Dempsey’s eyes must have asked the question on his mind, because Chunk shook his head.
“What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,” the SEAL said, his cocky, crooked grin apparently back to stay. “Besides, I have a terrible memory for details.”
Dempsey held his eyes and gave him a grateful nod.
“So, what’s next for John Dempsey?” Chunk said, a rare seriousness creeping into his voice.
Dempsey looked out the window at the mushroom cloud blooming skyward behind them. “I honestly don’t know, Chunk. Tell you what, how about you ask me that question tomorrow?”
CHAPTER 43
West Wing of the White House
June 4
0740 Local Time
Jarvis rolled a quarter back and forth across the knuckles of his right hand while he waited for a meeting with the President. He’d taught himself this nifty little trick in middle school after watching a sleight-of-hand magician perform the flourish and then disappear the coin to the delight of the class. He’d mastered the technique in two days and had been able to do the party trick ever since without even thinking about it . . . until now.
Not dropping the quarter took pretty much all his concentration.
There was something awry with his nervous system—no point in lying to himself anymore. His symptoms were indicative of early-stage ALS or multiple sclerosis. Other possibilities included Parkinson’s or Huntington’s, both degenerative nerve diseases without cures. A simple gene test could confirm or rule out Huntington’s; the others would require more extensive evaluation.
“That’s a pretty neat trick,” the woman behind the oak desk said to him. “I bet that was hard to learn.”
The quarter slipped between his middle and ring fingers and dropped to the floor.
“Oops,” she said and flashed him an awkward smile.
If you only knew the half of it, he thought to himself and smiled politely back at her.
Just then, the door to the Oval Office swung open and out stepped Catherine Morgan. Her eyes ticked to meet his. “Kelso,” she said in curt acknowledgment.
“Catherine,” he replied with a nod.
She tugged on the waist of her suit coat, straightening it, and then strode away down the hall without another word.
The President appeared in the doorway. He was wearing an ironic grin, looking very much the victor after a playground scuffle. He looked at Jarvis and beckoned him inside with a double-curl of his index finger.
“The President will see you now,” the woman behind the desk said.
“That much I gathered,” Jarvis said, getting to his feet. He followed the President into the Oval Office and shut the door behind him.
Warner walked over to the pair of beige sofas facing each other in the middle of the room and gestured for Jarvis to take a seat. This was Jarvis’s first time in the famous room, and he permitted himself the simple pleasure of living in the moment. Being invited to a conference in the Oval Office was like climbing behind the wheel of a Ferrari for the first time—one helluva joyride.
“Would you like some iced tea?” the President asked.
“No, thank you, sir.”
Warner’s fondness for iced tea was storied and well known.
“I used to drink sweet tea,” Warner said, taking a seat opposite Jarvis and picking up a half-full glass from the coffee table. “But the docs said my blood sugar was getting too damn high, so now I drink half and half.”
“Half and half?” Jarvis asked.
“Half tea, half lemonade,” Warner said. “You know, an Arnold Palmer.”
Jarvis nodded, his mind immediately contemplating the oxymoronic nature of this dietary adjustment; lemonade contained as much sugar—if not more than, he imagined—as sweet tea.
“Ahh, I know what you’re thinking. I can see it in your eyes. You’re thinking, Warner’s a bigger moron than I thought. Lemonade is packed with sugar, so all the dumb bastard is doing is just trading one devil for another. Am I right?”
Jarvis shrugged. “The thought did cross my mind.”
The President took a sip of his Arnold Palmer and then said, “Well, when you get to be my age, Kelso, that’s the thing you realize . . .”
“What’s that, sir?” Kelso said, thinking this was another funny comment from a man who was only seven years his senior.
“Every decision is trading one devil for another.” Warner leaned back on the sofa and propped his left ankle up on his right knee. “Take, for example, Ms. Morgan, who was sitting in that same spot not two minutes ago. Hell, I bet you can feel her lingering presence with your ass cheeks right now. That cushion should still be warm.”
Jarvis couldn’t help but laugh at this. “Yes, sir. It most definitely is.”
Warner smiled and nodded with approval that he’d gotten the reaction he was hoping for. “So here’s the thing . . . Catherine Morgan is sweet tea. Do you know what that makes you?”
“Arnold Palmer.”
Warner slapped his knee. “See, I knew that giant brain Philips talked so much about meant you were a quick study.”
“In that case, sir, I accept.”
“I haven’t even offered you the job yet,” Warner said.
“Yes, you did,” Jarvis said with a sly grin of his own. “When you invited me here.”
“I can see this is going to be fun,” Warner said, uncrossing his legs to lean forward and extend his right hand. “Congratulations, Director Jarvis. You are now the second most powerful man in the world.”
Jarvis shook Warner’s hand, silently grateful that his own hand cooperated by reciprocating a firm, solid countersqueeze.
“You’ll still have to be confirmed by the Senate, of course,” Warner said, getting to his feet. “But I don’t expect any trouble there.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jarvis said, cueing off the President and standing.
“What about Ember? You planning to keep it operational?”
“That was my intention, yes, Mr. President.”
“You do realize you’re not gonna have time to be the DNI and run Ember at the same time—I hope you don’t have any illusions about that. Is your number two in command—Smith, if I recall—is he up for the job?”
“Yes, sir. He is.”
Warner picked up his Arnold Palmer and headed back to his desk. “Who are you thinking about for your Deputy?”
“I have a short list, sir.”
“Well, throw it away,” the President said and took a swig from his glass.
“Excuse me, sir?”
“Yeah, throw it away, because I just told Catherine she could have her old job back, so the two of you better figure out how to work together real quick.”
All the satisfaction he’d just been feeling evaporated, and now he felt like a guy who’d just had the rug pulled out from underneath him.
Warner flashed him a fox’s grin. “No one knows how to navigate clandestine bureaucracy better than that woman. She’s a pit bull—tenacious and with a bite as big as her bark. Trust me; you need someone like Catherine Morgan to keep you out of trouble. And I need her to shoot me straight when you don’t.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Jarvis said through clenched teeth.
“Oh, don’t be angry with me, Kelso. It’s not personal; this is simply how the game is played. Checks and balances. Strengths and weaknesses. You didn’t think I was gonna let you run the entire intelligence community the way you ran Ember, did you?”
Something the President’s former Chief of Staff, Robert Kittinger, said to him suddenly replayed in his mind: The President is not a moron, Captain Jarvis, but sometimes he plays one on TV. That’s how it works. That’s how the game is played. Warner was a chameleon . . . just like Jarvis. Everything the President did and said was purposeful. Warner’s demeanor was designed to make people underestimate him; Jarvis could not let himself fall into the same trap.
“Your country owes you a debt of gratitude,” the President continued. “Hell, the whol
e world does for that matter. If it wasn’t for you, Amir Modiri not only would have gotten away with murdering Admiral Philips and the Israeli Mossad Chief, but he would have unleashed a nuclear weapon that would have killed hundreds of thousands of Israelis and started World War Three.”
“Thank you, sir, but I can’t take credit for that. It was my team—they’re the ones who deserve the credit.”
“Well, tell them not to bask in the glory of their success for too long because we still have one hell of a mess on our hands. Despite President Esfahani admitting to the existence of a rogue element in the Persian government, and despite de-escalation of Israeli and Iranian military forces, the world now knows that Iran was lying all along. Iran has the bomb, and that means the region will never be the same. Thank God this device was detonated in the middle of nowhere with no casualties except the maniac who set it off. But the Saudis and Jordanians are furious and afraid nonetheless. Soon they’ll be demanding the bomb for parity. This thing isn’t over; it’s just the beginning. I’m going to move our carrier battle group out of the Med as a sign of confidence in the peace process, but I’m keeping the USS Florida in theater just in case things heat back up again.”
Jarvis nodded. “Prudent thinking, sir.”
“Prime Minister Shamone overstepped and almost got Israel nuked in the process. He and I already had words this morning, but make sure you tell your Mossad friend Director Harel that the next time his boss decides to act unilaterally, Israel is on its own. You understand? Make sure you tell him that.”
Jarvis thought about those five words—Israel is on its own—and he imagined Harel’s response were he standing in the Oval Office beside him.
This is nothing new, my friend. Israel has always been, and always will be, on its own.
“Yes, sir, I’ll pass along the message.”
“All right, Crystal Light, we’re done here. Time for you to get the hell out of my office. We’ve both got work to do.”
Jarvis cocked an eyebrow. “Crystal Light?”
“The kitchen uses Crystal Light lemonade in my Arnold Palmers. It’s sugar free. At first, it left a bad aftertaste in my mouth I didn’t much care for, but I gave it a chance and eventually I got used to it.”
The metaphor wasn’t lost on him; Jarvis gave the President a tight smile. “I won’t let you down, Mr. President.”
The President picked up his pen and started to write something in a notebook on his desk. Without looking up, he said, “See you at tomorrow’s Security Council meeting. Better get yourself a good secretary, Kelso. You’re about to become a very busy man.”
Jarvis walked out of the Oval Office to find a line of people waiting outside for their turn with the leader of the free world. Some he recognized; others he didn’t. As he passed the reception attendant’s desk, she stopped him. “Director Jarvis?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t forget your lucky quarter,” she said, holding out the coin he’d dropped earlier. “I thought it might be something you wanted to keep, as a memento from today.”
He took it from her, placed it on the back side of his index finger, and rolled it expertly down and back again across his knuckles, vanishing it down his sleeve with a flourish. With a genuine smile, he said, “Thank you. I think I will.”
She smiled back at him and then turned her attention to the next person in line: “Senator Fulton, the President will see you now . . .”
As he walked the halls of the West Wing, he pulled out his encrypted mobile phone and dialed a number from memory. The call picked up on the second ring.
“You’re not still mad at me for kicking your ass out of Israel, are you?” Levi Harel said with a hoarse laugh.
Jarvis chuckled. “Hell no. That’s what I like about you, Levi. You told me what I needed to hear, not what I wanted to hear.”
“You can always count on me for that.”
“I have some good news and some bad news. Which do you want first?”
“Bad news, always the bad news first. That’s the Jewish way.”
“Confirm the line is secure.”
“It is.”
“There’s no easy way to tell you this, old friend, so I’m just going to say it. Elinor Jordan was compromised. She was a VEVAK double agent.”
After a painfully long, silent pause, Harel said, “I know.”
Jarvis stopped in his tracks. There was something in Harel’s voice he didn’t like. “Wait a second. Do you mean that you know, or that you knew? There’s a big difference.”
“The latter . . . I’ve known for some time.”
Jarvis felt a surge of anger. “For how long?”
“Two years.”
“Two years?”
“Yes, my friend.”
“And you orchestrated a mission for her to lead my best asset into Iran? Why would you do that?”
“Because it was the only chance we would ever have to get Modiri . . . the only chance.”
Jarvis took a deep breath. “You lied to me.”
“No,” Harel said. “I’ve never lied to you.”
“A lie of omission is still a lie, Levi.”
“I told you she was my best operative, and that was the truth. I told you that she was the only person who could possibly get Dempsey into position in Tehran to execute the mission, and that also was the truth. And as far as Dempsey’s fate was concerned, I left that entirely up to you and John. He volunteered for the mission, remember? He knew the risks.”
“If I had known the truth about her, I never would have let him go.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Damn straight, I’m sure.”
“Pity, because from what I understand, there might be half a million dead Jews right now if you’d made that call.”
Jarvis was the one who was silent now, his mind running a retrospective assessment of his decision based on the new information. Finally he said, “But she was the enemy.”
“Do you remember the day we first met on that beach at Atlit Naval Base?”
In the background, Jarvis could hear Harel lighting a cigarette. “Of course, like it was yesterday.”
“Do you remember what I said to you at the end of our conversation?”
“Yeah, you said beers were on you, a promise which I believe you’ve yet to make good on.”
“Now you’re just being a smartass.”
“You deserved it.”
“You’re probably right,” Harel said with a sigh.
“No, I remember,” Jarvis said at last. “I’ve thought about it many, many times over the years. You said, We share enemies . . . Enemies everywhere.”
“When I first met Elinor she was the enemy. But I influenced her. I molded her into something else. She was a Persian Jew, brainwashed by VEVAK into believing that we were monsters. But over the years, she came to see us as people. I became the surrogate father for the one she had left behind in Tehran. She worked for Modiri, but she worked harder for me. She did more to undermine VEVAK with the Seventh Order than she did to undermine us.”
A lump formed in Jarvis’s throat as he contemplated a thought too dark to possibly be true. And yet he had to ask the question. “If what you’re saying is true, then what about the hit on the Philips estate. Please tell me you didn’t know about that?”
“I swear to God, Kelso, there are no possible scenarios where I would have let that knowingly play out. I didn’t know. Elinor didn’t know, either. I kept her on a very tight leash. I had people watching and listening to her twenty-four-seven. Modiri worked the DNI op extremely close to the vest. Even my top source in Tehran didn’t know about it. You have to believe me.”
“I believe you . . . Who’s your top source in Tehran?”
Harel laughed, and this sent him into a coughing fit that took him nearly a minute to work himself out of. When he finally spoke, he said, “You said you had bad news and good news. What’s the good news?”
“You tell me the name of your asset in Tehr
an, and I’ll tell you the good news.”
“That’s a terrible trade. Five minutes ago you were going to tell me the good news for free.”
“That was five minutes ago, before I knew you lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie to you,” Harel insisted.
“All right, all right.” Jarvis laughed. “The good news is that the President just offered me the DNI job.”
“Congratulations, my friend. Perhaps your President isn’t as stupid as Shamone says.”
“Thank you. I thought you’d be pleased.”
“Yes and no. You’ve just made it very hard for me to quit again. The PM asked me to stay on as Chief. I was going to say no, but now this . . .”
“I guess the day finally came where we both desperately need a friend on the other side,” Jarvis said with a wry smile.
“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
“Who’s your source?”
Harel took a deep breath and then exhaled. “Next time I’m in Washington, I’ll tell you in person. Can you live with that?”
“I can live with that,” Jarvis said. “And don’t think I’m letting you off the hook. The beer is still on you, old friend.”
CHAPTER 44
Acquisitions and Research Center
Nechushtan Pavilion, Eretz Israel Museum
Ramat Aviv Neighborhood, Tel Aviv, Israel
June 5
0930 Local Time
Sitting at a terminal in the Seventh Order TOC, Dempsey massaged the hypersensitive tissue around the ricochet injury in his right thigh and thought about Elinor. The pain he was feeling had nothing to do with the hole in his leg; it was his guilty heart that ached.
It was all an act, he told himself. She was a character in a play—a sick, twisted play where politics and power superseded love and loyalty. She was a traitor, a conflicted traitor but a traitor nonetheless. You need to forget about her, dude . . .
He closed his eyes, rubbed his temples, and began to second-guess himself.
Had she actually betrayed him? The final seconds had happened so fast—a blur of adrenaline and emotion—and now he wasn’t sure what had really happened. Had she delivered him to Amir Modiri, or had she delivered Amir Modiri to him? The way it all unfolded almost suggested the latter, but if that were the case, then he had abandoned Elinor to her death. Which meant he’d committed the ultimate of all SEAL transgressions. He’d left a teammate behind.
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