By Dawn's Early Light Read Online Free Page B

hands.
    Enough was enough.
    All along Pakistan had vowed that when it developed a nuclear weapon, the bomb would be an Islamic bomb. All Pakistan’s brothers in Allah would have it.
    By successfully testing a thermonuclear weapon, the stakes had suddenly been increased by an astronomical factor. There were only a few nations that possessed hydrogen bombs. The club was very exclusive and extremely deadly. With the H-bomb Pakistan had suddenly become a world player. No thing or no person in the region would ever be safe again. That included the oil fields, all shipping in the Persian Gulf, the Arabian and Red Seas, and perhaps one-fourth of the population of the entire world.
    Combined with Pakistan’s government that had been coming apart at the seams ever since it had supported the U.S. over the bin Laden issue, the entire region was on the verge of implosion.
    In fact, the world was once again on the brink of nuclear disaster.
    â€œIs Dennis up to speed on this?” Hanson asked. Dennis Nettleton was his national security adviser.
    â€œYes, sir. He’s on his way from Georgetown now.”
    â€œAs soon as he arrives I want my entire National Security Council convened in the Situation Room.” Hanson glanced again at the clock. He’d been dreaming about snorkeling on the Australian Great Barrier Reef. Flying through the fantastically clear water in the middle of millions of brightly colored fish, alone. Absolutely alone. “At five o’clock. I want the lid kept on this until we can work out some sort of a realistic position.”
    â€œWe’ll shuttle them through the tunnel from the Old Executive Building.”
    â€œGood. I’m going to get dressed now. Call Dr. Tyson and tell her that I want to see her before the others.”
    â€œShe’s already here, Mr. President,” Stein said. “She’s waiting outside the Oval Office.”
    Dr. Carolyn Tyson, the director of the CIA and special adviser to the president on security affairs, held a Ph.D. in international studies. But besides being an academic, she’d served as the first woman navy SEAL. She was one of the rare Washington breed who’d been there, done that.
    Carolyn Tyson’s appointment had not been among Hanson’s first, but hers had certainly been the most contentious. She had almost everything going against her. At forty-three she was the youngest DCI. She was the first woman to hold the post. She was divorced, and as her ex-husband—a navy captain—once said: “Carolyn has a killer instinct, the attitude to go with it, and the mouth to tell everyone to get out of her way.”
    But she was as brilliant as she was deadly. She had the experience, working first with the Office of Navy Intelligence, then for the National Security Agency as director of special projects, and finally working her way through the ranks within the CIA to become deputy director of operations.
    Not one member of the Senate mentioned that she was black, though it was obvious that half the country had expected it to become an issue.
    â€œVery well. Tell her that I’ll be down shortly,” Hanson said. Stein left and Attwood came in with the president’s coffee.
    â€œAre we making an early start of it today, Mr. President?”
    â€œThat we are, William. Better pick me something stern to wear. I’m going to have to make some tough decisions.”

6
    0320 EDT
THE WHITE HOUSE
    Dr. Carolyn Tyson looked like a special-warfare operator. Her lines were sturdy. Her hair was cut short for a woman, and she wore very little makeup, though her suits were by Gucci, Ferragamo, or Armani and her shoes were handmade in Italy. She wasn’t wealthy, but she’d always been careful with what money she’d earned.
    She rose from her chair in the corner as President Hanson came around the corner with Brad Stein and Pam Plummer, his press secretary.
    â€œGood morning, Mr. President,” Carolyn