07

 

The White House

Washington, DC

“I beg to differ, Mr. President. It isn’t the same thing—not at all,” the national security advisor said. “You’re being naïve and making a mistake. You’re overreacting. I’m afraid you simply don’t understand how the House of Saud will react to this.”

DJ held his breath and scanned the room. Dr. Susan Wright, the president’s deputy national security advisor, was clearly shocked by the statement. But the faces of the military staff and advisors were implacable masks. They’d seen this type of scenario play out too many times to react.

The Situation Room was full. DJ, as usual, leaned up against a wall at the back of the room. The president’s chief of staff, Dr. Anshel Gould, rested his back against a nearby wall as well. Sometimes, DJ knew, Dr. Gould sat beside the president in the Sit Room. But not today. The president was flanked on both sides by two four-stars—General Sean Thomas, his national security advisor, and Dan Johnson, the former Republican senator from Missouri who’d recently become the secretary of defense.

Daniel James, or DJ to everyone in the room, always counted himself lucky to be included in these meetings. As the principal deputy press secretary on foreign policy matters, he’d asked the president for permission to sit in on briefings like this. President Adom Camara had given DJ that chance, provided he never abused the privilege. DJ was careful and never said a word in these meetings.

Right now, though, DJ found it difficult to hold his tongue. Everyone in the room could see that General Thomas had just challenged the president’s ability to understand a complicated foreign policy matter. And yet President Camara didn’t respond—at least not the way DJ would like him to respond.

“Perhaps you’re right, Sean,” the president said. “Perhaps I’m not seeing the situation quite right, or clearly enough. But humor me. Assume, for a moment, that is the same thing, and that I am right about this. Play it out for me.” The president pushed his chair back from the table a couple of feet so he could look directly at his national security advisor. He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, and settled in for the lecture he was about to receive from his imperious national security advisor.

“Okay, I can do that.” General Thomas nodded vigorously. Known to relish a challenge like this, he forged ahead, blind to the president’s body language. “But it’s hard, because you’re wrong about this. The Saudis will not see this attack as all that significant—and certainly not similar to the attack on the towers in New York City. You’re equating this attack on the Airbus 380 to 9/11, like it’s a direct attack against the monarchy in Saudi Arabia. But it’s not. It’s merely a hapless dupe they planted here in the United States, who took advantage of a window of opportunity.”

“You’re sure about that, Sean?” the president asked quietly.

“Quite certain,” the general said. “Al Qaeda in Yemen has attacked a Saudi prince before. They nearly killed their head of intelligence not long ago. They’ve gone after other members of the Royal family. This is old hat to the Saudis. One more in a long line of efforts to go after individual members of the House of Saud. Remember, it’s Saudi intelligence that provides us with a steady flow of information about al Qaeda’s activities. They’ve warned us about serious activities a half-dozen times in the past decade. They know al Qaeda better than we do.”

“So this is just one more incident? Nothing more serious than that?” asked Camara.

“Yes, just one more incident,” the general responded. “The Saudis know where most of the al Qaeda financing activities originate. They follow the money quite well, which gives them access to al Qaeda’s plans. They know full well that al Qaeda is an organization in name only, that leaders in various groups don’t really answer to anyone, and that they all look for opportunities to go after the House of Saud. This is an isolated incident. It isn’t organized and certainly isn’t the same thing as a direct attack against the leadership of their country.”

“Dr. Wright, is that your assessment as well?” the president asked without taking his eyes off General Thomas. “Do you believe this is only an unfortunate, isolated incident?”

DJ glanced over at Dr. Wright. He couldn’t help himself. He really admired the president’s deputy national security advisor. She’d brought badly needed stability and sanity to the national security office. DJ knew that, someday, Dr. Wright would head back to academia to become president of some prestigious American university. But for now, he leaned heavily on her wise counsel and calm demeanor during times like this. He wondered how she’d handle this one.

She did not answer immediately, and DJ sensed she was uncomfortable that the president put her on the spot. When she did speak, she seemed to choose her words carefully. “I believe this is a serious attack, one that the Saudis will view differently than previous attacks. I’m not prepared to say it’s precisely analogous to 9/11, but nevertheless, it is something the Saudis will take very seriously. They will ask for our utmost cooperation on intelligence sharing.”

“Why?” the president asked.

“Because it’s Muhammad al Faisal—who I believe will become king at some point—and because it happened on American soil at precisely the moment he’d arrived in this country to dialogue about the succession of power within the House of Saud. It’s as if someone within the royal family—someone who doesn’t agree with the succession plan—helped orchestrate the act to disrupt the plans. Imagine if the attack had succeeded. It would have permanently altered the plan for the House of Saud. For that reason alone, I believe we need to take this quite seriously.”

“But Mr. President, we don’t know any of this with absolute certainty!” General Thomas jumped back into the conversation. “We still don’t know if Prince Muhammad arrived here to brief us on any succession planning for the House of Saud. At most, we’ll be reading tea leaves after he’s gone back to Riyadh. He’s not the king yet and may never be. So we can’t impute all sorts of things into this, like it’s an assassination attempt against the Saudi king on US soil.”

“Well, General Thomas, I beg to differ with your assessment,” the president said calmly. “I do believe our intelligence is correct and that Prince Muhammad is here to give us a fairly clear road map. I also believe Secretary Moran will confirm that for us shortly.”

“No secretary of state—not even Jennifer Moran—can decipher that in just one meeting with someone like Prince Muhammad from the Saudi royal family,” General Thomas said flatly. “That’s not possible. The House of Saud covers its face with one veil after another, and you can never truly know what face will emerge.”

“So you’re a diplomat now, Sean?” The president cocked his head.

“I don’t need to be a diplomat to know how cautious the royal family is about their business. There’s no way for us to know what they may—or may not—have in mind. I continue to maintain that this was just another incident—not directed at disrupting the succession plan for the next king of Saudi Arabia. And our response, both militarily and diplomatically, should be calibrated accordingly.”

“But what if you’re wrong?” Camara asked.

The general’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not. We don’t know the Saudis’ plans. What we do know is that this was almost certainly an isolated incident. My prediction is that we’ll learn in the next day or so that the gunner on that truck was a lone operative with loose connections, like nearly all of the others we’ve tracked down over the years. It’s the press that creates this grand al Qaeda conspiracy that we all know is bunk.”

“Even if, in this particular case, there may be more going on? That this was more coordinated and timed for a specific reason?” the president persisted.

“We don’t know that any of that is likely,” the general answered. “And we can’t assume something like that, without any knowledge in hand. I feel I’m right about this.”

DJ closed his eyes briefly. He knew, at that moment, that this particular meeting was the last time General Thomas would have any significant role to play in the president’s decision-making process. He would be eased out of the White House within months—if not sooner. DJ could see it quite clearly, even if the national security advisor was obtuse to the signs.

While he had nothing other than his own personal convictions to go on, DJ trusted Susan Wright. He would follow her advice and counsel on almost any matter, and this was no different. And, DJ knew, the president almost certainly felt that way as well.

“All right, we’ll wait on a report back from Secretary Moran from the Saudi visit,” the president concluded. He pushed his chair back to the table and looked out across the room. “But we are going to treat this as a direct, coordinated attack against someone that our best intelligence believes to be a future Saudi king. In short—this was an assassination attempt, on our own soil.”