Logistically, the problem for the U. S. was not moving troops to the battlefield. Wide body airplanes such as 747's and C-141's could ferry ten thousand-plus troops a day into the region. The problem lay in transporting the U. S. Army's armor divisions and their supreme M1A1 Abrams main battle tank. Each of these behemoths weighs 54 tons and cannot be flown to their theater of operation; they must be shipped by vessel, and then transported by train or flatbed truck to the front. And the Abrams is only a small but crucial part of an armor divisions equipment. Armored personnel carriers, tracked reconnaissance vehicles, towed artillery, tracked artillery, rocket launchers, self-propelled antiaircraft guns, combat engineering vehicles, and spare parts and ordnance for every vehicle meant having to move millions of tons of equipment and supplies halfway around the world. This takes months and makes for many sleepless nights while planners wait to build a force strong enough to resist attack.
After the Gulf War the U. S. military did the smart thing, and with the approval of several Arab Gulf States they created depots for their heavy equipment and left it in the theater. The Special Forces took this basic idea and carried it a step further. Not only did they keep equipment such as helicopters and desert fast attack vehicles in the region, they used it as a live-fire training ground for their operators. Unknown to the public and most of the military was the fact that since the end of the Gulf War, U. S. Special Forces personnel had continued to operate in southern and western Iraq. They had created a series of outposts along the northern frontier between Saudi Arabia and Iraq that allowed them to operate without interference from their host country. Saudi Arabia knew something was up, but chose to turn a blind eye. Saddam, too proud to admit that a handful of American soldiers were harassing his supposed elite troops, didn't dare say anything to an international community that had little sympathy.
The bases were originally established as quick response combat search-and-rescue outposts, or CSAR, as they were referred to in military jargon. The farther to the north these bases were located the quicker the CSAR crews could get to a downed air crew. During the Gulf War many of these operations were carried out from the base at at Ar Ar, forty miles from the border. General Campbell, the commander of the Joint Special Operations Command, pushed to have these bases moved farther to the north. In the case of Oasis One, they were literally on the borer.
In recent years the Iraqis had begun firing more frequently on coalition flights that were enforcing the southern no-fly zone. Unlike his predecessor, General Flood believed in the capabilities of Special Forces. The previous chairman of the Joint Chiefs was loath to use the highly trained warriors. Fortunately, Flood thought it made as much sense as owning a Corvette and never taking it out of the garage. As Iraq became increasingly aggressive against coalition flights. General Flood took the leash off the Special Force's units arrayed across the northern frontier. They began launching raids across the border, harassing Iraqi army units, ambushing them and then disappearing into the desert. Green Beret, Delta Force and Navy SEAL snipers began eliminating Iraqi officers at distances approaching a mile. This harassing of the enemy had greatly affected the morale of the Iraqi units and a lessening of their desire to patrol so close to the border. The end result was some much appreciated breathing room for the Special Forces units arrayed across the northern frontier.
Rapp peered out from his perch. Long shadows fell from the escarpment as the sun prepared to slip over the western horizon. He could feel the heat escaping from the arid desert. The temperature would drop thirty degrees in the next two hours. Rapp looked at the patches of darkness below, stretching out to the east toward Baghdad and possible death. There was no fear, just anticipation and maybe a few regrets. He wished things had worked out between him and Anna, but they hadn't. They never would. They were from two different worlds, neither willing to give theirs up completely, and for that they would always be apart. The conviction was back. The fight in Milan had at least given him that. He had made a difference, and was about to make a huge difference. There were hundreds of innocent people sitting in the Al Hussein Hospital who were depending on him. They would never know him, they would never even know he had saved their lives, but he had to try.
A light breeze twisted the sand at the bottom of the escarpment into a funnel and carried it away. Rapp wondered if somewhere in his past there wasn't a relative who had come from this part of the world. Maybe it was just the similarities between the ocean and the desert. They were both awesome in power, they held a subtle, expansive beauty that could trick the human eye into seeing things that were not there, and they could be incredibly inhospitable if you didn't pay attention. The sound of a footfall from behind pulled him from his trance, and he turned to see Colonel Gray approaching through the narrow crevice.
"Beautiful up here, isn't it?" asked the wiry leader of Delta Force.
"Very"
"A perfect natural fort." Gray placed a hand on the rock and looked down the hundred-foot sheer drop to the desert floor.
"What did you have to give the Bedouins to get it from them?"
"Nothing. They used to launch raids from this place across the border into Iraq. They'd steal anything they could get their hands on. Saddam got fed up and in eighty-nine he cleared the rats' nest out and poisoned the well. The Bedouins left and have never come back."
Rapp nodded. Water dictated all travel in the desert. "Have you put any more thought into tonight?"
"Yeah. I think you're right. The men have the infiltration and extraction down. No sense running another exercise and risking an accident. We'll give everybody a chance to get some rest and save up for tomorrow night."
"You've talked to Washington."Rapp kept his eyes on the desert.
"Yep."
"And it's on?"
Gray cocked his head and grinned, "You know how they like to change their minds. For now it's on."
"Good. We can't afford to have this compromised. The longer we wait around the better chance there is that someone will talk." "Not my men," said a defensive Gray.
"It's not your men I'm worried about. It's the blowhards back in D. C." Rapp added quietly, "We need complete surprise to pull this off. I told the President your men could handle it. Another day or week of training will only give us a marginal benefit, but if the word leaks out somehow, we're fucked." Rapp looked off into the distance toward Baghdad. "If they know we're coming, no amount of training is going to save us.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE.
South Lawn, The White House, Sunday afternoon
The day was still as Marine One descended ominously from the gray sky. The wheels landed perfectly on the three disks that had been put down to keep the heavy helicopter from sinking into the lush grass. The fire engine was in place just in case something went wrong and the Secret Service was out in full force to dissuade anyone from trying anything stupid. The meet-and-greet at the rope line had been canceled. When the President left and returned to the White House on Marine One, his staff often arranged for friends, family, and donors, of course, to watch. Depending on how busy the President was he would sometimes stop and shake hands. The meet-and-greet had been scheduled for 7:00 P. M. Due to a certain congressman's interview on Meet the Press, the President was returning early from Camp David, and he was in no mood to shake anyone's hand.
The hatch opened and President Hayes appeared almost immediately. He was wearing a pair of olive dress slacks, a white button-down and a blue blazer. He saluted the marine standing at the foot of the helicopter and wasted no time heading for his office. As he motored quickly across the South Lawn, his staff tried frantically to keep up. Several of them attempted to talk to him, but he wasn't having any of it. He had one thing on his mind right now, and he wasn't going to talk about it outside. When he reached the Oval Office he slammed the door closed and glared at his chief of staff, Valerie Jones. "Where the hell is everybody?"
"Dr. Kennedy is downstairs in the Situation Room. The others should be here any minute."
The President looked as if his head was about to pop off. "Have you seen what he has?"
She shook her head. "But I've heard it's pretty serious stuff."
The President knew it was. He'd authorized some of it. "Valerie," he spoke through gritted teeth. "I want to be very clear about this. I want Albert Rudin destroyed. By tomorrow morning I want him working out of a broom closet on the fifth floor of the Capitol. I want to call in every political favor we're owed, and I want Rudin to feel like he's a leper."
Jones placed her hands in front of her as she were about to pray and then separated them and made a cautioning motion. "I don't think-"
"I don't want to hear excuses," snapped the President. "I just warned him. Remember?"
Jones nodded. She knew the President needed to vent and being the Chief of Staff meant that she was the chief ventee. "Yes, I remember."
"Well, the little prick went out, and despite my warnings, he continued to try and meddle in the affairs of the Executive Branch."
"He is the chairman of the House Intelligence Committee, sir."
"And he's a damn Democrat," yelled Hayes. "he's supposed to be on our side. I'm not supposed to have to worry about congressmen from my own party attacking me!"
"Sir, I know you're upset, but I need to caution you."
The President held up a hand like he was a traffic cop. "And I know you're my chief of staff, and you're trying to prevent me from doing anything stupid, but this time around, Valerie, there is no turning back. Albert Rudin has committed the cardinal sin of politics. He's stabbed his own President in the back. Everybody is watching now and only one of us is going to survive this."
Jones blinked several times and finally nodded. She would have to try again later when he had calmed down a bit. "What do you want me to do?"
"I want the damn party leadership over here. "The President pointed at the ground and started for the door. "I'm going downstairs. When they get here let me know." Jones started walking with him. "Do you want me to come with you?" She was a little afraid of what the President might say without her in the room.
"No!" Hayes said with zero room for negotiation. He left the Oval Office and went down one floor to the secure Situation Room. When he entered the conference room he was a little surprised that in addition to Kennedy, General Flood, General Campbell and a half dozen of their staff members were also in the room. All three of them were leaning over the table looking at a series of maps. Upon seeing the President they stopped what they were doing and stood up.
"Gentlemen, I didn't know you were here. If you'll excuse us for a moment, I need to speak with Dr. Kennedy alone."
The military men were all aware of what had happened on Meet the Press. Especially the part where Rudin had mentioned the use of Special Forces personnel. They knew before the week was out they'd likely be summoned to the Hill to answer some very pointed questions. The timing couldn't be worse.
As the military men filed out of the room, the President gestured for Kennedy to sit. She did so and Hayes remained standing. He placed his hands on the table and with genuine sorrow, looked at Kennedy and said, "Irene, I'm sorry. I'm sorry you've been dragged into this." Kennedy smiled and said, "Mr. President, I'm sorry I've dragged you into this. Albert Rudin hated me long before you became President."
"No, I don't mean that. I'm talking about what we asked you to do back in eighty-eight. The formation of the Orion Team." He shook his head. "We never thought that one of our own would blow the cover."
"Sir, I was aware of the risks when I took the job. If it were offered to me again, I wouldn't hesitate for a second."
Hayes's bowed his head. "I know you wouldn't," he said softly. "That's all the more reason you don't deserve this."
Kennedy had expected some of this. It was politics, and it was never rougher than during a confirmation fight. She'd spent much of the day analyzing her future, and it didn't look so good. Especially in regard to becoming the first female director of the CIA. The pressure on President Hayes to pull her nomination would be immense. Kennedy wouldn't make him do it. She would withdraw her name from consideration before it came to that, but she didn't think it would. She guessed from the President's beaten posture that he thought it was over. He didn't know what she did, though. She'd lived most of the last fifteen years thinking ahead of the pack, and so had Thomas Stansfield. The deceased former director had anticipated that a day might come where the Orion Team's cover would be blown. The original senators and congressmen who had asked him to take the war to the terrorists had demanded that Stansfield act as a firewall. If word ever got out that the CIA was assassinating people in the Middle East, the agreement was that Stansfield would take full blame and make no mention of the senators' and congressmen's involvement. This had been the initial agreement.
Without telling the senators and congressmen, Stansfield had decided to amend that agreement over the years. He had created a series of dummy files that he kept in the safe in the director's office. The files contained letters of notification to the House and Senate leadership, all of them dated within twenty-four hours of the start of covert operations run by the Orion Team. This was what was required by law and ultimately what Congressman Rudin was so irate about. In addition to the dummy files, Stansfield had passed along a wealth of information about a number of influential lawmakers on the Hill-the type of information they would like kept secret. Kennedy saw a chance in what, just hours earlier, had looked like a hopeless situation.
Hayes brought his gaze up and asked, "How in God's name are you going to testify tomorrow?"
"I'm not sure I'm going to, sir."
There was a brief pause while the President wondered if she would withdraw her name. "I wish there was a way we could fight this, Irene."
"Oh, there is," Kennedy replied with an understated confidence.
"How?"
"It's going to involve some risks, sir, but I think it will work."
The President studied her, wondering how she could possibly get out from under Rudin's sights. "I'm listening."
"Whatever Congressman Rudin has in that file that he was waving around
today, it is classified material."
"And?"
"It is classified material that he received from an employee of the CIA. Someone, sir, has committed a crime by passing along that information."
"How?"
"If they are an employee of the CIA they have signed a national security nondisclosure document, sir."
The President looked skeptical. "It's bigger than all that, Irene. The press is involved."
"Please hear me out, sir. Much of what the Orion Team did, originally, was handled outside the CIA. Over the last year, Director Stansfield went to great lengths to legitimize the actions of the team. Giving Mitch a legitimate personnel file was just part of what he was up to. He created a real paper trail of classified documents documenting what the team has done. He has a list of senators and congressmen who were informed every time the team was sent into action."
The President was frowning. "How legitimate is this?"
"It's not a question of legitimacy, sir."
"Sure it is. What if they deny ever signing such a document?"
"They won't," Kennedy said with a steady voice.
Hayes took the hint. The rumors about Stansfield keeping files on people were true. "You mean they might be afraid of what would come out if they didn't go along?"
"Maybe." Kennedy stayed evasive, but got her point across.
The President seemed ill at ease with this course of action.
"Sir, all of this is legitimate enough for you to ask FBI Director Roach to seize that file and any copies that Rudin has made."
Wincing, the President asked, "You are asking me to have the FBI bust into the home of a U. S. congressman?"
"Yes, I am."
"You can't be serious. The press will-" "Sir," Kennedy. "Rudin didn't exactly play fair with you on this one. He, or someone close to him, has broken the law
. Normally, we would gladly turn a blind eye to it, but he has forced our hand by purging top secret information on national TV."
The President stubbornly crossed his arms. "Where is this whole thing going to take us, Irene?"
"If I go up to the Hill tomorrow and answer questions, I'll be crucified. If I withdraw my name from the process, Rudin will hold hearings within a week, and I'll be crucified. Either way it's going to happen, and under both scenarios, sir, your presidency will be guilty by association."
"We're screwed." Hayes stood tall as if he needed a full breath of air. He placed his hands on his hips and continued, "And of all the times for it to happen, it has to come along right now when this whole Iraqi thing is about to heat up."
"There is a third way, sir," she suggested.
"I'm all ears"
Kennedy began carefully laying out her plan. They would need the FBI to raid Rudin's home and office. The uproar from the. other politicians and the press would be unavoidable, but predictable and ultimately short-lived, for Kennedy had something very bold planned for Albert Rudin, something that would in all likelihood end his career.
CHAPTER FORTY.
Oval Office, Sunday evening
Clark put on a suit for the meeting. It was in his plan to call the President and talk to him about the news created by Rudin. If he was going to keep the President in the dark about his involvement, it was best to act sympathetic and see if there was anything he could do to help. There wasn't, of course. He had the President and the Democrats boxed in. Kennedy was going to become the lightning rod for one of the most sensational hearings ever launched.
The President had surprised him slightly by calling him first. He asked Clark to come over to the White House. Hayes made it known it was extremely important that they talk tonight. Clark worried briefly that his name might have somehow been dragged into the mess. If that was the case he could handle it, but it would, of course, be much better if the President never knew of his involvement.