Dead Heat

  21

  Why couldn't Dmitri find that hope and forgiveness and a peace that defied understanding through Yeshua as well?

  Bennett immediately thought of the words of Jesus in Matthew chapter 16: "If anyone wishes to come after Me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it; but whoever loses his life for My sake wil find it.

  For what wil it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul?"

  Not many on the planet had gained the whole world faster than Dmitri Galishnikov. But his soul was in danger. He was running out of time. And Bennett's heart suddenly cried out in prayer for him and his beautiful family. He prayed that the Lord would have mercy on

  them. He prayed the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob would pour out His love on them

  and open their eyes that they might see and understand and fall in love with Yeshua the way Bennett himself had done. Yes, it had cost him dearly. Yes, it might cost him more. But what a treasure he had gained, and what a treasure now awaited the Galishnikovs.

  As Bennett opened his eyes, he noticed an e-mail from Natasha Barak. The subject line

  read, "GOOD NEWS!" Still on hold with Site R, he clicked on the message and read it quickly.

  "Jon, Erin—hey, it's me. Hope you're well! I'm

  praying for you every day. Several times a day.

  Wish I knew where you were. Would love to call you.

  Miss you both terribly. But I have good news!

  Remember my cousin? Miriam Gozol. VP at Medexco. We

  stayed at her house in Tiberias when we were hunting

  for the Copper Scroll treasures. Last night, she

  prayed with me! She became a follower of Yeshua!

  She's had so many questions. We've been studying the

  Bible together. The Lord has given me answers right

  from His Word. It's been so exciting. Please call me.

  I hope you get this. I want to thank you for

  blessing me and my family. I can never repay you!

  Love in Yeshua, Natasha."

  Bennett felt a lump form in his throat. Erin had been praying so much for Natasha Barak and e-mailing her regularly, though never disclosing where she and Jon were. He couldn't wait to read this to her. He couldn't wait for Erin to see just how much her young disciple was growing.

  But he was startled when the SecDef's top aide suddenly came back on the line.

  "Mr. Bennett, we have some news. Some good. Some not so good."

  "Cut to the chase, Colonel," Bennett pressed. "Did we get him or not?"

  22

  12:29 A.M. MST—NORAD OPERATIONS CENTER

  "Secretary James?"

  "Speaking."

  "This is Crystal Palace. Please hold for POTUS."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  There was a long pause, then a hiss of static; then the president turned off the mute button on the speakerphone on the conference table in front of him.

  "Lee, that you?" he asked with a sense of urgency.

  "Yes, sir," the Homeland Security secretary said. "How can I help you, sir?"

  The president paced the conference room of the NORAD ops center as Bobby

  Caulfield prepared to take notes, and Judge Sharon Summers, who had sworn him in just

  hours before, worked on a laptop, tapping out a memorandum to the president about

  how to rebuild and possibly restructure the Supreme Court. The president, in his anxiety, barely noticed Caulfield's bloodshot eyes or the jitters in Caulfield's left leg.

  "Lee, I'm sensing you're quite uncomfortable about where I may be going with China."

  There was a brief pause, and then the secretary replied, "Honestly, Mr. President, I'm not sure your analysis is wrong. But I'm not sure it's

  right, either, and I shudder to think of the consequences of a full-scale nuclear war

  with Beijing."

  "As do I," Oaks said. "And I appreciated the questions you raised. They're important and they have to be asked."

  "I've got more where that came from," James said.

  "I'm sure you do, and that's why I'm calling," Oaks said. "The country needs a vice president, Lee, and so do I. I need someone I know. Someone I trust. Someone I can count on to give me wise counsel, even when it's uncomfortable. And God forbid something

  should happen to me . . . Let me read you something."

  The president turned to Judge Summers, who slid over a copy of the U.S.

  Constitution. Oaks began to read a passage Summers had highlighted.

  "'In case of the removal of the president from office, or of his death, resignation, or inability to discharge the powers and duties of the said office, the same shall devolve on

  the vice president," Oaks noted, reading from Article II, Section 1, Clause 6, "and the Congress may by law provide for the case of removal, death, resignation, or inability,

  both of the president and vice president, declaring what officer shall then act as president, and such officer shall act accordingly, until the disability be removed, or a president shall be elected."

  Oaks paused.

  "One way or the other," he continued, "the United States is going to war in the next few days. We're at war already, of course. We just don't know with whom. But regardless, we need a vice president. We need a clear chain of command, a clear line of succession, and I'm trying to figure out exactly how we do that on such short notice."

  The president asked James to pull up a copy of the Twenty-fifth Amendment on his

  laptop, which Judge Summers had e-mailed over to him. A moment later, James had the

  full text—ratified on February 10, 1967—in front of him. The two men then reviewed it

  carefully, line by line, as Summers and Caulfield looked on.

  SECTION 1. In case of the removal of the President from office or of his death

  or resignation, the Vice President shall become President.

  "Right now," Oaks said, "Judge Summers says we're operating in a kind of constitutional limbo."

  "That's a dangerous place to be, Mr. President," James said. "At any time, but especially now."

  "My thoughts exactly, Lee," the president concurred.

  He proceeded with another section of the amendment.

  SECTION 2. Whenever there is a vacancy in the office of the Vice President, the

  President shall nominate a Vice President who shall take office upon confirmation by a majority vote of both Houses of Congress.

  "That's pretty straightforward language, sir," James said.

  "It is indeed, Lee," Oaks agreed. "And it's the real reason I'm calling. I want to nominate you to be my vice president. But my problem is, we don't have a Congress, so

  who's going to confirm your nomination?"

  "My goodness," James replied. "I'm deeply honored, Mr. President. But . . ."

  There was a long, uncomfortable pause.

  "But what?" the president finally asked, in no mood for a debate.

  "Well, sir, with all due respect," James explained, "aside from the constitutional issues you raise—which are formidable, I agree—I don't know if the nation needs a failed Homeland

  Security secretary getting a major job promotion right now."

  "And who would you suggest I ask instead? the failed Defense secretary?" the president replied. "Or perhaps should I reach back into the grave and nominate the failed director of Central Intelligence? or the failed director of the FBI? or the failed secretary of state?

  or maybe the failed director of the Secret Service?"

  "Sir," James replied, "I'm just saying—"

  But the president cut him off. "I know what you're saying, Lee. But I need a vice

  president—today. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Not next month. Too much is at stake. The

  way it looks now, it could literally take weeks before we find out who in Congress is still alive and healthy enough to reconvene the House and the Senate.
That's crazy. We simply don't have that kind of time. And what if I'm incapacitated somehow? What if I have a heart attack or a stroke or whatever in the next few days or weeks?

  Given my history, anything's possible, right? But look at sections 3 and 4 and tell me

  how that's going to work."

  They continued to pore over the text.

  "Mr. President," James finally noted, "if I'm reading this correctly, and I think I am, all of these 'line of succession' provisions hinge on the presence of a constitutionally valid vice president, which we don't have, and we can't get because we don't have a Congress."

  "Exactly, Lee," Oaks said, "but I'm moving forward anyway."

  "What do you mean, sir?"

  "Judge Summers and I have been discussing this in detail," Oaks explained. "She agrees we have to move quickly and decisively to protect the chain of command and the line of

  succession. Thus, I hereby nominate you as vice president of the United States. I'm

  transmitting a letter to that effect to Congress in absentia, and I'm going to have you sworn in as acting vice president by a federal judge from Philly. He's on his way to Mount Weather even as we speak. He should be there within the hour. Then I'm going to give you the portfolios of State, Treasury, and Homeland Security. We've got a lot to do, and I can't do it alone. Can I count on your help?"

  "Absolutely, Mr. President; but again I have to ask you: under the circumstances, are you really sure that all this is legal?" James asked.

  "To be perfectly honest, Lee," Oaks replied, "at this point, I'm not really sure of anything."

  * * *

  Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

  And Indira Rajiv was angrier than she had ever been. She had taken an enormous risk. She had reached out to the only two people in the world she thought she could confide in—Jon and Erin Bennett—and they had turned her down.

  They didn't know it was her, of course. That would have been too much, at least for

  now, and thus she had electronically altered her voice in both of her calls to Bennett. But she literally had no one else to talk to. She wasn't about to call the president herself. She barely knew him and she was, after all, on the FBI's Most Wanted List. Why would they believe her? What deal could she possibly cut? She was guilty of treason. She was facing the death penalty.

  The Bennetts, she knew, were her only option. If she could get to them, they could get

  to the president. They could make him listen. They could make this right. But she had to see them in person. She had to tell them what she'd done, and why, and how sorry she was,

  face-to-face. They had to look in her eyes, and she needed to look in theirs. They had to know the remorse she felt, or they would never believe her.

  Maybe she shouldn't have asked for the money, she thought as she paced her tiny,

  anonymous, windowless office, chain-smoking cigarettes and mumbling to herself. Maybe

  that was too much. Maybe she'd gone too far. But no, Bennett hadn't balked at the money, had he? He had promised to get it for her. The only point he had actually refused was the trip to Bangkok.

  Rajiv suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for Erin, and for the tiny baby growing inside her womb. She couldn't really blame Jon for not wanting to drag his sick, pregnant wife all the way to Asia. Yet the more she thought about it, the more adamant Rajiv became. There

  was no other way to do this. It had to be in person.

  She picked up her phone, scrolled through her contact list, and dialed a contact in

  Amman. It took six rings, but he finally picked up.

  "Hello, Jamal?"

  "Who is this?" said a suspicious voice at the other end.

  Rajiv gave him her alias, the one she'd used for years at Langley, and he relaxed.

  "What do you need, my old friend?" he asked.

  "How'd you like to make some fast money?" Rajiv said.

  "How much?"

  "A million," she said.

  "Dinars?"

  "No, dollars."

  "You must be joking?"

  "I'm not," Rajiv said. "I'll wire you half now, half on delivery."

  "What am I delivering?"

  "People."

  "What kind of people?"

  Rajiv explained who Jon and Erin Bennett were. She told him they would soon be

  traveling to Amman.

  "They cannot be allowed to get to the airport," Rajiv insisted. "You must intercept them; take them to the old landing strip we used to use."

  "The one near Madaba?"

  "Yes, that's the one. Bring them here to me. I will have people meet you at the private airfield. You'll get the rest of your money then."

  Rajiv had just one stipulation: the Bennetts could not be harmed in any way.

  10:51 A.M.-A REFUGEE CAMP IN NORTHERN JORDAN

  Bennett had no time to argue.

  He needed to be at the airport in Amman by noon, and it was already rapidly

  approaching eleven. But Dr. Kwamee didn't like the situation one bit.

  "I'm telling you as plainly as I can, Mr. Bennett," he insisted. "I don't think it's wise to move your wife yet. I understand you have an urgent appointment overseas. That's fine. Go on without her. But don't put her life in jeopardy. I'll take care of Miss Erin for a few more days—no more than a week. When she's ready, I promise, I'll send her to you by medevac, wherever you are. In the meantime, I will personally see to it that she is safe and well cared for. You have my word."

  Bennett wouldn't hear of it. He wasn't going to leave Erin behind. Transporting her

  now was a risk, he knew, but he had no choice. Erin was still sleeping. He didn't want to wake her or tell her what was happening. Not yet. It would devastate her, and she needed all the rest she could get. So he was moving forward by faith, if not by sight.

  "Erin's coming with me," he said firmly, worried he was about to lose his patience.

  "With all due respect, Dr. Kwamee—and I appreciate all you've done for her, and for me; I really do—I'm not asking for your permission. I'm asking for your help."

  "I understand," the doctor said. "I just think it's a terrible risk."

  "I fully understand the risk."

  "I don't think you do," the doctor replied.

  "Nevertheless," Bennett said, his impatience growing, "I need to move quickly."

  Bennett stared into the doctor's eyes, and the man finally relented.

  "You need to get her to Amman?" Dr. Kwamee asked.

  "Right."

  "And you'll have transportation waiting for you there?"

  "Yes," Bennett said. "It's all being taken care of."

  "Will there be a doctor on board that flight?"

  "Absolutely," Bennett replied. "I've explained her situation to my contacts. I've been assured they're making all the arrangements."

  "You realize we have no helicopters here at the camp right now." Bennett nodded.

  "We'll have to drive her by ambulance," Dr. Kwamee explained.

  "Of course."

  "It's about eighty kilometers—almost fifty miles—and, as you know, the roads are very bad. They were bad before all this destruction. They're much worse now."

  "I understand," Bennett said. "Now please, we need to move fast."

  There was no way he was going to tell this man what he was really up to, not even a

  man who had saved his wife's life. But the plan that was now in motion had very specific time elements built in, and Bennett knew there was no time to spare.

  The NSA had, in fact, been able to trace the satphone call to an office building in the center of Bangkok. U.S. special forces were being sent to the Thai capital at that very moment to raid the office building and hunt down the caller and his cronies. To buy time, the secretary of defense had personally authorized a wire transfer of $25 million into the account of Bennett's mystery caller. What's more, he had sent a message through the bank to the recipient that the other $25 million would be paid as soon as Bennett rece
ived an e-mail detailing the conspiracy, the players, and the details of the forthcoming attacks, and the information could be "verified" and "canceled."

  But Trainor's message via Bennett to "the voice" had also made clear that the U.S.

  government wasn't offering a blank check. It wouldn't keep paying for more information.

  This was one-stop shopping. Trainor had a list of precise questions that he needed

  answered before the rest of the payment was wired.

  On reflection, Bennett had told the SecDef that he was now willing to go to Bangkok,

  despite Erin's condition, if they needed him. He didn't want to, of course, but if the president needed him, he wouldn't say no. Trainor wouldn't hear of it. The president needed

  Bennett's counsel, not his sacrifice, and Trainor dared not put him in harm's way. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of the disaster in Moscow when Jon and Erin had been held by Yuri Gogolov and his thugs, and Erin had been tortured to within an inch of her life.

  So the Bennetts were ordered back to the United States, to Crystal Palace deep

  inside Cheyenne Mountain. That's where the president wanted them. That's where

  Secretary Trainor wanted them. And that's the way it was going to be.

  Meanwhile, to continue buying time and keep anyone connected with "the voice" off guard, a first-class ticket from Jordan to Rome to Bangkok was purchased in Jon Bennett's name with Jon Bennett's American Express number. A CIA field agent working out of

  Europe and fitting Bennett's basic description would be given Bennett's passport and

  would take the flight from Rome to Bangkok, in case anyone was watching or tracking

  Bennett's movements. Hopefully, by the time the flight landed in the Thai capital, several Delta teams would have already converged on the location the satphone calls had

  originated from, and the U.S. military would be that much closer to stopping all future attacks.

  It was a long shot, they all knew, but it appeared to be their only shot.

  Every part of the operation was highly classified. Bennett couldn't breathe a word of it to anyone, least of all to a U.N. doctor he barely knew. All Dr. Kwamee needed to know