by James Rosone
Everyone nodded. The meeting quickly ended, and Director Harper told Mike to follow her to her office. When they walked into the room, she motioned for him to take a seat. “Please close the door.” Then she walked over to the window that faced out into cubicle land and closed the blinds.
She turned to Mike and immediately tore into him. “What was that?” she yelled. “You embarrassed me in front of my division heads! You should have brought this information to me privately, so we could discuss it and what to do with it. Now everyone in the department will know about it in short order!” She seethed, clearly irate at being blindsided. Mike just sat there, silent.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” she demanded, in a slightly lower voice than her previous yelling.
Clearing his throat, Mike calmly responded, “Director Harper, you’re right. I should have brought this to you first. I did try to talk to you privately before the meeting, but you were clearly preoccupied with something important and told me to just brief it during the meeting, which I did. That said, the leadership meeting wasn’t the worst place to bring this up, since we are going to need assistance from the FBI and NSA to find out what this guy has been up to electronically, and the marshals have the manpower to place a tail on this guy or apprehend him when the time comes.”
If Mallory Harper’s eyes could have killed, Mike would’ve dropped to the floor right then and there. “You don’t understand,” she insisted. “This program is already under enough scrutiny by congressional leaders. If they caught wind of this, they would demand to hold hearings. It would be a witch hunt and an embarrassment to the administration, especially since we’re about to ramp up the number of refugees we are going to take in. With this being an election year, we don’t need to give the GOP any additional cannon fodder to use on the campaign trail.” She gradually calmed down as she spoke.
Mike sighed before he responded, “I see your point. I wasn’t aware that this program was already under a tight microscope by Congress; this is only my second month here. I do still believe bringing this forward now is a good thing. Can you imagine if we hadn’t found this guy and he’d somehow pulled off a terrorist attack during the campaign? That would be gold for the GOP.”
He continued, “Look at it from this perspective. If this guy has been up to something nefarious, then you’ll get to look like the hero for finding out before he did something terrible.”
Mallory’s shoulders slumped in resignation. “Well, I suppose we could spin it that way. In either case, what’s done is done. You found something that could be damaging to this office, so we need to act on it. Who was the analyst who signed off on the vetting package?” she asked, wanting to get this problem nipped in the bud quickly.
Mike pulled a piece of paper from the folder he had brought with him to the meeting and handed it to Mallory. “It was Constance Pool. The file had originally been flagged by George Lee before Constance overrode his objection and approved it.” Mike was pulling no punches in his response.
Mallory sat back for a second, lost in thought. Constance had been one of the people she had brought over from Senator Feinstein’s staff. She was a real team player, which was why Mallory had named her as one of the team leaders to oversee several contractor analysts and some of the junior government employees.
“Are you sure?” asked Mallory, hoping that maybe Mike was wrong.
“Yes,” he answered in a very matter-of-fact tone. “Julie Wells verified it before handing me the information.”
Great, she thought. Wells—another person who would do anything to sabotage this program. She let out one long, slow breath.
“Send her to my office on your way out. I will talk with her,” she said. Her voice betrayed her sense of defeat.
As Mike was getting up, he asked, “What do you plan on doing with her?”
Mallory snorted before responding, “I’m going to have to suspend her and revoke her clearance with the NCTC. It’ll be up to HR as to where she goes next or if she’ll be terminated.” Mallory was irritated by the question. She didn’t like the insinuation that she might try to sweep this under the rug.
After Mike left Director Harper’s office, a lightbulb went off in her head as she connected the dots in her memory. She picked up her secured Blackberry and sent a quick text message to the National Security Advisor, Leah Bishop. “We need to talk ASAP. We may have a problem.”
A couple of minutes later, she received a response. “Meet me at the Lincoln Memorial in two hours.”
*******
Exactly two hours later, Leah was sitting on a bench facing one way while Mallory sat nearby facing the opposite direction. Both had their cell phones out as if they were talking to someone, while in reality, they were talking to each other.
“What’s the problem that required me to have to meet you?” Leah asked, a bit annoyed at having to take time out of her day.
Mallory replied, “You remember that name you gave me at Senator Warren’s cocktail party two years ago? The one where that waiter spilled an entire glass of wine on your husband? You asked me to expedite his vetting and get him approved through the refugee program.”
Leah thought for a minute, and then she remembered. The name had been given to her by Nihad Nassimi, the National Director for CAGIR. He had said “friends of the administration” would be very appreciative for any assistance in speeding up his vetting, to the tune of half a million dollars to her husband’s congressional reelection campaign SuperPAC in New York. At the time, it hadn’t seemed like a big deal.
Leah replied, “Yes, now I remember. I’m not sure I recall the man’s name, but I do remember the conversation. My husband was pissed off at that waiter; he had to leave early, and he still had a couple of people to talk to about campaign donations.”
“Well, there’s a problem with him,” blurted Mallory.
Leah interrupted, “—What do you mean, ‘problem,’ exactly?”
“My new deputy—he did some digging into some of the people we had cleared. This particular guy is linked to three separate IED attacks in Iraq, and his biometrics were found on some computers and documents of a Special Forces raid conducted in Yemen six months prior to us approving his refugee application,” Mallory said.
There was an awkward pause. Leah thought for a minute. My God, this is a huge problem. If this gets out, I’m toast, and the President is going to crucify me.
“Who else knows about this information?” she asked tepidly.
“Right now, it’s just my division leaders and a few people in my department. By Monday, I suspect just about everyone in my department is going to know about it, though,” Mallory said, seemingly resigned to her fate.
Thinking quickly, Leah replied, “OK, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to have the Justice Department issue a gag order on this information before the end of the day. We will say the matter is now being handled by the National Security Council while ‘we’ investigate how this happened. If anyone leaks this information, then they will face immediate prosecution.” As Leah spoke, the confidence in her voice grew.
Yes, I can regain control of this situation with Mallory, she thought.
Mallory nodded. “There’s one other question I need to ask before we go our separate ways. What do you want me to do about the other twenty-two names you gave me?” she asked.
That was a good question. Leah pondered what to do about them for a minute before responding, “Right now, nothing. We need to contain this situation. Your deputy, he’s CIA, right?” she asked.
“Yes, but operating under Homeland Security cover. Apparently, he’s really good at his job. He’s only been in my department for two months and he found this guy already.”
“Hmm…OK, let him know that the NSC is going to review all of the people who were placed in Chicago and Baltimore. This will buy us some time to sort things out. In the meantime, send him to the refugee camps in Jordan and Turkey. Tell him you want him to evaluate what they’re doin
g out there and how it could be improved. Tell him this is in preparation for the influx that’s about to start. That should keep him busy for the next six or eight weeks while we figure out if any of those other people are potential threats.”
Mallory just nodded, then stood up and walked away.
Once Mallory had left, Leah placed her government Blackberry in her handbag and pulled out her personal smartphone. She typed out a cryptic message to Nihad Nassimi, the National Director of CAGIR, saying, “We need to meet ASAP.”
A couple of minutes went by and then her phone beeped. Nihad responded, “I can meet at five o’clock at our usual place.” She knew his message meant that they would soon be sitting at a bench in the orchid room at the Botanical Gardens. She went off to try and tie up some other loose ends at the White House before that meeting.
*******
Nihad arrived right on time. He quickly found Leah and, by her facial expression, gathered that she was gravely concerned about something.
He walked up to Leah with hand extended and said, “Hello, Ms. Bishop, it’s a great honor to see you again.”
Leah brushed off his greeting and got right down to business. “Nihad, I don’t have much time, so I’ll be frank. Two years ago, at a fundraiser for Senator Warren, you gave me the name of a refugee that you said I needed to ensure was accepted into the program and allowed to immigrate here,” she said in a hushed tone. As she spoke, she stood up and slowly began walking next to him, steering them so it would appear that they were casually enjoying the flowers.
Nihad had to think for a minute before he could summon up the memory. “Yes, now I remember. I can’t recall the man’s name, but I do remember the conversation,” he said, also in a hushed tone.
Leah stopped walking and looked up at a particularly delicate selection of orchids. “We have a problem. That man has a history of involvement in terrorism. An analyst at NCTC just discovered this. Who in the world is this guy, and why did you have me clear him to enter the country?” she demanded, still speaking quietly but with quite a bit of an edge to her voice.
Nihad was taken aback. He wasn’t used to being talked down to or accused of something, especially by a woman. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was given this name by a person with influence in the Saudi government as a personal favor. I didn’t ask questions beyond that,” he replied, trying to calm the conversation down.
Leah turned and looked Nihad in the eyes. “There’s nothing more I can do; he’s going to be arrested. There is evidence linking him to several IED attacks in Iraq against US and Iraqi Forces. I don’t know if he will be charged in America or Iraq, but you can rest assured, he will be prosecuted,” she said with authority in her voice.
Nihad snorted. Who does she think she is? he thought. I own her. She works for me.
He looked at Leah with a steely gaze and said, “Remember that $500K we gave to your husband’s reelection campaign? That money came with strings. You essentially accepted a bribe, and if you don’t think we will use that against you, then you’re kidding yourself. You do what you need to with this man to cover yourself, but we’re going to continue to give you names, especially with this influx that is going to start in January…and you are going to approve them. Do I make myself clear, Leah?”
She gritted her teeth, then calmed herself and returned her gaze to the flowers. “Nihad, you may think you have me in your pocket, but don’t forget my position or who I work for.” With that, she turned around and left the Botanical Gardens to return to work at the White House.
Chapter 8
Overworked, Underpaid
Zaatari Refugee Camp, Jordan
The flight from Dulles to Queen Alia International Airport had been extremely long, but it had afforded Mike, Julie and Jim some time to catch up on some much-needed sleep.
When they stepped off the plane, Mike felt like he was returning to a long-lost friend; he’d been to Jordan several times before. For Julie Wells, this was her first time in Jordan, but not the Middle East. For Special Agent Jim Leary, however, this was his first foray abroad—he’d never traveled outside of the United States before.
When the three of them landed in Jordan, they were met by one of the Regional Security Officers from the embassy who helped them navigate their way through customs and ushered them to the vehicle that would chauffeur them. After a short meeting at the embassy, they were driven over to the Zaatari Refugee Camp, where they would meet up with the folks involved in the refugee screening process to begin their assessment for Director Harper.
Despite the fact that he’d been there before, driving into the camp was still a surreal scene for Mike.
Things have gotten worse, Mike thought.
For as far as the eye could see, there were row after row of tents and literally hundreds of thousands of people milling about. Many of the people looked tired, worn out from fleeing their war-torn homes, only to be herded like cattle into these enormous camps. Mike knew that many of the people before him wanted to try and settle in Amman or any other city where they could find work and try to start over. He guessed that many more were hoping that maybe, just maybe, they could be taken in as a refugee by the United States or a European nation.
Once their vehicle had navigated its way through the camp, they eventually came to a series of portable metal trailers enclosed by large fences and guarded by armed security guards. The embassy driver pulled up to the vehicle entrance and presented his ID. A minute later, they were waved through and directed where to park.
Getting out of the vehicle, Mike, Julie and Jim took a moment to stretch as they observed a long line of people being called forward by the guards one at a time to be checked, before being directed to stand in a separate location where they could apply for refugee status. There had to be close to a fifty people sitting at various tables under a large mesh tent, filling out the appropriate paperwork. Once a person had finished filling out the required documents, they were herded over to another tent where they waited to schedule a screening interview and would then return when it was time for their interview.
The scene was almost overwhelming for Julie and Jim as they stood there taking it all in. For Mike, this was just part of the job.
“Over here, guys,” Mike said as he motioned for them to follow him to a couple of trailers a little further away from the crowds.
Mike walked up to the metal door, turning the handle to open it up. In seconds, he was buffeted with the cool A/C from inside. This trailer mostly housed the CIA and State Department teams, who were responsible for the vetting and screening of the refugees and asylum seekers from the camps in Jordan.
One of the screeners, who was sitting at a desk with a computer in front of him, looked up at the newcomers. His face lit up, and he quickly walked over to them. “Mike, my old friend, it’s good to see you again. What are you doing out here? I thought you were back in D.C. or something?” he asked out of curiosity.
Mike shook hands with a man he knew very well, Billy Logan. He and Billy had worked together in various countries over the years. They had developed a strong bond during those troubling times.
“Hi, Billy. It’s good to see you too. Homeland’s kept me busy, and yes, I’m back in D.C.,” he said with a wink that said to play along. He didn’t need one of his old CIA buddies blowing his cover for him. His friend seemed to have caught the drift and effortlessly transitioned to fawning on Julie.
“You going to introduce me to this beautiful woman, or do I have to do it myself?” he chided Mike, taking her hand in his.
Julie blushed at the sudden attention. Such an interaction would have never flown in the corporate world back in the States, but out there in the field, the rules seemed different.
Mike snickered, then ushered away his friend’s hands, which had lingered a bit too long. “This is Julie Wells, my top analyst, and this is Special Agent Jim Leary. He’s FBI, so don’t hold it against him. He’s a good guy, and sharp too.” Jim ex
changed a handshake with Billy.
“Homeland has me working at the NCTC now, and we’ve been sent here by Director Mallory Harper, who heads up our department, to check on the vetting process and make sure you guys are ready for the ramp up,” Mike explained.
“And here I thought you guys were coming here to help us out,” Billy replied with a chuckle. He led them over to a table and some chairs, glancing at Julie a few too many times.
The group took a seat at the table and began to talk about what had been going on at the camp recently. They asked about how many applications they typically saw a week, how many people they could vet a day, and so on.
As Billy passed out some cold water bottles from the fridge to everyone, he said, “Right now, we have about 140,000 people at this camp. There are several other camps in Jordan that have similar numbers as well. As you know from your time in Turkey, Mike, we only have twenty-five Agency screeners in Jordan, and about thirty or so in Turkey. State has sent about forty diplomatic security personnel to Jordan and about sixty to Turkey to also aid in the vetting process.”
Billy took a swig of water before continuing. “Each screener can conduct about four interviews a day. So, we can conduct roughly 1,300 interviews a week. But keep in mind, each person is being interviewed twice. After the first interview, if the interviewer passes them, then those names go to our analytical cell, which consists of twelve analysts. They then conduct a full intelligence background and then provide that information to the second screener. If they pass the second interview, then their packet is essentially approved. From there, it’s just a matter of when the State Department chooses them for refugee status and flies them to the US. Right now, there’s a quota of no more than one thousand people a month. We were just told last week that this quota would be raised to five thousand a week. At that rate, they’re going to clear out most of these camps faster than we can screen and vet them,” Billy said, looking disgruntled.
