Lethal Trajectories - Michael Conley [71]
Despite his immediate action, a communications glitch delayed his call to the White House for close to thirty minutes. I must remember to fix that once all this is over, he thought, then realized that it might be due to the rioters. He hoped his decision to circumvent the State Department and go direct to the Situation Room would not cause a problem, but this certainly looked like a Code Red emergency. While waiting, he gathered what additional information he could and was horrified to contemplate what appeared to be happening.
“Sir, we’re connected,” the sergeant finally said.
“Is this the watch officer?” Ambassador Thurgoode asked. “Please inform the Situation Room that the royal palace in Riyadh is under attack as we speak. Our Consul General’s office in Jeddah also reports heavy fighting near several governmental centers, and we’re checking now with our sources throughout Saudi Arabia to determine how widespread the fighting is. It looks now like a major insurrection is underway.”
Ambassador Thurgoode called again at midnight, Washington time. By that time the president and vice president had been at the center of a huddle of advisers and intelligence experts for nearly three hours.
“Mr. President,” Thurgoode reported, “a major coup is underway in Saudi Arabia. Word on the street is that the coup was instigated by Zionist and CIA-sponsored insurrectionists. Casualties are heavy, and virtually all the dead rebels are carrying American, Israeli, or British weapons.”
“Any word from the palace?” Burkmeister asked.
“We can’t reach anyone there, sir. And we’re hearing reports of heavy fighting throughout Saudi Arabia.”
Thurgoode knew well what scenarios were playing out in the minds of those present in the Situation Room. If Saudi oil was lost to the world markets, the economies of the world would grind to a halt. He heard a muddle of confused conversation over the speaker before the president called for quiet.
“All right, folks, we need to move on this,” the president commanded. “Clayton, please contact Secretary Thompson and have him reinstate the DEFCON 3 military alert. Admiral Coxen, I’d like you to stand the night watch here in the Situation Room. The rest of you, try to catch some sleep. We’ll meet again at 0700. Ambassador Thurgoode, thank you for your prompt action on this matter. Do you feel that you can maintain your presence at the embassy safely?” “Yes, Mr. President, I believe I can.”
“Good. Someone will be standing by here for any updates you can supply.”
“Yes, sir, and thank you, sir.”
The streets of Riyadh were strangely quiet by Wednesday noon. Civilians had cleared out, and the sounds of fighting and machine-gun fire had subsided. One of the heavily armed Marines assigned to guard the embassy reported that sporadic bursts of gunfire appeared to be execution squads in action. A large plume of dark gray smoke hovered over the royal palace, and communications with the Saudi government were nonexistent. Military convoys clogged the streets, which echoed with the constant hovering of Royal Saudi Air Force helicopters. The American embassy remained unscathed, with the exception of a couple of wayward mortar shells, and the ambassador issued a warning to all American citizens in the country to stay locked in their homes or offices and to not go outside under any circumstances. At one thirty in the afternoon, Riyadh time, the ambassador placed another call to the Situation Room. “Admiral Coxen,” he said, “the situation here is surreal. Businesses are closed, television stations are down, the streets are deserted. It’s like being in the eye of a hurricane, knowing we are surrounded by chaos. We can hear intermittent small-arms fire, but otherwise we are in a complete information blackout.
“However, there is a good possibility that the king has been killed or taken