20

2000 EDT
THE OVAL OFFICE

Dennis Nettleton was on the speakerphone to the embassy of Pakistan on Massachusetts Avenue, just above Sheridan Circle. The president, along with Brad Stein and Carolyn Tyson, listened in, but remained silent.

“The ambassador is in conference, Mr. Nettleton,” Saiyed Aly, the ambassador’s secretary, said. He was normally an affable man. This evening, however, he was cold to the point of haughtiness.

“Need I remind you, sir, that President Hanson wished to see Ambassador Husain this evening. In fact, he is waiting in the Oval Office at this moment.”

“It cannot be helped.”

“Considering the gravity of the present situation, we demand that Ambassador Husain acknowledges the president’s request.”

“You are no longer in position to demand anything from us, Mr. Nettleton. We have long stood by, here in Washington and in New York at the United Nations, listening to this administration and the previous administrations kowtow to the terrorist demands of the Indian government.”

Nettleton gave the president a questioning look. It was unprecedented that any ambassador would refuse a summons from the president of the United States. But it was even more extraordinary that an ambassador’s secretary would speak in such a harsh, peremptory manner to someone as high ranking as the president’s adviser on national security affairs. Nettleton touched the mute button.

“How far should I push him, Mr. President?”

“He wouldn’t be talking like that if Husain wasn’t right there listening in,” the president said. Sandar Abas Husain was the ambassador appointed eighteen months ago by Pakistan’s military government. In the last six months Husain had become increasingly aloof, at times even imperious, knowing of course that Pakistan was nearing completion of its thermonuclear weapon.

“What should I say?”

“Brad?” the president asked, turning to his chief of staff.

“I’d say press him. See what he does.”

Tyson nodded. “I agree. The only danger is if India finds out that Pakistan’s bomb is portable. If Pakistan suspects that the Indians know, then they’ll be forced into making an immediate preemptive strike. Go for broke.”

The president agreed. “But if India does find out, they’ll make a preemptive nuclear strike. It’d come down to a race between them.” He nodded for Nettleton to get back to Aly.

Nettleton touched the mute button. “I’m sorry, Mr. Aly, but I thought that you said that the United States government was in no position to demand anything of Pakistan. I must have misheard. But then you are not the ambassador, you are not a diplomat, so we will forgive the lapse for the time being. Pakistan is dangerously close to finding itself in the same untenable position that Iraq found itself in: cut off from the rest of the world, isolated, reviled, economically sanctioned.”

“Pakistan will no longer hang her head in shame—”

“Be that as it may, Mr. Aly, the president wishes to speak with Ambassador Husain at the soonest possible moment on an issue of the gravest importance to the continued good relations between Pakistan and the United States.”

“The ambassador is in conference, as I have already told you, Mr. Nettleton.”

“Pakistan’s security is at stake.”

“Don’t threaten me, sir. Those days are gone forever. Pakistan’s sting is much harsher than it has ever been. If we are threatened we will defend ourselves to the fullest limits of our considerable power. Against any enemy, near or far.”

When the connection was broken, the president looked at Dr. Tyson. “Do you think they know about Scott?”

She shook her head. “They would have made some reference. Even an oblique one. I think they’re stalling for time.”

“Why?”

“The million-dollar question, Mr. President.”

“One that I need an answer for. And soon.”