51

THE NAVAL OBSERVATORY

Thus far, Hernandez had refused to work out of the Oval Office.

Secretary of State Meg Whitney could understand why. The country was still reeling from the news of Clarke’s stroke and a vice president they barely knew suddenly in charge. The optics were all wrong. Until further notice, he would work out of the VP’s residence, his ceremonial office in the EEOB, and his Senate office. Except for press conferences and cabinet meetings, he would minimize the time he spent in the West Wing.

On this warm, mid-May Friday, Hernandez had commenced a working lunch on the back porch of the residence. Joining him were Defense Secretary Foster, National Security Advisor McDermott, and Whitney. CIA director Stephens was running late. No sooner had they started on their salads than the news broke that the Kairos leader was alive and well and running the show.

The group watched Abu Nakba’s video in horror.

They were already on the defensive. A snap poll published that morning on the front page of the Washington Post found that only 26 percent of the country trusted Hernandez to lead the country effectively, and nearly seven in ten—68 percent—said the vice president was “morally and legally complicit” with Clarke in the bombing of the Libyan school. Nearly the same number supported the immediate appointment of an independent counsel to get to the bottom of the rocket strike and to ensure “the White House does not engage in a cover-up.”

The news of Abu Nakba’s veritable resurrection—combined with his ransom demand for $150 million—threatened to sink the administration before it even got started.

There was no question the video was authentic, McDermott pointed out. It had not been filmed before the raid near Ghat. It couldn’t have been. Yet there were no clues where the girls were being held, much less whether Abu Nakba was with them or at some other location. They all agreed Hernandez had to make a statement and do it quickly. But what should he say?

“I know you’re not going like this, sir, but I think we have to seriously consider paying the ransom,” McDermott said.

“Bill, are you crazy—$150 million?” Foster shot back. “That’s opening the floodgates to Americans being taken hostage all over the world. Where will it end?”

“Cal is right,” Whitney added. “But paying off terrorists isn’t just bad policy; it’s terrible politics. It’s political suicide.”

McDermott pushed back. “How do you think it’s going to play politically if Abu Nakba decides to execute these women on live television and we weren’t willing to lift a finger to set them free?”

Hernandez asked Foster if a military rescue might be possible if they could buy some time and identify where the women were being held. When McDermott said that was ridiculous in light of their track record thus far on intelligence and special operations, the discussion became heated.

Then an aide slipped Foster a note.

“The sandstorm has finally lifted, Mr. Vice Presi—er, well, Mr. Acting President,” Foster began, not accustomed to using the clunky new constitutional formulation of Hernandez’s title. “With your permission, sir, I’d like to send a SEAL team into Libya immediately to scour that site and do an after-action report.”

“Can you do it discreetly, without any press knowing about it?”

“If we move fast, then I believe we can, sir.”

“Then do it,” Hernandez ordered. “And while you’re at it, pre-position Delta and SEAL teams throughout the Middle East and North Africa. The second we get a lead on where these girls are, I want rescue options ready to go on a moment’s notice.”

“Yes, sir,” Foster said, already speed-dialing the Pentagon.

Hernandez now turned to his secretary of state. “Meg, get on the phone to the parents of those three girls. Tell them what’s happening. Then get them all on planes to Washington immediately. I want them in the Oval Office by dinnertime—all of them. You and I are going to hold their hands and let them know precisely what we’re doing to bring their daughters home alive.”

“Absolutely, sir,” Whitney replied. “And what is that, exactly?”

But Hernandez didn’t hear her. Whitney could see the rage building up in the acting president. Knowing his history of heart problems, she wondered whether anyone was thinking about the continuity of government. The country had no vice president, and the Speaker of the House was a radical leftist who would be a disaster in the Oval Office.

Whitney was about to ask Hernandez what more she could do to help him when he turned sharply to a Secret Service agent and shouted, “Where is Stephens?”