Read Online Joshua`s Hammer by David Hagberg - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: David Hagberg
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entered the White House and took the elevator downstairs. They were met by a security detail outside the situation room who checked their briefcases before they were allowed to go inside.
The President had not arrived yet, but already the mood around the long table was somber. Flanking the President's empty chair were Dennis Berndt his adviser on national security affairs, and Anthony Lang, his chief of staff. They were deep in discussion, but Berndt looked up and gave McGarvey a penetrating glance that was anything but friendly. He looked pissed off, and in the short twelve months of his tenure he'd built a reputation as an easy-to anger, formidable force to be reckoned with. On the other side of them were the secretary of defense Arthur Turnquist, secretary of state Eugene Carpenter, attorney general Dorothy Kress, FBI director Herbert Weiss man, who had himself just arrived, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Admiral Richard Halverson and the National Security Agency director Air Force Major General Thomas Roswell. Murphy and McGarvey took their places next to him, everyone around the table acknowledging them with a nod.
Most of the people at the table were new to this administration, and although McGarvey knew all of them, he didn't know them well enough yet to be able to predict their responses like he had with President Lindsay's staff and cabinet.
Haynes had been vice president when Lindsay had suddenly resigned because of ill health last year. One of Haynes's first promises to the American people was to guarantee their safety by threatening swift and merciless action against any man, organization or government bent on terrorism. He was taking back the fear, and he'd packed his administration with tough, like-minded men and women who were not afraid to make decisions. It was, with some few exceptions, a pleasant change.
Roswell handed Murphy a thin file folder. "These are the latest telephone intercepts from bin Laden's headquarters. I think you might find them interesting."
"What's the upshot?"
"He never returned from Khartoum, and his people are starting to get nervous." Roswell, who looked like a banker with a stern, sometimes sour expression on his round, bland face, had no sense of humor. But he ran his agency, which was three times the size of the CIA, with a lot of creativity. It was said that he played a competent second violin in a string quartet, but that was only speculation because no one admitted to ever having heard him play.
"They know we're listening, it could be orchestrated for our benefit," Murphy said.
"That's what we think," Roswell said unblinking. "But if that indeed is the case, why do it? What is he up to?"
McGarvey handed a diskette to a corpsman to load into the briefing computer. The remote control was on the table in front of him.
"He's not stupid, Tom," McGarvey said. "He's probably figured out that we're going to blame him for this, and we're going to make a response. He's keeping his head down."
Roswell gave McGarvey a hard look. "About what I'd do."
The President came in and everybody got to their feet until he had taken his position. He looked angry, and, like everyone else around the table, tired. None of them had gotten much sleep last night.
"Let's get started, people. We have a busy day ahead of us." Unlike Lindsay, who was tall, thin and "Lincomesque" as the media called him, this president was built like a Green Bay Packer linebacker, with a massive head, twenty five inch neck and broad shoulders bulging with muscles. The political cartoonists all exaggerated his physique; in a number of instances they showed him in the boxing ring with captions along the lines that if wars were outlawed in favor of leaders duking it out in the ring, there'd never be
any doubt who'd come out the winner. A lot less blood would be shed too.
But as tough as he was, his wife Linda was a kind, gentle spirit. Compared to a young Barbara Bush, she was universally loved by just about
The President had not arrived yet, but already the mood around the long table was somber. Flanking the President's empty chair were Dennis Berndt his adviser on national security affairs, and Anthony Lang, his chief of staff. They were deep in discussion, but Berndt looked up and gave McGarvey a penetrating glance that was anything but friendly. He looked pissed off, and in the short twelve months of his tenure he'd built a reputation as an easy-to anger, formidable force to be reckoned with. On the other side of them were the secretary of defense Arthur Turnquist, secretary of state Eugene Carpenter, attorney general Dorothy Kress, FBI director Herbert Weiss man, who had himself just arrived, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Admiral Richard Halverson and the National Security Agency director Air Force Major General Thomas Roswell. Murphy and McGarvey took their places next to him, everyone around the table acknowledging them with a nod.
Most of the people at the table were new to this administration, and although McGarvey knew all of them, he didn't know them well enough yet to be able to predict their responses like he had with President Lindsay's staff and cabinet.
Haynes had been vice president when Lindsay had suddenly resigned because of ill health last year. One of Haynes's first promises to the American people was to guarantee their safety by threatening swift and merciless action against any man, organization or government bent on terrorism. He was taking back the fear, and he'd packed his administration with tough, like-minded men and women who were not afraid to make decisions. It was, with some few exceptions, a pleasant change.
Roswell handed Murphy a thin file folder. "These are the latest telephone intercepts from bin Laden's headquarters. I think you might find them interesting."
"What's the upshot?"
"He never returned from Khartoum, and his people are starting to get nervous." Roswell, who looked like a banker with a stern, sometimes sour expression on his round, bland face, had no sense of humor. But he ran his agency, which was three times the size of the CIA, with a lot of creativity. It was said that he played a competent second violin in a string quartet, but that was only speculation because no one admitted to ever having heard him play.
"They know we're listening, it could be orchestrated for our benefit," Murphy said.
"That's what we think," Roswell said unblinking. "But if that indeed is the case, why do it? What is he up to?"
McGarvey handed a diskette to a corpsman to load into the briefing computer. The remote control was on the table in front of him.
"He's not stupid, Tom," McGarvey said. "He's probably figured out that we're going to blame him for this, and we're going to make a response. He's keeping his head down."
Roswell gave McGarvey a hard look. "About what I'd do."
The President came in and everybody got to their feet until he had taken his position. He looked angry, and, like everyone else around the table, tired. None of them had gotten much sleep last night.
"Let's get started, people. We have a busy day ahead of us." Unlike Lindsay, who was tall, thin and "Lincomesque" as the media called him, this president was built like a Green Bay Packer linebacker, with a massive head, twenty five inch neck and broad shoulders bulging with muscles. The political cartoonists all exaggerated his physique; in a number of instances they showed him in the boxing ring with captions along the lines that if wars were outlawed in favor of leaders duking it out in the ring, there'd never be
any doubt who'd come out the winner. A lot less blood would be shed too.
But as tough as he was, his wife Linda was a kind, gentle spirit. Compared to a young Barbara Bush, she was universally loved by just about
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