to digest, isn't it?"
I made no reply to that understatement. I was still caught up in the idea that the whole reason behind a war might be a con job by the Iranians, who wanted Saddam gone and who duped Uncle Sam into handling the dirty work for them. It made sense, and it didn't make sense.
Bian suddenly stood up. "I might be sick."
I looked at her. Her face had gone pale and her legs a little wobbly. She placed her hands on the table and began drawing deep breaths.
Never personalize things--that's the golden rule. But Bian, because of her direct personal investment in this war, was more emotionally upset by this suspicion than Phyllis or I. To learn that it might all have been the result of some geostrategic hustle clearly unnerved her. Or perhaps she was responding as any normal person would to such a shocking theory; maybe I had become more like Phyllis than I pretended, too jaded, too cold-blooded. Whew--there was a frightening thought.
I played it back and forth inside my head a few times. Deductively, Charabi and the Iranians shared a common goal--Saddam gone and a Shiite in his place--and better yet, from Iran's perspective, a malleable Shiite who owed them a big, unspeakable favor. Further, what could be better than having the U.S. take the flack and casualties for a preemptive war most of the world, and a growing percentage of the American populace, regarded as unjustified, unnecessary, and strategically dangerous? This gave a whole new meaning to killing two birds with one stone.
The mullahs in Tehran might even consider this some sort of aesthetic retribution for America helping to install and then propping up the shah. I knew also that most Iranians believe to this day that the United States had somehow instigated and then artificially prolonged their bloody eight-year war with Iraq--a war that ultimately cost half a million Iranian lives. Not entirely true. But nations are free to invent their own histories; they don't have to be fair or accurate, they only have to make people feel good about themselves--even Americans are not above inflating our boogeymen and embellishing our myths.
There was an almost biblical quality here--an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth, so why not a war for a war? Especially with the added sweetener that the victim doesn't even know he just got screwed?
On the other hand, we were making a big leap in judgment. Okay, yes, it did seem to fit the facts as we now knew them. But truth, like life, depends on which end of the telescope you're looking through.
Phyllis allowed us a moment to collect our thoughts, then told us, "We three are the only ones who have put these pieces together. Except the Director . . . I informed him about two hours ago." She added, "He nearly had a heart attack."
But this was not exactly so, and I said, "If this is true, Charabi knows, and the Iranians know."
Bian heard what was I saying and commented, accurately, "That would mean they have . . . well, they have the balls of the President of the United States in their hands."
Phyllis took this in and replied, "Perhaps they do. Were they to leak this, there won't be a need for an election here next week. A coronation will suffice."
Which raised the ever-evocative question. I looked at Phyllis. "Why us?"
"I need my best man on this."
"Where is he?"
"That would be you." She smiled.
This was such utter bullshit, I had to smile back.
She said, "I have my reasons."
"I'm sure you do. I'd like to hear them."
But this was not my game, this was Phyllis's game, and she responded, "Tell me what you think."
"Instead I'll tell you what I know. You're worried about your agency."
"It's your agency as well."
Wanta bet? I expanded on this reasoning and continued, "You don't trust your own people. They might leak this to destroy this President, or they might exploit it to intimidate or blackmail the White House."
"I won't claim there's any love around here for this President. And yes . . . there is considerable resentment within the Agency toward this administration," she acknowledged. She then observed, "You appear to have a dim view of Agency people."
"I think Agency people are great. I really do. You're the one who seems to have a problem trusting them. That's why us, right? Military people follow orders."
"That thought had entered my mind."
"In fact," I continued, "you and your boss want