Mike Maden - Drone Threat

“I understand the need for new boots on the ground, even if the president does not.”

The Saudi cocked an eyebrow. “Should you be telling me this?”

“It’s important that you know there are still plenty of us who reject isolationism. ISIS isn’t just going to go away on its own. It’s a cancer that needs to be cut out.”

“ Daesh is a great evil that plagues the minds of far too many people. The world isn’t ready for what will come should they ever seize control of an entire nation, especially one with resources like ours.” Chandler noted that Saud referred to ISIS only by the more derogatory Daesh , an acronym for ISIS that sounded like a few other unfavorable Arabic words. ISIS hated the term Daesh so much that they threatened to cut out the tongue of anyone who uttered it.

“It was a damn fool mistake to knock off Hussein. Bad as he was, he was at least a devil we knew, and kept his boot on the throats of the other devils we didn’t know. Same for Qaddafi.”

“If I may be so bold, you Americans have been terribly selective in your foreign policy morality. I’m glad that some of you have seen the difficulty of such selectivity. We have never suffered that particular malady. We hate Daesh for what it is. Only recently did it kill my own nephew.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that. My condolences.” Chandler took a sip of coffee.

“Thank you. The circumstances were difficult. His mother, my sister, is still unconsolable in her grief. The young fool was seduced into the witchcraft of Daesh . He perished in a drone strike.” Al-Saud paused for effect. “An American drone strike.”

“American? On Saudi soil?”

“Northern Iraq. I assumed it was your government behind it. Who else has the capability?”

“I assure you, unless there was some secret mission, it most assuredly wasn’t American. President Lane hasn’t authorized any such strike in Iraq in the last six months. He’s questioning the entire program. In fact, the whole War on Terror. Believe me, if there had been a drone strike against ISIS, I’d know about it, because I’ve been pounding the table for it since I was sworn in.”

“All the more reason to allow my government to purchase and operate our own drone systems.”

“I agree wholeheartedly. President Lane isn’t yet fully open to that option, but he’ll come around to it.”

“And this man, Pearce. The nominee? My understanding is that his position is not supportive, either.”

Chandler’s jaw tightened. Pearce was a stubborn ass. He wouldn’t let him ruin this relationship. He’d have to find out later who al-Saud’s source was in the administration. “His position will be exactly the same as mine before he’s confirmed — or he won’t be in the position.”

Al-Saud nodded, smiled. “I am truly grateful. Our nations share a profitable history and a long alliance. I look forward to our relationship blossoming even further, especially during a Chandler administration.”

“As do I. Saudi Arabia is our best and most natural ally in the region now. I’m sick and tired of the outsize influence Tel Aviv has had on my government for far too long.”

“Something else we can agree on,” al-Saud said.

They chatted pleasantly for another twenty minutes and agreed to the date and time of their next meeting. The ambassador even escorted him to the front door, where they shook hands, all smiles.

And all of it caught on video by two Israeli Mossad agents.

Myers was in bed reading a tablet, with a pair of reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. Even though she was wearing silky lingerie, she looked as if she were studying for an exam.

Pearce quietly entered the room. It was after ten o’clock. He crossed over to the bed and kissed her. “Sorry I’m late. Long freaking day.”

“Aren’t they all?” she said.

He loosened his tie. “What’s that you’re reading? Something racey, I hope.”

“Fifty Shades of Financials. Thought I’d better go over them before the meeting tomorrow.”

“Germany.” Pearce wanted to raise the security question again with her but thought better of it. “Mind if I catch a quick shower?”

“A shower sounds great, especially if you plan on getting lucky tonight, mister.” Myers pulled off her glasses and set them on the nightstand. “How was the hearing?”

Pearce sat on the bed, untied his shoes. “Like a root canal without the novocaine.”

“That bad?”

“Not really. They kept it pretty informal. Mostly they wanted me to commit to keeping the pig trough slopped. I couldn’t do it.”

“Good. Lane wouldn’t want you to. I can make a few calls if you need me to.”

“I’ll hold you in strategic reserve.”

“How did the time with Grafton go? Any success in the calling campaign?”

Pearce placed his dress shoes neatly in the closet rack and tossed his socks in the hamper. “Smiling and dialing. Supposedly I was trying to get votes lined up. It felt more like I was selling vinyl siding.”

“Any commitments?”

“No. I guess that’s better than flat-out rejections.”

“They seldom plunge the knife in while looking you in the eyes,” Myers said. “It’s a backstabbing, mealymouthed kind of town.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Pearce frowned from a throbbing headache. Loosened his belt.

“Just trying to keep it real. But for what it’s worth, the worm turns in both directions. Not committing might be a good thing at this point.”

“It is what it is.” He hung his pants up. Wrestled with telling her about the drone on the White House lawn and the threat from ISIS it contained. If she knew, she might not want to go to Germany. He decided against it.

Myers set her tablet on the nightstand. “How’d the Falcon Shield test go today?”

Pearce unbuttoned his dress shirt. “It’s a great system. All we’d have to do is buy a thousand of them and put them everywhere we need them. Not gonna happen.”

“At least it’s another step in the right direction.”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Something on your mind?”

He shook his head. “What will you do with the cash if the deal goes through?”

“If you’re still thinking about that sailboat, well, I suppose now is the time I should tell you I get seasick.”

“I’ll settle for a lake house in the Rockies.”

She smiled. “Someday, I promise. There’s just so much to do. Now’s not the time to run away.”

Pearce clenched his jaw. He wasn’t a coward. Never ran away from a fight in his life. But he was tired. So damn tired.

And he wanted a drink.

He stepped over to the clothes hamper and began to undress.

“I don’t want to argue tonight,” Myers said. She softened. “Not that we argue.”

Pearce nodded. “Me neither. Sorry. My head’s killing me.” He peeled off his shirt, his back turned to her.

“What’s that ?” Myers said.

Pearce shut his eyes. Shit. He completely forgot. He heard her feet hit the floor. He turned around. She looked good. Mad, but good.

“I totally forgot to tell you. I’m sorry.”

She leaned in close. Stared at the dark river of ink spread across his broad back. “A tattoo? Really?”

“I lost a bet with Ian.”

“It’s… huge.”

Pearce spread his arms to his sides like Leonardo da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man . The black ink tattoo was an abstract interpretation of an eagle in flight. The wings extended down the length of his arms all the way to the wrists. The tip of its beak extended up into the base of his skull.

“And you didn’t think to tell me about this?”

“It was kind of a last-minute thing.”