Slim To None

“Both.”

“Because if we are in negotiations over Amy Fitzgerald’s release, Langley claims to know nothing about it. The director was asked about it point-blank at this morning’s security briefing. Are you saying the DCI lied to the president’s face?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Myers made a forward rolling motion with his hand. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying you need to get back to Fitzgerald and tell him to sit tight. We’re doing everything we can.”

“Are we?”

“Of course, but we need to move cautiously. There’s more at stake than a girl stumbling into a place she had no business being.”

Myers threw up his hands. “For God’s sake, Dick! It’s not like she was some stoner blithely hitchhiking her way through Katmandu or Goa! She’s a doctor who was working in a frigging Red Crescent medical clinic, taking care of Iraqi women and children. Some of whom, may I remind you, are injured because they got caught in our own crossfire. I’d say that kind of dedication goes some way to winning hearts and minds, wouldn’t you?”

“As I recall,” Stern countered, “the International Committee of the Red Cross was warned that we couldn’t guarantee the safety of their personnel if they went into the Sunni Triangle before it was fully secured.”

“Small comfort to Patrick and Katherine Fitzgerald. And not really good enough when it comes to the media, either. She’s still one of ours. This makes us look really ineffectual.”

“Screw the media.”

“And the Fitzgeralds?”

“I feel their pain.”

Somehow, Myers doubted it. The man had ice water in his veins and no family that Myers knew of—thank God. Scary characters like this shouldn’t be allowed to reproduce. “So? What can I tell the Fitzgeralds?”

“The situation is very sensitive.”

“And…?”

Stern exhaled heavily. “Tell them we’re making inquiries. Look, Evan, you’re a big enough boy to realize that there are much bigger issues at play here. Issues of major strategic consequence.”

“Such as?”

“America’s role in the region and in the world. Our ability to continue to be the only global power worth a damn. The last superpower.”

“And what’s that got to do with Amy Fitzgerald’s kidnapping?”

Stern drummed his stubby fingers on the desk, scrutinizing the younger man across from him. Once again, perched on his low armless chair, elbows akimbo, Myers felt like the not-very-bright truant in the principal’s office. He decided to demonstrate that he wasn’t as clueless as he apparently seemed.

“You’re afraid of alienating fundamentalists like this sheikh for fear we’ll lose access to Iraqi oil,” he said.

“It’s a little more complicated than that, but yes. As long as soccer moms and NASCAR dads want to exercise their God-given right to drive gas-guzzling SUVs, that is one consideration.” Stern shook his head. “Look, the Saudi regime is getting ready to implode. The House of Saud is being pressured to distance itself from us. U.S. oil companies have been losing contracts left and right in that country, and guess who they’re losing them to? None other than Lukoil.”

“Lukoil?”

“The Russian state oil company.”

“The Russians? A threat to us? Get real. They’re no superpower, not anymore—if they ever were. And Muslim fundamentalists hate the Russians, too. Look at what happened in Afghanistan.”

“Old news, young Evan. Conservative Saudis had no use for godless communists, it’s true, but these days, Moscow’s run by a conservative Orthodox Catholic. The Camel and the Bear are getting pretty damn cozy, thank you very much. The Saudis say Lukoil’s lower cost structure is the reason they’re getting all the contracts to develop new fields over there, but it’s never been about the money. Even if it were, the Russians are keeping their offers ridiculously low just to ingratiate themselves with the Saudis.”

“To undermine us?”

“Partly. The Russians want to pull the rug out from under Chechen rebels giving them so much grief. Those Chechens are being financed by Saudi fundamentalists.”

“As I understand it,” Myers said, “our oil companies started backing away from Saudi projects anyway in the wake of 9/11. I’m not surprised the Saudis are looking to deal with anyone but Americans at this point.”

“Yeah, they’re in a major snit, all right—which plays right into the hands of the Russians.”

“I still don’t see what this has to do with Amy Fitzgerald’s kidnapping in Iraq.”

Stern sighed heavily, as if it should be self-evident to anyone but a moron. “The Russians have domestic oil reserves nearly equal to the Saudis’. About the only other country with that much oil still in the ground is Iraq.”

“There’s Iran, too.”

“Yes, but the Iranians haven’t learned how to play nicely with others, have they? Until they do, they’re a total write-off.”

“Okay, so you’ve got Russia, Iraq and the Saudis…”

“Right. The Russians and Saudis were already moving closer to Baghdad before we went in and toppled Saddam. Think of it—the three largest oil patches in the world, strategically linked and controlled by people who certainly haven’t got us in their bedtime prayers. If Moscow and Riyadh controlled Baghdad, they’d have us by the short and curlies, now, wouldn’t they?”

“And you think that’s their game plan.”

“There you go. We put it on hold when we invaded Iraq, but the question is, can we keep it together?” Stern kicked back in his chair and folded his hands over his ample sternum. “Think about it, Evan. Who has a bigger interest in promoting instability over there? If the anti-American forces in Iraq build up enough steam and we buckle and walk away, who’s left to come in and bring that country’s oil industry back online? Why, none other than the Russians, of course.”

Myers sat back in his own chair and stared at the older man. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“But—well, forgive me, Dick, but that sounds like old-school paranoia. You don’t think maybe you’re just a little jaded by your Cold War past? Seeing commies in the woods again?”

Stern scowled. “Need I remind you that the president of Russia was a senior KGB officer, raised on the sour milk of anti-Americanism? If you don’t think this is a big problem, then you’re in the wrong business, son.”

Myers shook his head. “In the meantime, what am I supposed to tell the Fitzgeralds about their daughter?”

“Tell them we’re doing our best. But do not,” Stern added, “do not, young Evan, promise them anything.” He drummed his blunt-tipped fingers on the brown leather desk pad once more. “And while you’re at it, encourage Patrick Fitzgerald to keep his own counsel, for God’s sake.”

“In other words, don’t go to the media.”

Stern’s hands rose, palm up, as if it should be self-evident. “Although it’s rather a case of shutting the barn door after the horses have already escaped.”

“What do you mean?”

“That damn reward. The jungle drums are already beating out the news of that bit of folly.”

“Well, can you blame them? It’s what I’d do if my daughter were kidnapped and I had the money.”