The Syrian Sunset by Howard Kaplan

Author:Howard Kaplan [Kaplan, Howard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Howard Kaplan
Published: 2022-11-21T16:00:00+00:00

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President Barack Obama strode into the National Security Council room in the White House where Chief of Staff, Dennis McDonough, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Marty Dempsey, Vice-President Joe Biden, James Clapper, Director of National Intelligence, John Kerry, Secretary of State, Ben Rhodes, Deputy National Security Advisor, various greater and lesser generals, and the CIA’s Paul McEnnerney filled every seat around the conference room table littered with papers, laptops, binders, and water bottles already drained and toppled from the battle.

“New suit?” President Obama asked McE, shrouded in double-breasted white linen.

“Wife had it at the back of the closet, rotates the stock. Like in a paint store. She wants everything used. Little tight around the waist, if I’m confessing.”

“Come shoot some hoops. I’ll work it off you. Call up to the residence anytime.”

“Love to. Good thing I’m not competitive.”

Obama released that big smile of his, not long captive even in the worst of times. He slid elegantly into a cushioned chair, his demeanor somber before he landed.

“So Bashar did this while the UN chemical inspection team was two miles away cooling their heels in the Sheraton swimming pool?” Obama said matter-of-factly.

The avuncular, bald Clapper said, “After a delay, they’re on scene in Ghouta. Collecting samples. All signs point to the Assad regime having launched a sarin attack. The case is not a slam dunk.”

Obama spoke immediately, “Jim, no one asked you if it was a slam dunk.”

McEnnerney saw the stress in the deep webs at Obama’s eyes. Rhodes too seemed agitated, was unfolding a paperclip with vengeance. He was half-Jewish by birth and understandably highly sensitive about killing gas. Everybody was elevated on eggshells because of Iraq. George Tenet, Bush’s CIA honcho, had promised Saddam’s stockpile of nuclear weapons was a “slam dunk.” McE hadn’t bothered to read his book to see if it contained a mea culpa, with the “but” these chiefs always appended.

Obama turned to him, “McE?”

“We have a high confidence assessment it’s sarin. Good deal more than a thousand dead. The regime is saying the rebels bombed themselves. I supposed they hauled the missiles to the rooftops and then pitched them over.”

Dempsey spoke, had been arguing that if they charged into Syria’s quicksand, they’d sink and disappear. Now his face reddened with the convert’s conviction. “We can’t remain on the sidelines any longer. We need to take decisive action. Even if we cannot predict the outcome with any certainty.”

“I’m concerned about the UN inspectors,” Obama interjected. “Can something be done to get them out of Damascus before we launch?”

Kerry spoke softly. “They’re going to say they want to finish. They’ll need maybe three days.”

“We cannot wait any longer than that,” a miscellaneous general said. “Enough pussyfooting. We need to hit them hard, a lesson they’ll feel. Otherwise, we’re complicit in mass murder.”

Clapper said, “They may already be moving civilians into the potential targets to deter us. They like to crowd prisoners into the military airports, make them sleep on the runways.”

“They could, even will,” McE informed. “But haven’t yet.

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