The Leveling

“I’m skeptical. Very skeptical. At the minimum we’d have to allow their helicopters to refuel on one of our carriers, or piss off the Iraqis and find a way to set up a refueling station in western Iraq. They’re close to being able to pull it off, but they’re not there yet.”


Dammit all, thought the president, thinking not of what his secretary of defense had just said—he’d already known the answers, he’d just wanted to hear them one more time—but of the overall predicament. The Iranians had it coming, nobody disputed that, but an attack would come with a cost. He imagined the Iranians mining the bejesus out of the Strait of Hormuz, causing the price of oil to go through the roof and triggering a worldwide depression, while every living Iranian rallied around their idiotic government because they loved their country more than they hated the mullahs who ran it.

Knowing what his friend was thinking, the secretary of defense said, “Don’t forget about a possible invasion or uprising in Bahrain. Sixty-five percent Shiite, and the Iranians would love to get rid of our Fifth Fleet.”

The best-case scenario? The attack successfully wiped out the Iranian nuclear program, oil prices spiked temporarily but the market absorbed it, Iran made a stink and lobbed a few missiles at Israel but backed down because it didn’t want to provoke a land invasion from the United States, and the Saudis and other Sunni dictators cheered silently while their people decided they hated the United States a bit more than they already did.

The president shook his head. It galled him that whatever happened, best case or worst case, the United States would bear all the costs while China and Russia and even the Europeans would probably reap all the benefits. All because of what had happened to one woman.

“I’ll talk to CENTCOM one more time and then sleep on it,” said the president. “You’ll have my decision by morning.”





28


Ashgabat, Turkmenistan



MARK SIGNED ALL the forms Holtz put in front of him. Daria did too.

“There’s just one other thing,” said Holtz.

“No, there isn’t,” said Daria.

“Actually, there is. I just got the call an hour ago. Apparently Langley’s been looking all over for Mark, calling everyone. We’re talking a brief detour to the embassy, that’s all.”

“Tell us about Decker first,” said Mark.

Holtz gestured with his finger, prompting Mark to look behind him. Across the lobby, standing in front of an interior waterfall that ran between two enormous plates of clear glass, stood the CIA’s chief of station, Turkmenistan.

“You’re a dickhead, Bruce.”

“Relax, Sava. Langley just wants to debrief you on whatever went down in Baku, that’s all. I couldn’t say no, not if I want to stay in business over here. Shouldn’t be more than an hour. Then I’ll tell you everything I know about Deck, just like we agreed.”

Mark recognized William Thompson, the lanky gray-haired guy who walked over to greet him; they’d worked together on a couple of occasions over the years. Mark remembered him as cautious and competent. Nearing retirement age.

They shook hands and exchanged a few greetings.

“You’ve been recalled,” said Thompson. He settled his long frame into an easy chair next to Mark. He had a patrician, but not pretentious, air to him. “I suspect that’s not what you want to hear, but there it is. I’ve been ordered to see to it that you’re on the next flight back to Washington.”

“Way to go, Bruce,” said Mark.

“That wasn’t the deal,” said Holtz to Thompson. “You were going to debrief him at the embassy.”

“I was OK with that,” said Thompson. “Turns out Langley wasn’t. I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intention to mislead anyone.”

“Sorry?” Holtz looked from Thompson to Mark and then back at Thompson again. “Sorry? We had a deal.”

“I can’t be recalled,” said Mark. “I’m not on duty, I’m a private citizen.”

“Langley says you’re not,” said Thompson. “Something about a contract to write political reports?”

“It was a once-a-month deal. I did it for them for free.”

“I apologize if this comes as an unwelcome surprise, Mark. Everyone knows the Baku station was one of the best in the division when you ran it. But my orders from Langley are explicit.”

Thompson picked up a secure cable printout and handed it to Mark. Mark studied it for a moment, then stared at Holtz.

“I was kind of in the middle of something here, William.”

Thompson sighed. He looked tired and unwilling to argue. Mark wondered how long he’d been posted in Ashgabat.

“Well regardless, at this point it’s out of my hands,” said Thompson. “I don’t know why Langley wants you back, but they do. If you want to call the seventh floor and duke it out with them, be my guest.”

“What’s your sense of it?”

Thompson shrugged. “Waste of time. The decision’s already been made. I understand there was an incident in Baku—”

“Someone came after me. I’m trying to figure out who.”