Callan’s lead Secret Service agent, Tony Scarlatti, appeared in the doorway. “Good, you’re all packed up. Ready, ma’am?”
“Yes, I am.” As they walked briskly toward the West Wing, Tony said into his wrist mike, “Cardinal’s on the move.” He gave Callan a big smile. “You’re going to be just fine, ma’am. No worries.”
And she no longer wanted to break into a run. If Tony wasn’t concerned, then she wouldn’t be, either.
He said very matter-of-factly, his voice as comforting as warm syrup, “Ma’am, we’ve got planes in the skies and no good way to track them, except the old-fashioned way, by hand. Any one of them could deviate off course and try to fly into us. Communications and transportation are down all over the city, the Capitol is being evacuated. We aren’t going to take any chances with you.”
Is that all? How about a meteor heading our way? “What else do you know, Tony?”
“Just a moment, ma’am,” he said, and turned away to speak into his comms. When he turned back, his voice remained calm and reassuring. “I’m to bring you to the Situation Room. I don’t know what’s happening.”
The stairwell in the West Wing was lit in ghostly green. Down one level was the Situation Room, and Callan saw a flurry of activity inside.
Callan pushed into the room, Tony and Quinn on her heels.
Several military staffers stood in the center of the small space, watching huge monitors, above which time clocks from all over the world ran. They stood at attention when she entered.
“Madam Vice President, we’re relieved you’re here.”
“Commander Zarvick, tell me what’s happening.”
Commander Zarvick was the senior staffer attached to the JSOC—Joint Special Operations Command. “Ma’am, we have eyes on a nuclear facility in Iran that’s gone live. One of the ones they’re refusing to let the UN inspectors near.”
Her blood chilled. “Tell me what you mean—it’s gone live?”
“We’re not entirely sure exactly what they’re doing. Thirty minutes ago, activity started at the Bushehr facility. The heat signatures showed multiple forces moving into a defensive position, and their medium-range ballistic missile batteries are lit up, too.”
“Which missiles?”
“Sejjls and Ashouras. Two-thousand-kilometer range. They may only be executing maneuvers, that would be par for the course, their ritual thumbing their noses at us, just to rile everyone, the good Lord knows they’ve done it enough in the past. But this time, I’ve got to admit it surprises me that they’d do it now, what with the president and all their leaders at the table supposedly talking peace. And that’s why I wanted you to know, ma’am.”
Commander Zarvick was perfectly right. The Iranians loved to shove provocative behavior in their faces, then claim only testing, but now? Callan clicked off in her head: Bayway blowing up, the electrical grid attacked, Zahir Damari gunning for her, and now Iran pulling their usual crap, using the exact methods they were pledging to stop in order to cooperate. Well, nothing new.
Was this not simple saber rattling? Was this show the ultimate screw-you? The Iranians using the peace talks as a cover, knowing the United States wouldn’t take their actions seriously? Did they want an all-out war? Well, of course some of them did, but they had to know they’d be wiped off the face of the earth. What was going on here?
Callan said, “Do we have anyone on the ground who can confirm the movements, or are we relying on the drones?”
Zarvick held up a finger. “One moment, ma’am.” He picked up the phone, and she heard him asking the question, assumed he was talking to the regional team leader at JSOC command. He hung up. “Ma’am, there is a SEAL recon team two hours away. We’d have to give them a mission parameter and get them humping asap.”
“Covert assets?”