The Threat

He had no doubt that in the bowels of the Pentagon and in Riyadh and at the various combatant and supporting CINCs, others were doing much the same thing. But Roald was right. If the buck stopped with the president, he had to know what was going on. He needed someone who could answer hard questions and, perhaps, now and again, recommend decisions without waiting for responses from commands in different time zones, at the far end of comm pipelines that were shaky, to say the least.

They finished just in time for the midnight meeting.

* * *

Roald had said Gelzinis was working Korea, but apparently he had the ball for Eritrea as well. Looking like a tired family lawyer, the assistant adviser convened a tense meeting in the conference room. The execute messages had gone out. Halfway around the world, destroyers and the carrier in the Red Sea were moving toward their launch positions. Mrs. Clayton listened, as tastefully dressed as she’d been that first morning, when she’d cut off Dan’s self-introduction.

Dan knew the next briefer. A CIA Mideast specialist named Provanzano. They’d met at a desert base called ‘Ar’ar, before the deep-penetration mission called Signal Mirror. Provanzano recognized him too, and winked as slides came up on a large-screen display that had lurked behind the paneling.

Operational intelligence sources reported that significant figures in the obscure organization that had targeted USS Cole and USS Horn might be involved in the fighting around Kerkerbit. General Wood recommended extending the strike into a second day, hitting four more training camps.

The senior directors tossed questions. Then Mrs. Clayton took the floor back. On the whole, she said, she agreed with where CENTCOM was going. The president was wary of committing forces, but this seemed like an opportunity to win time for the new Eritrean regime. The same strategy the South Africans had used against SWAPO in Angola, and Nixon had used in Cambodia. “Not that I’m Henry Kissinger,” she said, to chuckles. She told Gelzinis to make sure the Chiefs got that word. She’d call the secretary of defense after she briefed the president. Provanzano would backchannel advance warning, so the planners could keep ahead of the decision makers.

One of the directors asked if he should start calling his Saudi and Egyptian counterparts. Clayton said no, that could leak to the press.

When Provanzano left, Dan followed him out into the watch area. “Commander Lenson,” the CIA guy said, shaking his hand, though Dan hadn’t offered it. “Glad to see you made it out of Baghdad. No hard feelings? That I was right?”

“I wish you hadn’t been. What are you doing here?”

Provanzano jerked his chin toward the lead-lined door. “Nobody here pays much attention to Eritrea. But Afwerki’s the closest thing to an ally we’ve got on the Horn. If he goes down it’s solid hostiles on the west bank from Egypt south.”

“What do you think about going across the border?”

“Time somebody punched the Sudanese in the nose.” He grinned at Dan. “The Great Game, buddy. You’re playing it now too.”

“Mr. Lenson.” A brittle voice from the conference room. “Do you happen to have a moment for us?”

He and Stoneman presented to a smaller group: Mrs. C, Gelzinis, and Dan’s immediate boss, General Sebold. Clayton asked tough questions. Dan felt nervous but managed to answer everything she asked. Actually he felt they did okay, considering they’d started only a few hours ago. “All right,” she said at last. “Then, we go. I’ll let you know as soon as the president approves launch.”

Just then a phone rang. She flinched and looked away, seemed to go somewhere else. Then groped under the desk and brought the handset to her ear.

Listened, gaze remote. Then snapped to a hovering Gelzinis, “Clear it out.”

“Let’s go, folks,” the assistant said, herding them with outstretched arms toward the door. As it swung closed Dan heard her tone go angry.

She came out ten minutes later with lips set. The assistant stood with head bent as she spoke rapidly, laying her finger in her palm.

Without looking at the analysts and watch personnel, the enlisted people who’d been called in to help with the cable traffic, she whirled and left. Leaving Gelzinis contemplating the ceiling. He coughed into his fist before looking down. Dan thought again how much, with his glasses and slicked-back hair, he resembled McNamara. The apologetic yet still smug smile was the same too.

“The strike package is canceled,” Gelzinis said. “Orders are going out now from the national military command center at the Pentagon. I know you’ve all worked hard on this tonight. But there you have it. Thanks for your help.”

* * *

“Lenson?” One of the watch team, leaning away from the endless stream of priority messages and cables rolling in from every command and embassy on the planet. “Weren’t you working Eritrea?” He pointed to a secure phone, lit and blinking.