“I’m not sure.”
“Are you thinking about releasing them to the media?”
“I’m not so sure it would be a good idea.”
Coleman nodded. “I think it would set us back a hundred years.”
“I agree.”
“Well, whatever you decide to do, you’re going to have to do it without me. I don’t think you and I will be able to see each other for a while. If you’re right about the FBI, I’m going to have to lay low.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. This tape might come in handy.”
“How?” asked Coleman.
Michael shook the tape in front of Coleman’s face. “This little confession would topple the entire government if it was released. Whether Stevens was involved or not, he would be implicated. He would be willing to do almost anything to keep this from being released, and the CIA . . . they stand to lose the most. If this thing went public, the entire Agency would be shut down within a week. They would do almost anything to keep it quiet.”
“Yeah, like putting a bullet in the back of our heads.”
“Not if we do it right. Let’s talk about it in the car.”
“You’re coming with me to dump the body?” asked a surprised Coleman.
“Yeah, I know the perfect place.”
36
DIRECTOR STANSFIELD’S HELICOPTER FLEW UP the Potomac, its bright spotlight shining off the dark water below. It banked to the east, passing over the Lincoln Memorial, and continued up the Mall. The strobe light fluttering near the White House alerted the pilot to his exact landing area on the South Lawn. The small chopper came in and set down gently on the grass. Stansfield opened the door and got out, bending at the waist as he walked clear of the blades. Two Secret Service agents approached and escorted him through the Rose Garden and into the West Wing of the White House, where they were greeted by one of Stu Garret’s aides.
Stansfield started for the stairs that would take him to the Situation Room and the aide said, “Excuse me, sir. I was told to bring you to the Oval Office.”
With a look of surprise Stansfield asked, “Why?”
“I don’t know, sir. I was only told to take you to the Oval Office.”
Stansfield followed the aide down the hallway and into the empty presidential office. The aide left and Stansfield stood awkwardly in the middle of the room shifting his weight from one foot to the other. As the minutes mounted, so did his blood pressure. He looked at a Secret Service agent standing watch at the door and asked, “Where is the president?”
“He’s attending a state dinner, sir.”
Stansfield looked down at the floor and then back at the agent. For the first time in a long while he thought he might lose his temper. The complete lack of professionalism by the Stevens administration was wearing on him. Instead of yelling, he turned and walked over to the president’s desk. Picking up the phone, he told the operator to get him the National Security Desk.
Several seconds later, there was a click on the line and a voice said, “National Security Desk, Major Maxwell speaking, please identify yourself.”
“CIA director Stansfield. Have the members of the National Security Council been told that I’ve called an emergency meeting?”
“No, sir.”
“Why?”
“I was told to wait until you arrived, sir.”
“By whom?”
“Chief of Staff Garret, sir.”
Stansfield’s voice stayed even, but gained a slight edge. “Major, is Chief of Staff Garret in the national security chain of command?”
“No, sir.”
“Listen to me carefully. We have a level four national security crisis on our hands. I am giving you a direct order to send out an alert immediately! I want the NSA, the SOD, the SOS, and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs here within the next ten minutes! Am I understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Stansfield hung up the phone and dialed the number for the CIA’s Operations Center. Charlie Dobbs answered and Stansfield asked him for an update.
“The divers found a boat sunk at the spot where the beacon was last marked. They also found a bag on board with Arthur’s clothes and watch. . . . It looks like a diversion.”
“Anything else?” Stansfield looked up from the desk as Garret strutted into the room wearing a tuxedo. Before Dobbs could answer, Stansfield said, “I have to go, Charlie. I’ll call you back.” Stansfield hung up the phone and watched Garret approach in his black tuxedo.
Garret pulled a cigarette out of his mouth and said, “This better be good, Tom. This is the first time the president has had a chance to relax in over two weeks.”
“Where is Mike Nance?”
“He’s at home. What’s so important?”
Stansfield was almost distracted by the anger he felt for Garret but forced himself to stay focused on the crisis. “A high-level CIA official has been kidnapped.”
“How high?” asked Garret as smoke billowed from his nostrils.
“I’ll tell you as soon as you get the president down in the Situation Room where he should be!” Stansfield’s frustration was becoming evident.
“Hey, take it easy, Tom. You can’t expect us to drop everything we’re doing every time you call over here.”
Stansfield shook his head and walked toward the door. “This is not a game, Mr. Garret. I expect to see the president down in the Situation Room immediately!”
Coleman was back behind the wheel of the BMW and was less than excited about Michael’s dumping spot. Originally, Coleman had planned on taking Arthur’s body out to sea. He thought they had pressed their luck enough for the evening, and Michael’s idea was far from cautious. Michael wanted to leave Arthur’s body where it would be found—where they could send a message.
Burning Tree Country Club was less than ten minutes from Michael’s house. As they neared the golf course, Coleman said for the third time, “You know, the Secret Service will be watching his house.”
“I know. I’m not planning on leaving him at the front gate. He has a corner lot. We can leave the body around by the side. We’ll drive by the house once and check out the security.”
“You’ve been in the house before?”
“Yes. Senator Muetzel used to live there. After Muetzel lost in the last election, Garret bought it from him.” Michael looked over at Coleman and said, “I want to show these bastards that we’re willing to go to the media with this thing. If we end up releasing the tape, leaving Arthur’s body at his house will give it more meaning. Besides, it’ll make Garret and Nance sweat.”
“That’s true.”
They reached the ritzy neighborhood several minutes later, and Michael directed Coleman to the house. It was a large Tudor with a wrought-iron fence that ran around the entire yard. They drove slowly past the front gate, where a Ford sedan was parked across the driveway. Two men were sitting in the front seat and one camera was over the gate. Coleman took a left at the end of the property and turned down the next street. On this side of the house the fence was lined with trees and bushes.
“What do you think?” asked Michael.
“I think it’s doable.” Coleman pulled a U-turn in the middle of the road and stopped the car on the same side of the street as Garret’s house. He turned off the lights and looked down the tree-lined side street.
Michael tugged on his thin leather gloves and said, “I’m ready when you are.”
Coleman took his foot off the brake and the car slowly rolled forward. When they reached the back edge of the property line, Michael pulled the fuse so the dome and brake lights wouldn’t come on. Coleman told Michael to pop the trunk and he did.
While the car was still rolling, Michael jumped out and opened the trunk. He tossed the blankets to the side and scooped the dead body out of the trunk. The fence was only fifteen feet from the curb. Michael ran the short distance and set Arthur down, propping him up against the wrought-iron bars. Yanking the green garbage bag off his head, Michael
threw it on the ground and jumped back in the car. Coleman spun the car around and sped away.
Grabbing the mobile scramble phone out of the backseat, Michael punched in the phone number for the local NBC affiliate. After several rings, someone answered on the other end.
“Newsroom.”
“Listen to me carefully.” Michael spoke in a slow, precise tone. “This is not a prank. There is a dead man at Stu Garret’s house. The man’s name is Arthur Higgins. He is a former employee of the CIA. The body can be found by the fence on the north side of the house. The address is 469 Burning Tree Lane.”
“Who is this?” asked an eager voice. “How do I know this isn’t a prank?”
“You don’t, but you’d better get one of your news crews out there as quick as you can, because I’m calling the other two networks right now.” Michael pushed a button ending the call and immediately dialed the next number.
The next two calls went about the same as the first. The more Michael thought about it, the more he knew the news directors couldn’t resist investigating. A dead former CIA employee found on the property of the president’s chief of staff would make for juicy news. The only catch was that the news crews had to get there before the Secret Service found the body.
As they neared Georgetown, Michael said, “Things are going to get really hairy. This might be our last chance to talk for a while. If the FBI is on your tail, call my pager and punch in nine seven times.”
“What are you going to do with the tape?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll figure something out. Pull over up here.”
Coleman pulled over and offered his hand.
Michael took it and said, “Lay low until things cool down.” Michael slammed the door, and the car sped off.
The secretary of defense and the secretary of state were also attending the state dinner. So as to not raise too much attention, they left the room in intervals, the president being the last. When Stevens arrived in the Situation Room, Director Stansfield was on the phone and the secretaries of state and defense were standing off to the side talking to Garret. The president approached his chief of staff. “Stu, what’s this all about?”
“Stansfield says a high-level CIA official has been abducted.”
“How high?”
“I don’t know, he hasn’t told us. He’s been waiting for you.”
The thought of Arthur being the official in mind was something that Garret hadn’t considered. Arthur was, after all, a former CIA employee and lived in the United States. Garret assumed the CIA employee in question must be someone stationed abroad.
Stansfield hung up the phone and approached the group. “Good evening, Mr. President. I’m sorry to interrupt your party, but something very serious has come up.”
“What’s the problem?”
“The Agency’s former director of Black Ops, Arthur Higgins, was abducted from his home in Maryland at seven oh six this evening.”
Garret’s cocky attitude vanished instantly. His mouth fell open, and his face turned white.
Stansfield noticed the change in the chief of staff’s demeanor and focused in on him while he continued. “Right now we have no idea who has taken him or why, but we have to assume the worst if we don’t get him back soon. Higgins is in possession of a vast amount of highly sensitive information. If he is interrogated, our intelligence apparatus will be affected on a global scale.” Garret’s reaction was so out of character that Stansfield paused for a second and then asked, “Mr. Garret, I didn’t know you knew Arthur.”
Garret stammered briefly and said, “I . . . didn’t. I’ve just heard his name mentioned before.”
Stansfield crossed his arms. He knew Mike Nance and Arthur had a professional relationship, but he found it hard to believe that Nance would talk to Garret about Arthur. “What have you heard about him?”
“Nothing really, I just know he used to work for the Agency.”
Stansfield stared suspiciously at Garret. It was obvious that he was lying. Garret was acting far too strange over something that shouldn’t affect him. Instead of speaking, Stansfield let the silence build, increasing the tension and turning everyone’s focus on Garret.
“Do we have any idea who would have taken him?” asked the president.
Without looking away from Garret, Stansfield answered, “My people are putting together a list right now. Arthur has been retired from the Agency for almost two years, but he has continued to use his international contacts to conduct quasi-legitimate business endeavors. We have kept tabs on him and even warned him several times to keep his nose out of official Agency matters.”
“What are we doing to get him back?” asked the president.
“We have contingency plans in place for something like this. We’ve faxed photos of Arthur to all of the airports and police departments on the Eastern Seaboard. We are telling people that he is wanted for questioning in a murder and that he is to be approached with extreme caution. The Air Force had an AWAC on patrol when he was kidnapped and they have launched another. They are looking for any small-plane traffic that may be trying to fly under our conventional radar systems. As time elapses, we will alert our people overseas and have them meet incoming flights from the U.S.”
The phone that Stansfield had been talking to Charlie Dobbs on earlier started to ring. Stansfield excused himself and grabbed it. “Hello.”
“Thomas, we found him,” exclaimed Dobbs.
Stansfield breathed a huge sigh of relief and asked, “Where?”
“You’re not going to believe this. He’s at Stu Garret’s house.”
“What?”
“He’s dead. I’m watching it on the damn news. His body is propped up against Garret’s fence. All three networks are at the scene filming live. The cops aren’t even there yet.”
“How did they get there so fast?”
“We don’t know.”
“Do we have our people on the way?”
“Yes.”
Stansfield’s mind raced to try to make a connection between Arthur and Garret. “Charlie, hold the line for a minute.” Stansfield lowered the phone to his side and looked at the group. “We found him.” Stansfield paused to read Garret’s reaction and then said, “He’s dead.”
Garret looked like a murderer who had just received a not-guilty verdict from a jury. He exhaled deeply and asked, “Where?”
“At your house.”
The look of panic and fear returned to Garret’s face instantly. “What?”
“The media is at your house right now broadcasting the entire story.”
“At my house?”
“Yes.” Stansfield studied the frazzled Garret and asked, “Why would someone dump Arthur’s body on your lawn?”
While Garret stumbled for an answer, the president grabbed the master remote and turned on the entire bank of television sets.
Garret responded to Stansfield’s question with wide eyes. “I have no idea . . . absolutely no idea.”
Cocking his head in a doubtful manner, Stansfield said, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to do better than that.”
Garret shook his head emphatically. “I don’t know. I really don’t even know the guy.”
Stansfield looked at him pensively. There was no doubt Garret was hiding something. Stansfield brought the phone back to his mouth. “Charlie, I’ll be there in about thirty minutes. I want a complete update as soon as I land.” Stansfield hung up the phone and checked his watch. He thought about asking Garret to come with him so his people could debrief him but knew Garret would never go for it. Besides, he needed to do some checking first.
Stansfield looked over at the president, who was staring aghast at the TVs. “Sir, this is a potentially embarrassing situation for you, but all in all we are very lucky. Whoever took Arthur didn’t have enough time to interrogate him, so it looks hopeful that we haven’t been compromised in any way. I have to get back to Langley and start working on damage control. Our allies are going to want som
e answers. I will call you as soon as I find anything out, otherwise I think we should plan on meeting in the morning.”
“That sounds like a good plan,” responded a confused President Stevens.
Stansfield gave Garret one more questioning look and left.
As soon as he was out the door, Stevens pulled Garret aside and said, “Stu, what in the hell is going on?”