Название: File Zero
Автор: Джек Марс
Издательство: Lukeman Literary Management Ltd
Жанр: Политические детективы
Серия: An Agent Zero Spy Thriller
isbn: 9781094310336
isbn:
The John F. Kennedy Conference Room, located in the West Wing basement and known to most as the Situation Room, was the intelligence management center of the White House, more than five thousand square feet of communications equipment that allowed some of the most powerful men in the world to maintain security from a single place.
And Zero, it seemed, had just been awarded earned a seat at the table.
President Pierson swept into the room on the heels of two Secret Service members, who immediately positioned themselves on either side of the double doors that granted them access. Zero followed behind him. Now this was the flurry of activity that he had expected upon arrival; there were fourteen people occupying the long rectangular table that ran the length of the room, and every one of them stood when the president entered.
Zero glanced around quickly, scanning the faces. He recognized nearly all of them; the National Security Advisor was present, the Homeland Security Advisor, the White House Chief of Staff, Secretary of Defense Quentin Rigby, DNI John Hillis, and Press Secretary Christine Cleary, among others. He couldn’t help but note wryly that besides himself, Pierson, and Cleary, every other person in the room was a man over fifty-five.
He was mildly relieved to see that the CIA did not have a presence there. He’d half-expected to find Director Mullen or possibly even Deputy Director Riker rearing their heads. But this was a matter for heads of state, and the CIA was represented by DNI Hillis, who would be the one to relay any orders to Mullen.
“Please, take your seats.” Pierson lowered himself into the black chair at the head of the table, closest to the doors. He gestured toward the empty seat to his right and Zero took it.
Several pairs of eyes were on him as he did, but only the Secretary of Defense spoke up. Retired four-star general Quentin Rigby carried a stiffness in his neck and shoulders and wore deep worry lines in his face that suggested he had seen the worst sides of humanity, and though discerning, he was not afraid to speak his mind.
“Mr. President.” Rigby remained standing as he addressed Pierson. “I don’t think I need to remind you that what we’re about to discuss is highly discretionary—”
“Noted, General Rigby, thank you.” Pierson cut off the general with a wave of his hand. “Agent Steele is here acting as a security advisor. He’s been vetted by the CIA and has proven his capacity for discretion time and time again. Not to mention that he’s the only one in this room with any recent experience with the type of situation we’re dealing with.”
“Even so,” Rigby pressed, “it is highly unorthodox, sir.”
“I don’t think I need to remind you, General, that I am the only person that gets to decide who is in this room.” Pierson stared Rigby down.
Zero almost smirked. He had never heard Pierson speak to anyone like that; usually his approach was diplomacy and charm. On the one hand, Zero could tell that the president was bedraggled by the events. On the other, it was nice to see him showing some real backbone.
Rigby nodded and lowered himself back into his seat. “Yes sir.”
“Mr. Holmes.” President Pierson nodded to his Chief of Staff, a short balding man with owlish glasses. “If you would.”
“Of course, sir.” Peter Holmes rose and cleared his throat. “At approximately seventeen hundred hours local time, an Iranian battleship fired two rockets at the destroyer USS Constitution during a routine patrol in the Persian Gulf. Due to the recent change in ROE, with which I believe we’re all familiar, the Constitution was authorized to—”
“Excuse me.” Zero raised his hand as if he was in a classroom, cutting off the Chief of Staff. “What change in ROE?”
“The rules of engagement, Agent,” said Holmes.
“I know the acronym,” Zero said shortly. “What was the change?”
“In light of the recent attack on American soil,” Rigby cut in, “the president signed an executive order just this morning which dictates that any foreign force that fires within a specific proximity to American military personnel are to be considered hostile and dealt with using extreme prejudice.”
Zero didn’t let himself show any reaction, but his mind churned. What a coincidence, he thought. “And what is the specific proximity, General?”
“We’re not here to outline the details of an executive order,” Rigby shot back. “We’re here to discuss an extremely pressing and volatile situation.”
Rigby was dodging the question. “What was the trajectory of the rockets?” Zero asked.
“Sorry?” Holmes pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“The trajectory,” Zero repeated. “Angle of ascent, descent, type of rocket, proximity, anything. How much of a threat was this ship to the Constitution?”
“Enough of a threat for a captain in the United States Navy to make a judgment call,” said Rigby forcefully. “Are you questioning the captain’s judgment, Agent Steele?”
I’m questioning his motivations, he nearly said. But he held his tongue. He couldn’t afford to tip his hand again like he had twice already. “Not at all. I’m merely suggesting that there are three sides to this story. The captain’s, the Iranians’, and the truth. What about cameras?”
“Cameras,” Rigby repeated flatly. He flashed a patronizing smirk. “Do you know a lot about destroyer-class ships, Agent?”
“Can’t say I have a lot of experience.” This time Zero flashed a smirk of his own. “All I know is that the USS Constitution is an Arleigh-Burke class destroyer, built in 1988 and first commissioned in 1991. They were the only US destroyer class used from 2005 to 2016, until the Zumwalt class was commissioned. The Constitution would be outfitted with an Aegis integrated weapons system, antisubmarine rockets, a passive electronically scanned radar array, and Tomahawk missiles—the latter of which I’m assuming was used to destroy the Iranian vessel and claim seventy-six lives. Considering it is one of the most technologically advanced machines on the entire ocean, and that it’s carrying enough firepower to conquer any number of banana republics, I would assume that cameras weren’t out of the question.”
Rigby stared him down for a long moment. “No cameras picked up the angle of attack,” he said finally. “But you’re welcome to read the captain’s report if you’d like.” The general slid a folder Zero’s way.
He opened it; the first page was a very brief report, only a few paragraphs, from a Captain Warren. The details were sparse. Warren claimed simply that an IRGC ship fired two rockets at the Constitution. Neither hit, but the attempt was deemed enough of a threat for Warren to make the judgment call to return fire—with, as Zero had predicted, eight Tomahawk missiles. The enemy ship had been obliterated.
Not only was it overkill, but that was the only part of the report that Zero actually believed. Anything else would have been easy to falsify. The Persian Gulf, and Captain Warren, was thousands of miles away. Far from anyone being able to question him meaningfully.
“Brass tacks,” said Rigby, “are that Iran is publicly considering this an act of war. They say we fired first. We say they fired first. There’s been no formal declaration of war from them, but the American people are going to expect a definitive answer. We cannot abide another attack—”
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