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“Why?” Baxter placed his right elbow on the chair’s armrest and rested his chin on his hand.
“I was just talking to Ted.” King was referring to the vice president’s national security adviser, Ted Nelson. “He says Israel is starting to make waves.” King sat back and took the last bite of his banana.
“What’s their problem now?”
“They think they know what Aziz’s final demand is, and they want it to be known that they will refuse to cooperate.”
“What do they think the last demand will be?”
“They think he will ask the U.S. and the UN to recognize a free and autonomous Palestinian state.”
“And?” Baxter shrugged as if it was no big deal.
“Israel has sent word that they will not be bullied into any such agreement. Ted says his sources are telling him that in four hours the Israeli defense forces will go on alert, and if Aziz demands a free and autonomous Palestinian state, the Israelis will occupy the territories.”
Baxter swung forward in his chair. “Damn it. You get their ambassador on the line, and tell him if they do any such thing, I’ll make sure their aid from us dries up to nothing.”
King shook his head. “You can’t do that, and they know you can’t. There are too many senators and congressmen that would come to their aid.”
Baxter’s temper flared. “The hell I can’t.”
King looked at his temperamental boss and waited for him to calm. After several moments he continued. “Picking a battle with Israel is bad politics. . . . It plays horrible in New York and even worse with our big donors out in Hollywood. I have an idea that might keep everybody happy.” King sat back with a grin and crossed his legs.
On edge, Baxter blurted, “Well, out with it. I don’t have all day.”
“I think it’s time to broker a backroom deal with them. We tell them to protest loudly if the demand is made, but to take no military action. In return, we promise that as soon as this next group of hostages are released, we’ll retake the building.”
“I thought we didn’t want to do that.”
“I thought so at first,” King said cautiously. “The more I think about it, though, you don’t want to be seen as too big a wimp. If you can succeed in getting two-thirds of the hostages released and then give the order to retake the building . . .” King smiled. “You will be seen as someone who was not just a good diplomat but someone who can get tough when it’s called for.” To himself King added, and you’ll solve my problem in the process.
“Maybe.” Baxter frowned while he thought about this new strategy. Then, looking at his watch, he asked, “Why hasn’t Director Stansfield or General Flood come to me with this information?” King shrugged. “If Ted knows about this, they sure as hell do.”
“I don’t know. Maybe Ted has a better source.”
“Come on,” scoffed Baxter. “Better than Thomas Stansfield . . . I doubt it.” Baxter reached for his phone and then realized he didn’t know where either Flood or Stansfield was. One of the minions could take care of that. He had more important things to do with his time. Looking across his large desk, he said, “Get General Flood and Director Stansfield on the line for me.”
STANSFIELD HAD DECIDED it would be better if they called the president from the conference room, so he, Flood, Campbell, and Kennedy left the control room and entered the glass-enclosed bubble. In under a minute both Rapp and President Hayes were on the line.
General Flood gave the president a brief overview of Rapp’s plan to wait until the last possible moment before launching the assault. President Hayes listened intently.
The first question out of his mouth was, “What’s the downside if our timing is off and we wait too long?” Hayes had an inkling of what the result would be.
“If we miscalculate, sir”—General Campbell paused for a second—“we might jeopardize all of you.”
“General Campbell.” It was Rapp on the line. “Delta Force is handling the mansion, correct?”
“Correct.”
“How much time will it take to get them from the forward staging area to the White House . . . assuming the skids are warmed up and the shooters are locked and loaded?”
“Colonel Gray tells me he can put twelve operators on the roof in under-two minutes, and have twelve more on-site within the next thirty seconds.”
“Excuse me for asking”—back in the bunker President Hayes was frowning—“but if we can put that many people on the roof by helicopter, then why in the hell are we screwing around with parachuting these SEALs onto the roof ?”
General Flood fielded the question. “Element of surprise, sir. If we start moving the troops in by helicopter, the media and the thousands of people downtown will see them. We hope to land the SEALs and get them into the mansion without anyone noticing. It’s risky, but it’s the only chance we have of defusing some of the bombs so we can get the HRT in to save the hostages in the West Wing.”
Rapp grabbed the chance to drive his plan home. “And my point, Mr. President, is if we wait for Aziz and an unknown number of terrorists to head over to get you out of the bunker, we will significantly increase the chances of successfully rescuing the hostages.”
