The Resurrection File Page 6
“So,” the anchor announced, “filling in the gaps, the State Department has an interest in this case from an arms-control or international-security standpoint?”
“That’s certainly the speculation down here on the street. Which only fuels the idea that the weapon on that truck may have been—well, the kind of weapon we reserve only for our worst nightmares.”
“Thank you, Jim.” Then the news anchor turned full face to the camera.
“In case you have just tuned in, we have a breaking story. This morning, a rental truck entering New York City was apprehended as it exited the New Jersey Turnpike for what appears to be a major weapons violation, at the very least. And potentially a very grave risk to our national security.
“Action was taken by the U.S. Joint Forces Command, a joint military and law enforcement network created back in 1999—in this case, the Defense Department, the National Security Agency, the State Department, and branches of the military, together with the FBI, and working in conjunction with the New Jersey State Police and the New York City Police. As a result of investigation by this massive task force it was learned that a truck, carrying what officials are now calling only ‘a very menacing and very dangerous weapon,’ might be heading toward New York City. Such a truck was in fact stopped. Its driver, a middle-aged man of Syrian descent, but a citizen of Jordan—Rahji Ajadi—was arrested. There were no passengers in the truck. The contents within the truck are—at this time—still a mystery. But unconfirmed reports within the State Department have suggested that it may have been carrying some type of device of mass destruction—possibly a thermonuclear weapon.
“The driver, Mr. Ajadi, is in custody in New York City at an undisclosed location. We have been told at this time only that he does not possess a valid passport. We know of no criminal charges as of yet. But we will certainly keep you apprised of any further details as we receive them.
“But one final interesting note. Jim Williams, our reporter in New York City, has already commented that this is a story of ‘strange twists.’ Well, here is yet another one.
“In a twist of remarkable irony, the truck was stopped by a New Jersey State Patrolman, Ezer Nabib, an Arab and apparently a devout follower of Islam. He had been put on the alert for the make and model of the truck. Apparently the United States government had also received an anonymous tip that the truck might be carrying a very dangerous weapon, and federal authorities and the military all converged on the scene.
“By the time the FBI and the Pentagon and all the other high-powered agencies had arrived, Officer Nabib already had the driver under arrest and the truck secured. Clearly, if there is one hero that is emerging in this story, it is State Patrolman Ezer Nabib, who just may have single-handedly averted one of the worst terrorist attacks in the history of our nation.
“Lastly, there is of course much speculation that this incident may also be tied to Abdul el Alibahd, one of the world’s most-hunted international terrorists and a suspect in the Wall Street bombing of last year. Folks up in Manhattan who have had to recover from the horrendous World Trade Towers tragedy, then had to deal with the truck bombing may nearly have had to face yet another terrorist attack—but this one much worse. It is too early to tell—yet—how close we may have come to the brink of nuclear destruction within our own borders if it had not been for the courageous work of New Jersey State Trooper Ezer Nabib.”
Will kept the television on into the night, catching every detail of the news story. While there were a variety of opinions given by military and law-enforcement experts, authors on terrorism, and cultural and religious commentators—who noted the irony of an Arab Muslim foiling the apparent suicide mission of an Arab terrorist—no new information was forthcoming.
Will wanted to pick up the telephone and call someone—anyone—to talk about the news. But he realized he had no one to call. When his eyes were too heavy to stay open, he plodded up the curving staircase to go to bed. His faithful dog, Clarence, followed him close behind.
8
IN PREPARING FOR THE DAY’S MEETING, Kenneth Sharptin, undersecretary of the State Department, made sure that the committee members would not enter the State Department building through the main entrance at C and 22nd Street. The press, smelling a story connected to the frightening events of the day before, was already posted there.
Instead, he had his staff usher all the members of the committee in through two separate side entrances. All except one—Colonel Brad Buchingham, the special envoy from the Pentagon. By contrast, he made sure that the Colonel—in uniform, his chest heavy with medals—came in through the main doors in the front. That way he could be seen, with the full press corps there, coming to meet Kenneth Sharptin—coming to confer with Undersecretary Sharptin—coming to advise him.
Five minutes before the Pentagon sedan was to show up, Sharptin strode out of his spacious office and down the hallway with flags of all the nations of the planet arrayed along the top of the walls. He got on the elevator and headed down to the first floor. He glanced at himself, mirrored in the reflection of the smooth steel in the elevator. Perfectly razored Ivy League haircut. Blue pin-striped suit. Light blue shirt with a red tie, and a tiny American flag pin on his suit coat lapel. Just right.
Several dozen television cameras were already perched in the driveway in front of the State Department building. The entire gathering could be seen from a large stretch of C Street—in the heart of D.C.’s power lane of government real estate.
Two of Sharptin’s deputy assistants were already waiting for him by the front doors with briefing folders in hand, at the security clearance gate. The guards stepped back and opened the doors for him.
The press was there waiting for him. And then Sharptin heard one of his favorite sounds—the click of handheld cameras and the whir of shoulder-mounted video units.
“This is not a press conference,” announced Sharptin as he smiled and paused on the front steps. “The White House released a statement yesterday, and we all stand by the President’s words on the apprehension of the suspected terrorist and the rental truck yesterday in New York City.”
Then Undersecretary Sharptin, with a slightly furrowed brow, pleaded with the reporters: “Please—please, ladies and gentlemen, please let our special envoy from the Pentagon in.”
Colonel Buchingham was getting out of the sedan with a small briefcase in his hand. He didn’t wait for the reporters to part. He cut, weaved, and dodged past them and through them, like a halfback.
He strode up the stairs to Sharptin, who was waiting with hands outstretched as if he were a high priest granting a bureaucratic blessing to the Colonel.
Sharptin extended his hand. But Buchingham did not shake it. Instead, Buchingham stopped directly in front of the Undersecretary, looked him in the eye, and said, “Kenneth, what you’ve got here is a media dog-and-pony show. Do not—I repeat—do not ever do this to me again.”
Buchingham did not wait for Sharptin, and walked past him and through security, directly to the elevator. Sharptin and his assistants scurried to catch up and caught the elevator just before the doors closed. On the floor above, the group exited and made their way to the large conference room.
As soon as the Ad Hoc Committee on Cultural Engagement convened and the roll call was recorded, Undersecretary Sharptin made a short introductory statement. He explained how fortuitous it was, in his opinion, that the regularly scheduled meeting of the committee just happened to land on the day after the terrorist truck incident of the day before. He assured them that there would, indeed, be some discussion on the truck incident. But he urged them to see that event within the larger picture of the agenda of the committee. Sharptin then reviewed the history of the Ad Hoc Committee and its ever-evolving mandate.
First, he reminded them of the announcement, a year before, of the disappearance of Saddam Hussein and his family members in Iraq. How they were presumed to have been assassinated in a coup in Baghdad. Sharptin reviewed how he acquired authori
zation from the Secretary of State to put this committee together as a means of dialoguing about the possibilities of democracy in Iraq and other Middle Eastern countries.
This was followed by a few democratic reforms in Iran, and even talk of modest attempts at equal rights for women in countries like Saudi Arabia. The United Nations Conference on Women was ecstatic. The leading feminists from around the world began to meet and draw up hasty plans for combating patriarchy in the Middle East. All of this had kindled a wave of enthusiasm in the Department of State. Now, it seemed, was the time to take daring new steps to bring the Middle East into the new century—to make them economic and even cultural partners in peace.
And then came the classified reports from within the White House of potential oil shortages and projected petroleum production shortfalls for the United States in the coming years. As a result, there was renewed urgency in trying to find areas of common ground with the Arab OPEC nations.
But now, a Middle Eastern terrorist had been caught in the midst of an apparent plot to smuggle, and perhaps even detonate, a thermonuclear weapon within the shores of America.
“This is the time,” Sharptin said in concluding his introductory comments, “for us to embrace a whole new vision—a new way of thinking about international security and global peace.
“Let me suggest this as the question we have to face: Where can we find an ultimate common ground between the East, with its rich heritage of Islam and obedience to spiritual conscience—and the West, with its powerful belief in individual responsibility characterized primarily by the Christian tradition? Is there a way we can bring unity and peace between these two important traditions, and in doing that, really secure the safety of America more than we could have ever dreamed before?
“Let me suggest—a whole new construct for peace. Let me suggest that violent religious differences and cultural differences are not a necessary part of the international equation. People—let me dare to suggest that this pattern of religious and cultural conflict can be changed—it is not just a part of the inevitable. And we all know that religious and cultural conflict between East and West is a matter of grave national security.”
Sharptin then called on the members of the committee who were from the Arab–American Cultural Alliance to comment.
“What can be accomplished through finding common ground between the Arab and OPEC nations on the one hand, and the West on the other, is this,” one member noted. “First, a community of sharing in oil reserves. Second, a chance at expanding democracy in the Middle East. And third, we can achieve what could never be achieved before this. There is a good chance that the Arab nations will give absolute assurances of a willingness to police, and even punish, the terrorists within their borders as long as the West shows appreciation—and not suspicious denigration—for their religious traditions.”
Colonel Buchingham was clearly irritated.
“So,” the colonel shot out, “if the U.S., England, Canada, if these nations show some respect for Allah, then the OPEC nations are going to keep their oil prices down and their production up—and they will even start arresting the terrorists that are currently roaming at will within their borders? Is this what you are saying? Is that your idea of national security?
“When you geniuses come up with the newest, dumbest idea for national security, then the very first folks who pay the price for it are those kids from your hometown who wear the uniforms,” Buchingham continued. “They’re the ones who get turned into hamburger helper because one day you woke up with this really bright idea about national security.”
Sharptin tried to redirect the conversation.
“Colonel, your life has been devoted to the use of military force to protect American interests. And we all are very grateful for that. But now is the time to wage peace, rather than wage war,” Sharptin chided. “Now, the Pentagon may not appreciate the need for the West to respect the traditions of Islam, but here in the State Department, we take that very seriously. This is not a new idea. Both government leaders and nongovernmental groups have been working for years on the issue of reconciliation with the Islamic countries.”
But Colonel Buchingham was not about to be diverted from his course, and he kept charging ahead.
“And what I was about to say was that last, but certainly not least,” the Colonel concluded, “it strikes me that you are talking about getting the U.S. government into the Islam business. Isn’t that what you’re really talking about here?”
Sharptin jumped in. “Colonel, I’m afraid you have made several flawed assumptions. We are not talking about the United States government officially promoting Islam. We are merely talking about fostering an atmosphere of tolerance toward the cultural traditions of our Muslim partners in peace. After all—who but the Arab nations themselves has the best opportunity to stop the terrorists within their own borders? The only thing the Arab nations lack is the motivation to do so. That’s what we are talking about here. Simply providing the motivation to the Arab nations to do the policing within their own nations that we—as a separate Western nation—could not possibly have the right or the ability to do ourselves.”
Several members of the committee started talking among themselves excitedly.
A question was then raised regarding the nature of the weapon on the rented truck that was stopped the day before.
“Right there is another problem I’ve got,” Buchingham protested. “Do you realize that this operation is being pulled out of the hands of the military—and has been entirely co-opted by the FBI and the State Department? We have absolutely no intelligence on the nature of the weapon or device in the truck. That vehicle was whisked away before our Pentagon representatives had an opportunity to inspect it. We’ve been boot-kicked right out of the loop. This whole operation stinks.”
“Thank you for your enlightening comments, Colonel,” Sharptin commented, evoking a few chuckles from the group. “But I think that what we have got to focus on is this: By what means can we create a new way of thinking about the common ground between the rich tapestry of Islamic tradition—and the relatively young, but democratically vibrant traditions of the West? Let’s all think on that—let’s focus on possible answers to that question for our next meeting.”
The meeting was adjourned. Colonel Buchingham, as the others were leaving the room, leaned over to the center of the large conference table toward the starfish-shaped speakerphone in the middle of the table. He touched the ON button and the green light went on. He touched it again, and the light went off.
“I noticed,” the Colonel growled, “that the green light was off during our meeting. I presume, therefore, that there was no one else listening at the other end.”
“That sounds a little paranoid,” remarked Sharptin curtly.
“Sure,” Buchingham responded. “But a little paranoia builds a lot of national security. By the way, isn’t this the same conference room that the Russians were bugging a couple of years ago?”
“You can rest assured that after that incident we had it swept for bugs. And we’ve doubled our security measures.”
“That’ll make me sleep like a baby tonight,” Buchingham said. “It truly will.” Then he donned his cap, grabbed his briefcase, and exited the room.
Sharptin went over to the door of the conference room and locked it and then sat down at the long table and looked through his notes. He glanced at his watch. At exactly fifteen minutes to the hour he pushed the ON button of the speaker phone.
“He will speak to you now,” a female voice said.
“I’m ready,” Sharptin replied.
After two more minutes of silence a man’s voice came on.
“Fine meeting, Kenneth, I’m pleased.”
“Thank you, sir. Did everything come through alright?”
“Reception was limited. A little too much echo. That Buchingham’s a problem,” the voice said.
“I can handle him,” Sharptin responded, with a sense of bold reassurance.r />
“I hope so. I’ll be in touch.”
“What’s the timetable?” Sharptin asked.
“I’ll let you know.”
“Things are moving quickly,” Sharptin said, with a little urgency in his voice.
“I don’t like repeating myself. I said that I will be in touch.”
With that the voice was gone from the speakerphone. Sharptin sat for a minute at the conference table. He relished it all. And he particularly enjoyed the thought that he had confidential access to perhaps the most powerful man in the world.
Sharptin made his way back to his office. There was a letter lying on his desk that had been couriered to him from the White House Chief of Staff while he was in his committee meeting. Sharptin smiled. Perhaps things were moving faster than he had thought. The convention was twelve months away. The vice-president’s colon cancer had come at an opportune time. He had been assured that he was on a short list of consideration by the President and the party leaders for the vice-presidential slot. The only downside had been his lack of name recognition. Yet he was confident that, too, was being remedied.
His years in Washington had taught him that two kinds of people could engender power in Washington—the feared and the revered.
Yes, Kenneth Sharptin thought to himself. And very soon, I shall be both.
9
WILL CHAMBERS ARRIVED AT THE OFFICE a few minutes ahead of his conference time with Angus MacCameron so he could talk with his secretary.
Betty was there waiting for him, sitting at the reception desk with her arms crossed in front of her.
He had barely closed the door when Betty started in.
“I don’t want any loss of benefits. No salary cut. Same hours. I want my financial package to be exactly the same as it was when I was being paid by the firm.”