Ben Bova - Able One

As she sat at her broad, uncluttered desk, however, the Secretary of State was not looking out her windows. She was glaring at the image on her wall-sized display screen of a young brown-skinned upstart with a trim beard tracing his stubborn jawline.

“The Sarajevo scenario?” the Secretary repeated, in the icy, scornful tone that could send senators and White House officials scurrying for cover.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Michael Jamil.

General Higgins, whom the Oval Office had put in charge of this special situation team, was sitting beside Jamil and leaning toward the civilian so he could get his face in the picture that was on her wall screen.

“For what it’s worth, Madam Secretary,” Higgins said, in a tone that was little short of pompous, “this is Mr. Jamil’s personal assessment, not my team’s idea.”

“Thank you, General,” said the Secretary of State, putting on her sincerest smile. Shifting her eyes back to Jamil, she asked, “Is your scenario approved by the National Intelligence Council, young man?”

Jamil felt uncomfortable with General Higgins sitting beside him down at the end of the conference table and the eye of the computer camera staring at him unblinkingly. The others in the situation room were all on their feet, standing over to one side. Zuri Coggins was standing beside General Scheib, who was in front of the satellite image of the North Korean missiles, blocking Jamil’s view. But he could see the Secretary of State clearly enough, both on the computer display in front of him and on the wall screen on the other side of the room. No one stood in front of her image. He could see her brittle smile and hear the condescension in her “young man.”

“We’ve run many different scenarios at NIC,” he answered tightly. “The Sarajevo possibility is one of them.”

“But no one else at NIC has associated that scenario with the present situation,” the Secretary said, still smiling. “Only you.”

Feeling his insides clenching, Jamil replied, “I’m the only representative of the NIC present at this meeting, Madam Secretary.”

“I see,” she said.

“It’s the scenario that fits the facts best,” Jamil insisted. “A rogue attack triggers a full-scale nuclear exchange.”

“And you believe that the Chinese are behind this?”

Jamil hesitated. He knew the Secretary of State’s reputation. People didn’t get to challenge her more than once.

Carefully he answered, “I believe that the Chinese are prepared to profit from it. If we attack North Korea they will respond against us. If we allow the North Koreans to destroy an American city without retaliating, the Chinese will back North Korea’s demands. They want to eliminate our influence in Asia and this is the way for them to do it and keep their hands clean.”

The Secretary started to reply, but Jamil suddenly added, “We know they’ve placed their ballistic missile forces on alert. We should try to ascertain if their political leadership has left Beijing and gone to shelters.”

The Secretary’s eyes flared. “Do you expect me to believe that the Chinese government is ready to have a nuclear exchange with us? That they are willing to start World War III?”

“Yes, ma’am, that’s exactly what I expect you to believe.”

In her office, the Secretary of State stared hard at this young intelligence analyst. He looks like an Arab, she thought. How can I trust him? He might have all sorts of security clearances, but he could be a plant, a mole who’s been working inside our intelligence apparatus for years, waiting for this chance to launch a nuclear jihad.

She took a deep breath to calm herself. Stay cool, she told herself. Every word you say is being recorded for history. You want to come across as concerned, informed, on top of this situation. You want to look presidential. He’ll run for reelection next time around, but you’re young enough to have a good chance for the nomination four years afterward, especially if you come out of this looking presidential.

She glanced at the data bar running along the bottom of her wall screen as she said carefully, “Mr… eh, Jamil, has it occurred to you that I have sources of information that you do not?”

Jamil’s lips became a thin, hard line.

“Has it occurred to you,” the Secretary went on, “that I have unofficial sources that place me in contact with the highest levels of the government of the People’s Republic of China?” Struggling to keep her voice cool, presidential, she went on. “Has it occurred to you that my contacts assure me that China has no wish to attack the United States? Shouldn’t you rethink your scenario in the light of those facts?”

Despite the Secretary of State’s measured words, Jamil could almost feel her cold fury radiating from the conference room’s wall screen. And he felt angry, too—outraged that this woman refused to see the obvious.

“Has it occurred to you, Madam Secretary,” he retorted, “that your sources are lying to you? Or at least not telling you the entire truth? Have they told you that China will not under any circumstances launch their missiles against us? Have they offered to stop the North Koreans? Why do you think you haven’t been able to speak directly to the Chinese leadership? They’re probably in their underground city right now, waiting for the bombs to start falling! While the President’s in San Francisco preparing to give a speech!”

For a flash of an instant the Secretary of State looked flustered, but she immediately regained her icy composure. “Thank you for your frank opinion, Mr. Jamil.”

The wall screen went blank.

General Higgins pushed his chair away from Jamil and heaved himself to his feet. “You sure know how to make friends in high places, kid,” he said. Then he headed back to his place at the head of the table.

Jamil sat there alone. Why don’t they understand? he asked himself. It’s as if they don’t want to understand.

As the others took their seats around the conference table, Zuri Coggins came up to Jamil and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’d better update your resume, Michael,” she said, shaking her head. “Nobody talks to that woman like that and lives to tell the tale.”

Jamil agreed with a morose nod. But as he looked up at Coggins, he saw the wall screen behind her. “Look!” he said, pointing with a trembling hand.

“They’ve got a bunch of people working around the missiles.”

Every eye in the situation room turned to the satellite view of the North Korean site. The two missiles stood on their pads as before, but now teams of men in coveralls were clustered around the base of each missile.

“Final checkout,” said General Scheib. “They’re starting their countdown. They’re going to launch those birds.”

“Wow!” exclaimed Vickie as she turned completely around, taking in the suite’s sitting room with its beautiful draperies and handsome furniture. “Can we afford this?”

Sylvia laughed, delighted that at last something had impressed her sixteen-year-old. “It’s only for this one night. And besides, the party committee’s paying for it.”

Denise went to the bedroom door and peeked in. “Twin beds,” she noted. “Queens.”

Before her younger daughter could ask, Sylvia explained, “You two sleep in there. I’ll use the pull-out sofa.”

Vickie and Denise glanced at each other. Before they could say anything, their mother said, “I don’t want you two arguing over who sleeps where. You each get one of the beds, share and share alike.”

With a shrug, Denise changed the subject. “When do we eat?”

Their landing at the airport had been delayed because of the President’s arrival, and then it had been hell getting a taxi in the drizzling rain. The highway was clogged with slow-moving traffic and now it was dinnertime and their luggage hadn’t come up from the lobby yet.