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CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE.
Situation Room, Monday afternoon
Colonel Gray had informed General Flood via secure satellite uplink that the team had achieved their primary goal without any casualties and was enroute to Scorpion I for extraction. The room erupted in a premature show of excitement that was quickly doused when the President reminded everyone that they weren't out of the woods yet.
Hayes felt as if something was trying to eat its way out of his stomach. He was so tense he'd taken to pacing back and forth along one side of the conference table. While this may have helped the Commander in Chief relax a bit, it did little to comfort the others in the room. In the midst of the battle the President felt the walls closing in. This was, bar none, the boldest, most difficult decision of his political life. He knew without the slightest doubt that he'd made the right choice, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that Israel had played him. They had sent Ben Freidman to Washington knowing full well that America wouldn't ignore the information. If Israel were to take matters into their own hands and bomb Iraq it would shatter the Arab coalition that was organized against Saddam. Israel knew Hayes would have to act.
This somehow tainted everything he'd done during the last week. Robert Hayes was a proud man, and he wanted to do the right thing for the right reasons. He didn't enjoy being played. He didn't enjoy being caught up in other people's schemes. In the midst of his pacing he came to a decision. Some things were going to change as soon as the mission was over. If it failed he was done. And not just kind of done, really done. The only way he was going to be able to put out the fire started by Congressman Rudin was with complete victory. Anything short of that and his enemies would ravage him. Hayes had no false illusions about the future. If Rapp and the Delta team failed to get out of Iraq with the nukes, he would be crucified.
As Hayes continued pacing he glanced over at the big board and stared at the five blue triangles west' of Baghdad. If only they would start moving. The President's eyes shifted to one of the other TVs which was showing CNN. His eyes squinted in genuine hatred at the man on the screen. Congressman Albert Rudin was on the screen ranting and raving about the bombing. Hayes had already caught his act on MSNBC twenty minutes earlier. He was sure that before the night was over Rudin would make his Wag the Dog i
It was at that precise moment that President Hayes decided he was going to destroy Albert Rudin. It was the first and only time he'd ever been moved to such thoughts in his twenty-five-plus years of politics. But now he savored the thought of the absolute and utter destruction of Rudin's political career. Rudin had been warned, not just by Hayes, but by the leaders of the party to back off and keep his mouth shut. He'd been admonished severely, yet he still continued. He would pay for his irritating insolence and stubborn self-righteousness. If Rapp and the Delta team could pull it off they would give Hayes the sword he needed to do the job, and if they failed, they'd be giving the sword to Rudin. Either way, only one of them would survive.
As Hayes turned to do another circuit behind the table, a sheaf of papers was shoved under his nose by his chief of staff, Valerie Jones. Give this the once over."
The President took the four sheets of paper without comment and began reading them. He was relieved to have something to take his mind off the mission. Midway down the first page he stopped, and holding the sheets against the wall, he crossed out a word and inserted a different one. He was reading a statement written by Jones and White House Press Secretary Michelle Bernard. The press room upstairs was packed to the gills with reporters and photographers who were waiting for Bernard to fill them in on what was going on. Hayes quickly finished reading the pages and made just a few changes.
He handed them back to Jones and said, "It looks good. Add one more thing at the end, though." Before Hayes could continue General Flood's baritone voice filled the room.
"Mr. President, the extraction has been completed and the team is enroute to Saudi Arabia."
Hayes looked at Flood and then the big screen. The five blue triangles that he'd been so concerned about were finally moving. With a smile on his face he looked back to the general and asked, "Every single person has been accounted for?"
Flood smiled back. "Every single person."
Hayes felt like screaming for joy, but kept his composure. The extraction was the easy part. Surface-to-air missile batteries in the western Iraqi desert had just been pounded mercilessly for the last hour by planes and special forces perso
Turning to Jones and Bernard the President said, "Get upstairs and give the briefing, and when you're done tell them I'll address the nation tonight at nine o'clock."
Jones stood first and said, "Slow down for a second. We need to discuss this."
All the President could do was smile at his always cautious chief of staff. "Its all right, Valerie. I know what I'm doing."
"But, sir, you don't even have a speech prepared."
The President kept smiling as he ushered his two advisors toward the door. "Don't worry. I know what I'm going to say."
When he returned to the conference table General Flood motioned for the President to sit next to Ke
Hayes glanced over at the board for a second. He knew the secondary targets well. They'd selected four command and control bunkers and four of Saddam's expansive Presidential palaces. The folks over at the National Reco
Relieved by the President's decision. Flood brought the phone to his mouth and said, "It's a go."
Ke
"Prime Minister Goldberg," started the President.
"I've been waiting for your call, Mr. President," answered a slightly irritated Israeli leader.
"I'm sorry I didn't let you know about the operation in advance, but for obvious reasons security has been very tight."
Goldberg, in his typical short ma
"I do," replied Hayes. "Approximately an hour ago U. S. Special Forces perso