The Archangel Project by C.S. Graham Page A

Americans who have been injured or died for it all. Not to mention the hundreds of thousands of Iraqi civilians.”
    Clark Westlake held himself very still. “What are you suggesting, sir?”
    Beckham swung around. “I’m suggesting that thereare forces in this country that want war with Iran the same way they wanted war with Iraq, and for the same reasons. Not because either one of those half-assed desert states presents any real threat to this country, but because war is profitable, or because it fits in well with their own hidden agendas, or because they have some crazy idea that the end of the world is upon us and all they have to do to see God is ignite some final biblical confrontation in the Middle East.”
    â€œAfter what al-Qa’ida did to this country—”
    â€œAl-Qa’ida?” The Vice President swiped one hand through the air. “Al-Qa’ida had nothing to do with Iraq, remember? Until we smashed the place and unleashed the fires of hell over there, Iraq was a secular state.”
    â€œBut Iran—”
    â€œOh, yes; Iran is different. It definitely is run by a bunch of religious nuts. But they’ve never been allied with either al-Qa’ida, or the Taliban either. I wish we could say the same,” he added dryly, “although everyone seems to have conveniently forgotten that shining example of American stupidity.”
    A heavy silence fell upon the room, broken only by the distant honking of traffic out on the street. Everyone knew the United States had supported the Taliban after the Russian invasion of Afghanistan, just like the CIA probably had more to do with the formation of al-Qa’ida than Osama bin Laden. But it was considered bad form in Washington to mention it. Clark rose slowly to his feet. “The threat of an Iranian-directed terrorist attack on this country is real, sir. Real, and imminent.”
    Beckham shook his head. “No. I don’t believe it. Those Iranian mullahs might be a bunch of reactionary fundamentalist bastards, but they’re not stupid. Any state that launches a terrorist attack on this country risks immediate destruction, and the Iranians know it. If we attack them, they’ll hit back at us with everything they have. But they won’t strike first. And you know it.”
    The two men faced each other across the length of the room. “What do you think this is? Deliberate scare mongering?”
    â€œActually, yes. You people fooled me once before, and a lot of innocent people are now dead because of it. I won’t be fooled again.” He raised one bony finger to point at Clark across the room. “And make no mistake about this: I’m prepared to go public with my concerns if need be.”
    It was no idle threat, and they both knew it. The idiot still had considerable influence on the Hill and with the press.
    Clark Westlake held his jaw tight, his breath coming quick and fast. “If there’s nothing more, sir, I’ll excuse myself.”
    â€œOf course,” said Beckham stiffly. “Thank you for the briefing.”
    â€œI’ll make sure the President is aware of your concerns,” said Westlake, and left.
    The outer office was dark and quiet in the gathering gloom. Susan was no longer at her desk.

13
    New Orleans: 4 June 8:05 P.M . Central time
    Tobie was spooning Pet Promise Wild Salmon Formula into Beauregard’s bowl in the kitchen when the doorbell rang.
    For an instant she froze. Beauregard meowed, weaving impatiently in and out through her legs. Food was very important to Beauregard. He’d been a scrawny stray when she found him, and he was determined never to be hungry again. She set the cat’s food on the floor and hurried across the two front rooms to the door.
    Through the tall windows opening onto the gallery she could see dark shapes silhouetted against the light cast by the street lamp. She flipped on the outside light and the shadows