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“This is Director Stansfield.”
At first there was only breathing, heavy breathing, and then the words hissed forth. “I know all about you. Who you are, what you’ve done, and all of the people you’ve sent your minions to kill.”
Stansfield looked down again at the readout on his phone. The black letters said, “WH Sit Room.” The hostile voice he recognized as that of Rafique Aziz, and it didn’t even come close to riling the director of the Central Intelligence Agency. Instead, Stansfield leaned back and asked, “What can I do for you, Mr. Aziz?”
“Do for me,” spat an obviously agitated Aziz. “You can tell me what you have done with Fara Harut!”
It was a statement made with confidence; Stansfield was sure of that. The director stayed cool and replied, “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Don’t insult me,” screamed Aziz. “I know what you have done, and I want to know where Fara Harut is immediately, or you are going to have more dead hostages on your hands!”
Aziz was screaming so loud that Flood and Campbell could hear him from where they were standing. The two men stepped forward while Stansfield replied, “It is not my intention to insult you. I sincerely have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You are a snake,” screamed Aziz. “I should have known better than to have thought for a second that you would give me the truth! I swear I will make you pay for what you have done!”
Aziz was now yelling so loud Stansfield pulled the phone away from his ear and listened to Aziz ramble from a more comfortable distance of six inches.
The voice squawked from the earpiece. “You give me the truth right now, or I will walk down the hall and put a bullet in the head of one of the hostages, and when I come back, if you do not have an answer for me, I will go back and kill another, and I will keep doing it until you tell me what you have done with Fara Harut!”
“Mr. Aziz,” replied an unflinching Stansfield, “I have no idea what you are talking about. If you would tell me what has got you so angry, I will do my best to find out where Fara Harut is.”
“Don’t toy with me! I know who you are, and what you do! You are a liar and a murderer of innocent women and children!”
Stansfield sat calmly in the chair, the phone still held several inches away from his ear. He had to think quickly, and he had to get Aziz to back down.
“Well, Mr. Aziz, if that’s the way you feel about me, we must have a lot in common.” Without giving Aziz a chance to reply to the shot, Stansfield continued, “By the way, I must commend you for your speech this morning. It really played well with the politicians. I tried to advise them that you were not serious. That you were performing. To and for what, I have not yet figured out, but I have my ideas.”
“Silence!” screamed Aziz. “I want to know where Fara Harut is immediately, or someone dies!”
“Mr. Aziz, you don’t want to do that, and this is why.” Stansfield glanced up at the two generals for a second and then said, “Right now you’ve done a very good job making certain people in my government think that you have turned over a new leaf and that you are a man who will actually keep his word. Myself and several others know this is all a sham. If you kill another hostage, I will take a tape of this conversation to the vice president and I will leak it to the media so every
one can hear that you are truly not the man you tried to portray yourself as this morning. And then . . . well . . . you know our rules of engagement. You were lucky we didn’t storm the place after you killed National Security Adviser Schwartz and his secretary. If you start killing hostages again, we will be left no alternative other than to retake the building . . . and that of course means you will die.”
“Your men will die!” screamed Aziz. “You are a bigger fool than I thought. I will blow this whole building sky high and all of the hostages with it.”
“And you will die also, which just happens to suit my needs perfectly. Things will be much easier if you cease to exist.” Stansfield leaned back in his chair. “You are threatening the wrong man, Mr. Aziz, and you know it.” Now came the time to lie, to really make Aziz think that he was everything Aziz thought he was and then some. “I could not care less what happens to the hostages. I just want to make sure that you and your wretched comrades are dead when this whole thing is over. If we have to lose forty or fifty hostages to mount your head on the wall . . . it’s a small price to pay.”
“I am not afraid to die! Even if I die, I will have won!”
“I don’t think so,” replied Stansfield in his calm analytical voice. “You see, after you have killed yourself, we will pluck President Hayes, and quite a few others, out of the rubble, and you will have ceased to be a problem. We will rebuild the White House in six months, and everything will return to normal.”
Aziz was enraged, but he knew that Stansfield had him boxed in. For now at least, but, oh, the surprise they would be in for when their president wasn’t so safe. Now was not the time to push things; no matter how much Fara Harut meant, Aziz could not do anything to precipitate an attack by the Americans until he had the president in his hands. Aziz would have to swallow his pride and make a tactical retreat. His ego, however, was far too large to do so without taking a parting shot.
“You are too sure of yourself, Mr. Stansfield.” Aziz spoke in a low ominous tone. “Things are not always as they appear. We will talk again this evening, and by then you had better know where Fara Harut is.”
With that the line went dead. Stansfield set the phone back in its cradle-and looked up at the two generals. General Flood asked, “What in the hell was that all about?”
Stansfield glanced up at Kennedy as she walked across the large office. “He knows Harut is gone and thinks we have him.”
“I got that part of it. What was the rest of it about?”
“He said if I didn’t tell him right away where Harut was, he would kill a hostage.”
“And that’s when you decided to play chicken with him?” asked Campbell.
Stansfield shrugged his shoulders. It was hardly the phrase he would have used to describe his method. “I took a risk. I obviously don’t want to see any of those hostages killed. All I did was give him the answer that fits his belief of who I really am.” Stansfield rubbed his forefinger under his chin. “And he blinked.”
Kennedy placed both hands on her hips and frowned. “There was more to it than that, Thomas. He didn’t just blink, he rolled over and showed you his belly, and did it way too fast. It was out of character.”
