File Zero. Джек Марс

pressed, “it is highly unorthodox, sir.”

      “I don’t think I need to remind you, General, that I am the only person that gets to decide who is in this room.” Pierson stared Rigby down.

      Zero almost smirked. He had never heard Pierson speak to anyone like that; usually his approach was diplomacy and charm. On the one hand, Zero could tell that the president was bedraggled by the events. On the other, it was nice to see him showing some real backbone.

      Rigby nodded and lowered himself back into his seat. “Yes sir.”

      “Mr. Holmes.” President Pierson nodded to his Chief of Staff, a short balding man with owlish glasses. “If you would.”

      “Of course, sir.” Peter Holmes rose and cleared his throat. “At approximately seventeen hundred hours local time, an Iranian battleship fired two rockets at the destroyer USS Constitution during a routine patrol in the Persian Gulf. Due to the recent change in ROE, with which I believe we’re all familiar, the Constitution was authorized to—”

      “Excuse me.” Zero raised his hand as if he was in a classroom, cutting off the Chief of Staff. “What change in ROE?”

      “The rules of engagement, Agent,” said Holmes.

      “I know the acronym,” Zero said shortly. “What was the change?”

      “In light of the recent attack on American soil,” Rigby cut in, “the president signed an executive order just this morning which dictates that any foreign force that fires within a specific proximity to American military personnel are to be considered hostile and dealt with using extreme prejudice.”

      Zero didn’t let himself show any reaction, but his mind churned. What a coincidence, he thought. “And what is the specific proximity, General?”

      “We’re not here to outline the details of an executive order,” Rigby shot back. “We’re here to discuss an extremely pressing and volatile situation.”

      Rigby was dodging the question. “What was the trajectory of the rockets?” Zero asked.

      “Sorry?” Holmes pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

      “The trajectory,” Zero repeated. “Angle of ascent, descent, type of rocket, proximity, anything. How much of a threat was this ship to the Constitution?”

      “Enough of a threat for a captain in the United States Navy to make a judgment call,” said Rigby forcefully. “Are you questioning the captain’s judgment, Agent Steele?”

      I’m questioning his motivations, he nearly said. But he held his tongue. He couldn’t afford to tip his hand again like he had twice already. “Not at all. I’m merely suggesting that there are three sides to this story. The captain’s, the Iranians’, and the truth. What about cameras?”

      “Cameras,” Rigby repeated flatly. He flashed a patronizing smirk. “Do you know a lot about destroyer-class ships, Agent?”

      “Can’t say I have a lot of experience.” This time Zero flashed a smirk of his own. “All I know is that the USS Constitution is an Arleigh-Burke class destroyer, built in 1988 and first commissioned in 1991. They were the only US destroyer class used from 2005 to 2016, until the Zumwalt class was commissioned. The Constitution would be outfitted with an Aegis integrated weapons system, antisubmarine rockets, a passive electronically scanned radar array, and Tomahawk missiles—the latter of which I’m assuming was used to destroy the Iranian vessel and claim seventy-six lives. Considering it is one of the most technologically advanced machines on the entire ocean, and that it’s carrying enough firepower to conquer any number of banana republics, I would assume that cameras weren’t out of the question.”

      Rigby stared him down for a long moment. “No cameras picked up the angle of attack,” he said finally. “But you’re welcome to read the captain’s report if you’d like.” The general slid a folder Zero’s way.

      He opened it; the first page was a very brief report, only a few paragraphs, from a Captain Warren. The details were sparse. Warren claimed simply that an IRGC ship fired two rockets at the Constitution. Neither hit, but the attempt was deemed enough of a threat for Warren to make the judgment call to return fire—with, as Zero had predicted, eight Tomahawk missiles. The enemy ship had been obliterated.

      Not only was it overkill, but that was the only part of the report that Zero actually believed. Anything else would have been easy to falsify. The Persian Gulf, and Captain Warren, was thousands of miles away. Far from anyone being able to question him meaningfully.

      “Brass tacks,” said Rigby, “are that Iran is publicly considering this an act of war. They say we fired first. We say they fired first. There’s been no formal declaration of war from them, but the American people are going to expect a definitive answer. We cannot abide another attack—”

      “Another attack?” Zero interjected again.

      Rigby blinked at him. “Were you not in the Midtown Tunnel at the time of the bombing, Agent? When hundreds of American lives were lost?”

      Zero shook his head. “That was the work of a radical terrorist faction that consisted of less than twenty men. Not an entire nation or region.”

      “Tell that to the American people,” Rigby argued.

      Zero said nothing in response, but he knew in that moment that his assumption was right. The conspirators wanted to use the recent attack as a way to rally the people to the cause of war.

      “All right,” Pierson cut in, holding up a hand. “Let’s take a step back here. Roland, what sort of global responses are we seeing?”

      The Secretary of State, Roland Kemmerer, quickly scanned his notes as he spoke. “Bad news first, I suppose. Intelligence and satellite recon suggests that Iran is already seeking allies in Iraq and Oman, as well as some Syrian nationalist groups. If they banded together, they would have the ability to close the Strait of Hormuz.”

      There was a moment of reverential silence to allow the comment to sink in before Rigby said, “You know how detrimental that could be, Mr. President.”

      “Not only would that eliminate a strategic advantage for the Fifth Fleet,” Holmes added, “but we could be facing a major economic downturn.”

      “A recession, to say the least. Possibly worse.” Kemmerer shook his head.

      Zero bit his tongue to keep from reacting. Sons of bitches. This was as rehearsed as a play. They’d been waiting for years for this exact moment. He never would have imagined that he would be present for it, yet here he was, sitting in the Situation Room as these warmongers attempted to sway a president.

      Pierson rubbed his chin pensively. His face was ashen; not only was he the sole person responsible for whether or not America would go to war, but a recession was clearly not something he had considered previously. “Is there any good news?”

      The Secretary of State sighed. “Eventually. The UN wants to investigate the incident. The European Union, China, Japan, and most other allies are already issuing proclamations of neutrality in any future conflict that might arise. Except for one.”

      Zero knew it well before Kemmerer even said it.

      “Russia.” The Secretary of State fidgeted slightly in his seat. “It seems their own trade agreements with Iran have been deteriorating. They’re ready to lend their support if we need it.”

      “President Ivanov has already pledged resources to our cause if we decided that it was in our best interests,” said Holmes.

      “War,” the president murmured. “Might as well call it what it is. If war is in our best interests.”

      Zero glanced over at Pierson. The president’s complexion had taken on a sallow aspect, and he stared blankly at the shiny mahogany tabletop. Despite how adept Zero was at reading expressions and tells, he couldn’t say whether or not Pierson was buying the load of bullshit that his cabinet was selling. But if he had to guess, he would say that Pierson was caving.

      “General