The Aden Effect (35 page)

“We've been in Afghanistan too long. People understand that it's not your war, but they also expect you to finish the job.”

“Finish the job. People don't even know what the job is,” Becker complained.

“We know. We'll make them understand, and we'll show that we can do it cheaply and quickly,” Green said.

“Eliot, the cost of a war I inherited isn't going to change. We both know we're going to be there a long time, regardless of what we tell the public. And now there's North Korea and Iran to deal with.”

“We can ignore Iran.”

“The oil?”

“We replace it.”

“From where? Alaska? The Gulf of Mexico? I've already promised the environmentalists that I won't authorize new drilling.”

“That's why we need to look at Yemen again.”

“Are the Yemenis willing to negotiate now?”

“No.”

“Then what's changed?”

“Opportunity.”

“What kind of opportunity?”

“The kind that comes only once every twenty years. C. J. has been attacked a few times, as has her new defense attaché, Connor Stark.”

“That name rings a bell.”

“He worked for O'Rourke as a national security fellow on loan to us from the Navy. I released him just before you came to the Senate.”

“Why?”

“He was a problem. He asked a lot of questions. Now it turns out that C. J. may have been involved. The secretary of defense told me that she specifically requested that he be returned to active duty to serve as her new defense attaché. Her reports indicate that he has been of great assistance and comfort to her.”

Green had eased the president into this discussion. Now it was time for the Fist. “Ambassador Sumner has asked permission to mount a small humanitarian aid operation on the island of Socotra. I spoke with Helen Forth and approved it.”

“Why?”

“Because this is an opportunity to show the world the benevolence of the United States as it showers gifts on a village no one has ever heard of.”

The president shrugged. “So what? We do that all the time. It doesn't buy us anything.”

Green laughed. “This time it will. This is going to win you a second term. A couple of months ago, I informed the Pentagon that we have a new policy in the Gulf of Aden. The Navy is operating only one ship there—the
Bennington
, a low-morale cruiser with a candy-ass captain. Fifth Fleet was told to redistribute most of the ship's defenses to other ships operating in the Persian Gulf. Now I've arranged for Fifth Fleet to order the ship to load up on humanitarian supplies. It's going to pick up Commander Stark in Aden and then go to the north side of Socotra to distribute the relief.”

“Again, Eliot, so what? Why are you wasting my time with unimportant details?”

Green looked dispassionately at Becker. He really wasn't aging well. The thick brown hair was thinning, and the lean face was getting jowly. “It
is
important,” he explained patiently. “It gives us leverage with the chair of the Senate Armed Services Committee.”

“That bastard? He's been a pain in my ass since I was a junior committee member. How would this help with him?”

“His nephew commands the
Bennington
. He's an embarrassment. According to my sources at the Navy, the flag community doesn't want to promote him to admiral because he's incompetent. The ship is going to be attacked and sunk by pirates. He's going to die a hero. Then we're going to send in a quick strike force to Somalia and tell America that we exacted justice.”

“Then what?” asked the President, seemingly unconcerned that his chief of staff was proposing to sink a U.S. Navy ship and kill an unknown number of its crew.

“Then,” Green continued, “comes the big payoff. In a couple of weeks you walk into the party convention to give the speech of your life and coast all the way to victory in November.”

“What about the oil?” the President asked naively. “Didn't you say that C. J. can't get the Yemenis to give us the oil rights?”

“We negotiate with the Chinese to take the oilfields without Yemen's approval, on the grounds of national security. Then we split the oil with China. Yemen can't stop us.”

“And you can make all this happen, Eliot?”

“Don't I always?”

“Okay. What about C. J.?”

“What about her?”

“Will she get hurt?”

Green assumed a serious and sympathetic face. “It's not enough for American sailors to be lost in battle, Mr. President. We need civilian casualties too if we're to make the biggest possible impact on the American public. The senator's nephew will be our military hero, and C. J. and the other humanitarian aid workers will become saints.”

“Okay, Eliot,” the president said, already thinking of the cheers that would greet him from the adoring convention crowds as flags waved and balloons and confetti fell from the ceiling. All for him.

Stark had waited as long as he could to place the call to Mutahar, but events were spinning up, and he was out of time.

“Connor. I had hoped to hear from you sooner.” Mutahar sounded weary.

“Hello, Mutahar. I'm sorry, I should have called earlier.”

“I do not have much time at this moment. Why is it that I found out about the attack on you from others?”

“I didn't want to worry you, my brother. The attack failed. I lived. They did not.”

“I should have had my security forces escort you. These are difficult days for us all. Ali is missing.”

Stark was stunned by this unexpected development. “When?”

“Sometime after you left. A stable hand and Ali's bodyguard are also missing.”

“Tell me how I can help.”

“You cannot. This is for my family to do. Our people are searching for him. Whoever did this will not live long to regret it.”

Stark scrubbed a hand over his face. “Who did this?”

“There are many possibilities—al-Qaeda, other families, the insurgents.”

“Have you told Faisal?”

“Faisal is at sea. He cannot help us in the search. Indeed, we rarely see him. He spends much of his time with his own merchant ventures now.”

“Mutahar, I ask you as my brother. Is Faisal in trouble again?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is it possible he is tied up with the pirates?”

“Connor, we do not discuss such things—anywhere.”

“I apologize, but there has been some . . . curious . . . activity, and I have reason to believe that he is involved. I approach you as my brother. I do not wish ill for him or for you, and I will do anything in my power to prevent dishonor on your family.”

“What is it that you know, Connor?”

After explaining what he had learned, Stark continued. “There is something else that troubles me, Mutahar. Only Bill Maddox and you knew where in Scotland I lived. You both swore not to share that information with anyone. Is it possible that Faisal learned of it in your home?”

There was a long silence. And then, wearily, “Perhaps I have betrayed you. Last month Faisal was home on a day I received one of your packages. Faisal saw it before I did and read the label. He asked me about it and I said only that it was from a friend. I am sorry to tell you this.”

“Then it was I who betrayed myself, Mutahar. I fear that Faisal arranged for people to find me and attack me in Ullapool.”

“Are you certain?”

“I can't be until I speak with him. I must find him immediately.”

Mutahar sounded old. “It is possible that I don't know how far my own son has fallen. Connor, is it also possible that Faisal had something to do with Ali's disappearance?”

“Neither of us hopes that is true, my friend.”

C. J. Sumner had used her organizational and political skills, not to mention her boundless energy, to pull off a minor miracle; if she had slept more than four hours during this period her staff would have been shocked. In the thirty-six hours since Washington had approved the humanitarian aid operation she had gone back to her contacts on Capitol Hill and convinced nearly sixty nurses, doctors, and carpenters to drop what they were doing and devote a week of their lives to help an unknown town on the other side of the world. With their help plus the equipment being provided courtesy of the U.S. Navy via Djibouti, she was set to go. She looked forward to telling Stark and Golzari
that security would be a cinch because the humanitarian personnel would be traveling on a Navy warship.

This operation was small, but for the first time since she had been named ambassador C. J. felt that she was finally contributing by reaching out to the people who needed help the most. She was descending the embassy's central staircase when she saw Stark emerging from the conference room in company with a dark-skinned man wearing a foreign military uniform. When Stark saw her approaching, he came to attention.

“Madam Ambassador, you remember Captain Dasgupta, India's naval attaché?”

“A pleasure to see you again, Madam Ambassador.”

“The same, Captain. Please extend my best wishes to Ambassador Gavaskar.”

“I will do so, Madam Ambassador. May I say that he was very impressed by your comments when you last met. I believe he will contact you soon to arrange an embassy-to-embassy dinner. Events promoting cooperation between our two peoples are always appreciated.”

“I could not agree more, Captain.”

Dasgupta nodded at C. J. and then turned back to Stark and shook his hand.

“We have an understanding then, Captain?” Stark said.

“I believe so, Commander. I will discuss this with my superiors.”

“Thank you, Captain. That's all I ask.”

“What was that about?” C. J. asked after the attaché had taken his leave.

“Reaching out, Madam Ambassador. Isn't that part of my job as defense attaché?”

She had seen that look of mischief before. The half-smirk on the left side of his face always indicated that he had something unique in play. She narrowed her eyes and looked at him suspiciously. “I thought you didn't want this job.”

“It's grown on me.”

“In two weeks?”

He smiled. “It's actually good to be back in uniform, C. J. I guess no matter how it happened or why, I appreciate the opportunity to serve again. Captain Dasgupta is a first-rate officer. It's my job to get to know him better.” Stark neglected to add that he and Dasgupta, because of the number of Indian employees working on the oil platforms, had agreed that it would be a good idea to have
the Indian ship in the area. Dasgupta himself would be aboard in case any questions arose.

C. J. nodded, thinking that Stark's whole demeanor had evolved in the last two weeks. He was once again the professional officer she had known and admired in Washington. He even looked younger, the years wiped away by a renewed purpose. Maybe that was true for both of them. The last vestiges of guilt over a high-handed political maneuver gone bad had finally trickled away. She felt her spirits rise.

At that moment, Damien Golzari approached them at a pace quickened by his long strides. “You wanted to see me, Madam Ambassador?”

“Actually, I wanted to see you both. Let's talk in here,” she said, entering the conference room. “There's been a slight change of plan,” she added after Golzari had closed the door behind them.

“Are we still doing the op?” Stark asked.

“Yes, but D.C. has decided that since there's a Navy cruiser in the region, it might be best from a security standpoint if it conveyed the people and some of the materials.”

“Is that the
Bennington
they're talking about?” Stark's mischievous look was replaced by concern.

“Yes it is, Commander. Is that a problem?”

“I'm not sure. I was aboard for only a few hours after they picked us up, but I wasn't exactly impressed by its captain.”

“Oh? Well surely an American naval captain can manage an operation as simple as this one. The ship will make port in Mukalla early tomorrow morning and pick up the fifty-seven aid workers already en route to Sana'a as well as you, me, and Agent Golzari. It's already carrying some of the humanitarian supplies, but it will also escort the
Mukalla Ali
, which will carry the construction materials. The agreement you had with the Yemeni Navy will still hold, won't it, if a U.S. Navy ship is involved?”

“I'm not sure. They're expecting an unarmed supply ship, not a cruiser, but I think I can work it around to make them see the advantage. Joint operations like this are rare. It will be good practice for them,” Stark responded, not entirely convinced of his own argument. “One more thing. The cruiser has berthing for four hundred. Another sixty will make things awfully tight.”