Nor was the result of this “battle” unusual. Eitan was new, only a month in command, and he would learn, as other Israeli officers had learned, that the American training model was more unforgiving than real combat. It was a hard lesson for the Israelis, so hard that nobody really learned it until he’d visited the Negev Training Area, the NTA, and had his head handed to him. If the Israelis had a weakness, it was pride, Colonel Magruder knew. The OpFor’s job here, as in California, was to strip that away. A commander’s pride got his soldiers dead.
“Okay,” the senior American OC said. “What can we learn from this?”
Don’t fuck with the Buffalo Soldiers, all three squadron commanders thought, but didn’t say. Marion Diggs had reestablished the regiment’s gritty reputation in his command tour before moving on to command Fort Irwin. Though the word was still percolating down through the Israeli Defense Forces, the troopers of the 10th had adopted a confident strut when they went out shopping, and for all the grief they caused the Israeli military on the
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playing fields of the NTA, they were immensely popular. The 10th ACR, along with two squadrons of F-16 fighters, was America’s commitment to Israeli security, all the more so that they trained the Jewish state’s ground forces to a level of readiness they hadn’t known since the Israeli army had nearly lost its soul in the hills and towns of Lebanon. Eitan would learn, and learn fast. By the end of the training rotation he’d give them trouble. Maybe, the three squadron commanders thought. They weren’t in the business of giving freebies.
“I REMEMBER WHEN you told me how delightful democracy was, Mr. President,” Golovko said chirpily, as he walked through the door.
“You must have caught me on TV this morning,” Ryan managed to reply.
“I remember when such comments would have gotten such people shot.” Behind the Russian, Andrea Price heard the comment and wondered how this guy had the chutzpah to twist the President’s tail.
“Well, we don’t do that here,” Jack responded, taking his seat. “That will be all for now, Andrea. Sergey and I are old friends.” This was to be a private conversation, not even a secretary present to take notes, though hidden microphones would copy down every word for later transcription. The Russian knew that. The American knew that he knew that, but the symbolism of no other people in the room was a compliment to the visitor, another fact which the American knew the Russian to know as well. Jack wondered how many sets of interlocking wheels he was supposed to keep track of, just for an informal meeting with a foreign representative.
When the door closed behind the agent, Golovko spoke on. “Thank you.”
“Hell, we are old friends, aren’t we?”
Golovko smiled. “What a superb enemy you were.”
“And now . . . ?”
“How is your family adjusting?”
“About as well as I am,” Jack admitted, then shifted
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gears. “You had three hours at the embassy to get caught up.”
Golovko nodded; as usual, Ryan was well briefed for this meeting, covert though it was. The Russian embassy was only a few blocks-up Sixteenth Street, and he’d walked down to the White House, a simple way to avoid notice in a town where official people traveled in official cars. “I didn’t expect things in Iraq to fall so quickly.”
“Neither did we. But that’s not why you came over, Sergey Nikolay’ch. China?”
“I presume your satellite photos are as clear as ours on the issue. Their military is at an unusually high state of readiness.”
“Our people are divided on that,” Ryan said. “They might be building up to put some more pressure on Taiwan. They’ve been building their navy up.”
“Their navy isn’t ready for combat operations yet. Their army still is, and their rocket forces. Neither is going to cross the Formosa Strait, Mr. President.”
That made the reason for his trip clear enough. Jack paused to look out the window at the Washington Monument, surrounded as it was by a circle of flagpoles, rather like a garland. What was it George had said about avoiding entangling foreign alliances? But it had been a far simpler world back then, two months to cross the Atlantic, not six or seven hours. . . .
“If you are asking what I think you are, yes–or should I say, no.”
“Could you clarify?”
“America would not look kindly upon an attack by China against Russia. Such a conflict would have very adverse effects upon world stability, and would also impede your progress to full democratic status. America wants to see Russia become a prosperous democracy. We were enemies long enough. We should be friends, and America wants her friends safe and peaceful.”
“They hate us, they covet what we have,” Golovko went on, not satisfied with America’s statement.
“Sergey, the time for nations to steal what they cannot earn is past. It’s history, and not to be repeated.”
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“And if they move on us anyway?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, Sergey,” the President answered. “The idea is to prevent such actions. If it appears that they are really thinking about a move, we’ll counsel them to reconsider. We are keeping an eye on things.”
“I don’t think you understand them.” Another push, Ryan saw. They really were worked up about this.
“Do you think anyone does? Do you think they themselves know what they want?” The two intelligence officers–that was how both men would always think of themselves–shared a look of professional amusement.
“That is the problem,” Golovko admitted. “I try to explain to my President that it is difficult to predict the behavior of undecided people. They have capabilities, but so do we, and the calculus of the matter appears different from both sides–and then the personalities come into play. Ivan Emmetovich, those are old men with old ideas. Their personalities are the major consideration here.”
“And history, and culture, and economics, and trade– and I haven’t had the chance to look them in the eye yet. I’m weak on that part of the world,” Jack reminded his guest. “I spent most of my life trying to figure you people out.”
“So you will stand with us?”
Ryan shook his head. “It’s too early and too speculative to go that far. We will do everything in our power, however, to prevent a possible conflict between the PRC and Russia. If it happens, you’ll go nuclear. I know it. You know it. I think they know it.”
“They don’t believe it.”
“Sergey, nobody’s that stupid.” Ryan made a mental note to discuss this with Scott Adler, who knew the region far better than he did. It was time to close the book on that issue for the moment, and open another. “Iraq. What are your people saying?”
Golovko grimaced. “We had a network go down three months ago. Twenty people, all shot or hanged–after interrogation, that is. What we have left doesn’t tell us much, but it appears that senior generals are preparing to do something.”
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“Two of them just showed up in the Sudan this morning,” Ryan told him. It wasn’t often he caught Golovko by surprise.
“So fast?”
Ryan nodded, handing over the photographs from the Khartoum airport. “Yep.”
Golovko scanned them, not knowing the faces, but not really needing to. Information passed along at this level was never, ever faked. Even with enemies and former enemies, a nation had to keep its word on some things. He handed the photos back. “Iran, then. We have some people there, but we’ve heard nothing in the last few days. It’s a dangerous environment in which to operate, as you know. We expect that Daryaei had something to do with the assassination, but we have no evidence to support it.” He paused. “The implications of this are serious.”
“You’re telling me that you can’t do anything about it, either, then?”
“No, Ivan Emmetovich, we cannot. We have no influence there, and neither do you.”
18
LAST PLANE OUT
THE NEXT SHUTTLE FLIGHT got off early. The shell corporation’s third and last business jet was recalled from Europe, and with a change of flight crews, was ready three hours early. That meant that the first of the G-IVs could fly to Baghdad, pick up two more generals, and return. Badrayn felt rather like a travel agent or dispatcher in addition to his unusual role as diplomat. He just hoped it wouldn’t take too long. It might be dangerous to be a passenger on the last plane, because the last one–well, there was no telling which would be the last, was there? The generals didn’t grasp that yet. The last one might well be pursued by tracer fire, leaving people on the ground to face the music, and Badrayn knew he would be with them … in a region where selectivity wasn’t an integral part of the justice system. Well, he shrugged, life had risks, and he was being well paid. They’d told him, at least, that there would be another pickup flight in less than three hours, and a fourth five hours beyond that one. But the sum total would be ten or eleven, and that would go for another three days on the current schedule, and three days could be a lifetime.