going to do it. The Poles will—or at least help us stop them.”
“Our current defense budget is ten times larger than Russia’s, and larger than the combined defense spending of the next eight countries, including Russia and China. Hell, our defense budget is three times larger than the rest of NATO combined. You think one more American base in Poland will finally do the trick?”
Arnie sighed. “We used to be on the same page. I don’t quite get you. So tell me, straight up, what do you want?”
“What do I want?” Dixon stood. “I’ll tell you what I want. A bourbon and rocks. You want one, too?” She crossed over to her office minibar.
As Dixon dropped ice in her glass, Arnie rubbed his head, thinking, What’s her game?
He scanned the walls absentmindedly. He’d seen the photos before. Dixon with kings and presidents, popes and CEOs. In one, she knelt by the bedside of a double amputee at Walter Reed. In another, she sat in the cockpit of an F-35, and in a third, her eyes were glued to the periscope of a Los Angeles–class attack submarine.
There were also photos of projects in Africa and around the world paid for by the Dixon-Gage Charitable Trust.
The wall of photos said it all. She was an effective legislator, a compassionate leader, a foreign policy expert and, to judge from her tailored Fendi suit and Manolo Blahnik Estipulas, a woman of expensive tastes married to big money.
She was, in a word, ambitious.
Dixon took her seat behind her desk and sipped her bourbon. “Where were we?”
“I need you to know that this will not stand. President Ryan is determined to get this treaty passed. He reached out to you before and now you’ve bitten his hand. That’s a stupid mistake, especially for someone who has her eyes on the prize.”
Dixon snorted. “Hell, Arnie. I once caught a White House janitor sitting in the President’s chair. Everybody in this town has their ‘eyes on the prize.’ The question is, what would any of them do with it if they actually got ahold of it?”
“Defend the nation from all enemies, foreign and domestic. Or so I hope.”
“At least we agree on something. The devil is in the details.”
“Look, Deborah. You want to run for President? Fine. But you’re better off with a Ryan endorsement than without one.”
“Is that something you’re guaranteeing today?”
Arnie shook his head. “You know I can’t do that. The President will endorse whom he thinks is the best man or woman for the job.”
“Then the choice is clear, don’t you think?”
“Running for the presidency against this President’s agenda is a mistake, especially the President of your own party.”
“You know I’ve never been a party hack. I’m an independent thinker.”
“Then you can run as an independent.”
“And lose? No, thank you. I need the GOP nomination if I want to win.”
“Then mind your manners, wait your turn, and get in line with the President’s agenda.”
Dixon’s face visibly reddened behind the bleached white smile.
“I’ll take that under advisement.”
“Good. And consider the consequences if you don’t.” Arnie stood. “I’ve got another meeting, Senator. Thank you for your time.” He turned on his heel and left, not waiting for her response.
Dixon sat back in her chair, rolling the bourbon glass in her fingers, fuming. President Ryan was pissed off. She knew he would be. But that was part of the price she was willing to pay. Besides, she had no choice. On the Polish treaty, her instructions were made crystal clear.
And she had no intentions of waiting her turn.
She sipped her bourbon thoughtfully. The idea of Ryan coming after her sent shivers down her spine.
But the alternative was far worse.
4
TEHRAN, IRAN
MINISTRY OF INTELLIGENCE AND SECURITY (VEVAK)
SATISFIED?
Dr. Mehdi Mohammadi, head of VEVAK, Iran’s intelligence ministry, had been staring at that single-word query on the computer screen for more than a minute. It was an interesting question, full of possibilities.
And dangers.
The countdown clock didn’t help clarify matters. Forty-two seconds to go.
“Sir?” The bearded young technician smiled hopefully. He liked his job. He liked breathing even better. Crossing Dr. Mohammadi threatened both.
“I’m still thinking.” Mohammadi stroked his gray beard with his one good hand.
In truth, he was satisfied. The intel provided by CHIBI was as good as promised. Perhaps too good.
On the one hand, it had allowed the Quds Force to set a trap and wipe out the Argentine crusaders, opening the door for further Hezbollah actions in that country and, perhaps, the entire subcontinent, providing yet another distraction for the Americans