Executive orders - Tom Clancy [189]
But what possible motive could he have for-
What motive could he have for boffing every skirt that crossed his bow? the chief of staff demanded. Great, he thought, now I'm losing control of the media!
Ed's always been a ladies' man. He's gotten better since he got off the booze. It never affected his duties, the White House correspondent made clear. Like his paper, he was a strong proponent of women's rights. This one will have to play out.
What position will the Times take?
I'll get you a copy of the editorial, the reporter promised.
HE COULDN'T STAND it anymore. He lifted the phone and dialed the six digits while staring out at the darkness. The sun was down now, and clouds were rolling in. It would be a cold, rainy night, leading to a dawn which might or might not take place before his eyes.
Yes? a voice said halfway through the first ring.
Badrayn here. It would be more convenient if the next aircraft were larger.
We have a 737 standing by, but I need authorization to have it sent.
I will work on this end.
It was the TV news which had gotten him moving. Even more muted than usual, there had not been a single political story. Not one, in a nation where political commentary often as not displaced the weather forecasts. Most ominously of all, there was a story about a mosque, an old Shi'a mosque, one that had fallen into disrepair. The story lamented that fact, citing the building's long and honorable history, and ignoring the fact that it had fallen into disrepair because it had once been a meeting place for a group charged, perhaps truthfully, with plotting the demise of Iraq's fallen, beloved, great, and evidently soon-to-be-forgotten political leader. Worst of all, the taped footage had shown five mullahs standing outside the mosque, not even looking directly at the camera, merely gesturing at the faded blue tile on the wall and probably discussing what needed to be done. The five were the same ones who'd flown in to be hostages. But not a single soldier was in sight on the TV screen, and the faces of at least two of the mullahs were well known to Iraqi audiences. Somebody had gotten to the TV station, more precisely to the people who worked there. If the reporters and others wanted to retain their jobs and their heads, it was time to face a new reality. Were the brief few moments on the screen enough for the common folk to see and recognize the visitors' faces-and get the message? Finding out the answer to that question could be dangerous.
But the common people didn't matter. Colonels and majors did. Generals not on the proper list did. Quite soon they'd know. Probably some already did. They'd be on the phone, first calling up the line to see what was going on. Some would hear lies. Some would hear nothing. They'd start thinking. They'd start making contacts. Over the next twelve hours they'd talk among themselves and have to make hard decisions. These were the men who were identified with the dying regime. The ones who couldn't run, who had no place to run to and no money to run with, the ones who had to stay. Their identification with the past regime could be a death sentence-for many, certainly would be so. For others, there was a chance. To survive, they would have to do what criminals all over the world did. They would save their own lives by offering up a larger fish. So it always was. The colonels would overthrow the generals.
Finally, the generals understood.
There is a 737 standing by. Enough room for all. It can be here in ninety minutes, he told them.
And they will not kill us at Mehrabad Airport? the deputy chief of staff of the Iraqi army demanded.
Would you prefer to die here? Badrayn asked in reply.
What if it's all a trap?
There is that risk. In that case, the five television personalities will die. Of course they wouldn't. That would have to be the act of troops loyal to generals already dead. That sort of loyalty didn't exist here. They all knew that. The mere act of taking hostages had been an instinctive gesture, and one already invalidated