instructions for making contact and extracting someone. If he’s been compromised, VEVAK knows we’re trying to get someone important out of Iran.
“How important?” Secretary Lloyd’s question had an edge to it.
“For several years, Opal has provided detailed, consistent information on the progress of the Iranian nuclear program. Two weeks ago Opal asked that he and his wife be extracted, saying he had urgent information, but that he feared discovery. ‘They’re closing in’ were his words,” Foster added.
The CIA director explained, “Opal’s information is especially important now, because it could resolve the conflict between recent intelligence, including imagery, indicating they’re preparing to test a device, and our past information, which had them years away from making a weapon.”
“In other words,” Lloyd suggested, “Opal will provide cover for your failure to notice they’ve built a bomb.”
Duvall interrupted. His tone was hard, but he kept his voice calm. “We have conflicting information, which we are reviewing carefully. It would be nice to give you a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer, Mr. President, but it would be intellectually dishonest.” He was staring straight at Lloyd, who remained silent, but stared back.
“Opal’s information is our best bet for understanding their true status. We also owe it to Opal to get him and his wife out if we can.” Myles nodded at the last point.
“Sounds like a setup to me,” Lloyd responded cynically. “We haven’t had a lot of success with defecting Iranians. Opal could have been a plant from the start, feeding you false information that you swallowed whole. Now, even as they’re preparing to test a weapon, Opal suddenly has ‘urgent’ data that will confuse us and delay any action by us. And we have to go get it. They’ve already rolled up one of our agents, and this gives the Iranians a perfect opportunity to create an incident, with us as the villains.”
Duvall answered quickly and sharply. “Maybe. But we can’t leap to conclusions. First, only a fool relies on a sole source of intelligence. As I said earlier, Opal’s information has been consistent with other information we’ve gathered. Second — ”
“Then why are they drilling a hole in the ground?” demanded Lloyd angrily.
“That is what General Duvall is trying to find out,” President Myles answered. “Andy, we aren’t going to
