The Increment: A Novel - By David Ignatius Page 0,30

be careful, sir. I’m sorry to sound like a pussy, but I have to tell you that. This case is murky. We don’t really know the source, or where he’s coming from. To the extent we understand this document, it says they’re having trouble making things work, not that they’re about to break out. You policy folks have to make the big decisions, but as an intelligence officer, I wish I had better information for you. That’s all, just a blinking yellow light from an old case officer who has been burned too many times.”

Appleman removed his tortoiseshell glasses and polished them against the silk of his striped orange-and-black tie. He was a Prince ton man. He shared that distinction with Fox. Pappas had gone to Boston College, hustled his way into ROTC, and felt lucky to graduate. Appleman put his glasses back on and raised his hand, palm outward, as if he were stopping traffic.

“Caution noted. Registered. Appreciated. But, ah, before we go any further, the president needs to hear this. Right away, I think.” He paused, thinking something over, and then continued. “The president doesn’t like crowds, so I want just two of you to join me.” He turned toward the director. “Whoever you like.”

The director nodded to Fox. He was the designated briefer on this case, anyway. “Arthur?”

“Whatever you say, sir.” He relaxed his squint for a moment.

The president was contacted in the family quarters. He would be down in fifteen minutes, as soon as he finished making his apologies to the congressmen. Pappas went upstairs and waited in the anteroom outside the national security adviser’s office. He had been there nearly an hour when his stomach began to growl. He thought about going over to the snack bar in the Old EOB and getting something to eat, but he wanted to be there when the director returned. That was his ride. It was also the only way he would know what had been discussed outside his hearing.

When the director and Fox finally trundled back upstairs, it was nearly 9:00 p.m. Fox looked disappointed that Pappas was still there, but the director seemed pleased. He wasn’t stupid. Fox apologized that he would be going back to the agency separately. He had a dinner meeting downtown, he said, and he would summon a car from Langley when he was done. Pappas rolled his eyes. Fox was so obvious. He was going to have dinner with Stewart Appleman. Why didn’t he fucking say so?

“Let’s go home,” said the director.

He didn’t say another word until they were in the limousine, heading toward the George Washington Parkway that would take them back to Langley. The silence was oppressive in the big car.

“So?” said Pappas when they had gone a few blocks.

“So…what?” answered the director.

“So what did the president say, for chrissakes?”

“He said ‘holy shit,’ or words to that effect. He said we need to prepare military options if the Iranians are moving toward a nuclear test. He also said we need to know more. About the neutron gizmo, and the plutonium track, and the whole damn thing. I told him he was right. The truth is, we don’t really know very much.”

Pappas smiled. He was relieved. He was never sure the director really understood how imperfect a picture was drawn by intelligence information. And he had no sense at all of how the president made decisions. But this had turned out about right.

“Arthur must be disappointed,” said Pappas. “It sounded like he wanted to launch the cruise missiles tonight, from the way he was talking to Appleman.”

“He gave the president a hard-edged briefing. As you would expect. But he didn’t go beyond what we have, if that’s what you’re worrying about. He was…appropriate.”

The director looked tired. Weighed down by all the secrets he was carrying around. Even his uniform didn’t look quite as starchy as usual. Pappas put his hand on the boss’s shoulder. They weren’t friends, really, but he looked like a man who needed one.

“This is dangerous,” said Pappas.

“No shit.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to find out more about Dr. Ali. Who is he? What does he really know? What else can he tell us about the program? How can we run him effectively? That’s just for starters. They’re going to want to squeeze him hard, and rattle the cage some. After tonight, we can’t make any mistakes with this case. None.”

“Not so easy, Admiral. We have nothing on the guy, and we don’t have