The Confirmation (6 page)

It was 7:37 a.m. when William Jacobs, director of the CIA, turned the knob on the door of his hideaway office on the third floor, which had no signage, and gathered his staff around him. A large, physical man with an awkward gait and penetrating brown eyes, he radiated brilliance and exuded discretion. Jacobs had come to his role as the world's leading spymaster via a circuitous path. After a stint as a naval intelligence officer, he spent ten years at the Defense Intelligence Agency before becoming disillusioned by the infighting among rival agencies. Retiring a jaded patriot, he took a cushy job at the Rand Corporation, where he wrote an article expressing doubt about Saddam Hussein's WMD program. When every intelligence agency in the world got it wrong about WMD stockpiles in Iraq, Jacobs was heralded as a prophet. The Senate refused to confirm a new CIA director unless Jacobs was part of a package deal as deputy director, and when he retired, Jacobs ascended to the top job. Long barely knew Jacobs, but with only fifteen days to assemble a government after his election by the House, he asked him to stay on. Jacobs, who lived by the rule that one never turned down the president, agreed.

Jacobs glanced at the wall clock. He was due in the Oval in ten minutes. He did a final run-through with his staff, methodically laying pages of the President's Daily Briefing (PDF), the Bible of the Agency, out on the desk. The unpretentious surroundings—plaster walls, historical prints, government-issue furniture—gave no indication that they were reviewing the most sensitive material in the entire government for the leader of the free world on his first full day in office.

“We're about to drop the hammer on him,” Jacobs said. “Expect objections because it's going to be unwelcome news.” His eyes scanned the room. “Let's be ready for push back.”

“Sources,” replied one of the briefers. “How do we know? Can we be sure?”

“Precisely.” Jacobs liked to quiz his staff, pushing them. “What's our answer?”

“Multiple sources, tested with sound methodology by our best analysts,” replied the briefer. “Stress the variegated nature of the evidence: satellite photos, captured telephonic conversations, verified reports from foreign clandestine services, solid interpolation of the data, and humint,” he said, referring to human intelligence.

“He'll ask if this is the Cuban missile crisis or Colin Powell at the UN,” deadpanned a second briefer.

Jacobs stared back. “Can you blame him?” he asked. “After Iraq, we've got a high bar to clear.” His eyes surveyed every face. “Is everyone absolutely confident about this? If not, speak now or forever hold your peace.” Jacobs knew that once his shadow crossed the threshold of the Oval Office, there was no turning back. A tense silence hung in the air as his probing eyes scanned every face. No one said a word.

“We've got it right,” said one of the briefers at last.

“Alright,” said Jacobs. “Grab your jockstraps and let's go.”

BOB LONG HAD ENTERED the Oval Office at 7:00 a.m. sharp and slid into the chair behind the large
HMS Resolute
desk that was the centerpiece of the room. The decoratively carved oak desk had been used by Franklin Roosevelt, John F. Kennedy, Ronald Reagan, and George W. Bush. A gift to the United States from Queen Victoria in 1880, it had been fashioned from the timbers of a British ship abandoned at sea in 1854. After a U.S. navy captain returned it to Great Britain, it was decommissioned with the desk built from its wooden remains. A symbol of the close relationship between England and America, it was best known for the trapdoor on the front, which John F. Kennedy Jr. had once crawled through as a little boy, captured by White House photographers at the height of Camelot.

In the few hours between the preinaugural coffee and the parade, workers had replaced the carpet (Long had selected the royal blue with a beige trim), the drapes, the furniture, and the paintings on the wall, and switched out the desks. On the walls hung portraits of Washington, FDR, and Reagan, signaling Long's independence and the bipartisan spirit of his administration. Long marveled at the transformation of the room and the efficiency of the White House staff.

Three soft raps on the door. “Mr. President, Director Jacobs is here,” said his assistant.

The president nodded firmly. “Send him in.”

Jacobs walked across the room in long strides and shook the president's hand firmly, making eye contact. Accompanying him was the briefer who would actually conduct the PDF review, chief of staff Charlie Hector, and national security advisor Truman Greenglass. Jacobs sat down in the chair to the president's immediate left, Greenglass to the right, and Hector and the CIA briefer took chairs directly across from the president. Long's desk had not a scrap of paper on it. Jacobs handed him a brown booklet labeled “TOP SECRET/EYES ONLY.”

The president began to flip open the book. Jacobs held up his hand to stop him. “Mr. President, before we begin, I'd like to tell you a story.”

“Sure,” Long replied, perplexed but curious. “Go ahead. I like stories.”

“When Franklin Roosevelt sat in that chair in this very office,” Jacobs began, “a group of Princeton scientists asked Bernard Baruch to hand-deliver a letter to the president from Albert Einstein. In it Einstein warned that Nazis scientists were conducting experiments to unlock the power of the atom for military purposes.” Long listened intently, his eyes unmoving. “FDR launched the Manhattan Project, and we got the bomb first.” Jacobs leaned forward. “If Roosevelt had not acted, the Nazis might have won the war.”

Long nodded slowly. He swallowed hard.

“Mr. President, the information we are sharing with you this morning is as critical to our national security as Einstein's letter to FDR.” Jacobs had a reputation as a no-nonsense, low-key DCI. He was not known for hyperbole or melodrama. The tension in the room thickened. Jacobs turned to the CIA briefer and nodded.

“Mr. President, if you turn to the first article in your book, you will see that we conclude with a high degree of confidence that Iran has now weaponized a nuclear device.” He paused, letting the blow sink in. “I won't regurgitate the entire document. The high points are: Iran has had some twenty-five thousand centrifuges producing highly enriched uranium for three years. We assess that they have had enough for a nuclear weapon for about a year. What they have lacked was the technical ability to create a chain reaction leading to an explosion. Until now.”

“How did they get that?” asked Long.

“They acquired it from a highly placed scientist in the North Korean nuclear program.”

“A North Korean version of A. Q. Khan,” said Jacobs.

“He was the Pakistani scientist who sold nuclear secrets to Lybia,” noted Greenglass.

“I know,” said Long. He was growing testy.

“We assume North Korea is behind the technology transfer, but that is conjecture to some extent,” said the briefer. “Proliferation is a cancer. Once it's out of the bottle, it's hard to get it back in.”

“How do we know about the North Korean connection?” interjected Hector.

“The German intelligence service intercepted communications between the North Korean black marketer and his Swiss middleman,” replied Jacobs. “We worked with the Germans to get the Swiss engineer's bank records and computer files. We have everything—hard drives, wire transfers, e-mails, documents, you name it. It's open and shut.”

Long let out an expletive. His eyes focused on the PDF.

IRAN HAS OBTAINED A NUCLEAR WEAPON

We assess with a high degree of confidence that after years of pursuing a uranium enrichment program with dual use capability, Iran has now obtained a nuclear weapon. It has done so by indigenously producing sufficient weapons-usable fissile material and by obtaining from a rogue North Korean scientist the capability to explode a nuclear device.

Combined with Iran's long-range missile capability, specifically the Shahab-4, which has a range of two thousand miles, allowing it to strike Tel Aviv and many major cities in Europe, Tehran's nuclear weapons pose a grave and immediate threat to Israel, Europe, and possibly the United States.

We are unable to judge whether Iran's nuclear weapons program is primarily offensive or defensive in nature. It is plausible that Iran views it as a nuclear deterrent to an Israeli or U.S. attack. Iran may also see nuclear weapons as vital to achieving its clearly articulated goals of being a dominant Middle East power and having the capability to strike Tel Aviv.

Tehran views its nuclear weapons program as critical to achieving its regional and global foreign policy aspirations. For that reason we judge that it is unlikely that international pressure will be sufficient to persuade Iran to dismantle its nuclear weapons program.

Long scanned the document hurriedly as the conversation around him faded in and out of his hearing. The frightening truth? He did not feel entirely prepared on his first day on the job, after an exhausting two-year presidential campaign that had ended just two weeks ago, to process this body blow. Through a tangle of conflicting emotions—frustration at the CIA for ambushing him, anger at his predecessor for leaving it for him, and self-pity that it was now his problem—Long felt the full weight of the presidency fall on his shoulders.

“Mr. President?” asked Jacobs.

“Yes?” Long replied, snapping back to attention.

“Do you have any further questions?”

Long looked back at him nonplussed. “Yes,” he said, visibly uncomfortable, shifting in his chair. “What do we do? I mean, is this a fait accompli, or are there any actionable options?”

“Mr. President, that is not the function of the CIA,” Jacobs said, throwing a polite brush-back pitch. “Our job is to provide sound intelligence to you and other clients in the government. What comes next is up to you after consultation with State, Defense, NSC, and the Joint Chiefs.” He paused. “That's the law.”

Long frowned. Typical, he thought: the CIA drops a live grenade on the table and then runs for cover. The Agency had practically invented the CYA maneuver.

Greenglass jumped in. “Bill, I think what the president is asking is, what's the next step? We need to inform the American people and other governments. How much of what we know can we say publicly?”

Jacobs stared Greenglass down, his gaze steady. “I don't do PR. But this is as solid a case as I've seen in my thirty-four-year career. The evidence is from many sources, including electronic surveillance, foreign clandestine services, and human sources.”

“Slam dunk?” asked Hector, a wicked smile curling on his face.

Jacobs said nothing. He didn't think it was funny.

“Keep digging,” the president said firmly, appearing to regain his balance. “And check in with Mossad. They're going to be players. Israel's not going to take this lying down.”

Jacobs appeared to flinch. “That's what worries me, Mr. President. Israel is our ally, but they're a tricky customer.” He paused. “We will touch base with them—with appropriate caution.”

Long smiled knowingly. “Truman will reach out to his counterpart as well. We need to decide whether it is in our interest for the Israelis to take some action, and if so, what. But in the end they are a sovereign nation. We can't tell them what to do.”

The president's words hung in the air. Was he talking about a military strike? The meeting ended without a clear answer. Jacobs and the CIA briefer left, accompanied by Greenglass. Hector closed the door and approached the desk, his face drained of color. Long turned in his chair to face him. He wore a shell-shocked expression.

“There are two people I want to see,” said Long. “Yehuda Serwitz and Sami Saad.” He had named the Israeli and Egyptian ambassadors to the U.S. “Get them in here.”

“Done, sir. I'll also organize a Principals meeting,” said Hector.

Long let out a long sigh. “We're not in Kansas anymore, Charlie.”

LISA ROBINSON STOOD BEHIND the podium in the White House briefing room, her hands grasping its edges, knuckles white. The White House press corps had applauded when she entered the room, but now the fireworks had started. They peppered her with hostile questions, interrupted her answers, and generally caused a ruckus. It was 1:07 p.m. on her first day as the president's communications director, and the honeymoon was officially over.

“Reuters is reporting that during their ride to the Capitol yesterday, the former president urged Long to retaliate militarily against Iran for its alleged role in the assassination of Vice President Flaherty. Can you confirm that?” asked UPI.

“I'm not able to comment on that report. I don't have a readout of the conversation on the trip from the White House to the Capitol,” Lisa volleyed back.

“Did they talk about Iran at all?”

“That's just not something I'm going to be able to comment on,” Lisa said, fouling off the follow-up. “There have been numerous conversations about a range of foreign policy issues during the transition. Those included conversations at the staff level, as well as between the president and the then president-elect.”

“I'm talking about in the car between the outgoing president and Long—”

“I've already told you I don't have a readout.” Lisa's mind raced—how did Reuters know about such a conversation? Who was talking?

“Can you get us a readout?”

“Don't hold your breath,” Lisa deadpanned. The press corps chuckled.

“Lisa, the Anti-Defamation League sent a letter to the White House today criticizing Andy Stanton's prayer at the inaugural. They say the prayer was ‘intolerant and exclusionary,'” said CBS News. “They're asking for a formal apology from the president.”

“There is a long tradition of inaugural prayers invoking the deity,” Lisa replied. “Dr. Stanton's prayer was entirely consistent with that tradition.”