Beyond the confines of this airport, the Iraqi army was still in the streets, but there would be a change now. Those conscript soldiers, and even the elite guardsmen, would have been out there for several days, settled into a dull and purposeless routine, and that was something destructive to soldiers. They’d be shuffling around on their feet, smoking cigarettes, starting to ask questions amongst themselves: What exactly is going on? Initially there would be no answers. Their sergeants would tell them to mind their duties, so advised by their company officers, so advised in turn from battalion staffs, and so on all the way up the line … until somewhere that same question would be repeated, and there would be no one farther up the chain of command to tell the questioner to sit down and shut up. At
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that point the question would rebound back down the line. It was something an army could sense, as a thorn in the foot instantly told the brain that something was amiss. And if the thorn was dirty, then an infection would follow that could spread and kill the entire body. The generals were supposed to know such things–but, no, they didn’t anymore. Something very foolish happened to generals, especially in this part of the world. They forgot. It was that simple. They just forgot that the villas and the servants and the cars were not a divine bequest, but a temporal convenience that could disappear as quickly as morning fog. They were still more afraid of Daryaei than of their own people, and that was foolish. It would have merely been annoying to Badrayn, except that his life now depended on theirs.
THE SEAT ON the right side of the cabin was still damp. This time it was occupied by the youngest daughter of the general who had, until minutes before, commanded the 4th Guards Division (Motorized), and who was now conferring with an air force colleague. The child felt the lingering damp on her hand and, puzzled, licked at it, until her mother saw it and sent her off to wash her hands. Then the mother complained to the Iranian steward who rode in the back with this group. He had the child moved, and made a note to have the seat cleaned or replaced at Mehrabad. There was less tension now. The first pair of officers had reported in from Khartoum that all was well. A Sudanese army platoon guarded the large house which they shared, and all appeared to be secure. The generals had already determined that they would make a sizable “contribution” to that country’s treasury, to ensure their own safety for the time–hopefully brief–they’d spend in that country before moving on. Their intelligence chief, still back in Baghdad, was on the phone now, calling around to various contacts in various countries to find secure permanent housing for them. Switzerland? They wondered. A cold country in terms of both climate and culture, but a safe one, and for those with money to invest, an anonymous one.
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“WHO OWNS THREE G-IVs over there?”-
“The registration of the aircraft is Swiss, Lieutenant,” Major Sabah reported, having just learned the fact. From the photos shot at Khartoum he’d gotten the tail number, and that was easily checked on a computer database. He flipped the page to determine the ownership. “A corporately owned jet. They have three of them, and a few smaller turboprops for flying around Europe. We’ll have to check further to learn more about the corporation.” But somebody would be working on that, and they’d find the obvious. Probably some import-export concern, more a letter-drop than anything else, perhaps with a small storefront that conducted real, if negligible, business for appearance’s sake. The corporation would have a medium-sized account in a commercial bank; it would have a law firm to make sure that it scrupulously obeyed every local rule; its employees would be fully briefed on how to behave–Switzerland was a law-abiding country–and how to keep everything in order; the corporation would vanish into the woodwork, because the Swiss didn’t trouble people who deposited money in their banks and kept within their laws. Those who broke the rules severely could find the country as inhospitable as the one the generals were leaving. That was well understood, too.
The pity of it, Sabah thought, was that he knew the first two faces, and probably also knew the faces now in transit. It would have been pleasing to get them before the bar of justice, especially a Kuwaiti bar. They’d been more junior, most of them, when Iraq had invaded his country. They would have participated in the pillaging. Major Sabah remembered prowling the streets, trying to look as inconspicuous and harmless as possible while other Kuwaiti subjects had resisted more actively, which had been brave, but dangerous. Most of them had been caught and killed, along with family members, and though the survivors were now famous and well rewarded, those few had operated on information he’d gathered. The major didn’t mind. His family was wealthy enough, and he liked
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being a spook. Even more, he was damned sure his country would never be surprised like that again. He would see to that personally.
In any case, the generals who were leaving were less a concern than the ones who would replace them. That had the major worried.
“WELL, I’M AFRAID it was a pretty weak performance in all respects for Mr. Ryan,” Ed Realty said on the noon news-interview show. “Dr. Bretano is, first of all, an industry official who has long since opted out of public service. I was there when his name came up before, and I was there when he refused to consider a high government position– so that he could stay where he was to make money, I suppose. He’s a talented man, evidently a good engineer,” Kealty allowed with a tolerant smile, “but a Secretary of Defense, no.” A shake of the head emphasized it.
“What did you think of President Ryan’s position on abortion, sir?” Barry asked on CNN.
“Barry, that’s the problem. He’s not really the President,” Kealty replied in a mild, businesslike tone. “And we need to correct that. His lack of understanding for the public showed clearly in that contradictory and ill-considered statement in the Press Room. Roe v. Wade is the law of the land. That’s all he had to say. It’s not necessary that the President should like the laws, but he has to enforce them. Of course, for any public official not to understand how the American people think on this issue doesn’t so much show insensitivity to the rights of women to choose, as simple incompetence. All Ryan had to do was listen to his briefers on what to say, but he didn’t even do that. He’s a loose cannon,” Kealty concluded. “We don’t need one of those in the White House.”
“But your claim–” A raised hand stopped the correspondent cold.
“It’s not a claim, Barry. It’s a fact. I never resigned. I never actually left the vice-presidency. Because of that, when Roger Durling died, I became President. What we have to do right now, and Mr. Ryan will do this if he cares about his country, is to form a judicial panel to examine
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the constitutional issues and decide who the President really is. If Ryan does not do that–well, he’s putting himself before the good of the country. Now, I must add that I fully believe that Jack Ryan is acting in good conscience. He’s an honorable man, and in the past he’s shown himself to be a courageous man. Unfortunately, right now, he’s confused, as we saw at the press conference this morning.”
“A pat of butter would not melt in his mouth, Jack,” van Damm observed, turning the sound down. “You see how good he is at this?”
Ryan nearly came out of his chair. “God damn it, Arnie, that’s what I said! I must have said it three or four times–that’s the law, and I can’t break the law. That’s what I said!”
“Remember what \ told you about keeping your temper under control?” The chief of staff waited for Ryan’s color to go back down. He turned the sound back up.
“What’s most disturbing, however,” Kealty was saying now, “is what Ryan said about his appointments to the Supreme Court. It’s pretty clear he wants to turn the clock back on a lot of things. Litmus tests on issues like abortion, appointing only strict-constructionists. It makes you wonder if he wants to overturn affirmative action, and heaven knows what else. Unfortunately, we find ourselves in a situation where the sitting President will exercise immense power, particularly in the courts. And Ryan just doesn’t know how, Barry. He doesn’t, and what we learned today about what he wants to do–well, it’s just plain frightening, isn’t it?”
“Am I on a different planet, Arnie?” Jack demanded. “I didn’t say ‘litmus test.’ A reporter did. I didn’t say ‘strict-constructionist.’ A reporter did.”