Drone (46 page)

Pearce escorted the Iranian up the stairs into the luxurious cabin. On the back end of the passenger compartment was a sliding cantilevered door for privacy. The door was locked open. A rolling medical/surgical bed was in the separate space, along with a heart monitor and IV pump.

“What is that?” Ali asked.

A clean-shaven thirty-year-old Pakistani man in a sport coat and tie stepped into the cabin, carrying a doctor’s satchel and a small roll-on travel case. He was out of breath. “Sorry I’m late.”

Pearce shook the Pakistani’s hand with a smile. “You’re fine, Doctor. Take a seat, please.”

“Who is that?” Ali asked.

“I promised you safe delivery to Tehran. I didn’t promise to reveal my underground network to you so we’re going to have to knock you out with drugs.”

Ali’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Dr. Khan is a professor of anesthesiology at the USC Medical Center. He’s also a Muslim.”

“Sunni Muslim,” Khan corrected.

Ali bristled. “A heretic.” The Iranian was a devout Shia.

“That’s the best I could do on short notice,” Pearce said.

“This was not part of our deal,” Ali said.

“If I was going to kill you, you little shit, I promise you I wouldn’t do it with tranquilizers.”

“And if I leave right now?”

“It means our deal is off. Then I’ll put a bullet in your stomach before you reach the exit door, and then the fun times can really begin.”

Ali was trapped. Without the threat of the explosives at Petco Park, he didn’t have any more leverage.

“I am trusting your honor to deliver me safely,” Ali reminded Pearce, mustering as much ferocity as he could.

“You’re lucky I value my honor.”

“I am surprised you do. Infidel mercenaries have no loyalty to anyone but themselves, and there is no honor in that. Perhaps Allah will indeed be merciful to you on the Day of Judgment.”

“I’m curious. Why did you reveal the location of the Petco Park explosives to us? I thought you people enjoyed slaughtering helpless civilians.”

Bravos had posed as installers two weeks before and replaced the foam bumper guards that wrapped around the support poles throughout the stadium, but instead of using styrofoam in the replacement job, they had used tubes packed with C4 and steel fléchettes, then reattached the advertising sleeves that covered the bumpers. After Pearce had confirmed the Russian submarine with Ali, the Iranian revealed the location of the bombs. An FBI demolition squad took care of the rest.

“New American civilian deaths would have served no purpose, but they would have incurred the wrath of the United States upon my government. And for the record, I did not install those devices. It was Bravo’s men who did it. So, technically, I and my government have assisted the United States in defeating a terrorist attack by the Bravos upon your nation.”

“And we’re supposed to be grateful?”

“No. That would be presumptuous.”

Pearce marveled. Like most Eastern cultures, Iranians had no sense of irony.

Ali continued. “I just want the record to be clear. There must be no false pretext for hostilities between your government and mine.”

“We don’t need a false pretext to wipe your maniac government off the face of the earth. You’ve given us plenty of real ones.” Pearce checked his watch. “Time to get rolling. Dr. Khan is going to put you to sleep, and when you wake up, you will be in Tehran, alive and safe. The rest is up to you.”

“I must warn you that the anesthesia I will be using is quite potent. You will probably have a slight headache when you wake up, but it’s nothing to worry about,” Khan added.

“And it goes without saying, once you arrive in Tehran, all bets are off. My promise is to deliver you alive and well today. My one goal in life is to make sure you have very few tomorrows. Understood?”

“Understood.”

Pearce stepped closer to the smiling Iranian.

“When this mess finally gets cleaned up, don’t be surprised if you find me knocking on your door.”

Ali didn’t flinch. “I shall be waiting with a cup of hot tea.”

“Dr. Khan will take care of you from here. And the two pilots up front? Both are armed, and both know who you are.”

Dr. Khan slipped back his sport coat, revealing a pistol on his hip. “Don’t worry, Mr. Pearce. There won’t be any trouble.” He glared at Ali.

“One more thing.” Pearce held out his smartphone for Ali to read. It had a text message on it for Ali from President Myers to Mehdi Sadr, the volatile president of the Iranian regime.

“Have you memorized her message?”

Ali nodded.

“It’s for President Sadr’s ears only. If he doesn’t contact her within twenty-four hours after your arrival, her offer is withdrawn. Understood?”

Ali nodded again. “I will deliver it as soon as I arrive.”

“Roll up your sleeve,” Khan ordered.

Pearce remained in the cabin until Ali was safely knocked out and tucked into bed with an IV drip in his arm.

“Thanks, Doc. I owe you one.”

“I’m just paying it forward, Mr. Pearce. My family owes you everything.”

Pearce stepped off the jet stairs just as a van rolled up to the hangar. Three men and two women swiftly exited the vehicle and began unloading the crates of high-tech gear they’d brought with them for the long flight to Tehran.

Washington, D.C.

After several days of testimony by experts hostile to the president’s agenda, the House Armed Services Committee hearing finally invited a Myers
ally: Mike Early. As the president’s special assistant on security affairs, he was both appropriate and relevant to the hearing’s subject matter.

“Invited” was a term of art; the administration intended to fight any sort of summons on the grounds of separation of powers. But Early eagerly agreed to answer any questions put to him. He wasn’t even sworn in.

The first questions from the committee Republicans were personal, detailing Early’s extensive and heroic national service, and the next questions they asked were pure softballs that allowed him the chance to crow about the great successes of the national security structure in the past few weeks rounding up drug kingpins and wiping out the Bravo terrorists.

Representative Gormer let them ask all of the questions they needed to. Early’s smile got wider and wider as the morning went on, Gormer noted. Early relaxed, dropping his guard. He even cracked a few jokes.

Until Gormer dropped the bomb.

Gormer pulled his microphone closer. “Tell us, Mr. Early, exactly who is Troy Pearce?”

Early was caught short. In a million years, he wouldn’t have guessed that Gormer had any clue about Troy, let alone the balls to ask about him in the middle of an ongoing classified operation. The more he thought about the question, the angrier he became, but also the more confused. He hadn’t been briefed for this possibility.

“Troy Pearce is a friend of mine, and the CEO of Pearce Systems, a registered federal defense contractor.”

“And is it true that President Myers hired Mr. Pearce and Pearce Systems to conduct the targeted assassination of Mr. Aquiles Castillo, a private citizen of Mexico?”

Early couldn’t hear himself think as dozens of digital cameras whirred and flashed in front of him. A crowd of news photographers was squatting directly in front of his table, blasting away with their cameras like frenzied paparazzi.

“No comment, Mr. Chairman,” Early finally blurted out.

“Is it true this administration hired Mr. Pearce to murder other foreign nationals and to carry out its other clandestine foreign-policy objectives?”

“No comment.”

“Is it true that this administration has engaged the services of Pearce Systems to perform espionage operations against foreign governments, including Mexico, a respected ally?”

“No comment.”

And so it went.

The shit storm had begun and Early had forgotten to bring his umbrella.

—

The chairman of the House Judiciary Committee, Sandra Quinn (D-GA), watched the live hearings seated on a couch in Senator Diele’s office. In the chair next to her was Vice President Greyhill.

“Just like I promised,” Diele said. He wanted to see her reaction when Gormer dropped the bomb.

“Too bad Early’s not under oath,” Quinn said.

“The next time he’s on camera, he will be,” Greyhill assured her. “Just let him try and hide behind ‘executive privilege.’”

“I trust this means you’ll be moving forward with the impeachment resolution?” Diele asked.

“He delivered the goods, didn’t he?” Quinn was referring to the fact that Diele had spilled the beans to Gormer about Pearce and his operation.

“He sure did. And wrapped it all up in a pink bow.”

Quinn hoped that the Pearce revelation would be enough to throw Myers out of office and, with any luck, straight into a federal prison. During her election campaign, Myers ran a humiliating campaign ad featuring a Quinn quote that “Guam would capsize if too many U.S. Marines were stationed there” as proof of the idiocy of Congress. Quinn had
barely won reelection and privately vowed revenge at the first possible opportunity.

What neither Quinn nor Greyhill realized was that Diele’s source for the Pearce revelation was Ambassador Britnev, and Britnev’s source was Ali, who had tortured it out of Udi just before feeding him to the pigs while he was still alive.

OCTOBER

57

Washington, D.C.

Myers stood alone in the secured media room at the White House, video conferencing with the Kremlin. Not even Strasburg had been allowed into the room with her.

On the other hand, Titov had several advisors in the room with him, including a half dozen scowling generals and admirals with chests full of gleaming service medals. The oldest was Colonel General Petrov, commander of the Strategic Rocket Forces, with enough nuclear ICBMs at his disposal to destroy the United States a dozen times over. Two stern-faced women sat around the long table as well. Even Ambassador Britnev was there, perched on Titov’s left.

“You’ve seen and heard the video and audio files I’ve forwarded to you?” Myers asked. She was referring to the conversation Pearce had secretly recorded with Ali in the Padres luxury suite along with the video recordings that Yamada had made of the
Vepr
lurking in the gulf. On Pearce’s orders, however, Yamada didn’t pass along to Myers the conversation with the Russian captain.

“Yes, of course.” Titov had a bulldog face but his voice was surprisingly gentle, even calming. His English was excellent as well.

“My intelligence services are analyzing the files now. The first reports
are that they are fabrications. Everybody knows how skilled your Hollywood technicians are at manipulating sounds and images. But I am waiting for the final analysis, of course.”

“Mr. Titov, we are far beyond the point of playing games. I’m standing here alone for a reason. As far as I’m concerned, this conversation is completely private. As you can see, none of my advisors are here with me, and I assure you none of them is listening in on this conversation. I have no desire to embarrass you or your government, nor do I wish to provoke a war with you. But the actions you have taken against my government are, in fact, acts of aggression, and I will not stand for them.”

Titov turned his head slightly to the general sitting next to him and grinned. The general whispered something to Titov that made Titov chuckle, and that set off a chain reaction of controlled laughter.

“Forgive me, Mr. President, but my Russian is terrible. Do you mind letting me in on the joke?”

“My colleague, Colonel General Petrov, said that you remind him of his ex-wife, a very unpleasant lady. Beyond that, I do not wish to repeat.”

Again, the Russians rumbled with laughter, including the women.

Myers smiled. “Perhaps the old missile general had an unhappy wife because his rocket was no longer able to launch.”

The old general’s face turned beet red. The Russians instantly roared with laughter, Titov most of all. Myers was alone in the room but she had been thoroughly briefed on the Russian high command.

“Forgive me, Madame President,” Titov said, wiping a tear from his eye. “I have clearly underestimated you.”

“In more ways than you can possibly know, Mr. President.”

That sobered him up.

“Then let us be frank. What is the purpose of this pleasant chat? To discuss the electronic fictions you have sent to us?” Titov asked.

“We are far beyond discussions, Mr. President. Here is my proposal. In twenty-four hours, you will announce to the world that your
cross-border antiterror operations in Azerbaijan have been a success and that you will begin withdrawing your forces within seventy-two hours, abandoning the country entirely within seven days. My government will publicly commend you for your decision to withdraw, and privately you will negotiate with the Azerbaijanis over monetary compensation for the damages you have caused that nation.”

Titov glowered at Myers. “And why would we do such a thing? Because you simply order it?”

Myers pressed a button on her console. A live feed appeared as a picture within a picture on both of their screens. It showed a giant steel pipeline.

“Do you recognize this, Mr. Titov?”

“It looks like an oil pipeline.”

“It is. It’s the BTC pipeline. As I’m sure you know, it’s over a thousand miles long and pumps a million gallons of oil per day from Baku all the way to the Mediterranean. Right now, it’s the only viable means you have of transporting all of that Azeri oil you’re stealing out of the Caspian Sea into the European markets.”

Titov’s advisors murmured among themselves.

Myers pressed another button. Yet another live picture-in-picture image appeared, also of a pipeline.

“This is the 2,500-mile-long Druzhba pipeline, which your nation operates. It supplies 1.4 million barrels of oil per day from Siberian and Kazakh oil fields to end users all over Europe. This is your main oil artery to the West, Mr. President.