Substantively, it is Wendy Upton he is beginning to worry about more. She is more subtle, and more of a puzzle. She is serious and elusive. People respect her—in both parties. Bakke cannot get a read on her.
The first presidential primaries are still a year off. But Wendy Upton, with her military background, her support for women in the military, her good-girl rectitude, could attract serious backing—especially from private equity types, and their money moved in bunches. He will need to watch her. If she did something dramatic, the Oosay hearings could become prologue to a dangerous rivalry he hadn’t entirely seen coming.
“Right, do something to change the dynamics,” Tucker says. “Then you’d be driving that committee. Not just sitting there watching David Traynor and Wendy Upton battin’ eyes at each other.”
Forty-Two
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 7
WASHINGTON, D.C.
He needed only a little reminding. If there is one thing Dick Bakke knows how to do, it’s create an outside force. He was born an outside force.
Each day Bakke made sure one of his communications staff followed the voices of the far right in America—the Web videos posted on WeTV (almost all of them by men), a half dozen important podcasts, a list of highly followed conservative bloggers, two dozen key websites. An analytics firm he uses has identified the ten thousand top conservative “influencers” on the right in social media based on the size and value of their network of followers, and an algorithm using keywords summarizes what they discussed yesterday. A press aide has a summary of it to Bakke by email each morning by 7:30. He wants to know these people, hear their fear and anger, feel the pulse of their hearts. To Dick Bakke they are not the fringe. They are the leading edge.
As he skims the morning summary he finds something promising. A podcast, called Deep State—the anchor calls himself “Hackford Stone”—has woven a theory about the death of General Brian Roderick that is showing up in fragments on different websites around the world. Stone has connected the dots and ordered them into an organized narrative. “Was it possible General Brian Roderick was killed by friendly fire? Perhaps even assassinated by American interests? Was the tragedy in Oosay, in other words, a contract hit by the Nash administration?
“Seem far-fetched?” Stone had asked rhetorically. “Hear the facts for yourself. Then you decide.
“If you don’t know, General Roderick was a controversial figure in military circles,” Stone explained for his listeners. “He’s hailed as a martyr now, a fallen hero. But in life, Roderick was a man bold enough—or some said impudent enough—to be an outspoken critic of Pentagon policy and the Nash administration. He was a decorated soldier, however, and too beloved to be fired. But it worried the brass that he was winning supporters among a silent majority of rank-and-file soldiers. And the more supporters he won, the more angry he made the administration.”
Stone walked through “the evidence.” The general had written a controversial essay in an influential foreign policy journal attacking U.S. policy, which he said was breeding more terrorists than it was killing through its reliance on drones. Roderick himself had nearly died in a bombing three years ago in Iraq, and there were “questions” then about the circumstances. A website in Austria last year published a story citing unnamed intelligence sources to the effect of “it has been said that there have been calls for the outspoken Roderick to be ‘taken out.’”
“Ugly rumors,” Stone said. “But they make it plausible to wonder if General Roderick’s death might be different than we have been assuming.
“Who knew Roderick was in Oosay? With whom was he really meeting? Why didn’t he leave that night? Who knew he had decided to spend an extra day in the compound? The answers all point to his superiors, many of them his critics. Only a theory, but something that needs to be investigated.”
Some things you do yourself, Bakke believes. Aides came and went, and when they left they might begin to leak. He gets out one of his three personal phones and sends an instant message to a writer he knows, Marc Filippo, an editor at the popular conservative website True Flag.
“You should listen to this podcast,” Bakke messages. “I think it might make a good piece for True Flag. Please message me if you decide to publish something.”
Two hours later, a grateful Filippo posts a piece summarizing Stone’s podcast. Filippo has adopted a tone of even greater skepticism. Thus at the blog’s conclusion, when Filippo credits Stone’s theories for having some merit, it has the added weight of apparent surprise.
True Flag has 40 million followers a month. And Filippo’s team knows how to write headlines for the Web: “Could General Brian Roderick have died from friendly fire—that wasn’t entirely an accident?”
THAT AFTERNOON, in a scrum with reporters by the members-only elevators, Senator Bakke is asked how he feels the committee is progressing.
“I think we should be looking at some new possibilities about what happened.”
“What possibilities are those?” asks a reporter from NewsMix, a new conservative website, which has been tipped to pose this question.
“I keep getting sent messages from my constituents that we look into theories that General Roderick was killed by friendly fire, and possibly—that his death was no accident.”
“What do you mean no accident?” a reporter from the Wall Street Journal asks in surprise.
Bakke is careful not to say the words himself: “It’s just a theory, but it connects evidence from several sources. So it’s worth looking at. We owe it to the American people to be thorough, all the more because we are a single committee representing both the House and Senate. Because of that, we need to make sure no theory has been overlooked—or covered up—especially by the administration’s own so-called internal inquiry.”
“Are you referring to the inquiry led by Peter Rena and Randi Brooks?” asks the New York Times.
“I am.”
And with that, the stray claims of Hackford Stone’s obscure podcast have made it into the mainstream press.
Bakke turns and heads into the elevator. A single aide rides with him, a young woman who is his body person that day, keeping his schedule and keeping him on time.
The aide is pretty and young, and she is tempted to ask, “You’re not serious, are you, Senator?” But she manages only, “Senator, do you think that theory is even possible?”
“Oh, we need to investigate everything.”
ARVID LUPSA SPOTS THE ARTICLE in Political Animal an hour later. It not only mentions Bakke’s accusation but also describes the groundswell of talk in social media about friendly fire that has built up from the True Flag posting online.
Lupsa carries his laptop into Randi Brooks’s office and the two of them wander down to Rena’s.
“Flesh-eating zombie time,” Brooks says, handing Rena a printout. “And remember, nothing in Zombieland ever dies.” Rena scans the story. “Bakke is a man not to be underestimated,” Brooks says. She looks at Rena a moment longer than usual. “Given where we are.”
The comment does not need elaboration. Rena knows where they are. They are convinced members of President Nash’s national security team are involved in a cover-up. The two Oosay survivors who had lied to them had both testified this week in closed session. So had two other men they suspected might be involved in the cover-up, or were at least aware of it, CIA Director Owen Webster and DIA Director Frederick Willey. And two days ago Rena’s team confronted the man who they thought might be at the center of it, Colonel Henry Arroyo of the DIA.
Now this—an accusation by Senator Bakke that Roderick’s death was an assassination. Was it possible? Is that what was being covered up? Or was Bakke simply trying to shake things up, much as Rena had with Arroyo yesterday morning?
His cell rings: Matt Alabama calling.
“Turn on BNS. You have incoming.”
Incoming, the old military word for artillery dropping on you, is Washington-speak for someone attacking you in the media.
Senator Bakke is a guest on Jack Anthem’s afternoon news roundup Focal Point.
“I have proof that the outside investigators in the case, Peter Rena and Randi Brooks, have the drone footage and are withholding it from the committee. I worry, now, in light of new reports, that they might be suppressing it because it provides evidence that General Roderick may have been killed by friendly fire. Or worse.”
“Are you suggesting, Senator, an assassination?” Anthem asks. He looks genuinely shocked.
“We’re trying to arrange a special witness for the committee in a few days who will shed light on this.”
Anthem tries to unpack what Bakke has just said. Has he seen the video? Anthem asks.
No, that’s just the point.
How does he know what it shows?
That is exactly what the committee and the American public need to learn.
“You watching?” Alabama asks.
“The pace of chaos,” Rena says.
“What?”
“Something I read,” Rena says. “It’s the idea that there is no such thing as chaos. The idea that something is chaotic is just the perception people have when things begin to move faster than they can process them. We get confused and perceive the normal random pattern of events as things spinning out of control. They were never in control in the first place. Chaos is a constant state. It’s just our ability to perceive that changes.”
“Well shit, Yoda,” Alabama says. “If you really have that video, and you are obstructing Congress from getting it, you and Randi better get lawyers.”
It is the new Washington: public service and private lawyers.
Brooks is yelling at the television. “That is so fucking outrageous!”
Rena is off the phone.
“You know what this is, Peter. It’s classic diversion. People are criticizing his committee. So you pretend you’re on to some conspiracy, something else, to distract from your own problems.”
The term du jour for this sleight of hand in town is “what about-ism,” as in “Hey, what about this?”
Rena’s feelings about Bakke’s claims are different than his partner’s, however. Yes, the idea that they are part of the cover-up surely is a diversion. But is the theory that Roderick was assassinated by U.S. interests completely out of the realm of possibility?
Rena’s phone is vibrating. He is getting multiple calls now. He recognizes some of the numbers as reporters. His office phone begins to light up as well.
“Can you handle the press for me?” he asks Brooks.
“Where are you going?” Her partner has a habit of sometimes vanishing without explaining himself. He always had a reason. But it is still annoying.
Rena begins to gather his bag.
“Me?” Rena says. “Gonna see a man about a murder conspiracy.”
Forty-Three
On almost any day Congress is in session, one will find senators having a drink or dinner at Bistro Bis. Often the people with them are more powerful than the senators they are trying to influence. The food is a mix of French and modern American, and the bar is large enough to provide privacy for those in the dining room.
Rena has not picked the place. Dick Bakke has.
He is waiting for Rena at the bar holding bourbon that has the word Kentucky in the name twice. Kentucky Tavern Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey. Rena thinks you should never order anything that has to try that hard. He orders a Grey Goose martini.
“What are we doing here, Mr. Rena?”
“I want you to tell me what you have.”
That wins a smile from Bakke, and Rena notices Samantha Reese enter Bistro Bis and take a seat near the front of the bar by the windows.
“You want me to tell you what I have?”
“Whatever it is, I promise we will pursue it. If Roderick was killed by friendly fire—on purpose or not—we want to get to the truth. That’s all. No cover-up. I promise. You don’t know me, but I have a problem with that sort of thing.”
A long look from Bakke.
“Just hand it over?”
“You have my word.”
Bakke’s reaction is something between a snicker and a gasp. “You are a Boy Scout, aren’t you?”
“An Eagle Scout, actually.”
“You’ll be seeing things in the next few days that will be very interesting,” Bakke says. “It will start to come out.”
Rena gives Bakke a stare that Randi Brooks calls “the read.” It is something he has done his whole life, trying to understand people by watching them. He refined it in army interrogation rooms around the world, and now he was paid to use a variation of it on some of the most powerful people in the country.
Randi Brooks would call this whole meeting “a read,” Rena’s habit of wanting to confront antagonists in person, ask them questions, and observe their body language, speech, and mannerisms as they try to answer.
It has taken less time to read Bakke than Rena expected.
“You have nothing,” he tells the senator. “You don’t have the video. You don’t know what’s on it. You have no witnesses.”
“What does that drone video show?” Bakke says. He has raised his voice.
“I’m not authorized to tell you that, Senator.”
“If it disproves General Roderick was killed by Americans, or people working on their behalf, you will tell me, Mr. Rena.”
Rena leans closer and, slowly, just above a whisper, says, “The video is classified. If I were to reveal anything about it to you, that would constitute a federal crime.”
Bakke smiles a strange, chilling smile back, the kind you recall in the middle of the night. “You are a traitor to your party, Mr. Rena.”
“You can only be a traitor to your country, Senator.”
“You know where this country is headed?” Bakke asks.
“I find it’s hard enough to understand where it’s been.”
The Bakke smile is back. “Those who don’t understand the past are doomed to repeat it? You really should have come armed, Mr. Rena, with more than clichés.”
“You know the one about ends never justifying means?” Rena says. “That one’s true, too. It’s why conducting yourself with honor is so important. Because in politics there is no end, is there? The battles just go on and on.”
Bakke doesn’t like being lectured to, which is why Rena is doing it. He wants to see the senator angry, to see what he has.
Bakke frowns and leans in toward Rena. His voice has become more liquid. “My party conducted itself with honor and good manners for decades. We compromised on everything until the government became so bloated it was an addiction. And now the Democrats are out of ideas. And the country is failing. I’m fighting to change that, and if I need to scorch the earth a little, so be it.”
“And after you have scorched the earth and made the truth into a joke,” Rena says, “how do you govern?”
Bakke’s unsettling smile has been replaced by something angrier and more sincere. “The truth? Don’t underestimate me, Mr. Rena. I’m not the cynic you think I am. But I understand that the truth is bigger than a few grubby facts. It’s a mistake to be too literal. Knowing that is why my side is winning.”
“Good night, Senator,” Rena says, rising.
He has learned what he came for.
“I’m going to take you down,” Bakke says.
Rena stops. He doesn’t like bullies. They’re usually cowards, and the threats they make are usually empty. But that doesn’t mean the people who make them aren’t dangerous. He looks hard at Bakke, a man who is balding, overweight, physically awkward, cunning, and relentless. Rena studies him a moment longer. Then he turns and leaves.
ON THE SIDEWALK, he has to pause to calm his breathing. He’s learned two things.
One, Bakke is bluffing about having evidence Roderick died of friendly fire—let alone some kind of assassination.
Two, the man is more dangerous than Rena thought.
He pulls out his phone. There are
two text messages.
One from Vic: “Heard the accusations from Bakke. Hope you are ok.”
She’d called earlier, and he had not called her back.
The other message is from Brooks. The Oosay Committee would be resuming hearings next week. There are rumors of a surprise witness.
About ninety hours away.
How much more could happen, Rena wonders, in ninety hours?
Part Four
Welcome to the Jungle
FEBRUARY 8 TO FEBRUARY 13
Forty-Four
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 8
OOSAY, MORAT
From the fall of 1908 until early 1910, American novelist Thomas Strong Adams lived in Oosay, Morat, in rented rooms near the waterfront neighborhood called “Nuit,” or the “Night.” It was a poor area full of coffeehouses, bars, and dance halls, but it was a favorite at the time of a small knot of young American and European expatriate artists and writers. It was in these rooms that Adams wrote his second novel, The Forgotten Heart, which would propel him from a promising curiosity to a contemporary of Ford Madox Ford and E. M. Forster, and would even draw comparisons to Henry James. Adams would write two more novels of loss, love, and manners set on the African continent. Together, the “African trilogy” became the core of his literary legacy. Well into the 1960s, Adams remained a source of pride to the educated elite of North Africa. Even during the regime of Ali Nori, the Adams home was still a prominent attraction in guidebooks. The house, open for tours, and nearby spots featured as key scenes in his stories were highlights of “literary Africa” day trip excursions. In the evening, tourists liked to visit the Nuit cafes Adams had frequented.
In the latter part of the twentieth century, Adams’s work started to become a source of angry reconsideration, particularly among Islamic intellectuals. They described the writing, and especially his innocent white young female heroines, as subtly anti-African and anti-Muslim.
The Good Lie Page 22
