“She isn’t getting involved.”
“Then we’ve just managed to get absolutely nowhere.”
“I’ll convince Mas to take the ops job and you’ll get me some names for logistics.”
“I’d rather not, Mitch. If I do, Claudia’s going to find out and then she’s going to tell my wife and I’m going to catch hell.”
Rapp started for the door. “I don’t give a shit what you’d rather not do and I don’t give a shit what Irene thinks. You and Scott have forty-eight hours to get me that list.”
CHAPTER 14
The White House
Washington, D.C.
U.S.A.
WHEN Irene Kennedy entered the Oval Office, President Alexander was looking through the window at the sunlit landscape beyond. Normally he would have turned to greet her, displaying the southern hospitality that he was famous for. Today he didn’t acknowledge her at all.
For a politician, Alexander was a surprisingly reasonable and -honorable man. His opponents tried to use his good looks and dimpled, million-dollar smile to paint him as na?ve and weak. Those accusations couldn’t be further from the truth. He was an extremely intelligent and pragmatic man who cared deeply about his country. Like everyone in his position, he occasionally did the wrong thing for political reasons, but at least he did it reluctantly and with a strong grasp of the consequences.
The American people would be shocked to know that their affable leader’s greatest flaw wasn’t na?veté or weakness. It was rage. Instead of brief flashes of anger or occasional sarcasm to blow off steam, he bottled it up and eventually exploded. Kennedy had never spoken directly to the man about it, but the topic had once come up at a cocktail party she’d attended with the president’s aging mother. According to her, he’d been that way since he was a toddler.
Kennedy took a seat in front of his desk. As always, a steaming cup of tea was waiting for her on a side table. “Good afternoon, Mr. President.”
He didn’t respond, undoubtedly preoccupied with the meeting he was about to host. Of all the problems he had to deal with, Saudi Arabia was perhaps the one he despised most. It was a country with sufficient resources to provide prosperous lives for its citizens and be a force for good throughout the region. Instead, those resources had been used to enrich a handful of monarchs and to promote the cycle of violence and misery that the Middle East was currently mired in. There were enough horrifying problems facing the world without having to spend blood and treasure trying to deal with the self-inflicted ones.
When the president finally took a seat, he wore the relaxed smile the world was so familiar with. “Irene. A rare pleasure. You seem to be sending Mike Nash to deal with us politicians these days.”
Alexander was fond of ribbing the people who worked for him, but there was always a serious side to his jokes. A response was always required and it was best if it was an honest one.
“He’s good at it, sir.”
Alexander nodded. “Watch out for him, Irene. I don’t think he wants your chair, but I wouldn’t be surprised if one day he’s sitting in mine.”
Her eyebrows rose slightly. It wasn’t something she’d ever considered, but now that she thought about it, Alexander was right. He always was when it came to politics.
“I’m certain I’d enjoy working for him almost as much as I’ve enjoyed working for you.”
That was her subtle dig. Alexander hated to be patronized.
“Stop buttering me up, Irene. I already feel like a turkey about to get shoved in the oven.”
She reached for her tea, relieved that the level of tension had diminished slightly.
“Did you hear that the ambassador’s begged off?” Alexander said. “Some bullshit story about having food poisoning. So we’re just getting Nassar.”
“I’m not entirely surprised, sir. Calling an emergency meeting with no clear agenda is going to worry King Faisal and he’s aware that Ambassador Alawwad is . . .” Her voice faded for a moment. “. . . less than capable.”
“He’s a mental defective. But my understanding is that Aali Nassar isn’t. What do we know about him?”
“He’s a former army officer with a significant amount of combat experience. He was educated at Oxford as part of a scholarship program King Faisal put into place for the exceptional children of -working-class Saudis. In his early thirties, he moved from the military to Saudi intelligence, where he’s enjoyed a distinguished career, culminating with him replacing Prince Khaled as the head of the General Intelligence Directorate.”
“Religious?”
“He had a strict Muslim upbringing and gives every impression of maintaining those beliefs. Having said that, he’s also practical and ambitious. So it’s hard to determine how much of his religious conviction is real and how much is just a reflection of what’s expected.”
“Another politician in the making.”
“Possibly.”
Alexander leaned back in his chair and appraised her for a moment. “I’m suspicious about them suddenly flying Nassar in for this meeting. Do they know about Prince bin Musaid’s visit to Morocco? Do they suspect that we tracked him there?”
“I don’t think we should jump to conclusions,” Kennedy said. “Right now, all evidence suggests that King Faisal has lived up to his post-9/11 agreement with us. We’re not seeing any pattern of government--sponsored terrorism or support coming from the royal family.”
“Until now.”
“Yes, sir. But Prince bin Musaid is hardly a member of the power elite. I’d categorize him more as a black sheep.”
“So a disgruntled little prick who doesn’t think he’s getting his due is lashing out.”
“Until we have evidence to the contrary, it makes sense to assume that’s the case.”
“You’re always the voice of reason, Irene. I don’t know how you do it.”
“I’ve always been an optimist, sir.”
He actually laughed at that. The levity didn’t last long though. His secretary poked her head in and announced the arrival of Aali Nassar.
“Send him in.”
Kennedy had never been in the same room with the Saudi but now she had to admit that he was an impressive figure. Probably six foot two, with the square shoulders and narrow waist of a soldier despite being in his early sixties. His beard was dark and neatly trimmed, topped with close-cropped hair graying at the temples. He smiled politely and reached for the president’s hand.
“It’s a great honor, sir. Please allow me to apologize on behalf of Ambassador Alawwad for his absence. He’s quite ill.”
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“That won’t be necessary. Your country’s excellent medical personnel have things well in hand.” His accent was more British than Middle Eastern—the result of his years studying in England.
When Alexander released his hand, Nassar turned toward Kennedy. “Dr. Kennedy. After speaking so many times on the telephone, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”