Blowback, p.20
Blowback, page 20
“Thanks.”
“The president is losing it,” Noa says.
“No disagreement here. I’m feeling that, and so was my friend Doc. Go on.”
She says, “I had a meeting with him this morning. I asked him if he had informed the Gang of Eight as to what we’ve been doing. Check that, what my team and I are doing. Liam, you’ve got cover, you’re operating overseas. But unless Congress signs off on what we’ve been doing in the States, my team and I are all facing decades in jail.”
Liam swivels in his seat. “I bet he took that well.”
“I was surprised, he didn’t shout or bellow or toss papers around the office. He just said, no, he hadn’t informed the Gang of Eight. I told him I was done. He told me otherwise, but I was still working for him, no matter what.”
“Then what?”
Noa feels that little flame of shame for what Barrett showed her and did to her in his private office.
She says, “Our last action got complicated. We were trying to capture three Iranian Quds members who were planning an attack on the National Ground Intelligence Center in Charlottesville. They decided to fight it out. One of them was severely wounded, and we couldn’t take him to a civilian hospital, and an Agency-affiliated ER was too far away.”
“What did you do?”
“What I had to do,” she says. “And Barrett showed me a drone video of me doing just that. He said that my ass belonged to him, and that if I tried to leave, that drone footage would be given to the AG’s office. Oh, and to round it off, he said he could rape me in that office, and I couldn’t do anything about it. Or he’d make me disappear. Permanently.”
Liam murmurs, “Oh, damn,” and turns away for a moment, like he’s embarrassed for her. Noa wants to say, What, this is news to you? That powerful men have always taken what they wanted from us women?
“And you?” she asks. “Tell me about your Army captain.”
Noa listens carefully as Liam talks about his friendship with Captain Spencer Webster—Doc—their time together in Afghanistan, and how Spencer later got to the White House Medical Unit.
She nearly shivered when Liam repeated the phrase the doctor said.
Our president is a full-fledged paranoid.
Liam says, “Last night, I tried to convince him to pass that information along to somebody, anybody, who could do something with it. He refused. But a few hours ago, he called me, saying he changed his mind. Thought of his kids. Wondered what kind of future was ahead for them. He agreed to meet with me again, talking to me on his cell. An hour later, he was dead. Shot in the head in a parking lot. Apparent robbery, the DC cops say.”
Noa says, “It could just be an awful coincidence.”
“No. Not ever. Not with Doc. He had too much situational awareness to be caught like that. No, either the president or someone working for him knew about our meeting and were monitoring his cell. Maybe even mine.”
Noa says, “If that’s true, Liam, you might be next.”
“Right.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Me?” Liam says. His next words seem so out of place and bizarre in a typical quiet suburban parking lot of a Walmart. “Noa, I’m going straight to the director, confess all.”
“That’s a career-ender, going around the chain of command.”
“Don’t care,” Liam says.
“Me neither,” Noa says. “I’m going with you.”
CHAPTER 67
CIA DIRECTOR HANNAH Abrams says, “Good job, Jean. Didn’t expect it so soon.”
Her deputy director yawns, and without fail, Hannah yawns as well.
It’s been a very long and grueling forty-eight hours since she was sworn in as director in the Oval Office by President Barrett. So far, that little ceremony has been the highlight of her career.
Jean says, “There’s a cadre of pros in the Agency who are glad you are back and are going to go the extra distance for you, Director. In the meantime, we still don’t have the full picture yet on Benjamin Lucas. There are some inconsistencies that need to be nailed down.”
Hannah runs her hands across the thick manila folders, opens two of them, starts glancing through them both. “Liam Grey and Noa Himel. Good, solid backgrounds, equally solid careers in Operations. No disciplinary actions or letters of reprimand. Exactly the operators we claim to Congress we have throughout the Agency. And then, a couple of months ago, they drop out.”
Jean says, “On orders President Barrett gave to Acting Director Milton Fenway, Liam and Noa were given authority to recruit from within the Agency and the military to form two separate teams, and that’s all we’ve got. Paperwork is minimal so far, with their salaries being logged in the President’s Special Access Account.”
Hannah nods. “POTUS’s own slush fund, when you want to try to kill Castro or fund the Contras or subsidize an Israeli bunker-buster bomb to use in Iran. It would be nice to get a briefing from Milton, but we still don’t know where he is, right?”
“Not yet. But we’re working it. Along with that other thing you asked for.”
Hannah picks up a third folder with distaste, like she’s picking up something nasty that the cat had deposited on the kitchen floor at two a.m.
“Carlton Pope,” she says. “Good God, how did this…creature get to be at the president’s side?”
Jean says, “Carlton Pope, previously a sergeant assigned to the 615th Military Police Company, of the 709th Military Police Battalion, stationed in Grafenwöhr, Germany. Did two tours in Kosovo during the renewal of hostilities years back. During his second tour his unit provided protection to the 809th Military Intelligence Battalion, commanded by Colonel Keegan Barrett.”
“Remind me of the nasty bits,” Hannah says.
“There was a temporary facility set up for processing prisoners from Serb militia units operating in the area. There were at least three complaints filed against Sergeant Pope for excessive force, one case leading to the death of a prisoner. Not sure how it happened, but all three charges against him were broomed. Next time we hear from him, he’s been an honorably discharged graduate of George Washington University and think-tank employee. When Barrett announced his campaign, Pope volunteered and POTUS rewarded him with a top job in the White House. Does that make any sense at all?”
Jean says not a word, and Hannah yawns again, picks up a cup of coffee, takes a strong sip, realizes it’s cold.
She doesn’t care.
Hannah finishes it off.
Thinks.
Hannah says, “The president has as his right-hand man, one with tremendous influence and power from the Oval Office, a former military police sergeant with a very sketchy record.”
She gets up from her desk, stretches her back, and walks around her office, crowded with the bed in the center.
Hannah stares out the window at the lights of her CIA campus.
“What in hell is he doing over there?” she asks.
“Carlton Pope?”
Hannah says, “No. The president. The vice president is in a coma. His chief of staff has no real power. He’s working on his second national security adviser since his inauguration. His secretary of state is a former Silicon Valley tycoon, currently on his third listening tour out in Europe. The secretary of defense is a former military contractor who loves visiting bases where his company’s jets are being used.”
The lights burn brightly over there, on the other side of the Potomac.
She goes on. “Barrett’s isolated, alone, with a thug at his side. As others have said, power corrupts, but absolute power corrupts absolutely. Jean, that sure as hell is what’s keeping me up at night. How absolute Barrett’s power is, and what he’s doing with it.”
CHAPTER 68
THE MOST POWERFUL woman in United States politics is sitting in front of President Barrett’s Oval Office desk this early evening, looking like she is struggling not to lose control.
Barrett likes the look. It’s good to be the alpha dog in situations like this.
Speaker of the House Gwen Washington says, “Mr. President, thank you for seeing me.”
“Good to see you, Madam Speaker,” he says. “How are you holding up?”
“In public, I’m keeping it together, but in private…it’s been tough.”
Barrett’s hands are folded in front of him on the Resolute desk. He’s known the speaker for years but that doesn’t mean she gets to go to his upstairs private office.
“What’s the latest?”
She wipes at her left eye. She’s well made-up, hair coiffed, wearing whatever latest women’s clothing is in fashion today, but the clothes seem not to fit her, like she’s lost her stand and stature.
“I’ve tried to head it off by calling in favors and twisting some arms, but hearings on the Hill are guaranteed, thanks to my asshole majority leader. You know that line from The Art of War, ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer’? Well, only if your enemies aren’t holding a knife, ready to plunge it in your back.”
“You’re probably regretting asking Deering to be majority leader.”
“Every damn night,” she says. “But I needed his support and that of his caucus to get to the speaker’s chair, and now he wants my job. He’s spreading rumors, leaking like mad to the press, and he’s gotten enough members to go along to start public hearings.”
Barrett says, “I like the way the wormy little bastard set it up. I’m doing this just to help Speaker Washington clear the air, to give a full and frank accounting of the charges being posed against her. Have to give him credit. Hard to believe we both belong to the same party.”
“But the charges are false,” Gwen says, voice brittle. “I know they are.”
Barrett shrugs. “Unfortunately, the paperwork accusing you looks legit. You know what they say: a lie can travel halfway around the world while the truth is putting its pants on.”
With weariness in her voice, the speaker says, “Yes, and preparing a defense and hiring forensic accountants to prove my innocence is going to take time. While that’s all going on, Mr. President, it means my job as speaker is crippled, and your agenda for the next few months is going to be stalled.”
Barrett decides it’s time not to say a word. She has no idea of what his real agenda is, which is just how he wants it.
He lets the speaker look at him, dismay in her eyes, and waits for her to break.
Which she does.
“Mr. President, I need your help.”
“Of course, Madam Speaker. What do you have in mind?”
Gwen lowers her eyes, lifts them, and says, “They haven’t said it publicly, but I’m sure the attorney general and the FBI are going to start an investigation.”
Barrett says, “You’re probably right.”
“And sir,” she says, voice tinged with desperation, “I know you can’t interfere in their activities. I wouldn’t even consider asking you that. But if you could see your way clear to making a public statement, perhaps with me at your side in the Rose Garden, as the party leader, that you have faith in me and are confident that I’ll be cleared of all charges, that would make a world of difference.”
He lets her dangle there for a few seconds.
“Sorry, I can’t do that, Madam Speaker.”
“But Keegan,” she pleads, “I’ve been with you right from the start! I hosted fundraisers and rallies for you when you were fourth in the polls, when you started running in the caucuses and primaries, and I got the California delegation sewn up for you ahead of the convention. Sir, I…”
Barrett softens his voice. “As much as I do believe in your innocence, Gwen, I can’t do that. A public statement on your behalf would seem like I was interfering in an upcoming investigation. And second, as much as it pains me to say this, standing next to you and announcing that I totally believe in your innocence, it would make me incredibly vulnerable if the worst were to happen and you were found guilty.”
“But I’m innocent!”
Barrett says, “I’m sure, Gwen, but I can’t take that risk. Sorry. I need to let the process take place, as painful as it’s going to be for you.”
The speaker’s face is a mixture of anger and sadness. Barrett says, “Look, this is what I can do. Later today I’ll have one of my staff members leak something to one of our friends over at the Washington Post. Say that ‘while the president is concerned about these allegations, the speaker is still a close personal friend and is confident she will be cleared of all charges.’ Best I can do, Gwen.”
She nods, gets up from the chair. “I wish you could do more, but I understand, Mr. President.”
Barrett steps up from his desk, goes around and gives her a hug. “I’m with you, Gwen, as much as I can be. God bless you.”
“God bless you, too, sir.”
About ten minutes after the speaker of the House leaves, his special assistant, Carlton Pope, steps in and says, “Well?”
Barrett is gathering some reports and folders, wanting to quickly get back to his private office and refuge upstairs.
“It went,” he says. “But I want you to contact one of our friends at the Post. I need an article in tomorrow’s paper.”
Pope says, “What do you need?”
“A White House source says the president is watching with keen interest the alleged charges against Speaker Washington and supports a thorough and transparent investigation into her activities.”
Pope nods. He’s got a great memory, and Barrett is sure that quote will appear tomorrow just as he dictated it.
“That doesn’t sound particularly supportive,” his special assistant says. “It’s like you’re letting her dangle out there, probably guilty.”
Barrett checks his desk, makes sure he’s leaving nothing behind.
“The speaker made a huge mistake,” he says.
“What’s that?”
“She trusted me,” Barrett says.
CHAPTER 69
IN HIS JEEP Wrangler with Noa Himel, Liam Grey says, “Right from the beginning, when POTUS called us into his office, you were spot-on. Saying it wasn’t going to end well.”
Noa says, “Bet those words burn coming out of your mouth.”
“No, they don’t,” he says. “I’m looking at reality. We thought we could exert a restraining influence on Barrett by being on the inside with him. We were wrong.”
He shifts in his seat, looks behind him.
Just a typical parking lot at a typical Walmart.
But he’s as jumpy as if going on his first overseas op.
Liam turns around, taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “I had a meeting with POTUS yesterday as well, and it wasn’t as bad as yours, but it was bad enough.”
“Tell me,” Noa says.
Liam says, “We lost a man in Paris. Boyd Morris. Good guy, good operator. And earlier I learned that another member of our team, Benjamin Lucas, was captured by Chinese authorities in South Africa while on a failed exfil operation. He had been TDY’d from my team back to the Directorate of Operations.”
“You’ve been thinned out, haven’t you?”
“Yeah. I told him that my team members and I wanted a review of our rules of engagement before any more temporary duty assignments get made. He basically told me to shut up, salute, and go up the hill.”
“And?”
“It just got worse. I told him that Boyd Morris needed to have a star carved for him on the Memorial Wall. He flat-out refused. I said I could understand if there was a delay, in order not to upset his current planning, but he said no, not ever. A former director of the CIA refusing to let a star be installed? Unheard of. Especially when he said Boyd died for him. Get that? Boyd didn’t die for the country or the Agency. Nope, in Barrett’s mind, Boyd died for him, and him only.”
“Jesus,” Noa says. “Now I’m thinking that somebody might visit me later tonight. With a box of flowers and a bullet to my forehead.”
Liam watches the happy shoppers out there, wondering if they could even imagine what was being discussed in this old Jeep.
Nothing major.
Just a nice peaceful talk about President Keegan Barrett’s current mental health, and what can be done about it.
Liam says, “Like I said, we need to see Director Abrams. Dump everything in her lap and let her take the lead.”
“Do you trust her?”
“More than I trusted Acting Director Fenway.”
“And how do you plan to talk to her? You know her extension? Think her admin assistants will let us talk to her?”
Liam says, “My plan is for us to go into work tomorrow, just like we belong there, and take the elevator to the seventh floor, and demand to see her.”
“Bold, but what if we get pulled aside before we get through the lobby? Start a fight? Pull a pistol?”
“How about you and I just stage a sit-down strike, hook our arms together, and start singing, ‘We Shall Overcome’? That will get us what we need: public attention.”
“All right, we get to Director Abrams. It’ll be our word against the president’s.”
Liam says, “She’s one tough and smart cookie. She’ll at least look into it.”
Noa says, “Hold on,” and starts going through her purse. “Hold on, I’ve got something to show her. Something that will tilt the case in our favor.”
Liam watches her take her phone out and before he can say anything, she leans over and starts flipping through the screens.
“Look. A week ago, my team went to pick up a Donna Otterson from the Agency. She was suspected of passing along information to Chinese agents. These are photos of the surveillance operation…see?”
“Noa…” he starts.
“Three scenes of her dropping off information at this park, and the envelopes were retrieved by individuals that we assumed belonged to Chinese Intelligence. But something happened that made me question what was going on. I mean, why us, Barrett’s domestic crew? Why not someone from the FBI or Counterintelligence?”
Liam says, “What was her job?”
“Get this,” Noa says. “Finance resource officer in the Directorate of Support.”
