The Scorpion's Gate by Richard A. Clarke Read Free Book Online Page B

hear.
    “Just swim in your own lane, okay?” Kashigian said, and he spun about as he left the Sit Room, moving quickly to catch up with the SECDEF and the motorcade waiting outside.
    The Situation Room conference room was suddenly empty. MacIntyre headed over to the Mess, where he stood at the take-out window and ordered two frozen yogurts. Balancing the two cups on a tray and his briefing book under his arm, he walked outside past the Secret Service guards, and headed over to Susan Connor, who was standing next to the black Chrysler on West Exec.
    “Rusty, it’s February. Who the hell eats ice cream in February?” Susan blurted out.
    “Glad to see you got over the Mr. MacIntyre thing. They’re yogurts, not ice cream, and after that meeting I wanted to cool down,” MacIntyre said, handing her a cup.
    “They’re nuts, boss,” Susan said, taking the cup of frozen yogurt. “The whole damn Pentagon is nuts!”
    The two got into the warm, waiting car. “The Pentagon is a building with about thirty thousand people. The Defense Department is about three million. Not all of them are nuts.” Rusty spooned the yogurt as the Chrysler and its two escort vehicles pulled out through the Eisenhower Building’s courtyard and crossed through a second courtyard to exit onto 17th Street. A Secret Service agent threw the traffic lights to red for the outside street traffic to stop as the lead Suburban pulled out of the gate.
    “Well, their Secretary certainly is certifiable,” Susan chortled. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”
    “Welcome to the big leagues.” MacIntyre smiled. “You missed the best part. Secretary Conrad is so gung-ho to get the Sauds back on the throne that he is willing to risk a shooting war with China. In the next few weeks.”
    “Where does he get off acting like God made him Viceroy of Earth?” Susan lisped, her tongue now frozen from the yogurt. “Where’d we get him anyway? Does he have pictures of the President and a goat or something?”
    “He was a takeover expert on Wall Street. Buy an ailing company on the cheap, fix it, then sell it for a multiple of six or seven what he paid for it.” MacIntyre looked out of the car at the few tourists on the sidewalk, all trying to see what big shot was in the car leaving the White House. “Then he ran for Governor of Pennsylvania, where he’s from. Some Main Line blueblood, out to ‘help the people help themselves.’ Or so his campaign claimed. Supposedly turned Pennsylvania around, too. And he delivered the state to the President, along with three hundred million in Wall Street cash. The President thinks Conrad is brilliant.”
    “What magic are you going to do?” she asked, again serious.
    “As Otter told the boys of Delta Tau Chi, it’s time for a road trip.” MacIntyre took a big bite of the frozen yogurt as their car sped past the Corcoran Gallery and headed toward Foggy Bottom.
    Susan Connor frowned. “Was that some kind of seventies reference?”
    Returning to the Intelligence Analysis Center, MacIntyre went straight for his boss’s office to debrief him on the meeting. Sol Rubenstein was poring over a draft analysis on North Korea. Without looking up, he welcomed his young deputy with “So I hear you got into a little contretemps with the almighty Secretary of Defense.”
    “Word travels fast,” Rusty said, plunking down into one of the two chairs next to the desk.
    “I got good sources,” Rubenstein replied, coming around into the other chair. “Rosie called me from the car. She said you stood up to him, the son of a bitch. Good for you. Fuck him.”
    Rusty smiled at the support from his boss. “I don’t believe his Defense Intelligence source about the Chinese. Selling missiles is one thing, but sending troops to prop up Islamyah, and then the nutty idea they would give them nukes. Shit, I don’t believe that Islamyah would even ask for that kind of help. More infidels in their holy land?” MacIntyre said, leaning