“Good afternoon Colonel Daniels . . . Mister Jameson. Your table is ready.” The maître d’ reached behind his walnut podium and picked up two menus. He led the way past the large Plexiglas display case containing the model of a tall ship, the USS Constitution, and into the White House mess.
Hunt ate in this dining room just outside the Situation Room most days along with other members of the senior staff. It had been run by Navy Stewards since the days of Rutherford B. Hayes. The food was decent and the service was quick.
They walked past the round staff table with open seating at the end of the room and were led to a small table for two along the wall. They sat down in the dark wooden chairs and picked up their navy blue menus with the presidential seal on the front cover and piece of gold braid down the center.
The blue jacketed waiter hovered discreetly off to one side, waiting for their decision. Hunt closed the menu and set it down. “Make mine a BLT and iced tea.”
“I’ll have the clam chowder and half sandwich, thanks,” Ted said. Then he turned to Hunt. “Sorry I didn’t make it in over the weekend. I’ve been trying to talk my wife into moving back in. But, no go.” He shook his head and said, “Anyway, tell me about that accident Friday night.”
“It was pretty bad. Looks like somebody may have tried to kill Cammy.”
“Kill her? Who? How?” Ted asked, incredulous.
“Somebody rammed her car. It crashed down a hill. Could have been fatal.”
“Jeez! But she’s okay, right?”
“A little banged up. Some cuts. She was lucky. She had a friend in the car who’s still in the hospital though.”
“How is she?”
“She was unconscious for a hell of a long time. She finally woke up yesterday. We went over there and turns out she had a concussion along with a ton of bruises. At least there was no spinal cord injury. But still. Poor woman looks kind of like a raccoon. Her eyes are all black and blue.”
“But she’ll be okay?”
“We sure as hell hope so. Doctor said she might be dizzy, have double vision. Who the hell knows?”
“But who did it? Any idea?”
“It’s gotta be the same guy that broke into Cammy’s apartment,” Hunt said.
“So, what does she do now?”
“She’s staying at my place.”
“Your place?” Ted eyed his friend. “What are you going to do about her while we’re gone?”
“Big problem. Woman needs protection. I was going to talk to her CEO over at Bandaq, but she said she was having enough problems with the CFO breathing down her neck, she didn’t want to ask for special treatment, especially if it cost money.”
“So what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking FBI.”
“You gotta be kidding! FBI’s so busy now. They’ll kick it to the local police.”
“So it’s a push. But the whole point is that she’s working on a technology that . . . maybe . . . somebody wants to steal. Or stop.”
“It’s that maybe part that’s going to stop you.”
Hunt raised both of his hands in a defensive gesture. “We’ll see. Anyway, back on our agenda. I’ve been getting more intel from your part of the world about how the Indians are trying to develop their own antimissile system, and it sounds an awful lot like what Cammy and Bandaq are doing. If they get it, the Paks would be defenseless. It would be a one-sided deal. I mean, up to now it’s been kind of a Mexican stand-off with both sides having nukes. But nobody in his right mind thinks anybody over there would attack with nuclear weapons,” Hunt ventured.
“Who says those militants are ‘in their right mind?’ What if those other two missiles have nuclear or chemical . . . or even biological warheads? That type of missile can carry just about anything.”
“I know. And here’s the big question. Do you think they’ll launch another missile even if India doesn’t retaliate?”
“If they’ve got two left. Why wouldn’t they use them?” Ted asked.
“On the other hand, if they wait, and India gets a decent missile defense system in place, then retaliates against Pakistan or against the guys in Kashmir . . .”
Ted interrupted, “As you said, the Paks would be in deep trouble. About that defense system India’s working on. It’s for cruise type missiles, right?”
“That’s what I’m hearing,” Hunt said. “And they could. I mean those Indian scientists are as smart . . . or smarter maybe . . . than a lot of our people when it comes to clever inventions.”
The waiter brought their drinks and quietly slipped away.
“As soon as we get over there, we’ve got to rev up the Indian military to find those other two missiles,” Hunt said.
“They say they’re working on it.”
“Not working hard enough.”
“The Paks say they’re searching too.”
“Fat chance they’ll find them. About the talks, are you getting any new vibes about whether the Indians will cooperate in coming to the table?”
“With the latest attacks in Kashmir, I don’t know.” Ted took a drink of water and added, “It’s starting to look like Srinagar all over again.”
“Srinagar?” Hunt asked.
“Remember, that’s kind of the summer capital of India’s part of Kashmir. Well, Jammu-Kashmir, as they call it. The rebels killed a ton of people in an ambush some time back. It was a real blood bath, and everyone’s afraid that more of those kinds of raids are on the drawing board.”
“You know, the Moslems have been fighting among themselves all over the Middle East for centuries, but they haven’t caused this kind of trouble in so many other parts of the world. For the last several years they’ve been on a damn rampage. Against us, India, Russia, Spain, England . . . you name it, they’re everywhere, staging attacks in groups or encouraging some poor idiot to put on a suicide vest. Even their women. Sometimes it’s hard to figure out where they think they’re going with all of this.”
The waiter reappeared with their lunch orders. “May I get anything else for you gentlemen?”
“No thanks, I think we’re fine,” Ted said as he turned back to face Hunt. “Trying to put all of this in an historical context isn’t easy when we have to spend all our time reacting to these attacks.”
“Or preventing them.”
“Which we’ve done in many cases. Trouble is, we have to be right all the time to protect our people. The terrorists only have to be right once, and people die. Anyway, about Islam, we’re not just talking about a religion. With Muslims, it’s a whole way of life. There is no separation of church and state. The church is the state. At least that’s what they’re trying to pull off. And their Sharia laws are pretty brutal.”
He paused to taste the chowder and then went on. “Right now there are a bunch of political parties in Pakistan who are trying to get that country to go back to Sharia.”
“I know. Like the Taliban ran things in Afghanistan. Where women were really dumped on.”
“Some of the hard-liners say it’s the only way to maintain order and purity. Keep the women veiled, make them stay home and all of that because otherwise they wouldn’t be able to control themselves, or some men would be tempted to take advantage of them. Then they’d end up as prostitutes or have kids outside of marriage. And since women are the keepers of the family honor, they’d better behave or it brings dishonor to the father . . . and the brothers too. Actually, to the whole crowd.” Ted stopped talking and ate his sandwich.
“So you get those honor killings you hear about.”
“Yes.”
“Seems pretty unfair to say it’s always the woman’s fault. What about the guys?”
Ted finished his soup and said, “In a way they have sort of a no-fault insurance policy. They hardly ever get prosecuted. But if a single woman has a child . . .”
Hunt interrupted, “She can get stoned to death.”
“Sometimes. Now on the other hand, the Muslims do a great job protecting their own women. Usually. They revere their wives, their mothers, sisters and so on. That’s one reason they hate our society. They talk about our crime rate, how women get raped, how children are raised with only one parent, have abortions, do drugs, you name it, they hate it. And they’re trying to protect their society from turning into . . .”
“Us,” Hunt answered. “I wonder what they think of Lady Ga-ga?”
“Get serious, Daniels!”
The waiter reappeared to ask if they would like coffee or dessert.
“Does the chef have any of those chocolate chip cookies back there today?” Hunt asked.
“Yes. Would you like a plate?”
Hunt nodded. “That’d be great. And a cup of real.”
“I’ll have some decaf. Thanks,” Ted said.
Hunt turned back to his colleague. “The Hindus. Now they’re really different.”
“About as different as you can get,” Ted replied. “Islam has the one God, and the Hindus have sort of a supreme God, but then they have other gods and goddesses. The folks out in the country have their own fertility goddesses. Things like that.”
“I’ve always wondered about the colored-dot-on-the-forehead. I just never took the time to study their culture all that much,” Hunt admitted.
“Oh that. It’s a sign of piety. It’s like a third eye that’s focused inward on God. And one more thing about Hindus and that Kashmir area. They believe the Himalayas are the stairway to heaven.”
“No wonder they’re fighting over it.”
The waiter brought their coffee and a plate of cookies.
Hunt checked his watch. “I still have a few minutes, you okay on time?”
Ted nodded. “I’ve got a backgrounder at three. I’m fine for now.”
“So, let me pick your brain on just one more point. You’re the expert here. I can see how the Muslims hate our society . . .”
Ted interrupted. “Some Muslims hate us. We have to be clear on this. Most Muslims have lived peacefully with other people for centuries. And there are a lot of changes going on. Elections in Afghanistan, Iraq, Palestine, Egypt. Although that’s been pretty screwed up. But you have women voting in Kuwait now. It’s just these fringe fanatics that have hijacked the religion for their own bloody ends.”
“As far as I can see, the problem is a lot bigger than fringe fanatics. And it’s getting worse. Why now?”
Ted sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “I’ve been thinking about that for quite some time, and I think it’s a combination of things. First you had the colonial countries trying to have their way. Then you had the creation of Israel right in the middle of what they say is their territory. And what do the Israelis do? They create a booming economy, out of practically nothing. Remember Golda Meier used to say that ‘Moses led them to the one place in the Middle East that didn’t have any oil’?”
“Yeah. She was right. And your point is . . .”
“That the Israelis are stuck in the desert, but they’ve built industries, universities, a democratic government with actual elections. The whole nine yards. And then to top it off, they have this Six Day War back in ’67 and completely humiliate all the Arab types.”
“So they don’t like being outdone. But way back, the Muslims were the smart guys. Baghdad was the center of science and mathematics.” Hunt countered.
“Yes, but look at what’s happened to them in the meantime. The rest of the world passed them by, and some of them are looking for somebody to blame. They’d never admit it, but think about it. When was the last time you heard about any Muslim country exporting a really good product you wanted to buy? A car? A computer? Anything manufactured? Where are their world-class universities? All of their bright kids try to get visas to study here. They’ve got all this oil, and what have they done with it?”
“Not enough,” Hunt answered.
“Now you’re beginning to get the picture.”
They signed their tabs and got up to leave. “Back to our trip plans,” Hunt said. “We’re wheels up from Andrews at 20:30 tomorrow night. And as soon as we get to New Delhi, we’ve got to focus on finding those damn missiles.”
“And preventing retaliation.”
“But between now and then, I’ve got to prevent something else.”