Drone Strike: A Dreamland Thriller (Dale Brown's Dreamland) Read Online Free PDF Page A

him. “We’re ready. I’m ready.”
    “Yes,” said Kerala. “We will have a great battle if they are foolish enough to try. God willing.”

3
    Washington, D.C.
    P RESIDENT C HRISTINE T ODD SAT DOWN ON THE SMALL settee in the passage off the Cross Hall of the White House, listening to the hushed murmur of guests arriving in the State Dining Room a short distance away. Todd was hosting a dinner to honor the heads of several museums, part of a recent initiative to expand awareness of American history. It was a subject dear to the President’s heart, and she was especially looking forward to talking to the curator of a recent Smithsonian exhibit on George Washington. But history was hardly the only thing on her mind tonight.
    “Decision made?”
    Todd looked up at her national security advisor, Michael Blitz. Blitz looked like a walrus in his tuxedo—a gruff and grim walrus.
    “Still working on it,” she told him.
    “The Israeli ambassador is inside already.”
    “Mmmm.” Todd patted the bench, signaling for Blitz to sit. Blitz’s voice had a tendency to carry, and she didn’t want any of the guests overhearing.
    “There really are only two options,” said Blitz. “Let Iran have the weapon, or attack now. Stop the process.”
    “But for how long, Doctor?”
    Blitz had a Ph.D. in international affairs, but Todd tended to use the honorific sporadically. He’d told her several times that he took it as an indication of how she was feeling about him and his advice: if she used “Mister,” he was on thin ice; if she used “Doctor,” he was sunk.
    “If we strike, we stop it for at least a year,” said Blitz. “Maybe as long as five.”
    “Your staff estimated less than twelve months.”
    “That’s too pessimistic. Even the Secretary of State thinks it will be halted longer than that.”
    Todd glanced toward the hall, where one of her Secret Service agents stood, making sure no one wandered down the wrong way. A light scent of food wafted in; the amuse bouche maybe, or else a figment of Todd’s hungry imagination—she’d skipped lunch.
    “We need two years before the ABM system is fully operational and can protect Israel,” said Blitz. “Iran knows that. That’s why they’re trying to move so quickly.”
    “If there was a guarantee of success—or even a probability,” said Todd, “then the decision would be easier.”
    “The Israelis will attack if we don’t. The result of that will certainly be war—declared or undeclared. And as I said this afternoon, the probability of Iran actually using the bomb at some point goes up to one hundred percent in that scenario. Bad for your second term.”
    Todd managed a smile.
    “If you’re concerned, we should move ahead on the covert plan first.” Blitz himself preferred that option, and had in fact been pushing it. Todd saw the attraction, but didn’t like the odds.
    “A twenty percent chance of success?” She sighed. “And that’s if we’re not discovered.”
    “Better odds than anything else out there. Has Blackheart checked back with you?”
    “No. I expect he’ll be positive. But I doubt the odds will change.” Todd heard her husband clunking down the stairs. She rose just in time to see him step out from the landing. His eyes twinkled as they caught hers—all these years, and she still felt her heart kick up a few beats.
    “We’ll talk,” she told Blitz, holding her arm out for her escort.
    T WO HOURS LATER T OD D FOUND HERSELF IN A CORNER of the formal dining room, listening to a museum trustee describe funding problems. It was a litany she had heard many times in the past, and while she was sympathetic, there was little she could do about it. Her next budget—sure to be declared dead on arrival in Congress in any event—held arts appropriations steady from the year before. This in effect was a decrease, given inflation, but it was far better than Congress was likely to do. Even the defense budget would probably be cut in the