Executive orders - Tom Clancy [286]
Very well, Doctor. Please come over directly, he urged.
I have a few things I must do, and then I will come over. That could mean all day, or even longer, and both men knew it. The patient is isolated?
Full precautions are in place, MacGregor assured him.
You are a fine physician, Ian, and I know I can trust you to see to it that nothing serious will happen. The line clicked off. He'd scarcely replaced the phone receiver when the instrument rang again.
Yes?
Doctor, please come to Twenty-four, a nurse's voice told him.
He was there in three minutes. It was Sohaila. An orderly was carrying out the emesis tray. There was blood in it. She also had come here from Iraq, MacGregor knew. Oh, my God.
NONE OF YOU have anything to fear.
The words were somewhat reassuring, though not as much as the members of the Revolutionary Council would have liked. The Iranian mullahs were probably telling the truth, but the colonels and generals around the table had fought against Iran as captains and majors, and one never forgets battlefield enemies.
We need you to take control of your country's military, the senior one went on. As a result of your cooperation, you will retain your positions. We require only that you swear your loyalty to your new government in God's name. There would be more to it than that. They'd be watched closely. The officers all knew that. If they put a single foot wrong, they'd be shot for it. But they had nothing in the way of options, except perhaps to be taken out and shot this afternoon. Summary execution was not exactly unknown in either Iran or Iraq, an efficient way of dealing with dissidents, real or imagined, in both countries.
Facing such a thing was so different from one side to the other. On the side of the guns, one saw it as a quick, efficient, and final way of settling things in one's favor. From the other side, it had the abrupt injustice of a helicopter crash-just enough time for your spirit to scream No! before the racing earth blotted everything out, the disbelief and outrage of it. Except that in this case, they actually had a choice of sorts. Certain death now, or the chance of death later. The senior surviving officers of the Iraqi military shared furtive looks. They were not in control of their country's military. The military, the soldiers, were with the people, or with their company officers. The former was pleased to have a surplus of food to eat for the first time in almost a full decade. The latter was pleased as well to see a new day for their country. The break from the old regime was complete. It was just a bad memory now, and there was no return to it. The men in this room could reestablish control only through the good offices of the former enemies who stood at the end of the table with the serene smiles that went along with winning, that went along with holding the gift of life in their hands like pocket change, easily given and just as easily put away. They offered no choice, really.
The titular leader of the council nodded his submission, followed in seconds by all the others, and with the gesture, the identity of their country faded into history.
From that point on, it was just a matter of making some telephone calls.
THE ONLY SURPRISE was that it didn't happen on television. For once, the listening posts at STORM TRACK and PALM BOWL were beaten by analysts elsewhere. The TV cameras were in place, as would later be seen, but first there was business to be done, and that was recorded on satellite.
The first Iranians across the border were in motorized units which speeded down the highways under radio silence, but it was daylight, and overhead came two KH-11 satellites which cross-linked their signals to communications birds, and from there down to the reception points. The nearest to Washington were at Fort Belvoir.
Yes, Ryan said, lifting the phone to his ear.
It's Ben Goodley, Mr. President. It's happening now. Iranian troops are crossing the border without any opposition we can see.
Announcement?
Nothing as yet. It looks like they want