Chapter 1867 - 1398: Furious Leadership (Part 3)

Lemont put his coffee cup down on the console, the bottom of the cup knocking against the metal surface with a faint sound.

"But she made the wrong bet." His voice was so light it was almost inaudible.

He looked at the digital clock on the wall.

Red numerals flickered: 23:41.

Nineteen minutes left until the final ultimatum.

"Song Heping isn't afraid of any wanted list, and judging from his past style, he doesn't care about winning or losing a city or a stronghold. If he dares to besiege the base, then he's prepared to go down with us."

Lemont kept talking, more like he was speaking to himself.

"We've driven him into a corner, cut off all his retreat routes, hunted down all his comrades, detained all his men… Now he either climbs the wall to escape, or he knocks it down and crushes us underneath."

He paused, added a line: "He'll definitely choose the latter."

The air in the comms room seemed to congeal.

Only the cooling fans of the encryption gear hummed dully, and far off there was the faint sound of soldiers running.

Five minutes later, the video feed reconnected.

Walter's face looked even worse.

If he'd been merely exhausted before, now he was almost ashen.

"The Iraq Prime Minister…" Walter's voice was strained: "He expressed 'serious concern', promised to 'launch an immediate investigation', but said General Samir is the 'Battlefield Commander' and, under Article 44 of Iraq's interim constitution, has 'discretionary emergency authority' in a 'state of heightened security'. He cannot directly order a frontline general to halt combat operations, especially when there is a 'possible Terrorist infiltration'."

He glanced at the notes by his hand.

"Defense Minister Fadil's attitude was slightly better. He agreed to 'issue orders immediately', but hinted that funding for the Tenth Division had already been suspended last week due to a 'budget audit', and he 'cannot forcibly order a general who may already be out of control'. His exact words were: 'If Samir listened to me, he wouldn't be there.'"

Hillary's face tightened on the screen.

Lemont could see the slight twitch of her jaw muscles, that physiological reaction when a person is suppressing their expression under extreme rage.

"What about Masood?" she asked.

"It's worse with the Kurd people." Walter said: "Masood's son took the call, said his father is 'inspecting remote areas', communications are poor, and it may take several hours to reach him. But he 'guarantees' he'll contact General Abuyou immediately, though we both know Abuyou only listens to Masood himself, and the son doesn't have any real power in the family."

He paused, then added: "In addition, we intercepted that fifteen minutes before the comms blackout was activated at the Masoud Mansion, a single encrypted satellite call went out, the recipient was a mobile terminal somewhere in the Mosul Region. The call lasted forty-seven seconds, content unbreakable, but the timing is very suspicious."

"These ungrateful…" Hillary spat out a string of curses, some of which Lemont had never even heard before, pure political-insider foul language.

Her face flushed for a moment, then quickly returned to calm.

That ability to switch emotions at speed had kept her alive through countless political crises.

"Then we execute Plan B."

Her voice suddenly became sharp and steady.

"Walter, have the Air Force take off. Use Kowe's F-16s, don't wait for Turkey. Miller, authorize all necessary means to eliminate the threat, including but not limited to the Tenth Division's command system, artillery positions, air-defense units, and any Iraq Army unit that dares to open fire."

She turned to Lemont's split-screen, her eyes utterly devoid of warmth.

"Lemont, you hold your ground and wait for relief. Ninety minutes. That's an order. I repeat, this is a direct order from the United States of America government."

Lemont stared at the face on the screen.

Carefully styled hair, impeccable makeup, an expensive Pearl necklace, and that cold light in her blue eyes.

He suddenly recalled a speech Hillary had given when she visited CIA Headquarters as Secretary of State.

Back then she'd said: "Our intelligence officers are the nation's most precious asset, we must protect them the way we protect our eyes."

And now, those "eyes" were about to be gouged out and thrown into the fire pit.

"Ma'am…"

Lemont made one last attempt, even though he knew it was pointless.

"If the shelling starts, we may be wiped out to the last man. There are one hundred and seventy people in this base, including forty-three civilian agents. Some of them just graduated from college, some have wives and children… And all that evidence—if Song Heping makes it public before he dies—"

"If you're killed in action."

Hillary cut him off, her voice suddenly turning unnaturally gentle, but that gentleness was more terrifying than her earlier shouting: "You will be heroes. Heroes who laid down their lives for their country. I will personally attend your memorial service, personally present the Medals of Honor to your families, personally ensure your deeds are written into the history textbooks."

She straightened her posture in the chair, the pose making her look more focused, more sincere on camera—if you ignored the total absence of emotion in her eyes.

"And that Mercenary who killed United States heroes will become a target hunted by the whole world. His 'evidence'? No one cares about a dead man's evidence. The media will only tell one riveting story: a dismissed former contractor, warped in the head, took revenge on society and attacked US Army soldiers bravely defending freedom. We will find 'evidence' to prove he had long been colluding with Terrorists, prove he was mentally unstable, prove that all of this was his personal madness."

She paused, the corners of her mouth even lifting in the faintest of smiles.

"As for the Witness department? It will just be an intelligence unit unfortunate enough to have been targeted by a lunatic. We'll conduct a 'thorough investigation', we'll 'reorganize the structure', we'll 'strengthen oversight'—all standard procedure. Three months from now, no one will remember the details. Six months from now, this will be a case study in political science courses. A year from now, it will be nothing but a Wikipedia entry."

Lemont felt a chill climb up his spine and spread along his nerves to every inch of skin.

He thought of the oath he'd taken when he joined the Central Intelligence Agency twenty years ago, of those words about honor, duty, and country, of everything he had once believed in.

And on the other end of the screen, this woman, this woman who might become the next President of the United States, was calmly calculating the political value of one hundred and seventy lives—and had reached the conclusion that they were more useful dead than alive.

The dead don't argue, don't leak secrets, don't misspeak at Congress hearings.

The dead can be molded into any image required, can be used to push any agenda needed, can be treated as chips to buy any political capital that's needed.

"Order confirmed?"

Lemont asked, at last.

His voice was so steady even he was surprised.

"Confirmed." Hillary said: "Hold your position and wait for support. God bless the United States."

She didn't even say "God bless you."

The video feed cut off.