• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

"That's close enough."

PRESIDENT NARMONOV:

WE HAVE APPREHENDED THE TERRORISTS AND DETERMINED THE EXTENT OF THE OPERATION

"Is this possible?"

"Yes, I would say so," Golovko replied. "Daryaei is a fanatic. He loathes the Americans."

"Those barbarians tried to bait us into -"

"Let them handle it," Golovko advised. "It is they who suffered the worst losses."

"You know what he will wish to do?"

"Yes, Comrade President, as do you."

PRESIDENT FOWLER:

PENDING EXAMINATION OF THE EVIDENCE I WILL ACCEPT YOUR LAST COMMUNICATION AS FACT. WE WASH OUR HANDS OF THIS. WHATEVER ACTION YOU FEEL IS NECESSARY. WE WILL NOT OBJECT NOW OR IN THE FUTURE. THESE MADMEN WERE WILLING TO DESTROY US BOTH. TO HELL WITH THEM.

"Christ, Andruska," Ryan murmured. That's a clear statement! The President read the message off the screen without a word.

Ryan had been under the impression that Narmonov had kept control of his emotions, but now the reverse seemed to be true. Fowler sat rock-steady in his chair, surveying the room with calm eyes.

"The world will learn a lesson from this," Fowler said. "I'll make sure that nobody ever does this again."

Another phone line went off. "Mr President, FBI, sir."

"Yes?"

"Mr President, this is Murray, we've just had a flash from the Bundeskriminalamt - that's the German Federal Criminal Police - that they've found the body of one Gunther Bock in eastern Berlin, dressed in the uniform of a Russian army colonel. There were nine others similarly dressed, one of whom is believed to be a former colonel in the Stasi. The data we got from Qati and the other one is confirmed on that side, sir."

"Murray, I want an opinion. Are you confident in the confessions?"

"Sir, generally speaking, when we bag these guys they sing like canaries. It's not the Mafia, there's no law of omerta."

"Thank you, Mr Murray." Fowler looked up at Ryan. "Well?"

"Sounds like we got good stuff from them."

"So, we agree for once." Fowler punched his SAC button. "General Fremont?"

"Yes, Mr President?"

"How quickly can you re-target a missile? I want to attack a city in Iran."

"What?"

"I'll let Deputy Director Ryan explain."

"Those sons-of-bitches." Fremont spoke for everyone in the room.

"Yes, General, and I intend to get the man who did this, and get him in a way that will send a message that nobody will ever forget. The leader of Iran has committed an act of war against the United States of America. I intend to reply exactly in proportion to his act, I want a missile targeted on Qum. How long will that take?"

"Ten minutes at least, sir, let me, uh, check with my operations people." CINC-SAC flipped off his microphone switch. "Christ."

"Pete," the Deputy Chief of Staff (Operations) said, "the man is right. That fucker almost killed us all - us and the Russians! For profit, for political profit!"

"I don't like it."

"You have to retarget the bird. I suggest a Minuteman-III out of Minot. The three RVs'll flatten the place. I'll need ten minutes."

Fremont nodded.

"Mr President, you can wait."

"No, I'm not going to wait. Ryan, you know what they did, you know why they did it. It was an act of war -"

"An act of terrorism, sir."

"State-sponsored terrorism is war - your own position paper from six years ago said that!"

Jack had not known that Fowler'd read it, and being hoist on his own petard came as a surprise. "Well, yes, sir, I did say that, but -"

"That holy man tried to kill - did kill thousands of Americans, and tried to trick us and the Russians into killing two hundred million more! He almost succeeded."

"Yes, sir, that is also true, but -" Fowler cut him off with a raised hand and continued to speak in the placid voice of a man whose decision had been made.

"It was an act of war. I will reply in kind. That's decided. I'm the President. I'm the Commander-in-Chief. I am the one who evaluates and acts upon the safety and security of the United States. I decide what the military of