ABOARD SF COMMAND TRANSPORT 3, OVER THE PERSIAN GULF—AN HOUR LATER
Corrine listened to Van Buren finish his summary of what they had found at the base. He had three additional prisoners aboard his aircraft, which was about fifteen minutes from the Turkish border. Two of his men had sustained small wounds. The radiation exposure to the team was within acceptable limits.
The facility had been temporarily sealed off by exploding several large charges near the entrances. The damage would not preclude the facility from being repaired and reused; presumably the Russians would have to see to that themselves. They were already en route.
Of more immediate concern: A smorgasbord of waste material had been stored in the cave. The plane that had taken off was a flying radiation bomb.
And Ferguson and Conners were undoubtedly on it.
“Thank you, Colonel. Job well done,” she told him. Then she looked up at the communications specialist. “Put the president through now,” she told him.
The young man nodded, doing his best to hide his anxiety at channeling a transmission from the commander in chief.
One of the president’s aides came on the line, and the specialist pointed at Corrine as the White House connection went through.
“Well, dear, you are making a considerable amount of noise in Moscow, so I cannot imagine what is going on in the Caucasus,” said the president.
“We’ve secured a terrorist facility in pursuance of U.S. and international law,” she told him.
“I understand the Russian ambassador has a slightly different interpretation of the affair,” said the president. “As a matter of fact, the secretary of state is standing outside my door as we speak, and I hear that his white hair is clumping on my rug.”
“Then perhaps someone from his legal team can dredge up Memo 13-2002, relating to the antiterrorist letter signed during the second Bush administration,” said Corrine.
“You’re thinking like a lawyer,” said the president.
“You don’t want me to?”
“I’m not complaining, Counselor. Just offering commentary.”
The president paused, distracted by one of his aides in his office. When he came back on the line, Corrine tried to seem more conciliatory and less tired.
“Notifying the Russian government of the situation as it developed would have meant jeopardizing our people,” she told the president.
“Now, now, I didn’t put you out there to be offering excuses. I’m expecting that you did the right thing and that the chips will fall where they may. As I understand the memo you cited,” the president added, his voice making it seem as an aside, “the letter covers the pursuit of terrorists, and there seems to be some concern that it means ‘hot pursuit.’”
“I’m not sure I understand the difference between hot and cold,” said Corrine.
McCarthy laughed, though she hadn’t meant it as a joke.
“Mr. President, we think some of the terrorists managed to escape in an aircraft with considerable nuclear material on board. The aircraft was pursued and fired on by fighters that were part of our attack group, but it’s not clear that it
was shot down; there’s heavy cloud cover in the area obscuring the crash site. I’ve authorized a team to survey the area, which will undoubtedly lead to more protests.”
“Understood.”
“The aircraft that escaped was a 747 that may have been set up as a bomb; we’re simply not sure. There’s also a good possibility that two of our people are aboard that aircraft.”
The president remained silent.
“If we didn’t get it, and it crashes somewhere,” said Corrine, “it’ll be a hell of a mess. I have a net set out, but if I just shoot it down, it may explode. The fallout is bound to be a problem. People may die.”
“Am I speaking to my private counsel?” said McCarthy.
“Yes,” she said, realizing that he wanted the communication to be confidential.
“Shoot it down, girl.”
“We’re working on lit.”
“That’s what I want to hear. Keep me informed.”