The Camel Club (Camel Club 1)

Decker opened the conversation in his usual brisk manner. “The Iraqi leadership has made it clear that they want us gone very soon. However, there are enormous problems there, even more than the Kurds forming their own republic. The Iraqi army and the security forces are simply not ready. In some critical ways they may never be ready. But the country is growing weary of our presence. And now the Iraqis have publicly taken the position that Israel must be exterminated, following the hard line of their new ally, Syria. It’s an untenable situation but hard for us to reject since it’s a democratically-elected government saying it.”

“We know all this, Joe,” Gray said impatiently. “And the Baathists are negotiating with the leadership to come back to power in exchange for stopping the violence,” he added, looking directly at the president.

Brennan nodded. “But how can we leave Iraq in that way? The last thing we want is Syria and Iraq teaming up, with Hussein’s cronies in control again. With the Sharia Group and Hezbollah headquartered in Syria, we could soon have their presence in Iraq and beyond,” Brennan added, referring to the two anti-Israeli terrorist organizations. “And France sliced off the coastline of Syria and formed Lebanon in the 1920s. Syria has always wanted it back and may unite with Iraq to do so. And then they might go after the Golan Heights, sparking a war with Israel. That could destabilize the entire region more than it already is.”

Gray said, “Well, if another country came here and lopped off New England and unilaterally formed another country with it, we’d be upset too, wouldn’t we, Mr. President?”

Decker cut in. “Besides the Baathists, there are extremist Islamic factions in the Iraqi legislature that are growing in power. If they take over, they’ll be far more dangerous to the U.S. than Saddam Hussein ever was. But we also promised the Iraqi people that we would leave when they had adequate security forces in place and officially asked us to withdraw. That moment is almost upon us.”

“So get to your point, Joe!” Gray snapped.

Decker glanced at Brennan. “I haven’t discussed this fully with the president yet.” He cleared his throat. “By taking out some of these extremist factions in the legislature, we can tip the power in favor of the government in Iraq that’s best for the U.S. and keep the Baathists from coming back to power. And there is all that oil to consider, sir. Gas is approaching three dollars a gallon now. We need the leverage of the Iraqi reserves.”

“Take out? As in, what, assassination!” Brennan said, scowling. “We don’t do that anymore. It’s illegal.”

“It’s illegal to assassinate a head of state or government, Mr. President,” Gray corrected.

“Exactly,” Decker agreed. “These people are not in that category. To me it’s no different than putting a price on bin Laden’s head.”

“But the targets you’re talking about are duly appointed members of the Iraqi legislature,” Brennan protested.

“The insurgents are murdering moderate legislators with impunity over there right now. This is simply evening the playing field, sir,” Decker rejoined. “If we don’t do something, there won’t be any moderates left.”

“But, Joe,” Gray said, “if we go in and do that, it’ll ignite a civil war.”

“We’ll make it look like the Iraqi moderates did it in retaliation so there’s no heat on us. I’ve been promised full cooperation from them.”

“But the resulting civil war . . . ,” Brennan said.

“Will give us a perfectly legitimate reason to keep our military presence in Iraq for the foreseeable future,” Decker responded quickly, obviously pleased with himself. “However, if we allow the Baathists back in, they’ll crush all opposition, and Iraq will return to a Hussein-style dictatorship. We can’t let that happen. All the money spent and lives lost will have meant nothing. And if that happens in Iraq there’s no reason to think the Taliban can’t reemerge in Afghanistan.”

Brennan looked at Gray. “What do you think?”

Actually, Gray was chagrined he hadn’t thought of it first. Decker had clearly outflanked him on this. The little son of a bitch. “You wouldn’t be the first U.S. president to authorize something like that, sir,” he grudgingly admitted.

Brennan didn’t look convinced. “I need to think it over.”

“Absolutely, Mr. President,” Decker replied. “But it is on a tight time frame. And as you well know should Iraq and Afghanistan fall back under the control of governments hostile to us, the American public will raise holy hell.” He paused and added, “That is not a legacy you want or deserve, sir.”

For all his hatred of the man Gray had to admit, from the concerned expression on Brennan’s face, Decker had played it perfectly.

After Decker had left, Brennan sat back and took off his reading glasses. “Before we start the briefing, I want to run something by you, Carter. I’m heading up to New York on September 11 to give a speech at the memorial site.” Gray knew where this was going but stayed silent. “I wanted to know if you’d like to accompany me. After all, you’ve done more than almost anyone to ensure something like that never happens again.”

It was unheard-of to decline an invitation by a United States president to travel to an event. However, Gray really didn’t care about protocol or tradition with this particular subject.

“That is a kind offer, sir, but I’ll be attending a private service here.”

“I know it’s painful for you, Carter, but I just thought I’d ask. You’re sure?”

“Very sure, Mr. President. Thank you.”

“All right.” Brennan paused. “You know about my hometown renaming itself after me?”

“Yes, sir. Congratulations.”

Brennan smiled. “It’s one of those things that come along that’s both flattering and embarrassing at the same time. My ego’s not so large that I can’t see that the town’s hope in profiting by the change is at least equal to their wanting to pay homage to a local boy made good. I’m going up to give a speech at the dedication and shake some hands. Why don’t you join me?”

If the most important rule was you never declined a president’s invitation, the second most important rule was you never turned the man down twice.

“Thank you, I’d like that very much.”

The president tapped his glasses against his briefing book. “It’s likely that I’ll be here for another four years.”

“I’d say it’s more than likely, sir.”

“I want you to speak frankly, Carter. This will stay between you and me.” Gray nodded. “Despite your successes in protecting this country, do you believe that the world is safer to

day than it was when I took office?”

Gray carefully considered this question, trying to ascertain the answer his chief wanted. However, Brennan remained inscrutable, so Gray decided to tell him the truth. “No, it’s not. In fact, it’s far more volatile.”

“My people tell me that at its present consumption the planet could run out of fossil fuel in fifty years. No more plane travel, a few electric cars, cities shutting down for lack of energy. How we communicate, work, travel, get our food, all radically transformed. And this country won’t have the means to adequately maintain its nuclear weapons and other military resources.”

“That’s all certainly possible.”

“Yes, but without our military, how do we remain safe, Carter?”

Gray hesitated and then said, “I’m afraid I don’t have the answer for you, sir.”

Brennan said quietly, “I believe the difference between a mediocre president and a great one is opportunity.”

“You’ve done a good job, Mr. President. You should be proud.” Actually, in Gray’s opinion, the man hadn’t done anything special, yet he was not about to tell his boss that.

As Gray walked out of the West Wing an hour later, his mind, for once, wasn’t on stopping America’s enemies or pleasing his commander in chief. As he climbed aboard the chopper, Gray was thinking about purple. That was his daughter’s favorite color until she was six. And then orange became her favorite. When he asked her why the change, she informed him with hands on little hips and her stubborn chin angled up that orange was a more grown-up color. Even to this day that memory never failed to make him smile.

Warren Peters finally found the boat where the Camel Club had hidden it. He immediately called Tyler Reinke and the man joined him quickly.

“You’re sure this is it?” Reinke asked as he gazed at the boat.

Peters nodded. “There’s blood on the gunwale. So I was right. I hit one of them.”

“If they took the boat and brought it back, someone might have seen them.”

Peters nodded and then stared out at the water. “But there might be an easier way to track them down. Johnson had ID in his pocket.”

“Right, so?”

“So what if our witnesses saw where he lived, and get curious?”

“It might save us a lot of legwork,” Reinke agreed. “We’ll go there tonight.”

CHAPTER

23

CHOOSING HIS WORDS WITH CARE and hedging as much as he possibly could without drawing the ire of his superiors, Alex wrote up his report and e-mailed it to Jerry Sykes. He finished up some other paperwork and decided to call it a day before someone grabbed him for post duty. Alex had no desire to spend another evening watching a king or prime minister stuff his face with crab dip.

He passed an agent who was stashing his pistol in a wall locker before going in to interrogate a suspect.

“Hey, Alex, bust any more ATM bandits?” the agent asked. The story