Primary Target (1999)

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assassination. It simply wasn't good form. Satisfied for the moment, he took a long drag on his cigar and slowly exhaled.
    "Gentlemen," Macklin began slowly, "the next item on the agenda has to do with the question of Iran's recent emergence as a nuclear player. Moscow's fingerprints are all over this development, including the Russian Space Agency and the Central Aerohydrodynamic Institute. I want your input, and don't pull any punches."
    Silence filled the room.
    Pete Adair was the first to breach the void. "We all know the Russian foreign minister is openly anti-American. He has demonstrated that he will do anything to elevate Russia on the world stage. I think Moscow and Tehran are betting we won't cross the 'Mogadishu Line.' "
    Prost removed his glasses and quietly nodded in agreement. "They're taunting us," he said in his clipped eastern accent. "After watching third-rate powers stand up to us, they're convinced we don't have the stomach for boots-inthe-mud warfare."
    The chief executive narrowly eyed Prost, then spoke slowly. "They--the powers in Moscow and Tehran--figure we're too squeamish to do anything unilaterally, especially if it means taking casualties and getting bad press?"
    "That's a reasonable inference," Prost said, with the confidence of a man who was accustomed to being the mos t intelligent person in a room. "They've closely watched us since Desert Fox and the Kosovo crisis. They honestly don't believe we would undertake a military action that risks more than a few lives, or a few thousand cruise missiles and bombs."
    Pete Adair felt a sudden tenseness. "They know our military is half the strength it was during the Gulf War, and, they know we're stretched mighty thin. They figure there's no way we'll go it alone."
    "What's your inclination?" the president turned and asked Adair. "Do we rely on ourselves to destroy their nukes, or do we try to build an alliance to work with us?"
    SecDef paused a moment, combing his fingers through his rumpled hair. "In my judgment," Adair said reluctantly, "we have to deal with the problem. Our NATO allies and Arab friends have gone soft on us, and we don't have time to play games with the UN or NATO."
    The president eyed Prost. "What do you think?"
    "I agree," Hartwell declared. "Because of their business ties to Iran, some of our allies want to offer more incentives to the Iranians. They simply don't want to face the fact that Tehran has no moral compunction against using any type of weapon, including nukes."
    Macklin quietly nodded.
    "Hell," Prost went on, "we've tried to work with the Security Council. We've-encouraged other countries to increase diplomatic and economic pressure on Iran, and we all know it's been a pitiful failure. All it's done is cause a tremendous backlash. The Arab nations believe that we use the 'dual containment' of Iraq-Iran as a way to reinforce our position as a superpower."
    Hartwell paused for his message to have an impact. "Sanctions aren't going to solve this problem. They just provoke the power structure in Tehran and make them more intransigent. We're going to have to stand up to Iran, like we did to Iraq in Desert Storm."
    There was a moment of hesitation while all eyes were on Prost.
    "I may be wrong," Hartwell's voice resonated, "but I don't think anyone else is going to dive into this snake pit with us. We're going to have to be sensitive to our allies and ou r Arab friends, but in the end, we're going to have to swim up this river alone."
    The president still hoped to come up with a less forceful way to deal with the crisis. "Before we start lobbing ordnance at the Iranians, we have to establish some form of meaningful dialogue with Tehran."
    Prost sighed heavily, betraying a dry patience. "Sir, as of two hours ago, we don't have diplomatic representation with Iran. We can't even muster a contact at the level of charge d'affaires, let alone pursue critical dialogue with the foreign minister."
    "That's ridiculous," Macklin said with

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