Read The War Cloud for Free Online Page A

fuming Block on the screen.
    Marshall said, “You have a problem with the plan, sir?”
    “You tell me, Marshall. How does Sachs compute into all your scenarios?”
    “She doesn’t, sir.”
    “What the hell does that mean, son?” Block demanded. “You see, unlike you, I’m an old fart who has no plans to run for office, or not run for office, whatever the hell dance you and the president had going on. So I can say whatever the hell I goddamn please.”
    Marshall bristled at the condescension and looked down at his screen. “Psych profile says she’s a reformer. The teachers unions hate her. Her husband died in the 9-11 attacks. Went down with the North Tower of the World Trade Center.”
    Block said, “You saying she might surprise us and prove tougher on the enemy?”
    “I’m saying if Sachs is appointed, she’s going to play by the book,” Marshall said. “And our playbook is pretty clear. Regardless of who’s the president, he or she has only a limited set of response options to choose from. In other words, she’s not a factor.”
    “Not a factor?” Block said in disbelief. “Hell, Marshall. The sight of her alone is going to inspire the chinks to unload everything they’ve got at us. So don’t give me this bullshit that she’s not a factor. You better goddamn believe she’s a factor. Figure out how.”
    Marshall crumpled the communiqué in his hand. “Yes, sir.”
    “God help us if she’s still alive, Marshall.”

16

1155 Hours
The Westchester School

    “T he federal government can’t do everything,” Sachs said from the podium in the gymnasium. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind her framed the school’s wintry track and field. “But it can do something.”
    The bored eyes of the students and faculty began to glaze over. Sachs could see Jennifer slump even lower in her folding chair.
    So much for the lecture circuit.
    “Please tell me there’s more to the United States of America than a libertarian philosophy of no government, no shared values, no community and the notion that the only moral authority for each of us is ourselves.”
    That seemed to perk them up, ironically, because the students and faculty stirred.
    “That’s not a country,” she continued with more feeling. “That’s chaos.”
    But all eyes were looking over her shoulder. She turned and blinked as two military Black Hawk choppers with side-mounted machine guns landed on the school green and soldiers in field uniforms jumped out.
    Suddenly there was a crash from the opposite side of the gym. A dozen men in dark overcoats and sunglasses burst through the doors into the gymnasium.
    Some kid yelled, “It’s Rambo!” as the men rushed past Jennifer to get to the podium. The look on Jennifer’s face said, “You really did it now, Mom.”
    The leader of the detail halted in front of Sachs. “Secret Service, ma’am. I’m Special Agent Raghav. You are Deborah Sachs?”
    “And you are?”
    “Special Agent Curtis Raghav. Secret Service. May I see your authentication card?”
    Sachs rummaged through her purse and presented her card to Special Agent Raghav.
    He looked back and forth at her like a passport inspector at Dulles International Airport, like she was on the terrorist watch list. Then, showing no emotion, he returned the card and nodded to the others. The agents closed ranks in a circle around her. “Please come with us.”
    Sachs didn’t budge. “Where?”
    “A secure location, ma’am.”
    “I’m not leaving my daughter.” She looked over at Jennifer, who took a few steps back into the crowd, trying to disappear.
    Raghav nodded to two agents. “Grab the kid.”
    “I’m not going anywhere with you goons!” Jennifer shouted as they approached her. “I’m staying with my friends.” She then shoved a prominent middle finger above the heads of the student body and made a break for the opposite exits, the two agents giving her chase.
    “Jennifer!” Sachs called out.
    But Raghav and the rest