Executive orders - Tom Clancy [240]
Goodley saw that the FLASH concerned Iraq. That was another thing about the colonel. He didn't go using CRITIC headers for the fun of it, as some did. Ben looked up to check the wall clock. After sundown, local time, a time of relaxation for some, and action for others. The action would be the sort to last all night, the better to get things accomplished without interference, so that the next day would be genuinely new, and genuinely different.
Oh, boy, Goodley breathed. He read down the page again, then turned his swivel chair and picked up the phone, touching the #3 speed-dial button.
Director's office, a fiftyish female voice answered.
Goodley for Foley.
Please hold, Dr. Goodley. Then: Hi, Ben.
Hello, Director. He felt it improper to first-name the DCI. He'd probably go back to work at Langley within the year, and not as a seventh-floor-rank official. You have what I have? The page was still warm in his hand from the printer.
Iraq?
Right.
You must have read it twice, Ben. I just told Bert Vasco to get his ass up here. CIA's own Iraq desk was weak, both thought, while this State guy was very good indeed.
Looks pretty hot to me.
Agreed, Ed Foley replied, with an unseen nod. Jesus, but they're moving fast over there. Give me an hour, maybe ninety minutes.
I think the President needs to know, Goodley said, with a voice that concealed the urgency he felt. Or so he thought.
He needs to know more than we can tell him now. Ben? the DCI added.
Yes, Director?
Jack won't kill you for patience, and we can't do any more than watch it develop anyway. Remember, we can't overload him with information. He doesn't have the time to see it all anymore. What he sees has to be concise. That's your job, Ed Foley explained. It'll take you a few weeks to figure it out. I'll help, the DCI went on, reminding Goodley how junior he was.
Okay. I'll be waiting. The line clicked off.
Goodley had about a minute during which he reread the NSA bulletin, and then the phone rang again.
Dr. Goodley.
Doctor, this is the President's office, one of the senior secretaries said. I have a Mr. Golovko on the President's private line. Can you take the call?
Yes, he replied, thinking, Oh, shit.
Go ahead, please, she said, clicking off the line.
This is Ben Goodley.
This is Golovko. Who are you?
I am acting National Security Advisor to the President. And I know who you are.
Goodley? Ben could hear the voice searching his memory. Ah, yes, you are national intelligence officer who just learned to shave. My congratulations on your promotion.
The gamesmanship was impressive, though Goodley figured that there was a file on the Russian's desk with everything down to his shoe size. Even Golovko's memory couldn't be that good, and Goodley had been in the White House long enough that the word would have gotten out, and the RVS/KGB would have done its homework.
Well, somebody has to answer the phones, Minister. Gamesmanship could go two ways. Golovko wasn't really a minister, though he acted as such, and that was technically a secret. It was a weak reply, but it was something. What can I do for you?
You know the arrangement I have with Ivan Emmetovich?
Yes, sir, I do.
Very well, tell him that a new country is about to be born. It will be called the United Islamic Republic. It will include, for the moment, Iran and Iraq. I rather suspect that it will wish to grow further.
How reliable is that information, sir? Better to be polite. It would make the Russian feel bigger.
Young man, I would not make a report to your President unless I felt it to be reliable, but, he added generously, I understand you must ask the question. The point of origin for the report does not concern you. The reliability of the source is sufficient for me to pass the information along with