Drone Threat (25 page)

44

FRANKFURT, GERMANY

The night air was cool, even though it was summer.

One of Frankfurt's most popular destinations, the Römerberg plaza was brilliantly lit and still crowded with tourists. The tables outside the restaurants and bars were packed with customers downing sizzling sausages and tankards of frothy beer.

“If you had come in the winter you could have seen the Christmas Market, one of the oldest in all of Europe,” Mann said in faultless English. His eyes kept scanning the bustling crowds. Quite a few hijabs and Middle Eastern men among them, he noticed. He felt guilty for resenting them.

“I love the architecture,” Myers said, standing in front of the famous eastern facade of the Römer and its “stair-step” rooflines. The small plaza off the main boulevard was a circular enclave of tall medieval-styled buildings of various designs in hues of green, red, beige, and yellow. It looked like every postcard she had ever seen of Germany.

“They still register weddings in there,” Mann said, nodding at the Römer. “On the weekends there is a traffic jam of wedding parties out here in the plaza.”

“Must be delightful to see. I envy you having a country with such a long history. I read on the plane that the Romans first settled this city nearly two thousand years ago.” Myers thought Mann looked like a dashing U-boat captain in his scruffy beard, dark woolen coat, and fisherman's cap.

“Don't be fooled by what you see. This city was leveled by Allied
bombers during the war. This plaza was rebuilt to appear like a medieval square back in the eighties to celebrate our heritage, but also to bring in the tourists.”

“Tourists like me.”

“
Ganz genau
. Exactly.”

“Still, it must mean something to you that Charlemagne once ruled from here. Maybe even stood exactly where we're standing right now.”

“History is a double-edged sword. How it cuts depends on where you stand.” He steered her gently by the elbow toward a large commemorative bronze plaque in the midst of the cobblestones. They stood over it. In the center of the plaque were bronze book pages and licking flames with an inscription in German in the center.

“What does it say?”

Mann translated. “In this place on 10 May 1933, National Socialist students burned books by writers, political commentators, scientists, and philosophers.”

“That's terrible. What does the rest of it mean?” She pointed at the words circling the plaque.

“It's a famous quote from a nineteenth-century German Romantic poet by the name of Heinrich Heine. It says, in effect, ‘Where they first burn books, they will later burn people.'”

“Did the Nazis burn his books?”

“Of course. He was born a Jew, though later he converted to Christianity. In the context of this quote, he was actually writing about the danger of burning the Koran. History is a circle, yes?”

Myers glanced over at the statue in the center of the plaza, surrounded by a fountain. A great bronzed woman with a sword and scales.

“That is Lady Justice, a Roman goddess,” Mann said. “This is her plaza and her fountain.”

“I like her. She's fierce. Her sword is already drawn and she isn't blindfolded,” Myers said. “Justice can never be blind.”

“She is fickle, this one, I think. Or perhaps her back was turned when the books were burning behind her.” Mann nodded at the head of his security team standing near the Old St. Nicholas Church on the
edge of the plaza. He whispered German in his comms as he scanned the crowd for the rest of his team. Once he made eye contact with the others, he turned his attention back to her. “Perhaps we can leave now?”

“We just got here. I'd like to look around.”

“There are too many people here. I can't guarantee your safety.”

“First let's have a beer and a schnitzel or something. I'm starving.”

“As you wish, Madam President.”

“Margaret, please.”

Mann led the way through the milling crowd toward one of the beer gardens. Myers watched him whisper in a waiter's ear and the surprised expression that lit the old man's pale blue eyes. A smile creased his wrinkled face and he bowed discreetly toward Myers, an old reflex. She smiled warmly in response and the waiter grabbed two younger men, and a small portable table was set up with such efficiency and speed that the other tourists hardly paid attention.

Myers took her seat. She noticed Mann remained standing. “What are you doing?”

Mann looked embarrassed. “I'm standing watch.”

“You'll sit down and eat with me. I insist. It's been a long day for you, too.”

“But my team—”

“We'll feed them next. Please, this is all such a fuss over nothing.”

Mann shrugged, resigned. She had a commanding voice and he was truly famished. He took the seat opposite her. He ordered for the two of them and ten minutes later, two towering mugs of a carefully poured local pilsner were set before them along with plates of steaming potatoes, beef brisket, and two small bowls of green sauce.

“What's this?” Myers said, dipping her finger into the sauce and tasting it.

“
Grüne Sosse.
It means—”

“Let me guess. Green sauce?”

“Your German is excellent.”

“Don't kid a kidder, August,” Myers laughed. “It's delicious. I'm tasting dill, sour cream, and chives. What do I do with it?” The crowd
of tourists around them chatted and laughed, enjoying the festive evening.

“If you were Goethe, you'd pour it all over your potatoes and meat. It was his favorite dish. Or you can just use it like, how do you say, a dip.” Mann dumped his bowl all over his food. Myers followed suit.

“Why don't we hear about German poets anymore?”

“Nihilists can't rhyme.”

They drank and ate like old friends, which they really weren't, but the shared experience of near death in the Sahara with Pearce had brought them closer than most. Mann was telling a funny story about Pearce when his earpiece crackled with a panicked shout from one of his team, but before Mann could react, the pilsner mug in front of Myers shattered in a cloud of glass and beer foam and she tumbled backward to the stony ground.

45

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Lane's Oval Office phone rang.

“Mr. President, Ambassadors Tarkovsky and al-Saud have arrived.”

“Show them in, please.”

“The cavalry's finally here,” Chandler said. Lane glanced at Pearce, who shook his head disapprovingly.

The two ambassadors entered. Chandler greeted them first with enthusiastic handshakes.

Lane, likewise, stood and shook their hands. “Thank you both for coming on such short notice.”

“Of course, Mr. President,” al-Saud said.

“I'm at your service,” Tarvkosky said.

Lane pointed them to the couches. Pearce remained seated in his chair opposite the president, scowling. The two ambassadors noted this but said nothing. Chandler sat back, affecting calm, fighting hard to suppress a gloating smile.

“Gentlemen,” Lane said, “there's no time for diplomatic protocols. Events over the last three days have spun out of control. I've called you here to lay my cards out on the table, and I'm asking you both to do the same.”

Both ambassadors nodded.

“As you both know, three days ago I received a message delivered by a drone threatening to unleash hell on my country if I didn't raise the black flag of ISIS over the White House. Unfortunately, my security
services have been unable either to find or stop the culprits from carrying out these attacks.”

“My embassy has been carefully tracking your news services. There hasn't been any reporting on any catastrophic event that we know of,” Tarkovsky said.

“How bad have the casualties been?” al-Saud asked.

“Because the casualties have been relatively light, and because of cooperation from our major media outlets, we've been able to keep a lid on these events, but it won't be long before these stories break. As you can both well imagine, if the public gets wind of this before I can assure them we have the situation under control, there will be mass panic. Markets will crash here and around the globe. I'm also concerned about the potential for mob violence against Muslim people here.”

“How bad can the attacks have been if there haven't been any casualties?” al-Saud asked.

“Some members of my security council believe that the attacks have been intentionally limited in their lethality, but the potential for mass casualties appears to be very real. The last attack especially so.”

“And what is the nature of that attack?” Tarkovsky asked.

“You don't need to know,” Pearce said.

Tarkovsky darkened. “Perhaps we would like to prepare our defenses against such an attack ourselves.”

Lane waved Pearce off. “You're right, Aleksandr. In the spirit of full disclosure, I can tell you that there was a credible threat against our public water system. The entire national system.”

Shock washed over al-Saud's face.

Tarkovsky shifted in his seat, skeptical. “How is such a feat possible?”

“My security people will contact yours shortly with details so you can take the necessary precautions. Yours too, Faisal.”

“Thank you,” al-Saud said. “My desert country is even more vulnerable to such a water threat than your two great nations.”

Pearce nodded, intrigued. “Yes, it is, isn't it?”

“I trust you have decided against flying the
Daesh
flag?” al-Saud asked.

“Of course,” Lane said. “Over the protest of some of my cabinet.”

“Flying that flag would be as symbolic to the killers as the downing of the Twin Towers. Perhaps greater,” al-Saud said. “It would raise up a new army of recruits overnight.”

“We agree,” Chandler said.

“Many recruits from Saudi Arabia, no doubt,” Pearce said.

Al-Saud shook his head, grieved. “Unfortunately.”

“Which is why His Majesty's government is as committed to the destruction of ISIS as we are,” Chandler said.

Al-Saud nodded toward Chandler. “Thank you for understanding our predicament, Mr. Vice President.”

“You must forgive Mr. Pearce. He has a hard time seeing the big picture,” Chandler said.

“If you won't fly the flag and you can't find the terrorists, what option do you have other than war?” Tarkovsky asked.

“None,” Lane said. “That's why you're both here. I need to make a decision and I need to make it quickly. Maybe I'm naive but I think candor is the best form of diplomacy. And in all candor, I'm trying to assess whether or not I want the cooperation of either or both of your countries in a ground war against ISIS.”

“It's obviously not a matter of fighting capacities,” Chandler added. “But the president wants to determine if we are all of similar minds on the issue. Whether or not our interests are mutually aligned.”

“I am a scientist by training first, and then a diplomat,” Tarkovsky said. “I believe in facts and the facts are clear. ISIS is a threat to everyone in this room. We have a large and restive Muslim population within our borders and an even more aggressive population beyond them. My government is completely prepared to join your country in any way feasible to destroy ISIS, including the use of our own troops on the ground.”

“Unconditionally?” Lane asked.

“Of course not. The West imposed heavy economic sanctions on my country for the war in Ukraine. Those must be lifted immediately as a sign of good faith. We must also be treated as equal partners in this
conflict. A grand alliance, much the same way our two countries allied against the fascists in the Great Patriotic War.”

So you'll do the right thing as long as we bribe you to do it
, Pearce wanted to say. He held his tongue instead.

“Mr. President, this is a historic opportunity to restore balance and peace in the world,” Chandler said. “Thanks to your initiative in Asia, we will be partnering with China to bring stability to that region. Now we can partner with Russia to bring the same kind of stability to Europe and the Middle East.”

“Would your government feel comfortable with an American-Russian hegemony over your part of the world?” Lane asked al-Saud.

Pearce felt his iWatch tap the inside of his wrist. He discreetly checked the face. An incoming call from Myers. He hesitated. Pressed
Ignore
.

“Nature abhors a vacuum,” al-Saud said. “Shia and Sunni radicals are rushing to fill it. Nothing but war and bloodshed are before us unless it can be stopped. Frankly, I don't believe you need the assistance of the Russians to accomplish the goal of peace and stability in the Middle East if you're willing to partner with us.” Al-Saud turned to Tarkovsky. “But to answer your question directly, Mr. President, my government would feel perfectly comfortable with a joint American-Russian alliance so long as the destruction of
Daesh
and its heretical Caliphate were the objective and so long as we are permitted a role in the campaign.”

Tarkovsky smiled appreciatively. “Excellent.”

“Outstanding,” Chandler said, beaming.

“I have two concerns,” Pearce said.

Chandler rolled his eyes.

“Speak your mind, Troy. It's why you're here,” Lane said.

Pearce glared at al-Saud. “First of all, a lot of ISIS funding and support have come from members of your own royal family. You just said that ISIS is a Sunni group. Some have suggested that your own government is behind the rise of ISIS as a way to blunt Shia aspirations in the region.”

“That's a lie concocted by radical Israelis and Iranian fanatics.”

“But if it is true, then what steps will your government take to ensure that ISIS is, indeed, wiped off the map and not supported or protected in some other form in the future?”

Al-Saud felt the heat rise in his face. “I assure you that supporting ISIS by anyone in my country is illegal, whether directly or indirectly. But additional, harsher steps are being taken even as I speak to enforce those laws.” Al-Saud calmed himself down. “And it's well known that I and other members of my family are moving as quickly as possible to tamp down the more radical elements of the Salafist intellectuals in our country. My personal goal is to see an end to exporting their zealous interpretation of the Koran through the madrassas they sponsor around the world.”

“Can we get that in writing?” Pearce asked. “‘Personal goals' are hard to quantify.”

Al-Saud turned to Lane. “You asked for complete candor and I'm giving it. If we rush our political reforms too quickly, we will radicalize our own population. But I assure you that those of us in power fully realize that the genie has been let out of the bottle. We're determined to slay the genie and smash the bottle. But it all begins with the destruction of
Daesh
.”

Lane nodded. “I understand, and I accept your word on the subject.”

“Thank you.”

Lane nodded to Pearce. “What was your other concern?”

Pearce learned forward. Time to play the card Moshe had dealt him. “I'd like to know why the two of you met secretly recently and what that meeting was about.”

Chandler's eyes narrowed.

“It's not uncommon for diplomats to talk, Mr. Pearce. I make no apology for doing my duty,” al-Saud said.

Tarkovsky turned to Lane. “Normally I don't discuss my government's private affairs with other heads of state, Mr. President, but since this is an unusual time, I'm happy to disclose the content of our meeting. Both of our governments are concerned that your country does not
have the will to lead at this time. We were exploring the possibilities available to us in the event you decided to adhere to your ‘no new boots on the ground' policy.”

Pearce's iWatch tapped again. This time it was a text. Once again he discreetly rotated his wrist. He read the text.

“Oh, God.”