The Lions Of Lucerne

“The Syrians?” It was now the CIA director’s chance to interject. “You contacted the Syrians without consulting with my office first?”

“First of all, Director Vaile, it was Vice President Marshfield who contacted the Syrian president, and secondly, I hardly think-”

“No kidding,” said Harvath.

DaFina glared at Harvath, and the CIA director took the opportunity to continue his attack. “You have absolutely no idea what you are doing. This whole operation may have been compromised.”

“Director Vaile, the vice president and I are confident that the participation of the Syrians and the Israelis can only help this endeavor.”

“Jesus,” said Harvath. “That’s it, isn’t it? Not only will the vice president look good if he can get the president back, but a U.S.-Israeli operation that involves the Syrians could go a long way on the world stage in helping to begin mending their fences. You and Marshfield are going to squeeze as much political juice out of this thing as you can.”

“Agent Harvath, you are way out of line,” barked DaFina.

“Am I? I don’t think there’s a person in this room who isn’t well aware that the president seriously doubts whether he will run for a second term. This whole thing stinks. This is a half-assed game to you, and you’re asking good men to put their lives on the line for it.”

“Agent Harvath, you sound as if you don’t want the president to be recovered,” continued DaFina.

“What I want is for the president to be recovered, but with no further American lives lost in the process.”

“A commendable goal that I think we can all agree with. Good evening all,” said Vice President Marshfield as he strutted in.

A chorus of “Good evening, Mr. Vice President” rang throughout the sit room. The assembled men and women took their places around the table, and as expected, the vice president sat at the head in the chair that had always been reserved for the president himself.

“Gentlemen,” the vice president began, “I know we are on a tight schedule, so I think it’s best if we turn this over right away to General Venrick, commander of the Joint Special Operations Command. General?”

The general stood. “Thank you, Mr. Vice President. As you all know, the intelligence we have been able to gather thus far indicates that the president was taken hostage by the Abu Nidal organization, the Fatah RC, to be ransomed in exchange for Egypt’s unfreezing certain assets and the return of the Disneyland bombers. Our attempts at gaining further intel as to the health and well-being of Abu Nidal, the group’s supposed leader, have been unsuccessful. What we do know is that the call the FBI received from the kidnappers was traced to a building south of Beirut outside the town of Saïda, or Sidon, as it is better known, on the Lebanese coast of the Mediterranean Sea.

“According to intelligence provided by the Israelis, this building is believed to be tied to the FRC organization, though further information than that is not available, which is troubling.”

“Troubling?” said the vice president, raising his eyebrows, his hands crossed in front of him.

“Yes, sir,” continued General Venrick. “The only surveillance of the building we have been able to run is via satellite, which took us longer than we would have liked due to retasking and getting it into an alternate orbit. While the Mossad does have assets in and around Sidon, there has not been proper time to conduct full-fledged surveillance.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, General, but you were the one who said we needed to strike fast if we were to have any chance of getting the president back,” said the vice president. Chief of Staff DaFina leaned back in his chair with a smug look of satisfaction and stared at the general, daring him to defy the vice president.

“Yes, sir, I did say that, but-”

“Are you having second thoughts, General? I am sure you would agree with me that this is a time for action and not indecision,” said the vice president.

“I do agree, sir, but going off half-cocked can result in the loss of not only lives on our recovery team, but also the president’s, if he is actually in that building.”

“You have doubts as to whether the president is actually there? Why didn’t you bring these to my attention earlier?” said the vice president, knowing full well why the general had not been able to communicate his concerns.

“Mr. Vice President, I tried to contact you several times, but Chief of Staff DaFina told me you were busy and that he would have you get back to me.”

Marshfield looked at DaFina. “Is this true?”

Feigning contrition, DaFina said, “Mr. Vice President, the past forty-eight hours have been absolute turmoil for all of us. If the general was having trouble getting through, I don’t know why he didn’t come to the White House to share these feelings with you in person.”

Incredulous, the general answered, “Number one, I figured if I couldn’t get him on the phone, I certainly wasn’t going to be able to get in to see him here, and number two, I had an operation to assemble.” Turning his attention back to the vice president, he continued, “Sir, even with our most sophisticated technology, the building in question has not offered even the slightest clue as to who or what might be inside.”

“And this troubles you because…?” asked the vice president.

“It troubles me because our men will be going in blind. They don’t know how many terrorists are inside or where the president is being kept, if he’s there at all.”

“Are we going to go through this again?” asked DaFina, pretending to be exasperated.

The vice president silenced DaFina with a wave of his hand. “General, do you have any information that suggests that the president is not being held at this location?”

“No, sir, but by the same token we don’t have enough to suggest that he is either. After lengthy discussion with my staff as well as Agent Harvath-”

“Agent Harvath?” asked the vice president. “Is he now a member of the Joint Special Operations Command?”

“No, sir, but his past experience in counterterrorism and JSOC coordinated operations I think more than qualifies him to-”

The vice president raised his hand, this time indicating that he wished for the general to be silent. “Agent Harvath, do you have something you wish to add to this, because I’m sure we would all be very interested to hear it, considering everything that has happened already.”

Ignoring the vice president’s sarcasm, Harvath stood as the general retook his seat. “Thank you, Mr. Vice President. I have to admit that I am in agreement with the general.”

“And why is that?”

“There are a lot of pieces in this puzzle that don’t make sense. We think we are making progress, when the truth is, the kidnappers are three steps ahead of us. They have anticipated every move we make and are ready for it. With the level of sophistication we have seen on their part, I find it suspicious that they allowed the ransom call to be traced.”

Lawlor’s head tilted almost imperceptibly to the left as he pondered the implications of what Harvath had just said.

“And you enlightened General Venrick with your wisdom?” asked the vice president.

“Everything except my opinion about the trace.” Not wanting to admit that his constant headache might be affecting his judgment, Scot offered his excuse for not having come up with this insight earlier. “It wasn’t until I arrived here that this piece of information fell into place. It just doesn’t feel right.”

“‘Doesn’t feel right’? You want me to forgo maybe the only chance we have to get the president back because it doesn’t feel right? Agent Harvath, despite your feelings, do we have any information that indicates the president is anywhere else?”

“No, sir.”

“And have you thought about what kind of situation we might be in if we pass up this chance tonight and the president is moved tomorrow to another location from which the kidnappers do not make any further phone calls that can be traced?”