By Dawn's Early Light Page 5

  Michael swallowed the insult to the NSA without even wincing. He watched, growing more and more curious, as the president painstakingly typed a message:

  Daniel—

  Michael Reed with me now. Proof of large numbers of Arab and Sudanese fighters being trained in Russia. Significance?

  SS

  Stedman clicked Send, then leaned back in his chair and exhaled in an audible sigh as the screen flickered and went blank. “Sorry about my slow typing.” The chair creaked as the president swiveled to face Michael. “But computers weren’t standard operating equipment when I was in school. I’ve had to pick up what I could as I practiced on this thing.” He jerked his head toward the laptop. “I wouldn’t have a computer at all, but Daniel and Lauren insisted I needed a secure way to communicate with them without interference. Daniel keeps in touch, and he’ll get back to me in just a few minutes. He’s never let me down.”

  Michael stared at the computer as a new realization bloomed in his brain. Nancy Reagan sought guidance from her astrologers; Bill Clinton used Hillary as a sounding board. Stedman’s secret hot line to Daniel Prentice topped both of them. He gestured toward the laptop. “Does Powell know about this little setup?”

  Stedman gave Michael a look of faint amusement. “He knows I’m in touch with Daniel, but he has no idea how, and I promised Daniel I’d keep his e-mail address confidential. But since Daniel has contacted you himself, there’s no need for me to keep the address from you.”

  Michael rubbed his hand over his jaw. “I wonder if he’s corresponding with anyone else.”

  “I didn’t know about you, so it’s a safe bet he is.” Stedman’s brow wrinkled as something moved in his eyes. “Daniel is his own man, and he does what he needs to do. Fortunately, he has the genius and the technology to pull off all sorts of escapades.”

  They sat for a moment in companionable silence, and then Michael asked a question that had been niggling at him for months: “Why is he still hiding? Surely it’s safe for him to come home.”

  “I would love for Daniel and Lauren to come back to Washington.” Unspoken pain glowed in Stedman’s eyes. “Victoria and I loved Lauren like a daughter. But Daniel made powerful enemies when he worked with the Y2K problem, and he doesn’t dare underestimate them. If they could get to Victoria within the safe confines of the White House, Daniel knows they could get to him or Lauren anywhere.” He paused, regarding his laptop with a speculative gaze. “It’s far safer for Daniel Prentice to be thought dead than to surface. With the blessing of the Canadian government, I myself sealed the results of the DNA tests on the body found near the old SAGE base in Canada.”

  “If it wasn’t Prentice—” Michael hesitated, uncomfortably aware that he was asking the president to divulge a secret better off buried.

  “It was one of the enemy.” Stedman shrugged. “No tears were shed for him. And the appearance of a body helped quiet the rumors about Daniel and Lauren Prentice.”

  Michael let his gaze rove around the office as they waited in silence. A grouping of framed photographs occupied a bookshelf behind the president’s desk, and Michael immediately recognized the elegant woman featured in one of them. Victoria Stedman had been a beloved first lady, and the nation as well as her husband mourned her loss. The next photograph was of a young girl, probably eighteen or nineteen, smiling behind the wheel of a car. Though Michael’s memory was a little fuzzy, he was fairly certain the girl was Jessica Stedman, who had been killed in a boating accident years before her father ran for president.

  A bell chimed from the laptop, and the president nodded in satisfaction as he swiveled to face the computer. “I didn’t think he’d keep us waiting. Daniel must walk around with a laptop under his arm.”

  Stedman clicked on the message, and the screen filled with a mishmash of jumbled letters. “More security,” the president grumbled in a good-natured tone as he clicked another series of keys. “Sometimes I think Daniel is paranoid.”

  “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you,” Michael said, reciting a common joke around his office.

  Stedman grimaced in good humor, his eyes intent upon the screen. From where he sat, Michael couldn’t make out the words, but he didn’t interrupt until the president had finished reading.

  When he turned to face Michael again, the president wore a puzzled look. Before sharing the message, however, he tilted his head and asked, “How well did you know Daniel, Captain Reed?”

  Michael straightened in his chair. “Not terribly well, sir. I met him and Brad Hunter just before the start of the Gulf War. We ate dinner together a few nights, swapped a few stories aboard ship. I was much closer to Brad than to Daniel.”

  Stedman nodded, his eyes distant. “It wouldn’t matter, I suppose. Daniel didn’t become interested in world politics until last year. But I think it’s fair to say he’s become quite knowledgeable—probably a bit of an expert.”

  Michael clasped his hands. “I noticed that about him when we met. Whatever he set his hand to do, he did it well—or he stayed at it until he did it well.”

  The president looked down, his lined eyelids hiding his eyes. “I don’t know if you are aware of this, but in the past few months Daniel has become a believer in the Bible. He’s quite passionate about his belief, as is Lauren. And he has begun to search the Scriptures, particularly the Old Testament prophets, for clues about what will happen in the last days.”

  Michael felt his stomach drop. The empty place filled with a frightening hollowness as he stared at the president. “Does he really think these are the last days?”

  “I’m afraid he does.”

  Michael looked away, unable to believe what he was hearing. “That’s strange, because Daniel never impressed me as an extremist. He was anything but a gloom-and-doomer, not at all the type to run around and scream about the sky falling.”

  Stedman inclined his gray head. “He’s still not that type. I’ve never seen anyone approach a conviction with such complete assurance and reliability. He is not making rash predictions; he’s not pessimistic. But he’s told me about things I should watch for, and he’s been right on more occasions than I care to admit. And this letter—” He leaned his elbow on the armrest of his chair and rested his head on his knuckles. “Well, he’s giving us a lot to consider. Coupled with the information you’ve brought today, I think Daniel may be on to something.”

  A pulse of apprehension coursed through Michael as he waited for an explanation, but Stedman only stared through the wall, his thoughts apparently a million miles away.

  “Sir,” Michael began, approaching with caution, “may I know what Daniel has told you? If it is relevant to the information I’ve just brought—”

  The president abruptly snapped out of his reverie and clicked on a computer icon. “Captain, it is nothing but relevant.” A second later, the printer on the credenza began to hum. A sheet of paper shot out and landed in the printer tray, then the president handed the sheet to Michael.

  “Read Daniel’s message yourself, Captain,” Stedman said, returning to his pensive pose. “Then let me know what you think.”

  Michael began to read:

  Dear Mr. President:

  The news from Russia and the Arab world is not at all surprising.

  Consider the words of the prophet Ezekiel, chapter 38: “Son of man, set your face against Gog, of the land of Magog, the chief prince of Meshech and Tubal; prophesy against him and say: ‘This is what the Sovereign Lord says: I am against you, o Gog, chief prince of Meshech and Tubal. I will turn you around, put hooks in your jaws and bring you out with your whole army—your horses, your horsemen fully armed, and a great horde with large and small shields, all of them brandishing their swords. Persia, Cush and Put will be with them, all with shields and helmets, also Gomer with all its troops, and Beth Togarmah from the far north with all its troops—the many nations with you.

  “‘Get ready; be prepared, you and all the hordes gathered abou
t you, and take command of them. After many days you will be called to arms. In future years you will invade a land that has recovered from war, whose people were gathered from many nations to the mountains of Israel, which had long been desolate. They had been brought out from the nations, and now all of them live in safety.’”

  There is more, Mr. President, but I will attempt to summarize.

  The ancient list of nations can be translated as follows: Magog is Russia, while Meshech and Tubal represent ancient divisions of Russia. Persia is Iran, Iraq, and Afghanistan. Cush and Put are contemporary Ethiopia, Sudan, and Libya. Gomer represents as yet undetermined countries of Eastern Europe, and Beth Togarmah includes Turkey and southeastern Europe. Ezekiel’s phrase “the many nations with you” could indicate another multinational group, perhaps the European Union or a force from the United Nations.

  Ezekiel spoke of “a land that has recovered from war, whose people were gathered from many nations,” and that land is undoubtedly Israel. And as a result of the recently concluded peace process with the PLo, Israel is now dwelling in safety.

  I am in contact with an American in Moscow, and she confirms that the Russian army is currently engaging in a massive series of war games. The minister of defense, the man the Scripture identifies as Gog, is negotiating with emissaries from the exact nations Ezekiel foretold.

  Israel must be warned, and she must be prepared. The enemy is coming.

  His name is Gen. Vladimir Vasilievich Gogol.

  The rest of Daniel’s message was a personal greeting from Lauren, but Michael’s brain didn’t even register those words, so struck was he by Daniel’s analysis of the current situation.

  “I work in the Middle East division,” he heard himself saying as his hand dropped into his lap. “I’m not an expert on Russia or her military advisors. I’ve heard of this General Gogol, but I’m really not up to speed on his activities.”

  “If Daniel’s right, there will be no stopping him.” Stedman’s eyes were still abstracted with thought, but they cleared as he looked up and met Michael’s gaze. “What was the phrase Ezekiel used? ‘I will put hooks in your jaws and bring you out.’ If God himself will bring this Russian forward, then these things will happen no matter what we do.”

  Michael listened in bewilderment. “Surely, sir, you don’t believe the Scriptures are referring to an actual invasion. For every theologian who believes as Daniel does, I could find a dozen who believe that passage from Ezekiel is a metaphor for the apocalyptic battle between good and evil. Others would say it applies to an altogether different event in history.”

  “Victoria would believe Daniel.” Stedman’s faint smile held a touch of sadness. “She always insisted the Bible was infallible. If God said something would come to pass, she knew it would.”

  Michael sat back, momentarily rebuffed. After a long hesitation, he tried a different approach. “Sir, I consider myself a Christian. I grew up in the church, and I’ve sat through more Sunday school classes than I can count. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about theology, it’s that in these gray areas we all must agree to disagree if we’re going to keep the peace.”

  “The peace is not going to last.” The president’s vivid blue eyes were distant and still. “We’ve known that all along. Throughout the peace negotiations, Arafat told the Palestinians he would offer Israel ‘the peace of Saladin.’ Any historian knows Saladin was the Muslim leader who attacked the Crusaders after he had negotiated a truce with them. Arafat has also described the current peace treaty as being like ‘the al-Khudaibiya peace,’ the ten-year treaty Mohammed broke after only two years.” The president shook his head. “No. The Mideastern peace was never intended to last.”

  Michael’s mind whirled at Stedman’s dry response. This was not something he should be discussing with the president of the United States. This was a matter for people at the UN, for foreign policy specialists, for the president’s cabinet and the Joint Chiefs. Yet Stedman seemed to be voicing his thoughts aloud, and Michael wondered whether he was expected to serve as a sounding board or play devil’s advocate. Certainly the president needed someone in whom he could confide. Deprived of his wife and two of his closest friends, his circle of confidants had grown smaller in the past few months.

  “Sir,” Michael began, “maybe the passage Daniel quoted is just a prophetic warning—something intended to urge us toward caution. America certainly can’t afford a war in the Middle East, particularly with the oil princes of the Arab nations. We depend too heavily upon foreign oil.”

  “Daniel thinks it’s more than a warning.” Stedman placed his broad hands on the edge of his desk, his knuckles whitening as he gripped it. “And I’ve got to do something for Israel. Her enemies are coming.”

  “But Russia can’t afford to launch a major war right now. Her economy is in ruins—”

  “That’s why it’s significant that her allies are the Arabs. The Arab nations have money . . . and the Russians have the military expertise. It’s a match made—well, we can’t say it was made in heaven, can we?”

  Trying to force his confused emotions into order, Michael pressed his lips together. This president couldn’t afford to become involved in an explosive foreign military situation, especially not when his presidential opponent was preaching isolationism.

  Devil’s advocate it would be, then. He took a deep breath and launched out into unknown waters. “Sir, I believe we’ve done more than enough for Israel; we’ve certainly done more for her than for any other nation. Israel has benefited from U.S. military assistance at a level of approximately $1.8 billion annually since the mid-1980s. We officiated at the signings of the peace treaties; we sent troops with the UN force to oversee the Israeli withdrawals from the Gaza Strip, the Golan Heights, and most of the West Bank. Your political opponents won’t allow you to do more, especially not with the election only one month away.”

  The president looked at the ceiling, as if appealing to a higher authority, then turned his gaze to Michael. “You’re right, of course. So I won’t do anything public. I will do something quietly and work in plain sight. We send military representatives to liaise with foreign governments all the time, so I’ll send someone to Israel. He will quietly learn if they are aware of this impending threat, and he’ll ask what we can do to help. If they need arms, if they need planes, we’ll take care of it. When the election is over and everyone has forgotten about Blackstone and his fantasy world, I’ll be able to get the necessary appropriations from Congress to push through an aid package. We’ll make certain Israel can stand up to anything that comes her way.”

  Michael brought his hand to his chin, a little unnerved by the president’s broad assumptions. He was assuming that he’d win the election and that Congress would be willing to extend still more foreign aid to Israel. In case of an imminent attack they could, of course, advance certain weapons from the Sixth Fleet in the Mediterranean without congressional approval, but Stedman was obviously thinking of major American involvement . . .

  Would the American people sign on for a war to defend Israel? Somehow Michael doubted it.

  He shifted his weight and checked his watch, sincerely hoping the president had another appointment. “Well, if there’s nothing else, sir—”

  “There is something else.” Stedman’s palm slapped the desk, startling Michael like a thunderclap. “I want you to be my personal representative in Israel. You and Daniel are in touch, Daniel and I are in touch, and I’d bet my bottom dollar that Daniel will be able to put you and me in touch while you’re over there. I’ll send you to Maj. Gen. Doron Yanai, director of the IDF Liaison Unit, and you’ll ask to speak to Lt. Gen. Yehuda Almog, chief of the general staff and the man directly under the minister of defense. You’ll quietly convey my regards and offer our assistance.”

  Michael sat there, blank, amazed, and more shaken than he cared to admit. Apparently oblivious to Michael’s dismay, the president rocked back in his chair and continued his train of thought. “I�
��d be surprised if the Israelis aren’t already aware of the facts you shared with me this morning. Their Mossad agents don’t miss a trick about what goes on in those Arab camps. So you’ll go, see what they need, and determine how we can help.”

  Michael finally found breath enough to speak. “But, sir—”

  Wearing the satisfied smile of a man who has solved a pressing problem, Stedman lifted a silver brow. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that the Israelis cannot afford to lose a single battle.” His face suddenly went grim. “Now that they no longer have the Golan Heights from which they could repel a conventional attack, Israel has little choice but to respond to aggression with nuclear weapons. Israel might be defeated in a full-fledged invasion, but she’ll take her neighbors with her.”

  Michael took pains to sheathe his voice in a neutral tone. “The Samson Option.”

  “Exactly. Die if you must, but destroy your enemies in the process.”

  Michael stared at the carpet as the muscles of his throat moved in a convulsive swallow. “Mr. President, I appreciate your confidence in me, but I really don’t think I’m the right man for this job. I spent quite a bit of time in Lebanon, back in ’82 and ’83. I didn’t like the Middle East much then, and I don’t think I’ll like it now. I respectfully ask that you find someone else for this assignment.”

  Stedman didn’t answer, but Michael felt the pressure of that blue gaze upon him. When he lifted his head, the president’s eyes were compassionate, troubled, and still. “Perhaps it’s just me,” he said, his voice containing a strong suggestion of reproach, “but don’t you think it’s odd that an expert on the Middle East wouldn’t enjoy traveling in that part of the world?”

  Michael lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “It’s personal, sir.”

  The president nodded slowly, then picked up a pencil and balanced it between his fingers while his other hand came to rest on the uppermost folder on his desk. “I think I understand your reasons, son. I had the NSA fax over a copy of your file after my secretary told me you’d be coming in this morning.”