“But you don’t buy it, Robby?”
“No, Jack–excuse me, no, Mr. President. I don’t think so. I want to go over the tapes with a few people, to back-check me some. Maybe I’m wrong . . . but I don’t think so. Fighter pilots are fighter pilots. The only reason to shoot the guy who’s running away instead of the guy who’s closing in is because you want to.”
“Move the Ike group north?” Bretano wondered.
“Get me contingency plans to do just that,” the President said.
“That leaves the Indian Ocean uncovered, sir,” Jackson pointed out. “Carl Vinson is most of the way home to Norfolk now. John Stennis and Enterprise are still in the yard at Pearl, and we do not have a deployable carrier in the Pacific. We’re out of carriers on that whole half of the world, and we’ll need a month at best to move another one in from LantFleet.”
Ryan turned to Ed Foley. “What are the chances this could blow all the way up?”
“Taiwan’s going to be pretty unhappy about this. We have shots fired and people dead. National-flag airline clobbered. Countries tend to be protective of those,” the DCI observed. “It’s possible.”
“Intentions?” Goodley asked the DCI.
“If Admiral Jackson is correct–I’m not ready to buy into that yet, by the way,” Ed Foley added for Robby’s benefit. He got an understanding nod. “Then we have something going on, but what it is, I don’t know. Better for everybody if this was an accident. I can’t say I like the idea of pulling the carrier out of the Indian Ocean with the developing situation in the Persian Gulf.”
“What’s the worst thing that can happen between the PRC and Taiwan?” Bretano asked, annoyed that he had to ask the question at all. He was still too new in his job to be as effective as his President needed.
“Mr. Secretary, the People’s Republic has nuclear-tipped missiles, enough to turn Formosa into a cinder, but
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we have reason to believe that the Republic of China has them too and–”
“Roughly twenty,” Foley interrupted. “And those F-16s can one-way a couple all the way to Beijing if they want. They can’t destroy the People’s Republic, but twenty thermonuclear weapons will knock their economy back at least ten years, maybe twenty. The PRC does not want that to happen. They’re not crazy, Admiral. Keep it conventional, okay?”
“Very well, sir. The PRC does not have the ability to invade Taiwan. They lack the necessary amphibious assets to move large numbers of troops for a forced-entry assault. So what happens if things blow up anyway? Most likely scenario is a nasty air and sea battle, but one that leads to no resolution, since neither side can finish off the other. That also means a shooting war astride one of the world’s most important trade routes, with all sorts of adverse diplomatic consequences for all the players. I can’t see the purpose in doing this intentionally. Just too destructive to be deliberate policy… I think.” He shrugged. It didn’t make sense, but neither did a deliberate attack on a harmless airliner–and he’d just told his audience that had probably been deliberate.
“And we have large trade relationships with both,” the President noted. “We want to prevent that, don’t we? I’m afraid it’s looking like we have to move that carrier, Robby. Let’s get some options put together, and let’s try to figure out what the hell the PRC might be up to.”
CLARK WOKE UP first, feeling quite miserable. But that wasn’t allowed under the circumstances. Ten minutes later, he was shaved, dressed, and heading out the door, leaving Chavez in bed. Ding didn’t speak the language anyway.
“Morning walk?” It was the guy who’d brought them in from the airport.
“I could use a stretch,” John admitted. “And you are?”
“Marcel Lefevre.”
“Station chief?” John asked bluntly.
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“Actually, I am the commercial attache,” the Frenchman replied–meaning, yes. “You mind if I come along?”
“Not at all,” Clark replied, surprising his companion as they headed for the door. “Just wanted to take a walk. Any markets around here?”
“Yes, I will show you.”
Ten minutes later, they were in a street of commerce. Two Iranian shadows were fifty feet behind them, and obvious about it, though they did nothing more than to observe.
The sounds brought it all back. Clark’s Farsi was not all that impressive, especially since it was over fifteen years since he’d practiced it, but though his speech might not have been terribly good, his hearing clicked back in, soon catching the chatter and bargaining as the two Westerners passed stalls on both sides of the street.
“How are food prices?”
“Fairly high,” Lefevre answered. “Especially with all the supplies they shipped to Iraq. A few grumbles about that.”
There was something lacking, John saw, after a few minutes of contemplation. Passing half a block of food stalls, they were now in another area–gold, always a popular trade item in this part of the world. People were buying and selling. But there wasn’t the enthusiasm he remembered from before. He looked at the stalls as he passed, trying to figure what it was.
“Something for your wife?” Lefevre asked.
Clark tried an unconvincing smile. “Oh, you never know. Anniversary coming up soon.” He stopped to look at a necklace.
“Where are you from?” the dealer asked.
“America,” John replied, also in English. The man had picked out his nationality at once, probably from his clothes, and taken the chance to speak in that language.
“We do not see many Americans here.”
“Too bad. In my younger days I traveled here quite a lot.” It was actually rather a nice necklace, and on checking the price tag and doing the mental calculation, the cost was reasonable as hell. And he did have an anniversary approaching.
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“Perhaps someday that will change,” the goldsmith said.
“There are many differences between my country and yours,” John observed sadly. Yes, he could afford it, and as usual he had plenty of cash with him. One nice thing about American currency was that it was damned near universally accepted.
“Things change,” the man said next.
“Things have changed,” John agreed. He looked at a slightly more expensive necklace. It wasn’t any problem handling them. One thing about Islamic countries, they had a way of discouraging thieves. “There’s so little smiling here, and this is a market street.”
“You have two men following you.”
“Really? Well, I’m not breaking any laws, am I?” Clark asked with some obvious concern.
“No, you are not.” But the man was nervous.
“This one,” John said, handing it to the goldsmith.
“How will you pay?”
“American dollars, is that okay?”
“Yes, and the price is nine hundred of your dollars.”
It required all of his control not to show surprise. Even in a New York wholesale shop, this necklace would have been triple that, and while he wasn’t quite prepared to spend that much, haggling was part of the fun of shopping in this part of the world. He’d figured that he could talk the guy down to maybe fifteen hundred, still a considerable bargain. Had he heard the man properly?
“Nine hundred?”
An emphatic finger pointed right at his heart. “Eight hundred, not a dollar less–you wish to ruin me?” he added loudly.
“You bargain hard.” Clark adopted a defensive posture for the benefit of the watchers, who were coming closer.
“You are an unbeliever! You expect charity? This is a fine necklace, and I hope you will give it to your honorable wife and not a lesser, debauched woman!”
Clark figured he’d put the man in enough danger. He pulled out his wallet and counted off the bills, handing them over.
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“You pay me too much, I am not a thief!” The goldsmith handed one back.
Seven hundred dollars for this?
“Excuse me, I meant no insult,” John said, pocketing the necklace, which the man not quite tossed to him without a case.
“We are not all barbarians,” the dealer said quietly, abruptly turning his back a split-second later. Clark and Lefevre walked to the end of the street and headed to the right. They moved quickly, forcing their tail to follow.
“What the hell?” the CIA officer observed. He hadn’t expected anything like that to happen.
“Yes. The enthusiasm for the regime has abated somewhat. What you saw is representative. That was nicely done, Monsieur Clark. How long in the Agency?”
“Long enough that I don’t like being surprised that much. I believe your word is merde.”
“So, is it for your wife?”
John nodded. “Yeah. Will he get into any trouble?”
“Unlikely,” Lefevre said. “He may have lost money on the exchange, Clark. An interesting gesture, was it not?”
“Let’s get back. I have a Cabinet secretary to wake up.” They were back in fifteen minutes. John went right to his room.
“What’s the weather like outside, Mr. C?” Clark reached into his pocket and tossed something across the room. Chavez caught it. “Heavy.”