Charles Brokaw - The Lucifer Code

‘I thought you had a handle on this guy,’ Waggoner said.

‘With his father in place, I did. I’d hoped some of that goodwill might rub off on the son eventually. But he’s young and convinced of his own rightness in the world. We can both remember being that young, Mike.’

‘I know.’

‘His brother was much more manageable.’

‘Just our luck that we end up with the wrong son in power.’

It wasn’t luck, Webster thought. Everything is going according to plan.

At least, everything was going almost according to plan. The situation in Istanbul was more than a little troublesome. Webster had expected Eckart to report success there. He hadn’t, and things were still loose regarding the whereabouts of the scroll. That was troubling, but Webster had full confidence that the scroll would soon be his.

On the television, Saudi Arabian tanks rolled through the streets and scattered pedestrians in all directions. A man darted out in front of a tank. He held a Molotov cocktail in one hand. Hardly pausing, he lobbed the bottle and it shattered against the tank’s armoured skirt. Flames licked over the metal and drove the commanding officer back inside. Then a machine gun opened up on deck and.50-calibre rounds hammered the man to the ground. Before the body stopped twitching, the tank ran him down. When the tank passed, nothing recognizable as human remained.

‘I’m getting a lot of pressure here at home,’ Waggoner said. ‘A lot of American corporations are concerned about having their assets privatized over there. They’re thinking that the Saudis are going to be drilling wells with their equipment, then selling it to China or India. Needless to say, that doesn’t make anyone here happy.’

‘That’s going to happen,’ Webster said. ‘There’s nothing we can do about it if Khalid wants to do that. Unless they’re willing to pay the oil prices here, which I’m betting will be raised in the near future.’

‘They’re going to be less enthusiastic about paying inflated oil prices there when it’s been pumped through equipment they financed or built and claims they’ve located.’

‘I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe it’s time to let Prince Khalid know that we can play hardball too.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘As you pointed out, we’ve got a Marine expeditionary force and the US Navy not far from here. It could be time for us to flex a little muscle.’

Waggoner was silent for a short time. ‘I’m not entirely satisfied that we’re there yet.’

‘I understand, but the longer we wait, the harder this is going to be to get control of.’

‘I know, I know.’ Waggoner sucked in a deep breath and expelled it. ‘Do we know if a Shia assassination team is even behind the attack?’

‘No. The prince insists that it was a Shia cell.’

‘No one had eyes on those people?’

‘No. Prince Khalid has found a trail that leads back to Shia extremists.’

‘Are they extremists?’

Webster approached the desk where his laptop lay open. ‘According to the CIA, they are.’ He glanced at the faces displayed on the screen.

Eckart and his men had found the ‘Shia terrorists’ nearly a month ago. They had actually been Shia businessmen operating in Financial City. During their surveillance, Eckart had sent pictures to Webster, who in turn had paid a computer hacker to insert the images into files at Langley. Overnight, they had become terrorists, but that hadn’t been revealed until the night they had killed the Saudi king and his firstborn son.

‘We knew about these people?’ Waggoner demanded.

‘We did, Mike, but we didn’t know they were going to do this.’

‘Or do it so well.’

‘No, we didn’t.’ Webster sipped his whiskey. It was bourbon mash from Tennessee and he took it straight. The fiery liquid burned the back of his throat.

‘If we could find these guys, prove it was them, do you think the prince would be satisfied with his pound of flesh?’

Webster watched the violence scroll across the television. More news, much of it directly linked to the fighting in Saudi Arabia, scrolled across the bottom in ticker-tape fashion. The death toll mounted almost every minute. Back on one of the new stations, a reporter on the ground covering an armed conflict was shot down. The cameraman got it all, then took off running for cover. Judging from the tumultuous way the camera flipped through the air and landed so suddenly, Webster didn’t think the cameraman made it.

‘It’s not just about Prince Khalid and his father,’ Webster said. ‘Not any more. Even if we could calm the prince down, do you think the Shia would back off at this point?’

‘No. But maybe we could open up peace talks.’

‘Because those have worked so well the past.’ Webster let the sarcasm sound in his voice.

‘We’ve got to do something. If the situation in the Middle East gets torn completely to shreds, the United States might not be able to withstand the economic repercussions.’

‘I know. You’re forgetting who wrote most of the Middle East diplomacy scenarios we’ve been working with while you’ve been in office.’

‘I hadn’t forgotten, Elliott. I just hoped it would never come to this.’

An excited smile spread across Webster’s face. He felt it stretch his lips. He hadn’t thought things were going to be so easy, or that President Waggoner would ever concede to the desperate measures they had concocted.

‘We’re not ready – our country isn’t ready – to give up our dependency on oil,’ Webster said calmly. ‘Steven Napier is close to a solution. But even when he has an alternative fuel source that works as well as we need it to, converting the United States over to that alternative fuel source is going to take time. We need time. That time was one thing you and I both agreed on.’

‘I know. I do know. And I still agree. I just don’t like where this leaves us.’

‘We didn’t leave us here, Mike. We didn’t leave the American people without recourse. Khalid did. If you’ll keep that in mind, that will turn everything around for you.’

‘Not entirely, Elliott. If we do this, a lot of lives are going to be affected.’

‘If we do nothing, a lot of lives are going to be affected. There’s no getting round that.’

Waggoner didn’t speak.

‘The American people – our people – are depending on us to do the right thing,’ Webster said. ‘And the right thing isn’t letting Prince Khalid hang us out to dry or start a religious war that may leave the whole Middle East disrupted for years, if not generations.’

Waggoner didn’t say anything.

‘Let them fight over whatever they want to out here,’ Webster said. ‘They’ve been doing that ever since the first one of them picked up a rock. No matter how much we try to civilize these people, they’re never going to tolerate someone who isn’t them.’

‘If we do this, if we – God help me – invade that country-’

‘Not invade, Mike. We’re only going to make sure the whole world isn’t disrupted. Someone has to. Otherwise, we won’t have heat in the winter. Our elderly and our children will freeze, our industries will lapse into recession. And these people won’t care. They don’t have to because we’ve always handled them with kid gloves.’ Webster set his empty glass down on the windowsill. ‘The world is always divided into us and them. Only civilization allows for one us. If these people can’t be civilized, then they have set themselves up against us.’

‘This is still a big step.’ Hesitancy vibrated in Waggoner’s voice.

‘Genocide isn’t an acceptable retribution,’ Webster said. ‘And that’s what Prince Khalid intends. That’s what all these countries over here intend. Retribution. Destruction. Winner take all.’