The Threat

Dan had pondered that question before the mirror that morning. The Medal of Honor came with a small blue bar with white stars that you could wear with a civilian suit. He’d held it at his breast. Then left it on the dresser.

“It attracts too much attention. Plus, I don’t feel right wearing it.”

“Or the Silver Star? The Navy Cross?” Sebold had a file folder out now, was turning pages.

Dan didn’t answer. As far as he was concerned, the ones who deserved the decorations were the guys, and girls, he’d served with. Some of whom had never come home from Iraq, and the Gulf, and the Med.

The general cleared his throat. “What’s your medical status?”

“Recovering from injuries, sir. I’m approved for light duty.”

“I’ve got you headed for the counterdrug office, director of interdiction.”

Dan blinked. “Something wrong?” Sebold said.

“I understood the billet was director for threat reduction.”

“Director, yes, but counternarcotics. Not threat reduction.”

Dan sat forward. They’d told him he’d be working to reduce the number of nuclear weapons in the states of the former Soviet Union, and secure them against the kind of theft and misuse that had killed so many of Horn’s crew. That was why he’d decided to take the job. He fought anger. Since Iraq, since being captured and tortured by Saddam’s Mukhabarat, he’d had to second-guess his emotional reactions. “I don’t understand. Does Ms. Clayton know about the change?”

“The national security adviser signed off on it,” Sebold said. He smiled, glancing at a wall clock.

Dan got the message, but decided to push the button once more. “I was under the impression she wanted me in the threat reduction billet. My missile-development background. And the … operational experience with loose nukes. I’ve got some ideas. To get ahead of the curve instead of behind it.”

“Let’s get one thing straight, Commander. You’re hired to the NSC staff. What you do when you get here’s up to us,” Sebold said. “If it’s that important to you, maybe I can get you some of the action on threat reduction. And maybe a seat on the Iraq working group. But we need to make things happen in counterdrug. Tony Holt wants this initiative pushed hard this fall.” Holt was the White House chief of staff. Dan had heard him called the president’s personal nut-cutter. “It’s a joint mission, and a huge effort, force-wise.”

Dan rubbed his mouth. Cutting down the number of nukes in the world ranked high on his list. But fighting the flood of illegal drugs was important too.

“Orders change, Commander.”

“Yes sir, I know that,” he said at last. “I’ll do my best.”

Sebold slapped the desk with eight fingers and rose. “Mrs. C will be back in town tonight. Morning conference in the Sit Room at 1000 tomorrow. Take one of the wall seats. Introduce yourself when it’s your turn, but keep it short.”

“Yes, sir.” Dan stood too as another man came in without knocking.

“Bryan Meilhamer. Bry’s been here a long time, knows his way around the halls of power. Bry, your new boss, Dan Lenson,” Sebold said. To Dan he added, “We go pretty much on a first-name basis around here.”

Meilhamer was in a sport coat and a sloppily knotted tie. He looked to be at least ten years older than Dan and thirty pounds heavier. His shirt was pulled out from his slacks on one side. Sebold said Meilhamer was civilian permanent staff, and would be his assistant director in counterdrug. Dan took a chubby soft hand, looked down on graying strands combed over coral pink.

“Give him the talk yet, General?”

“I was about to.” Sebold clasped his hands behind him, stood front and center before his desk. Like Patton, in the movie, Dan thought.

“We say around here, the Hill’s where they talk about things; the Eighteen Acres is where they get done. This won’t be like any assignment you’ve had before. For one thing, the hours are going to be longer. And every minute you’re not physically here, you’ll be on call.

“You’ll be asked to take on heavy responsibilities, in different areas, at very short notice, depending on the demands of the moment. The legal limits are spelled out in the read-ins I sent you. Conflict of interest. Financial disclosure. But the requirements go beyond that.

“We exercise the power of the presidency. Because of that, and the trust it implies, even the appearance of impropriety here is impropriety. Not only do you not favor anyone’s interest, you can’t appear to do so, even in the most innocent way. Did you vote for Robert De Bari?”

The question was so unexpected Dan almost answered it. “I’m not sure that’s really—”

“No, you’re right; it doesn’t make any difference. We’re here to further his objectives. Not ours, or our individual service’s. If you’ve got any agenda of your own, put it aside.