Oath of Office

Ryan studied the flat-screen that took up much of the wall at the end of the table. It displayed a large topographic map of Iran. Major Poteet’s tablet computer ran Pentagon encryption and, after some tweaking by the Air Force major serving as the IT specialist on watch, it was connected to the Situation Room system. Poteet used a stylus on the tablet to draw a white circle on the big screen around Mashhad and a smaller red circle around the 14th Tactical Air Base south of the city.

“We believe their radar defense systems reach out at least five hundred kilometers,” Poteet said. “Satellite surveillance shows Mirage F-1EQ fighters as well as Shahab-3 and several advanced antiaircraft missile systems are based at this location.” It wasn’t Poteet’s job to say whether or not an air incursion by the United States was feasible at this point, not with at least a dozen people who outranked him in the room. He gave the facts and let them ask questions, which they did. A lot.

Ryan waited for a lull and then looked at Mary Pat, who was seated halfway down the table next to the chairman of the joint chiefs.

“Remind me what NRO has flying over that part of the world.”

Foley answered without referring to her notes. “USA161 will pass over again in seven hours. Mentor 6, an Advanced Orion bird, covers that area as far as SIGINT goes.”

Advanced Orion, or Mentor, was a class of spy satellite run by the National Reconnaissance Office. Unlike the Keyhole satellites in low earth orbit, which overflew a given location twice a day, Mentors were parked at various spots approximately twenty-two thousand miles above the earth’s surface in geostationary orbit, gleaning signals intelligence such as telephone, radio, and television from an assigned location.

“We’re working on the feed from the last USA161 pass so we’re ready to do comparisons immediately.”

Ryan made a note in his folder. “Let’s get a couple more Sentinels overflying Mashhad.” He turned his gaze to Air Force Lieutenant General Jason Paul, chairman of the joint chiefs. His background was in intelligence. He was a steady man who thought more than he spoke, and Ryan greatly respected his opinion. “Any new glitches in command and control?”

“No, Mr. President,” General Paul said. “The Agency has logged several thousand hours in Iranian airspace. They suspect, but do not appear to know, the birds are up there.”

In 2011, Iran claimed to have wrested control of an RQ-170 Sentinel that had violated its airspace. In truth, there had been a glitch on the U.S. end. The stealth technology rendered the bird invisible to Iranian radar, and they’d been unaware of its presence until the computer glitch. Unfortunately, they had been prepared to exploit it once they were. They also claimed to have reverse-engineered an RQ-170 of their own called the Saegheh, or Thunderbolt, but had yet to demonstrate they could utilize their clone to any effect.

“Very well,” Ryan said. “I’d like pros and cons of both missile strikes and aircraft sorties within the hour. Let’s be ready to act when the KH 161 or one of the Sentinels gives us actionable pictures.” Ryan pushed away from the table. “Mary Pat, I’d like to see you in the office.”

* * *

“How about the medication for the Iranian boy if his father flips?” Ryan asked, once they’d returned to the Oval. Both carried cups of coffee from the Navy mess.

Foley sat down in her customary spot on the couch. “From the sound of things, he’s suffering from cystic fibrosis, specifically, the F508del mutation. The illness is controllable with new drugs, but they are extremely expensive — to the tune of two hundred ninety thousand dollars a year here in the States. We’ll use PL110 to get the family in the country and to pay for the medication.”

Among other things, Public Law 110 was used to fund what was essentially the CIA’s version of the witness protection program. High-value assets could be given new identities, backgrounds, and, in the case of Ibrahim Yazdani, necessary medical treatment.

Ryan gave a low groan. Helping a gravely ill child was a laudable thing. The chance that he might have to withhold that help if the father didn’t play ball made his bones hurt.

“It’s up to them now,” he said. “So you’ve had a little time to mull. I want to hear a pro’s thoughts on Erik Dovzhenko.”

“Mommy dearest, Zahra Dovzhenko, was a KGB counterintelligence officer until the collapse of the USSR.”

“You ever go up against her?” Ryan asked. “Back in the day when you were in Moscow?”

Foley shook her head. “I heard plenty about her, though. She was a savvy operative. Azeri by birth. Had a bit of a reputation as a vindictive drunk. Her jacket says she was pretty eaten up with the job. Drank, fought, and screwed a lot when she was younger. Reputation of a cowboy. Volunteered for all sorts of dangerous stuff.”

Ryan chuckled. “Sounds like somebody else I know.”