Tehran Decree by James Scorpio Page A

line closed again, thus
quickly sealing any possible breach of security.
    Jenkins chuckled inwardly, if there was a weakness in
security it was always a human one, and humans were wonderfully
predictive in their behaviour patterns. He thought about president
Garner and his policy of consultation and appeasement with allies
-- such sentiments often lead to a similar policy with enemies, and
a president with a conscience, was indeed a president with a
liability.
    Not everyone in the world had a politically correct
conscience which bothered them, such exotic sentiments were a
rarity in the Islamic militia. In a US president -- it could be
fatal.

    Chapter Twenty-two

    The motorcade passed along Circular Key with the US
president smiling profusely at his chief of staff, Jack Magnus, and
national security advisor, Ellen Monard, sitting along side him in
the back seat of the second car. The conference had hammered out
several crucial agreements, the main one being the use of nuclear
force against Iran. In the event of nuclear hostilities by Iranian
government all parties had agreed after concerted lobbying that the
United States would have total carte blanche in the use of nuclear
weapons and would be supported by the heads of all governments
present.
    ‘Well I must say that went particularly well Mr.
president...total agreement between heads of state...must surely be
a first in the history of the civilised world.’
    ‘You’re damned right it did Jack...they know we’re
right. If we don’t all pull together and stand up to these bastards
the free world is lost.’
    The president smiled profusely and lit up a cigar,
even though he didn’t smoke, which immediately provoked a severe
coughing fit. He looked through watery, bloodshot eyes, at Ellen
Monard.
    ‘You know Ell’ I kept this cigar especially for this
sort of occasion, the First Lady gave it to me for Christmas last
year...it was a purely symbolic gesture for my success as
president,’ Ellen gazed at it with a mixture of wonder and horror
-- it was the biggest gold banded Cuban cigar she’d ever seen.
    ‘I’m determined to smoke it if it kills me,’ Ellen
shook her head in unison with Jack Magnus and immediately saw it as
a possible threat to the presidents health and security.
    ‘Excuse me sir, but you should have kept it in it’s
display box, that is definitely a museum piece,' Garner tried to
laugh through a choking fit.
    ‘I hate to say it sir, but it probably will kill
you,’ Ellen had often considered that presidents had too much
personal power for their own good, and needed a firm hand to guide
them from time to time. She was pleased to see Garner dressed in
his finest blue suite, with gray ultrafine pinstripe, of all the
suites in his vast wardrobe this one suited him the best. A stellar
performance could be expected from the president simply because he
was wearing his favourite attire.
    It was true, over many years of experience in the
public gaze, she had learned that clothing was critical, one had to
feel the part, and this could only be achieved if clothing and
personality complimented each other perfectly -- it was interactive
psychology at its best.
    In spite of this Garner looked tired and laid his
head back, gazing out the window, taking in all the high barriers
and lines of yellow fluorescent jacketed police. Occasionally he
glimpsed curious pink faced members of the public gawking through
restrictive barriers.
    The motorcade continued on the scheduled route to the
Maritime Museum at Darling Harbour, passing a multitude of wine
bars, a plethora of crowded restaurants, and several up market
clothing boutiques. Aroma’s of all kinds flashed past his olfactory
senses but unfortunately were lost on the over powering cigar
stench pervading the car space. The president continued with the
monstrous cheroot, taking short puffs and blowing smoke out of the
half opened window, dispute polite rebuffs from his impatient
security advisor. He finally