Oath of Office

“Besides,” Foley continued, “Israel has enough nukes of their own to turn Tehran and every other city in Iran into a lake of fire if provoked. Frankly, I think that’s exactly what they would do if they were aware of this present state of affairs.”

“You’re right about that,” Ryan said. “We know the Russians used this Portuguese arms dealer as a cutout for deniability, but what you said about Israel brings up a good point. The Gorgon has a ten-kiloton yield. That’s roughly two-thirds of the bomb dropped on Hiroshima. A tremendous loss of life, but even two direct hits wouldn’t be enough to cripple any of Iran’s enemies.”

SecDef Burgess gave a somber nod. “And a nuclear attack would cry out for an immediate response in kind.”

Ryan took a sip of coffee. “So what’s their game?”

Mary Pat gave a shrug, as if the answer was obvious. “What target would be of the most value to both Russia and Iran?”

Ryan gave a somber nod.

Burgess said, “We would. Mr. President, I know you want to discuss this with the full NSC, but I’d urge you to contact Yermilov and read him the proverbial riot act.”

“I tend to agree,” the secretary of state said. “There’s value in letting Russia know we’re aware of their duplicity. You might be able to shame them into remotely destroying the missiles — or, at the very least, rendering them incapable of launch.”

“I get your point,” Ryan said.

Arnie van Damm stuck his head into the Oval. “The chairman of the joint chiefs is here, Mr. President. The others are waiting in the Situation Room.”

“We’re on our way,” Ryan said. He got to his feet, prompting everyone else to stand as well. “Major Poteet, excellent brief. Mind doing it again for the National Security Council? They can be a tough crowd.”

“Not at all, Mr. President.” The major closed his laptop. “I’d like to point out one more thing, sir. Apart from supplying Scuds and proxy combatants to places like Lebanon and Syria, Iran customarily uses its rocket and missile forces to intimidate. They want the rest of the world to know how many weapons they have and where they are pointed. The fact that they’re keeping these nuclear devices a secret leads me to believe they intend to use them.”

52

Jack and Dovzhenko watched in horror as the taillights on the vehicle carrying Ysabel grew smaller in the distance. The howling wind that blew outside Omar’s compound had covered the vehicle’s approach. The men, likely Taliban who’d come for Ysabel, had decided to cut their losses and run with the single prize.

Rifle in hand, Ryan ran back inside to grab the laptop and satellite phone while Dovzhenko kept an eye on the lights. Jack found the keys to the Toyota Hilux parked out front, and the pickup was bouncing down the road with no headlights in less than a minute.

Jack drove while Dovzhenko checked the weapons. Neither man spoke until the small station wagon turned off the road and parked in an alley behind a concrete building that looked like a mechanic shop at the far end of the block. Two men got out of the station wagon and shoved Ysabel into the shop. They left the door open to the night air.

Ryan parked the Hilux and eased the door shut.

“Let’s go before they lock us out.”

“Two with her,” the Russian said. “There are probably more inside.”

Ryan nodded. “This might get rough. Do you have a problem with that?”

Dovzhenko shook his head. “Do you? You are about to attempt a rescue of a woman you obviously have feelings for, going against an unknown number of assailants, in a place you have never been, with an untried rifle and a man with whom you have never worked.”

Ryan was already creeping down the alley, rifle at low ready, scanning. “If you put it that way, this is going to be a cinch. You do know how to run your gun?”

“Russian babies sleep with a Kalashnikov, not a teddy bear. You did not know this?”

Jack rolled his eyes.

“Do you know what Russian intelligence officers think of American intelligence officers?” Dovzhenko asked.

“You got me,” Ryan said, homed in on the building ahead.

“They think you are too good,” he said. “That you excel at critical thinking, but are not… sociopathic enough to be as cruel as you should be.”

“Yeah?” Ryan hissed. “Hide and watch. And anyway, you said ‘they.’ What do you think?”

“I think you simply know right from wrong,” Dovzhenko said.

Halfway down the block, he slowed, leaning closer, whispering. “Your plan?”

Ryan eyed the Russian. This guy was a philosopher, and for the life of him, Ryan couldn’t figure out if that was a good thing or a bad one under the present circumstances. “We’re looking at a corner-fed room,” Ryan said, stopping in the shadows of a head-high pile of trash, eyes still locked on the door. “That means we’ll be able to look down the wall before going in. You know a technique called ‘running the rabbit’?”

“Not the term,” Dovzhenko said. “But I can guess. I run in and draw fire while you shoot the bad guys.”