Days of Rage (17 page)

P
resident Warren said, “Why does Kerry want to meet early?”

Alexander Palmer said, “I don’t know. All he told me was he needed five minutes, and wanted me here. This was the only time we had available.”

It was past six
P
.
M
.,
and they were meeting to determine a plan of attack for yet another congressional inquiry into the machinations of US intelligence. Looking to score points at home prior to election season, some congressional committee had decided to chair a hearing, purportedly because the administration had done something heinous. In reality they were probably hoping to generate enough waves for a shot at the nightly news, with committee members sternly discussing the transgressions in front of thousands of registered voters.

This time it was the budget. The so-called black budget. There was nothing they were going to find digging around that white whale, but the president still needed to ensure he understood the state of play, because he’d surely be asked at least one
When did you know . . .
question.

I’d really like to have Kurt go over there and brief them about the Taskforce budget. That would cause some heads to explode.
The image brought a smile to his face.

Palmer said, “What?”

“Nothing. Kerry had better hurry, or we’re going to have everyone here.”

In addition to the D/CIA and the national security advisor, the meeting would include the secretary of defense, Mark Oglethorpe, and the director of national intelligence, Bruce Tupper. The SECDEF because the Department of Defense owned fully eighty percent of the operating intelligence community and the DNI because, well, he was the DNI.

Kerry Bostwick entered the Oval Office saying, “Sorry, sir. Traffic.”

President Warren waved him to a chair and said, “So what crisis is there at the CIA?”

“You remember the thumb drive mission? The one the Israelis are after?”

“Yes?”

“Well, they cracked the encryption, and the good news is that there was no information other than directions to another thumb drive. Just like what happened with us.”

“And the bad news?”

“No
real
bad news. Just sort of bad. I’ve passed the intelligence to Kurt, and he’s prepping the team as we’re speaking. The problem is that Bruce is intimately involved in this operation. I should have realized he would be, given the nature of the information we’re trying to recover. As the DNI he’s never really gotten down in the weeds before, but he is now.”

“So why’s that bad?”

Kerry paused, then said, “Well, he’s demanding to know the particulars of the recovery operation. I can’t tell him he has no need to know, because he’s the damn DNI. Especially given the target. On the other hand, I don’t like lying to him.”

Palmer spoke for the first time. “You mean because of the Taskforce?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

President Warren said, “What’s the big deal? You keep the Taskforce secret from a host of official people. Do you feel bad about that as well?”

Kerry smiled. “No, of course not. But that’s lying by omission. We just don’t tell them what’s going on. Basically the same thing I’ve been doing with the DNI since you appointed him. Now he’s asking for specifics. What station, whether I’m deploying a team from here or using in-country assets. That sort of stuff. Even going so far as asking me the names. Besides me just not liking it, the guy is a legend in the CIA. He knows a ton of people, and no matter how secret we think we are, they’ll talk.”

Palmer said, “But they don’t know anything.”

“Precisely. Bruce is no idiot. When he isn’t satisfied with my answer, and he goes to the old boys’ network, he’s going to get squat. Which is going to look very, very strange.”

“What are you getting at?” asked President Warren. “You want to read him on?”

“Yes, sir. I do. He’s the
director
of national intelligence. I understand the reason the Taskforce is so close hold, but keeping this from him is dysfunctional. It’s just not right.”

Palmer said, “You know why we did that, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. He’s going to shit a brick. But in my mind, if you couldn’t trust the director of national intelligence to be on board with your little unit, then you picked the wrong DNI. Or . . .”

Palmer said, “Or what?”

“Or maybe the unit isn’t such a great idea.”

President Warren started to bristle, and Kerry held up his hands. “Sir, you appointed me as D/CIA because I was candid. I’m just calling it like I see it.”

Before the president could answer, the door opened again and the DNI and SECDEF entered.

Walking in front, Bruce moved right up to the Resolute desk and shook President Warren’s hand, saying, “Another day in the inquisition. You never told me following the law was irrelevant when I took this job. I’m so glad I did.”

President Warren thought Bruce Tupper was the correct choice when he’d nominated him, and still thought so today, but the man
was
a little bit of a kiss-ass. Something he had to tolerate as president. He smiled and said, “Well, from what I’ve read, it’s you old-timers breaking the law that caused all the issues.”

Bruce sat down, growing serious. “I completely agree. It just pisses me off that even when I
agree
with these assholes on oversight, it does no good. Because of what happened years ago, people pop up out of the woodwork, making accusations over smoke, and everyone believes it. Today it’s the budget. Tomorrow it’ll be something else. Hell, speaking of budgets, they ought to have a hearing on how much all these hearings are costing the taxpayer.”

President Warren looked at Kerry, then Palmer. Both nodded. Bruce swiveled his head at both like he was watching a tennis match, then said, “What’s going on? I feel like I’m the only one here who doesn’t know what’s about to be said.”

Bruce turned to Oglethorpe, the SECDEF, who looked as confused as he did. President Warren said, “Palmer, get Kurt over here. Might as well get this over with.”

Bruce said, “Get what over with?”

President Warren said, “We’ve got the location of the thumb drive.”

“That’s great news.” Bruce looked at Kerry. “Do you have someone moving to intercept?”

“We do. The man Kerry’s calling will give you a complete read-on.”

“Read-on? To what? How is there a covert action occurring that I don’t know about? Is there a finding?”

“Sort of. Just wait. It’s not your typical covert action.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair, surveying the group. He said, “This sounds like the same thing that caused the problem with the thumb drive in the first place.”

“What do you mean?”

Bruce sighed, then said, “The Red Prince wasn’t a paid asset. He wasn’t a source. He was someone I was working on the side, off the books. He believed he was using the US, and I let him. If I’d followed procedures, he would have been given a crypt and the chief of station would have known about him. He would have been reported on. Munich might have been prevented.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Why doesn’t anyone? I was a young case officer full of piss and vinegar looking to make a name for myself. He was Yasser Arafat’s number two. A huge coup, but if I’d have told anyone about him, he would immediately have been taken from me and given to someone with more experience. Which is what should have happened.”

Kerry said, “You were paid to execute your judgment. So you pushed the boundaries. So what. You didn’t cause Munich. You can’t predict every twist and turn in the intelligence game.”

“No, you can’t, which is why we’ve got the left and right limits we do. Why there are procedures in the first place. I overheard him talking on the phone about the Olympics. If I’d had more experience, I would have connected the dots. At the very least, if I’d turned in a report, someone
else
could have connected the dots. After Munich, I
did
turn him over. It was agreed that I’d fucked up, but everyone just let it go. Robert Ames began to run him for real, and he got results. The PLO never attacked an American target while they were working together. The Red Prince died in ’79 at the hands of the Mossad, then Bob was killed in Beirut in the ’83 embassy bombing. And I learned a valuable lesson.”

Nobody spoke for a moment, embarrassed at the personal nature of the disclosures. Palmer shifted his legs and President Warren broke the silence. “What was that, Bruce?”

“Never go off the reservation. Work the problem within the constraints given. It’s gotten tougher over the years, with the House and Senate oversight committees, and especially the last year and a half with all the leaks, but doing otherwise breeds a culture of arrogance. It breeds an organization that believes it is above the law, and sometimes the organization begins to act that way. Begins to flout the Constitution in the name of the Constitution. Like I did in ’72.”

President Warren glanced at the other three men, then said, “I think you’d better get a glass of water. And maybe a paper bag to breathe into.”

The other three men smiled, but Bruce narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because Colonel Kurt Hale will be here soon, and he’s going to tell you about an organization that flouts the Constitution in order to protect the Constitution.”

I
left the room as soon as I recognized Kurt Hale’s voice, not wanting my captive to hear the conversation. He sounded like a skipping compact disc, forcing me to move to a window in the hallway for a better signal. The digital encryption of our Taskforce smartphones was unbreakable, but it also put a strain on the cell network. I said, “Sir, you broke up. Say again?”

He snapped, “Don’t pull that shit on me.”

He thought I was making it up, like radio operators used to do in the old days to prevent getting an order they didn’t like.
“Assault that hill full of machine guns, over.” “You’re coming in broken and unreadable. Out.”
In this case, I really couldn’t understand what he was saying.

“Sir, I’m serious. I didn’t hear you. Did Knuckles pass my SITREP?”

It was close to one in the morning, and the entire Taskforce was working to resolve the crisis we’d found ourselves in. First on the plate was protection of Taskforce assets, meaning we had to deal with the death of Decoy and prevent any clandestine associations from getting out. Second was to find out who’d killed him.

I’d remained in the backpacking hostel and called Knuckles, giving him a full situation report and setting in motion an invisible machine. He’d been shocked, of course, but he’d dealt with enough combat deaths that it wasn’t debilitating, and as the team leader he had quite a bit to do. He began the intricate process of ensuring any investigation of the death ended as a random shooting near the bazaar. Decoy was going to become a victim of terrorism as an unlucky civilian. Acting as a vice president of Grolier Services, Knuckles had begun coordinating with the Turkish police and the US embassy for identification of the body and transport home, seeding a cover story of what Decoy was doing, both for his in-country status and his actions at the bazaar.

At the same time, the Taskforce casualty affairs group swung into motion, tying off any loose ends that might cause an unraveling of Decoy’s Grolier Recovery Services employment. If there was any silver lining to the whole mess it was that Decoy was single. There would be no late-night knock on a wife’s door, with a follow-on fabrication about a training accident. Something the wife would undoubtedly know was untrue, but would accept nonetheless.

While Knuckles worked the casualty extraction and cover firewall, I continued to press for information on Decoy’s killers. I was one hundred percent sure that the chick I had roped to the sink was Israeli, but only about fifty percent sure she didn’t have something to do with Decoy’s death. I didn’t think she knew who’d pulled the trigger, but I wasn’t convinced it wasn’t a case of mistaken identity. The killer might have believed he was also Israeli, that Decoy had been involved in the killing of the Syrian. Either way, I wanted to know what she knew.

After getting the initial report on the assault, I’d given Jennifer directions to my little safe house. While the phone call was all business, I could tell she was having difficulty dealing with the trauma, something I understood. Jennifer had known people who’d been killed, and had even killed herself, but Decoy was the first combat fatality of someone she was close to. It was the first time she’d lost a friend in the fight, and on top of that, she was probably blaming herself for the death. I’d seen the same thing plenty of times before in other operators.

Unfortunately, we didn’t have the time to grieve. That would have to come later. Given the choice between grieving or killing the sorry sons of bitches who’d murdered him, I’m pretty sure Decoy would have told her to saddle up. Something I had every intention of doing.

When Jennifer had come in, she’d immediately closed on me, laying her head on my shoulder and starting to weep, unaware of the visitor I had lashed to a pipe. In dealing with Decoy’s death and worrying about getting Jennifer off the streets, I had neglected to say anything to her about my prisoner. I put my arms around her and gave her a squeeze, then lifted her head, looking into her eyes.

She started to talk and I held a finger to her lips, saying, “I caught one of the killers on the motorcycle.” She looked confused, and I pointed behind her.

She saw my prisoner and turned back around, whispering, “Is she Russian?”

“No, why? Because of the guy I fought in Bulgaria?”

“No, because the other men chasing me spoke Russian. I’m pretty sure I killed the asshole you fought.”

I held a finger to my lips and led her outside the room into the hallway, out of earshot. She managed to give me a thorough debrief, only breaking down once when describing Decoy’s demise. When she got to the part about the Hagia Sofia museum, she began to shake. But she continued to talk, because it was expected of her. In the soft glow of the single incandescent bulb, her body trembling in reaction to how close she had come to dying, she kept talking.

I could see the toll, and when I’d heard enough I stopped her and brought her close. Letting her vomit her emotions out. Letting her know it was okay to do so.

I understood she was going to beat herself up over Decoy’s death, but
he
wouldn’t have allowed it. She had shown a real talent, both physically and mentally. It was a miracle they
both
weren’t dead. Decoy’s assassination was something she’d have to work through, but in the end, it had nothing to do with her abilities. It might take awhile for her to figure that out, and I’d help as best I could.

Right after I killed the fuckers who’d done it.

I held her until the trembling stopped, then told her about the cell phone plan for the Israeli, asking if she was up for finding a drop phone. She pulled back and looked at me like I was insane, and I’d felt like an ass. Before I could retract the statement, she agreed, wiping her eyes and getting back into the mission. I gave her some cash and directed her to the shopping area of Ordu Caddesi, the four-lane boulevard only a couple of blocks away.

I spent the time she was gone coordinating with Knuckles and developing a linkup plan with the captive’s boss. Coming up with a method to keep an Israeli hit team from storming my room. When Jennifer returned, I was on a final call with Knuckles. I heard someone speak behind me, and saw Jennifer talking to my captive. I hissed and got her to back away.

I hung up and said, “What was that about?”

“She told me she was sorry about Decoy. Sorry she caused the chain of events.”

Huh?

Jennifer was too damn naïve to realize when she was being manipulated
.

I looked at the captive, getting a blank stare back. Jennifer said, “You guys distrust everyone. She meant it. I don’t think she’s bad.”

I said, “What, you got women’s intuition? How would you know what’s bad? You only see the good.”

She looked at the detainee, then back at me, wanting to say something, but holding it in. Knowing I’d never believe it. I took the drop phone out of her hand and squatted down in front of the detainee.

“Time to prove you’re innocent. You want to get out of here, all you have to do is show you aren’t culpable for the death of my men. Get your boss here.”

Sagging against the rope, she said, “You know we cannot give you what you want.”

“Why? I thought we were ‘friends’ and all.”

She shook her head and said, “Friends are people you go to parties with. We are not friends. We are allies. A totally different thing. My boss will not help you. I should never have said that before. It was a mistake.”

I said, “Then what the fuck are we doing here? You said you’d help.”

“I would. I really would, after what I saw. But I can’t.”

That did nothing but stoke the flame of my anger. I felt the darkness start to flow into the room like a fog I had no control over.

I said, “What do you mean, you can’t? What the hell does that mean? You
will
call.”

I looked at Jennifer, wanting her to stop what was coming. Wanting her to prevent the blackness from spreading, because if she didn’t, I wasn’t sure how far I would go. She did nothing, and the abyss beckoned.

I held the phone out, my voice flat-line cold, all emotion leached out of it. “Make the call.”

She closed her eyes, remaining silent. My hand snapped out, seemingly of its own accord, and snatched my little captive by the throat. Her eyes popped open and began to bug out.