American Operator, page 21
part #4 of Tier One Series
Baldwin was just beginning to babble about intersecting lines and confidence intervals when the door burst open to Dempsey’s room.
“I know where she is!” Raz bellowed, standing in the doorway, arms crossed proudly on his chest and his eyes on fire.
“Whadaya got?” Dempsey said, popping to his feet and following Raz to a small folding table in the kitchen. His new partner retrieved a beer—a longneck Budweiser of all things—from the fridge and offered him one. Dempsey shook his head, energized by the news.
“This community continues to impress me,” Raz said, tipping his beer back. “The Kurds have eyes and ears that probably rival the satellites and drones that the NSA has overhead, maybe even better because they talk to one another.”
“Agreed,” Dempsey said with a Get to the point stare.
“The vehicles you described were spotted arriving in the city last night. They traveled to a compound used by a YPG commander named Haq. He’s risen in the ranks of SDF, but I’ve never liked him. Rumor is, he came over from PKK. Most of the Kurds like and trust Americans, but not all of them. I would put Haq in the latter category. Anyway, whoever this woman is, her arrival caused quite an incident.”
“What do you mean, an incident?”
“Infighting in YPG.”
Dempsey rubbed his beard. “Maybe it’s time I read you in . . .”
“No, Atlas,” Smith said. “Absolutely not.”
Dempsey ignored Smith, looked at his young partner, and said, “Raz, I have a confession to make.”
“Here it comes,” Raz said and took a long pull from his beer.
“We’re not alone right now. I’ve got my people on the line and a Reaper in orbit overhead.”
“Hello, John’s people,” Raz said, looking at the ceiling.
“You told him your name?” Smith sighed. “C’mon, you gotta stop doing that.”
“Olympus, let’s take a look at the compound Raz just reported on with the Reaper. It would be nice to know how many shooters we’re dealing with and see if you can confirm a thermal signature that looks like it belongs to a hostage. We need to keep eyes on that compound continuously in case they try to move her again.”
“What about us?” Raz said.
“Let’s go for a drive. I’d like to survey the compound and see what we’re up against.”
Raz laughed. “I admire your ambition, and you know how I roll, but not even I would try and pull someone out of Haq’s compound alone.”
“Like I said, we’re not alone, Raz,” he said, clapping a hand on his new partner’s shoulder. “I have an entire team of friends standing by to help—friends I have a feeling you’re going to like very much.”
CHAPTER 25
Situation Room of the White House
Washington, DC
May 7
0300 Local Time
Contrary to its name, the current incarnation of the Situation Room was not a room at all. Rather, it was a massive permanently staffed command-and-control complex built under the White House. This was the longest stretch Jarvis had spent in the world’s most famous op center during his professional career.
It was not a record he intended to make a habit of breaking.
President Warner caught his eye and gestured for him to join him.
Well, here it is. I’m either a hero or a failure to the man who hired me. Time to find out which.
Jarvis headed toward the door, weaving behind and around agents at workstations directing men and women in crisis from thousands of miles away. As he watched them work, loyal extensions of the President, he wondered if he had done the right thing mobilizing the rescue mission without authorization. The question was not whether his decision had been morally and tactically prudent—of that he had no doubt—but had it reflected the President’s policy?
He was about to find out.
Warner shut the door softly behind him.
“Have a seat, Kelso.”
It wasn’t an offer but an order, so Jarvis sat in the large and comfortable leather chair in front of the small desk. President Warner took the seat beside him instead of behind the desk.
A good sign.
“You look like hell,” Warner began.
“I’m a little under the weather,” he said.
“When is the last time you slept?”
“I don’t know,” Jarvis said with a sigh. “A couple days.”
“When things calm down, I want you to get some rest,” the President said. “There are sleeping accommodations down here, as you are undoubtedly aware. I’m directing you to use them. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right, down to business. I’m assuming it was your Ember team that executed the rescue in Adana?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fortuitous that they were in theater. I assume you had them engaged in the hunt for Amanda Allen?”
Jarvis nodded. “The team was parked in Incirlik, where they were providing command and control for an operator I had in the field conducting ISR on a compound where we believed Miss Allen was being held.”
The President nodded and then crossed his legs at the knees. “Any luck?”
Jarvis paused and thought about how best to answer. He viewed providing the President plausible deniability as one of his most important roles. “We’re not sure, Mr. President. The operation was interrupted by the attack on Incirlik. Our air asset was damaged and we lost comms with my guy. It made sense to retask Ember for the rescue operation in Adana. Ember is now back on the Allen mission, and I expect an update on their progress in an hour or so.”
President Warner nodded and then stretched his back. “Let me ask you a question, Kelso.”
Jarvis waited quietly.
“Did you have a concern that I would not offer my approval of the rescue mission? Is that why you launched without discussing it with me? I know why you didn’t involve Secretary Baker—who is going to be a great Secretary of State, by the way—but I am at a loss to understand your decision to exclude me.”
Jarvis flashed back to his last one-on-one with Warner a year ago, on the day the President had made him the DNI. The more he interacted with the President, the more the man surprised him. Warner’s everyman demeanor was a carefully crafted façade, and behind that façade was a tenacious, nimble mind. Warner was the ultimate politician and high-stakes poker player. Even in the absence of data, the President knew when to bluff, when to hold, when to raise, and when to fold, regardless of the complexity of the situation. Warner’s mind did not work like his. Where Jarvis relied on logic, analytics, and risk-reward calculations, the President rapidly aggregated recommendations and inputs from trusted channels, sussing truth from fiction with astounding accuracy. Fortunately, Jarvis had not lied to the President, and he had no intention of starting now.
“Sir, I meant what I said. I know that you would never leave our people behind, no matter the political fallout. I believe that, or I would never have accepted the DNI position. If I had doubts about the mission’s approval, I can honestly say that I was not conscious of it. However, sir, while I work to execute my job on behalf of the American people, I have an equally important responsibility to you and your administration. When I decide that the best way to execute your policy is to use the completely clandestine, black ops unit we created—the unit that exists outside of legally mandated oversight—I feel obligated to do so on my own and provide your office with plausible deniability. In this case, the risks of the operation were manageable, but high enough that the political fallout from a potential failure weighed heavily on my decision. Within minutes of the compound being attacked, Erodan became aware of its existence, but the media didn’t. Plausible deniability was still on the table in the public realm. Also, I was not about to let this become your Benghazi. Taken together, it seemed prudent to make the responsibility for the mission wholly my own.”
The President chuckled. “So you saw yourself as taking a bullet for me? Is that it, Kelso?”
“Yes, sir,” Jarvis said, nodding.
“Harry Truman famously said, ‘The buck stops here.’ I’m the President of the United States, Kelso. You don’t need to worry about sheltering me. That’s not what I signed on for. Moving forward, I need to be in the loop on these types of decisions, though I want you to retain the autonomy to get the job done when the luxury of consultation is not available. In those cases, provided your decision was just and prudent, you can count on me to have your back. Is that fair?”
“Abundantly, sir,” Jarvis said. He watched the President carefully—the subtle smile despite the level of crisis all around him, and the eyes that told him the words were not bullshit.
“For someone who hates politics and bureaucracy, you seem to be developing a knack for it,” Warner said. “Perhaps one day we’ll find you sitting in my chair.”
It was Jarvis’s turn to laugh now. “Not much chance of that, sir.”
There was no conceivable situation in which he would ever be America’s Politician in Chief. A sudden numbness in his left leg reminded him that, even if he were willing, FDR was and would always be the country’s only wheelchair-bound President.
Warner stood and Jarvis moved to get up.
“Oh, we’re not finished,” the President said, walking to take the seat behind the desk. He picked up the desk phone and said, “Send in Secretary Baker, please.”
Clenching his jaw, Jarvis settled back into his seat.
“Time to put those budding politician skills of yours to work, Captain,” Warner said with an entirely-too-pleased-with-himself smile. The Secretary of State appeared at the door a beat later, and Warner waved him in. “Have a seat there next to the Director of National Intelligence, Mr. Secretary.”
Baker flashed the President a deferential smile and sat.
Warner eyed them both before finally breaking the uncomfortable silence.
“Well, gentlemen, it looks like we have an international fucking catastrophe on our hands, and it is going to take the combined efforts of all three of us to sort it out. We all see the writing on the wall—we’re losing control of Turkey. Erodan is not an ally we can trust or depend on. Before this attack on Incirlik, I’d already harbored unspoken fears that by the end of my term, Turkey would be a NATO member in name only. NATO members do not foster strategic alliances with Russia like Turkey is doing. NATO members do not endorse Iranian ‘diplomatic initiatives’ in Syria like Turkey has done. And NATO members do not establish an underground railroad for Islamic State fighters inside their borders, nor do they supply guns and resources to regional al-Qaeda affiliates. Erodan’s neo-Ottoman reorientation is not a subtle policy shift, gentlemen; it is a hard pivot away from the West. Turkey is rebuffing the EU, and the ground work is being laid for its membership in the Shanghai Cooperation Organization—Moscow and China’s answer to NATO. I don’t have the solution to the Erodan problem, but we desperately need a strategy. This will take a three-pronged approach if we want any chance of success—political, economic, and strategic—and the three of us are going to begin drafting it right now. Tell me your thoughts, theories, and fears. I want your honest, unfiltered opinions, and don’t hold back.”
“At his core, I believe Erodan is an opportunist,” Secretary Baker said. “He’s shopping for the best deal, and he’s going to play both sides against each other to get it. So far, Petrov has given him the best deal, lifting Russia’s tourism ban on Turkey and committing to two major energy infrastructure projects—the Turkstream natural gas pipeline, which will allow Russian natural gas to flow into Turkey, and this Russian-made nuclear power plant Turkey intends to build in Akkuyu. Russian rubles are flowing into Turkey, and unless the US and EU are willing to provide economic incentives that eclipse those from Moscow, then Erodan will not change dancing partners.”
The President nodded and looked at Jarvis. “Kelso, your thoughts?”
“I agree with the Secretary’s assessment. Turkey just purchased Russian S-400 missiles, a move that would have been unthinkable two years ago. As you said, Mr. President, this is not the type of behavior expected from a NATO member. Any and all current initiatives for Turkey to purchase F-35 fighters need to be tabled indefinitely. I think it’s abundantly clear the minute Erodan gets his hands on an F-35, the weapons system will be compromised. God only knows what design information will be passed to the Russians and Chinese. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if Erodan let his new buddy Petrov take one for a spin. On top of these specific concerns, there’s the broader and more troubling matter of Turkey and NATO. As we saw today, Erodan’s duplicity is now impacting coordination and readiness. And just last month, Turkish and Russian Naval forces conducted joint training exercises in the Med for the first time in my career. My point is, Turkey is no longer a reliable NATO partner.”
“Then we should just expel them,” Baker said.
“It’s not so simple,” Warner replied. “There’s no simple mechanism in NATO to expel member states. NATO is run by consensus.”
“Ironically,” Jarvis said, “Turkey remaining in NATO could pose more of a threat than its excommunication.”
“How so?” Warner asked.
“Like you said, Mr. President, NATO is run by consensus. A corrupted, misaligned Turkey could effectively act as a Trojan horse, paralyzing NATO into inaction. Imagine a scenario where Russia moves to annex Ukrainian territory or, God forbid, one of the Baltics and Turkey torpedoes NATO consensus, forcing the US to act unilaterally or build an outside coalition. Crimea happened fast, and it proved that Russia doesn’t need to beat NATO to achieve its reunification agenda. It just needs to outrun it.”
Warner sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Listening to the two of you has confirmed my fears. So to start, what do we do about Incirlik?”
“Well, the first order of business is to get those B61s out of there,” Baker said. “I’ve already been discussing this matter with Deputy Director Morgan. She and I are of the strong opinion that we can’t continue to give a man like Erodan access to a cache of tactical nuclear weapons.”
So that’s what the two of you were whispering about during the brief, Jarvis thought.
“Do you agree, Kelso?” the President asked.
“I don’t know, Mr. President,” Jarvis said. “On the one hand, the B61s are like a pair of handcuffs. They’re our weapons; so long as they reside in Incirlik, Erodan is bound to us. He is brazen, but not so brazen as to risk provoking the full might and power of the US military by seizing a nuclear asset that does not belong to him. On the other hand, their continued presence on Turkish soil sends a message to the world that we support Erodan and trust him implicitly enough to give him a nuclear weapons cache while he betrays and embarrasses us by having a very public affair with Russia. Maybe divorce in this case is merited.”
“The minute we pull those nukes, he’ll boot us off the base and suspend NATO operations in the country. Losing Turkey as a base of operations and handing it over to the Russians would be a serious strategic blow in the region,” the President said.
“And we can’t forget about Israel. Without a US presence in Turkey, Israel becomes even more isolated and Iran more emboldened,” Jarvis added, wondering what his friend and mentor Levi Harel must be thinking right now.
A chill descended on the office as the three most powerful people in the American government brooded in silence. After a long beat, Warner’s expression hardened. “I refuse to be the conductor who lets this runaway train drive off the tracks. No, not on my watch,” he said. “So pack your bags, gentlemen, because we’re going to Turkey.”
CHAPTER 26
Wherever . . .
Amanda sat in the corner clutching her knees, naked and shivering.
She’d eaten the walnuts, eaten every last crumb, and she didn’t feel guilty about it. She was so fucking hungry; she needed every morsel of protein she could scavenge. For the past several hours, they’d ignored her. Malik was letting her stew and fret, just like he’d promised to do.
Was it working?
Yes.
It was important to be honest with herself.
Being naked stripped her of her dignity. Being cold made her feel weak. Being in solitary confinement made her feel alone. Not “alone” as in “by herself.” That was obvious. But alone in the world—disconnected, without love, support, or allies.
Naked, cold, and alone—it was a powerful triad of deprivation.
But as long as I recognize what is being done to me, I can take steps to counter the psychological and emotional effects. I have to keep talking to myself. When they break me down, I have to build myself up. I’m the only person who can do it. I’m my only friend. I’m my only ally.
Eventually, she felt the need to urinate, but she didn’t move. She held it. She was so dehydrated her lips were wrinkled and chapped. She knew kidneys cleaned the blood to make urine, but she wasn’t well versed in the mechanism. She knew the process happened automatically in the background, regardless of how thirsty a person was, but she wondered if by holding her pee, her body would maybe slow that process down . . . save more water. It was probably a stupid thing to do. It probably didn’t matter, and all she was doing was making herself unnecessarily uncomfortable.
You’re not a camel, Amanda, she thought, talking to herself in third person. This made her laugh, something she needed desperately.
“Fuck it, this is stupid.” She sighed and got to her feet, stiff knees and hips protesting as she did. She stood there for a moment, letting the pins and needles subside as blood flow got moving again in her legs. Then she limped over to the metal pail in the corner and squatted over it. The door opened, startling her just as she began to relieve herself.
Jesus Christ!
Malik appeared in the doorway, holding something in his right hand. His gaze went immediately to her crotch and stayed there as her stream of urine made the dingy metal reverberate beneath her.
“Enjoying the show?” she asked, trying to find strength in this humiliation.
“Actually, yes,” he said, the left corner of his mouth curling up. “I like it immensely.” The look in his eyes wasn’t sexual lust—it was something else. Something far more frightening.
“I know where she is!” Raz bellowed, standing in the doorway, arms crossed proudly on his chest and his eyes on fire.
“Whadaya got?” Dempsey said, popping to his feet and following Raz to a small folding table in the kitchen. His new partner retrieved a beer—a longneck Budweiser of all things—from the fridge and offered him one. Dempsey shook his head, energized by the news.
“This community continues to impress me,” Raz said, tipping his beer back. “The Kurds have eyes and ears that probably rival the satellites and drones that the NSA has overhead, maybe even better because they talk to one another.”
“Agreed,” Dempsey said with a Get to the point stare.
“The vehicles you described were spotted arriving in the city last night. They traveled to a compound used by a YPG commander named Haq. He’s risen in the ranks of SDF, but I’ve never liked him. Rumor is, he came over from PKK. Most of the Kurds like and trust Americans, but not all of them. I would put Haq in the latter category. Anyway, whoever this woman is, her arrival caused quite an incident.”
“What do you mean, an incident?”
“Infighting in YPG.”
Dempsey rubbed his beard. “Maybe it’s time I read you in . . .”
“No, Atlas,” Smith said. “Absolutely not.”
Dempsey ignored Smith, looked at his young partner, and said, “Raz, I have a confession to make.”
“Here it comes,” Raz said and took a long pull from his beer.
“We’re not alone right now. I’ve got my people on the line and a Reaper in orbit overhead.”
“Hello, John’s people,” Raz said, looking at the ceiling.
“You told him your name?” Smith sighed. “C’mon, you gotta stop doing that.”
“Olympus, let’s take a look at the compound Raz just reported on with the Reaper. It would be nice to know how many shooters we’re dealing with and see if you can confirm a thermal signature that looks like it belongs to a hostage. We need to keep eyes on that compound continuously in case they try to move her again.”
“What about us?” Raz said.
“Let’s go for a drive. I’d like to survey the compound and see what we’re up against.”
Raz laughed. “I admire your ambition, and you know how I roll, but not even I would try and pull someone out of Haq’s compound alone.”
“Like I said, we’re not alone, Raz,” he said, clapping a hand on his new partner’s shoulder. “I have an entire team of friends standing by to help—friends I have a feeling you’re going to like very much.”
CHAPTER 25
Situation Room of the White House
Washington, DC
May 7
0300 Local Time
Contrary to its name, the current incarnation of the Situation Room was not a room at all. Rather, it was a massive permanently staffed command-and-control complex built under the White House. This was the longest stretch Jarvis had spent in the world’s most famous op center during his professional career.
It was not a record he intended to make a habit of breaking.
President Warner caught his eye and gestured for him to join him.
Well, here it is. I’m either a hero or a failure to the man who hired me. Time to find out which.
Jarvis headed toward the door, weaving behind and around agents at workstations directing men and women in crisis from thousands of miles away. As he watched them work, loyal extensions of the President, he wondered if he had done the right thing mobilizing the rescue mission without authorization. The question was not whether his decision had been morally and tactically prudent—of that he had no doubt—but had it reflected the President’s policy?
He was about to find out.
Warner shut the door softly behind him.
“Have a seat, Kelso.”
It wasn’t an offer but an order, so Jarvis sat in the large and comfortable leather chair in front of the small desk. President Warner took the seat beside him instead of behind the desk.
A good sign.
“You look like hell,” Warner began.
“I’m a little under the weather,” he said.
“When is the last time you slept?”
“I don’t know,” Jarvis said with a sigh. “A couple days.”
“When things calm down, I want you to get some rest,” the President said. “There are sleeping accommodations down here, as you are undoubtedly aware. I’m directing you to use them. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right, down to business. I’m assuming it was your Ember team that executed the rescue in Adana?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fortuitous that they were in theater. I assume you had them engaged in the hunt for Amanda Allen?”
Jarvis nodded. “The team was parked in Incirlik, where they were providing command and control for an operator I had in the field conducting ISR on a compound where we believed Miss Allen was being held.”
The President nodded and then crossed his legs at the knees. “Any luck?”
Jarvis paused and thought about how best to answer. He viewed providing the President plausible deniability as one of his most important roles. “We’re not sure, Mr. President. The operation was interrupted by the attack on Incirlik. Our air asset was damaged and we lost comms with my guy. It made sense to retask Ember for the rescue operation in Adana. Ember is now back on the Allen mission, and I expect an update on their progress in an hour or so.”
President Warner nodded and then stretched his back. “Let me ask you a question, Kelso.”
Jarvis waited quietly.
“Did you have a concern that I would not offer my approval of the rescue mission? Is that why you launched without discussing it with me? I know why you didn’t involve Secretary Baker—who is going to be a great Secretary of State, by the way—but I am at a loss to understand your decision to exclude me.”
Jarvis flashed back to his last one-on-one with Warner a year ago, on the day the President had made him the DNI. The more he interacted with the President, the more the man surprised him. Warner’s everyman demeanor was a carefully crafted façade, and behind that façade was a tenacious, nimble mind. Warner was the ultimate politician and high-stakes poker player. Even in the absence of data, the President knew when to bluff, when to hold, when to raise, and when to fold, regardless of the complexity of the situation. Warner’s mind did not work like his. Where Jarvis relied on logic, analytics, and risk-reward calculations, the President rapidly aggregated recommendations and inputs from trusted channels, sussing truth from fiction with astounding accuracy. Fortunately, Jarvis had not lied to the President, and he had no intention of starting now.
“Sir, I meant what I said. I know that you would never leave our people behind, no matter the political fallout. I believe that, or I would never have accepted the DNI position. If I had doubts about the mission’s approval, I can honestly say that I was not conscious of it. However, sir, while I work to execute my job on behalf of the American people, I have an equally important responsibility to you and your administration. When I decide that the best way to execute your policy is to use the completely clandestine, black ops unit we created—the unit that exists outside of legally mandated oversight—I feel obligated to do so on my own and provide your office with plausible deniability. In this case, the risks of the operation were manageable, but high enough that the political fallout from a potential failure weighed heavily on my decision. Within minutes of the compound being attacked, Erodan became aware of its existence, but the media didn’t. Plausible deniability was still on the table in the public realm. Also, I was not about to let this become your Benghazi. Taken together, it seemed prudent to make the responsibility for the mission wholly my own.”
The President chuckled. “So you saw yourself as taking a bullet for me? Is that it, Kelso?”
“Yes, sir,” Jarvis said, nodding.
“Harry Truman famously said, ‘The buck stops here.’ I’m the President of the United States, Kelso. You don’t need to worry about sheltering me. That’s not what I signed on for. Moving forward, I need to be in the loop on these types of decisions, though I want you to retain the autonomy to get the job done when the luxury of consultation is not available. In those cases, provided your decision was just and prudent, you can count on me to have your back. Is that fair?”
“Abundantly, sir,” Jarvis said. He watched the President carefully—the subtle smile despite the level of crisis all around him, and the eyes that told him the words were not bullshit.
“For someone who hates politics and bureaucracy, you seem to be developing a knack for it,” Warner said. “Perhaps one day we’ll find you sitting in my chair.”
It was Jarvis’s turn to laugh now. “Not much chance of that, sir.”
There was no conceivable situation in which he would ever be America’s Politician in Chief. A sudden numbness in his left leg reminded him that, even if he were willing, FDR was and would always be the country’s only wheelchair-bound President.
Warner stood and Jarvis moved to get up.
“Oh, we’re not finished,” the President said, walking to take the seat behind the desk. He picked up the desk phone and said, “Send in Secretary Baker, please.”
Clenching his jaw, Jarvis settled back into his seat.
“Time to put those budding politician skills of yours to work, Captain,” Warner said with an entirely-too-pleased-with-himself smile. The Secretary of State appeared at the door a beat later, and Warner waved him in. “Have a seat there next to the Director of National Intelligence, Mr. Secretary.”
Baker flashed the President a deferential smile and sat.
Warner eyed them both before finally breaking the uncomfortable silence.
“Well, gentlemen, it looks like we have an international fucking catastrophe on our hands, and it is going to take the combined efforts of all three of us to sort it out. We all see the writing on the wall—we’re losing control of Turkey. Erodan is not an ally we can trust or depend on. Before this attack on Incirlik, I’d already harbored unspoken fears that by the end of my term, Turkey would be a NATO member in name only. NATO members do not foster strategic alliances with Russia like Turkey is doing. NATO members do not endorse Iranian ‘diplomatic initiatives’ in Syria like Turkey has done. And NATO members do not establish an underground railroad for Islamic State fighters inside their borders, nor do they supply guns and resources to regional al-Qaeda affiliates. Erodan’s neo-Ottoman reorientation is not a subtle policy shift, gentlemen; it is a hard pivot away from the West. Turkey is rebuffing the EU, and the ground work is being laid for its membership in the Shanghai Cooperation Organization—Moscow and China’s answer to NATO. I don’t have the solution to the Erodan problem, but we desperately need a strategy. This will take a three-pronged approach if we want any chance of success—political, economic, and strategic—and the three of us are going to begin drafting it right now. Tell me your thoughts, theories, and fears. I want your honest, unfiltered opinions, and don’t hold back.”
“At his core, I believe Erodan is an opportunist,” Secretary Baker said. “He’s shopping for the best deal, and he’s going to play both sides against each other to get it. So far, Petrov has given him the best deal, lifting Russia’s tourism ban on Turkey and committing to two major energy infrastructure projects—the Turkstream natural gas pipeline, which will allow Russian natural gas to flow into Turkey, and this Russian-made nuclear power plant Turkey intends to build in Akkuyu. Russian rubles are flowing into Turkey, and unless the US and EU are willing to provide economic incentives that eclipse those from Moscow, then Erodan will not change dancing partners.”
The President nodded and looked at Jarvis. “Kelso, your thoughts?”
“I agree with the Secretary’s assessment. Turkey just purchased Russian S-400 missiles, a move that would have been unthinkable two years ago. As you said, Mr. President, this is not the type of behavior expected from a NATO member. Any and all current initiatives for Turkey to purchase F-35 fighters need to be tabled indefinitely. I think it’s abundantly clear the minute Erodan gets his hands on an F-35, the weapons system will be compromised. God only knows what design information will be passed to the Russians and Chinese. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if Erodan let his new buddy Petrov take one for a spin. On top of these specific concerns, there’s the broader and more troubling matter of Turkey and NATO. As we saw today, Erodan’s duplicity is now impacting coordination and readiness. And just last month, Turkish and Russian Naval forces conducted joint training exercises in the Med for the first time in my career. My point is, Turkey is no longer a reliable NATO partner.”
“Then we should just expel them,” Baker said.
“It’s not so simple,” Warner replied. “There’s no simple mechanism in NATO to expel member states. NATO is run by consensus.”
“Ironically,” Jarvis said, “Turkey remaining in NATO could pose more of a threat than its excommunication.”
“How so?” Warner asked.
“Like you said, Mr. President, NATO is run by consensus. A corrupted, misaligned Turkey could effectively act as a Trojan horse, paralyzing NATO into inaction. Imagine a scenario where Russia moves to annex Ukrainian territory or, God forbid, one of the Baltics and Turkey torpedoes NATO consensus, forcing the US to act unilaterally or build an outside coalition. Crimea happened fast, and it proved that Russia doesn’t need to beat NATO to achieve its reunification agenda. It just needs to outrun it.”
Warner sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Listening to the two of you has confirmed my fears. So to start, what do we do about Incirlik?”
“Well, the first order of business is to get those B61s out of there,” Baker said. “I’ve already been discussing this matter with Deputy Director Morgan. She and I are of the strong opinion that we can’t continue to give a man like Erodan access to a cache of tactical nuclear weapons.”
So that’s what the two of you were whispering about during the brief, Jarvis thought.
“Do you agree, Kelso?” the President asked.
“I don’t know, Mr. President,” Jarvis said. “On the one hand, the B61s are like a pair of handcuffs. They’re our weapons; so long as they reside in Incirlik, Erodan is bound to us. He is brazen, but not so brazen as to risk provoking the full might and power of the US military by seizing a nuclear asset that does not belong to him. On the other hand, their continued presence on Turkish soil sends a message to the world that we support Erodan and trust him implicitly enough to give him a nuclear weapons cache while he betrays and embarrasses us by having a very public affair with Russia. Maybe divorce in this case is merited.”
“The minute we pull those nukes, he’ll boot us off the base and suspend NATO operations in the country. Losing Turkey as a base of operations and handing it over to the Russians would be a serious strategic blow in the region,” the President said.
“And we can’t forget about Israel. Without a US presence in Turkey, Israel becomes even more isolated and Iran more emboldened,” Jarvis added, wondering what his friend and mentor Levi Harel must be thinking right now.
A chill descended on the office as the three most powerful people in the American government brooded in silence. After a long beat, Warner’s expression hardened. “I refuse to be the conductor who lets this runaway train drive off the tracks. No, not on my watch,” he said. “So pack your bags, gentlemen, because we’re going to Turkey.”
CHAPTER 26
Wherever . . .
Amanda sat in the corner clutching her knees, naked and shivering.
She’d eaten the walnuts, eaten every last crumb, and she didn’t feel guilty about it. She was so fucking hungry; she needed every morsel of protein she could scavenge. For the past several hours, they’d ignored her. Malik was letting her stew and fret, just like he’d promised to do.
Was it working?
Yes.
It was important to be honest with herself.
Being naked stripped her of her dignity. Being cold made her feel weak. Being in solitary confinement made her feel alone. Not “alone” as in “by herself.” That was obvious. But alone in the world—disconnected, without love, support, or allies.
Naked, cold, and alone—it was a powerful triad of deprivation.
But as long as I recognize what is being done to me, I can take steps to counter the psychological and emotional effects. I have to keep talking to myself. When they break me down, I have to build myself up. I’m the only person who can do it. I’m my only friend. I’m my only ally.
Eventually, she felt the need to urinate, but she didn’t move. She held it. She was so dehydrated her lips were wrinkled and chapped. She knew kidneys cleaned the blood to make urine, but she wasn’t well versed in the mechanism. She knew the process happened automatically in the background, regardless of how thirsty a person was, but she wondered if by holding her pee, her body would maybe slow that process down . . . save more water. It was probably a stupid thing to do. It probably didn’t matter, and all she was doing was making herself unnecessarily uncomfortable.
You’re not a camel, Amanda, she thought, talking to herself in third person. This made her laugh, something she needed desperately.
“Fuck it, this is stupid.” She sighed and got to her feet, stiff knees and hips protesting as she did. She stood there for a moment, letting the pins and needles subside as blood flow got moving again in her legs. Then she limped over to the metal pail in the corner and squatted over it. The door opened, startling her just as she began to relieve herself.
Jesus Christ!
Malik appeared in the doorway, holding something in his right hand. His gaze went immediately to her crotch and stayed there as her stream of urine made the dingy metal reverberate beneath her.
“Enjoying the show?” she asked, trying to find strength in this humiliation.
“Actually, yes,” he said, the left corner of his mouth curling up. “I like it immensely.” The look in his eyes wasn’t sexual lust—it was something else. Something far more frightening.
