President Merrick started his morning as he did most, sitting on the couch in the Oval Office with his tablet computer in his lap. He’d just cleared up his e-mail messages when the door opened without a knock.
“Hey, Tiger,” Merrick said with a grin.
Samuel Fisk sat on the couch across from Merrick and began pouring his coffee while making a plate out of the fruit and miniature muffins sitting on the coffee table between them.
Merrick scrolled across his CIA briefing without finding anything of consequence.
“Any word from the War Room yet?” Fisk asked, while stirring his coffee.
“Not yet.”
“You get any sleep last night?”
“Nope. I spoke with four new widows and a life partner. I’m getting tired of apologizing.”
Fisk seemed to want to say something, then stopped. He slid the Washington Post on the table toward him and examined the headlines.
“It happened too late to make the paper,” Merrick said while watching video of an overnight bombing campaign in southern Zimbabwe.
While still scanning the newspaper, Fisk asked, “Is the final draft done?”
“Somewhat. I’m having the group in the basement look it over for any language issues.”
“Can I see it?” Fisk said.
Merrick nodded, then pushed the print button on his screen. He pointed to the printer behind him as the hum of the machine purred to life. “It’s coming up right now.”
Fisk went over to the printer and pulled a few pages from the unit.
There was a knock on the door and Press Secretary Fredrick Himes poked his head inside.
“Sir?” Himes said. “The Prime Minister will be able to join you for an early lunch before he leaves. Around ten-thirty.”
“That’s fine,” Merrick said, shaking his head as the door closed. “It’s all Turkey, all of the time around here,” Merrick added to no one but Fisk.
The Secretary of State returned to the couch and took a sip of coffee while reading a copy of Merrick’s speech for that evening.
“Well?” Merrick said.
Fisk didn’t look up. “So far, so good.”
“Stop, you’re going to make me blush.”
Fisk put the papers down on his lap and looked out the window. “I don’t know how we’re going to stop this disaster from happening, John.”
Merrick placed his tablet on the coffee table and leaned forward. “Walt has me convinced it’s not the nuclear power plant, so they’re fortifying Hoover Dam.”
“Did you hear, they ran all the data through the computer last night,” Fisk said. “Everything. Barzani’s history, his men’s experience, their past missions, their tendencies.”
“And?”
“The computer came up with Hoover Dam as well,” Fisk said.
“What does Nick think?”
“He’s on board. Stevie Gilpin, their techie, came up with chlorine in some of the terrorist’s shoes, so they think it’s from moisture near the dam.”
A female voice came over the round speakerphone built into the coffee table. “The War Room is ready for you, Sir.”
“Put them through, Rose.”
A moment later, the speakerphone came to life with a series of background noises, mostly low voices and key taps from computer terminals.
“Mr. President,” came the voice of CIA Director Ken Morris, “we’re ready.”
“Good,” Merrick said. “Can anybody explain to me what happened last night in Payson?”
Two voices battled for the response, one male, one female.
“Lynn?” Merrick said. “Is that you?”
“It’s me,” Lynn Harding answered.
“Will you answer my question please?”
“Of course. First of all, Barzani is still alive. The moment our team stormed their safe house, the bomb was detonated. At first there was some confusion as to how and why, but Nick and Matt figured out pretty quick that Barzani was the one who destroyed the place.”
“Do they know why?”
“The feeling is, Barzani knew his crew was overmatched and decided to make sure there was no one around to give up his plans.”
“Which are?”
There was an awkward silence as Merrick imagined different department heads pointing to each other.
Finally, Harding admitted, “We don’t know.”
“So we’re guessing Hoover Dam?” Merrick said, disgusted.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Are there any other targets we should be pursuing?” Merrick asked.
“Very little. That part of the country is spread out so without a nuclear device, it’s hard to mount any major population fatalities.”
“And you’re certain they do not have a nuclear device?”
“Yes, Sir. That much we are certain of, they do not have a nuclear device.”
Merrick sat back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest. He was relieved and infuriated all at once. “What about the profilers? What do they have to say?”
Harding hesitated. “Well, Sir, they’re suggesting Barzani has a chip on his shoulder. They feel he wants revenge for what happened to Kemel Kharrazi and he won’t stop until he gets it.”
Fisk sat there with his coffee in his left hand and scribbling notes with his right. When there was a lull in the conversation, he glanced at his notes and said, “Tell me about overnight troop movement in Turkey.”
Now there was no hesitation. The CIA was the lead department of the overseas activities, so it was CIA Director Ken Morris who spoke up.
“There’s been troop movement away from Kurdistan,” Morris said. “The government troops seem to be moving out and securing the perimeter.”
“And what does that mean?” Merrick asked out loud while looking at Fisk.
His Secretary of State seemed satisfied to let the team in the War Room answer.
“It means one of two things,” Morris said. “Either Prime Minister Budarry is offering you an olive branch while he’s your guest at the White House …”
“Or?”
“Or, the ground troops could be leaving Kurdistan to prepare for major air strikes and they want to be out of harm’s way.”
“Boy,” Merrick muttered. “It just gets better, doesn’t it?”
Fisk said, “The NSA tells me the Prime Minister has been on the phone to Ankara all morning. He’s planning something, it’s just hard to say what.”
Merrick leaned his head back and stared up at the white domed ceiling. So much information, yet so few answers.
“What else?” Merrick barked.
Lynn Harding’s voice returned. “We’re sending every available soldier, National Guard, and policeman to Payson and the Hoover Dam. We’ve considered evacuating the towns below dam, Bullhead City and Lake Havasu, but feel it’s too risky.”
“Too risky?”
“It’s too close to the deadline and it would cause a stampede which would create an unsettling amount of casualties. We’re better off finding the source and securing the dam.”
Merrick stayed back and closed his eyes. He imagined the consequences of a bomb destroying a large section of the population in Arizona and for the first time actually felt removing troops from Turkey wasn’t a bad idea.
“Anything else?” Merrick said.
“Isn’t that enough?” Fisk asked.
“That’s all we have so far, Sir,” Harding added.
“Okay,” Merrick said, sitting up and placing his index finger on a button on the speakerphone. “Keep me updated,” he said, then pushed a button to end the conversation.
Merrick gazed over at Fisk. “Well?”
Fisk finished scribbling notes, then looked up. “Why don’t we meet with Budarry and find out exactly what he’s up to.”
• • •
Kalinikov had to maintain patience. When he arrived in Payson last night, he’d had the good fortune of spotting the sheriff’s car parked in front of a bar and decided to tag it with one of his GPS devices. Then he went inside the bar to have a drink. There was no reason not to. He was a completely unknown figure. Besides, he might have met the sheriff himself and garnered valuable information. Instead, he’d met the sheriff’s cousin, whom he liked. The guy was genuine, nothing phony about him. He was too sharp to give up any information though.
Now, Kalinikov sat in the parking lot of a large shopping center and sipped cold coffee from a fancy cardboard cup. The GPS screen on his laptop showed the sheriff’s car still stationary at the sheriff’s office. He needed to wait and see where this led him. It was becoming more complicated, however. More Humvees kept rolling by and soldiers could be seen at every public place, asking people questions and surveying the landscape.
Kalinikov was almost too prepared. He’d been ready for a confrontation ever since he’d landed on American soil and he felt like the student who knew all the answers and couldn’t wait to be called upon.
Kalinikov thought about home and decided to dial a number on his phone.
“You were supposed to be home by now,” the soft female voice answered.
“I know. I’ve been delayed. Just one more meeting and I will be done.”
“And how long should this meeting take?” she asked, with some humor in her voice. He smiled and the thought of the two of them smiling together made the distance seem to dwindle.
“Tomorrow at the latest,” he said. “Are you finished packing yet?”
“What do you think?”
Now his smile broadened. She was late for everything and had he been the type who thrived on structure at home, it could have been a source of contention between them. But since his job required so much structure, he enjoyed the sloppy schedule once he was home.
“Soon, Love,” he said.
“Ta ta,” she said, then hung up.
Kalinikov put his phone away, then checked his computer screen. Someone was about to make a mistake. And he was going to take advantage.