Special Access

by Mark A. Hewitt

  There were no weapons of mass destruction. “The president lied, and people died,” was the refrain from the left. The new president’s solution was that the intelligence community needed more professionalism and oversight, so another war wouldn’t be started based on bad intelligence. Those who provided that professionalism and oversight were almost 100 attorneys, the majority of whom had radical legal backgrounds from US nonprofit organizations across the country. A significant number of those organizations defended terrorists brought to trial when they weren’t actively working behind the scenes to overthrow the US government. Soon came demands from inside the Agency to lessen the number of direct actions by CIA and the IC, “based on shoddy intelligence.”

  Terrorism became a bad word at the White House. Islamic extremist were even worse words. The senior intelligence service officers at the NCTC were systematically discouraged from more-aggressive action on al-Qaeda and others under the auspices that the intel didn’t support the action—per the judgment of the new attorney corps.

  Ten months after his confirmation, sitting before the House Intelligence Subcommittee, Frank Carey let it slip that he was executing the president’s wishes to hire more minorities and conduct Muslim outreach. The response from Republicans was disbelief and outrage. The White House immediately disavowed any such plan to have the CIA, FBI, or even NASA conduct outreach to Muslim countries.

  When a congressman from Texas asked the NASA administrator about the Muslim-outreach plan, a NASA spokesman said, “The initiative was very real until somebody slammed the brakes on it.”

  The only problem at the CIA was that every career executive, analyst, and case officer saw the DCI’s efforts for what they were—to interject by fiat unqualified, unsecured people into the one agency entrusted to keep the nation’s secrets. Frank Carey tried, but every Muslim brought before human resources failed the background investigation and polygraph.

  The DCI was incensed that not a single Muslim could pass the BI or polygraph. Every month, the president asked, “How are you coming on Muslim outreach?”

  Every month, the DCI replied, “Not well, Mr. President, but we’re working hard to make your vision come true.”

  The president suggested background investigators and polygraphers were deliberately rejecting candidates and undermining the DCI’s authority. He added that perhaps the inspector general should investigate. When the IG began questioning the CIA’s rank and file, every CIA employee clearly understood they were being targeted by a hostile president. The DCI felt the same way but for different reasons.

  The president disrespected him often. He saw it many times before. Someone who claimed to be tolerant of bisexuals conducted himself in a way that made it clear he was disgusted by the idea. The president avoided being alone in the Oval Office with the DCI. When he was, the president was rude, crude, and demanded better results from his priority projects, including greater minority hiring to include openly gay individuals. More Muslims needed to be in the ranks, too. He warned Carey to investigate his out-of-control agents.

  Previous presidents were briefed daily by a senior CIA official or the DCI in private. The new president was initially briefed every day by the DCI and a senior intelligence officer. After three months in office, the president received his daily brief weekly. After ten months, it became biweekly. The vice president or the Chief of Staff received the PDB in hardcopy. A CIA agent dropped it off with one of them, as directed by the DCI, and returned to McLean.

  Ten months after the president’s inauguration, the DCI’s daily operations meeting included a significant change of status from red to yellow-green. NCTC agents believed they finally found Osama bin Laden’s location with ninety percent probability. He was in Pakistan in a town near a large Pakistani base that was the Paki equivalent of the US Military Academy. The DCI requested a personal audience with the president to discuss the granularity of the intelligence.

  Once granted, they met. The president was obviously uncomfortable, as the DCI gave him the details. The president looked shocked, and it took him several moments to compose himself for a reply.

  “When you’re 100% sure, we’ll take action. I don’t trust those clowns at your place. They’ve proven they don’t know what they’re doing, and I won’t risk my presidency on a ninety-percent solution from a bunch of losers who failed to find WMDs. Now get out.”

  Successive meetings with the president resulted in similar aggression toward the DCI and a similar assessment that the odds were still ninety percent. SIS officers of the NCTC were stunned, then resigned, when the DCI announced, “Until we have photographic evidence, we’re to continue developing our intelligence.”

  They secured a safe house, high-powered telescopes, and as much eavesdropping equipment they could muster without drawing attention to themselves. Months of surveillance resulted in not one single photograph or voice print. The compound was too unique even for the wealthy side of Islamabad, Pakistan. With Howard Hughes gone, no one else on the planet was that much of a recluse.

  The president unveiled his reelection strategy to his staff, announcing he would have a blockbuster announcement soon. The DCI was furious and dejected. The POTUS was going to go after Osama bin Laden when there was 100% confirmation, which could be any day. He wasn’t about to let such an opportunity slip by.

  “It was given to me, and it’s golden,” he nearly shouted at the DCI.

  He walked from behind the Resolute Desk and put an index finger in the middle of the DCI’s chest. “Don’t fuck this up, or your ass will be out on the street in a minute. Then you can go butt fuck all the little boys to your heart’s content.”

  That was the final straw. Carey was ready to quit, then thought better of it. He was smart enough to know that he didn’t think straight when he was angry. It wasn’t time to have some lickspittle cocksucker or political lackey agree with him, console him, and make him feel better. The confrontation had just moved to another plane. He had two opposing thoughts, each fighting for clarity. One was to seek advice from a very trusted source, so, as he did for thirty years, he called Bashir.

  “Will you be in Washington anytime soon?” Carey asked.

  “I can be there by the end of the week, my friend. Will that be OK? I haven’t had my little airplane out in a very long time.”

  *

  The white, green, and gold Boeing 747 landed at Dulles and parked near the executive terminal across the ramp from where the lesser princes parked their Gulfstreams and smaller Boeings.

  Carey’s second thought dominated his waking hours. It was becoming painfully clear to him, his friends, and even his enemies that the president was bad for the country and horrible for the Democratic Party. Carey saw himself as a victim, like Claus Schenk Graf von Stauffenberg, who was maimed while serving the Fuhrer only to discover that Hitler was unadulterated evil, a man hell-bent on destroying Germans and Germany. Von Stauffenberg slowly came to the conclusion that he was the best person to organize a movement to save Germany by stopping Hitler. He was under no illusion that the mission would be suicide if it failed, but for him, a shattered war hero, living under such tyranny was worse than death. Von Stauffenberg got close enough to plant a bomb near where Hitler stood and barely escaped the blast.

  Carey was being consistently and emotionally maimed by the president.

  During Cabinet meetings, after the press withdrew, the defeated faces of the Cabinet members were similar to the faces of Hitler’s generals before von Stauffenberg tried to kill him. The man became a churlish tyrant, and the DCI became the frequent butt of cutting remarks around the table. Carey left the White House livid, like a lover scorned. He was so supportive of the president during the campaign and after the election and often fantasized about being with him, but those fantasies were replaced by lethal ideas and thoughts of revenge.

  When the president couldn’t appoint his communist radical supporters to key positions, he was forced to appoint those he could control, not lead. The DCI was th
e most outrageous appointment. His history in gay rights and scandalous associations were slightly offset by his longstanding position on the Senate Intelligence Committee. When the president hinted that he knew of Carey’s overseas pastimes, Carey knew anything he did or didn’t do would be subject to blackmail.

  Then the president finally crossed the line by shoving his finger against Carey’s chest.

  “You pushed me too far, Mr. President,” Carey muttered when he was alone. “You grossly underestimate my ability to fight back. You’re nothing but a Detroit thug, and I won’t take your shit any longer.”

  The DCI and the Saudi prince met on the prince’s jet. Carey reverted to his obsequious persona. “Bashir, you definitely know how to travel. I’m always in awe of your little airplane.”

  After a handsome young man in makeup brought tea and pastries, Carey discussed his concerns and ideas. Prince Bashir was enamored of the tall, arrogant senator and expressed his sympathy.

  “At some point, he needs to go away,” Carey said, “but I’m afraid the only option is to kill him. He’s the most protected man in the world, but I think I know of a way.”

  “Very interesting. Tell me more.”

  “I have information that there’s a group of military commandos, Navy SEALs, who’ve been trained for this mission, which is to kill the president. They could do it, but they have to be properly motivated. They’re only compelled to shoot him if he were held hostage or kidnapped.”

  “Americans plan for the most bizarre contingencies. Very interesting. What’s your plan?”

  “I will compel the SEALs to kill him. Otherwise, they’ll watch their comrades die. I think it’s a good plan, but there must be something dramatic to incite these professional killers into action. They’re very protective of each other and are willing to die for a fellow SEAL.”

  “It sounds like a good plan. It might take awhile before these SEALs are properly motivated to take…. How do you say…?”

  “Appropriate action?”

  “Yes. I think I can help. I’m aware of a man in Africa who may have the long-distance shooting skills. It might take several weeks before I can arrange a meeting.”

  “I can’t ask you, dear Bashir, to become personally involved.”

  “My dear Carey, you can’t do it. I’ll develop a plan. How much do you think this business is worth to this man? He must be….”

  “...appropriately motivated?”

  “Yes. Appropriately motivated. That’s very good. I believe I can also locate some of those SEALs.”

  “I believe you're anticipating some of the challenges I face. I don’t think I can provide much information without raising awareness. I must maintain distance from this.”

  “I can handle this. I’m very good at arranging things, yes?”

  “Bashir, you’re wonderful. I’ll owe you greatly, my friend.”

  “I just thought of something Carey. I wonder if there’s a file on the president. I’d be very interested to know if there is such a thing.”

  The request caught Carey momentarily off guard. “I’ll find out. You’re correct. It would be very interesting to know if there is a file.”

  “Please let me know.”

  “I shall, Bashir.” Carey bowed in respect. “You’re the best, a great friend.”

  “It’s the least I can do for one of my very best friends.”

  “I’ll pay whatever’s necessary.”

  “We can worry about that later. Let’s talk about it when you visit Riyadh. I have two very nice toys for us to play with.”

  “Maybe aboard the Sa’ad?” He envisioned his private cabin on the prince’s yacht. “Inshallah. Thank you, Bashir. I must go.

  “Shukran.”

  “Please soon, my friend. It has been so long. Ma’assalama.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  2315 April 15, 2011

  Near East Division, CIA Headquarters Washington, DC

  For nearly six straight hours, Nazy Cunningham and her analysts in the NE Division pored over the latest on-line release of nearly 10,000 secret documents. Most had been classified at one time as confidential or even secret. The administration hailed the release of the documents as “a great thing” and done in the name of “free speech,” while Republicans called the act “unmitigated treason.”

  Those at the CIA and the National Counterterrorism Center hoped the release of the documents from the State Department wouldn’t compromise any ongoing operation. Early analysis after three hours of scrutinizing thousands of documents had most of the agents confident that the data dump would have little or no impact on current operations.

  At the five-hour mark, nearly every analyst in the division agreed that everything released on that go-round was trash or OBE, overcome by events.

  One little line in a two-part dispatch from Pakistan that Nazy almost overlooked because of its Confidential classification was not only intriguing but potentially explosive. On the second page was a casual remark from a low-level Pakistani intelligence administrative clerk: “There is great interest within ISI of a huge compound near the military academy. CIA is watching the house.”

  Nazy spun in her chair, logged onto the classified intranet, and typed a memo to the deputy directors of the CIA and the NCTC.

  *

  FLASH. Potential location of OBL identified in latest online release doc #5467. Could be enough to put officers at risk or alarm occupants of compound. Expect immediate media discovery and release. Plz advise/respond. End.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  0500 April 30, 2011

  The White House

  The call to the DEVGRU commander went through in less than two minutes to the secret base in east Afghanistan. The President got right to the point.

  “Captain Cox, I don’t have to tell you this is a history-making event. I want you to know I appreciate you and your men’s service to our country.”

  “Yes, Sir.” The old SEAL wondered if the guy wanted a trophy.

  “I have trust and confidence in you and your men to carry out this mission successfully.”

  “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

  “Captain Cox, I know you know what commander’s wishes are. Am I right, Captain?”

  “Yes, Sir. What are you looking for, Sir?”

  “Captain Cox, I’m looking for assurance that he doesn’t leave that compound alive. Am I clear enough?”

  Captain Cox heard warning bells in his head. “Yes, Sir.

  Understood, Sir.”

  “Thank you, Captain Cox. Good luck. We never had this call, did we?”

  “I don’t know what call you’re talking about, Sir.”

  “Thank you. Make me proud. Good luck and good night.”

  “Good night, Sir.”

  The line to the STE disconnected. Cox looked at the receiver in disgust, replaced it in its cradle, and turned to his assault team. Members sat on any available flat spot in the small, modular SCIF.

  He said matter-of-factly, “He wants the fucker dead.”

  A moment passed, then Chief Petty Officer Lampard spat, “Is that another way of saying he doesn’t want him interrogated?”

  “Or waterboarded?” someone in back asked. “Don’t we want to know where Zawahiri is?”

  “How about Abu Sayyef?”

  “You’re shitting me!”

  Captain Cox raised his hand, and the men fell silent. “Dunk, Chase, Spike, Spock stay. Everyone else take a walk.”

  When the last SEAL departed the SCIF, Cox asked, “The president said he wanted assurances that OBL doesn’t leave the compound alive. He invoked commander’s wishes and we-never-had-this-conversation bullshit.”

  Four confused, long-haired, bearded men looked at each other.

  “I’ve rarely been this mad, and I’m disinclined to honor his wishes. If we find that murderous bastard, he needs to be interrogated until his seventy-two virgins waiting in heaven won’t want to have anything to do with him. If I’m out of line, speak now, and I’ll r
elieve myself of command. Am I clear?”

  Commander Mike “Dunk” Jordan spoke quickly. “Skipper, I vote we take the bastard alive if at all possible, just as planned. He needs to squirm and talk.”

  “I second the motion,” Chase Mosely said.

  “Count me in,” Spike Klug said. “The bastard has to pay.”

  “I agree,” an incredulous Matt “Spock” Mott said, “but how the fuck will we pull it off?”

  “You’re the brains of this outfit, Spock,” Cox said. “I know you can come up with a plan that’ll make your mother proud. Americans will sing your praises one of these days.”

  “All right, Skipper. How much time do I have?”

  “What can you do in two minutes? We take off in ten, and I have to piss.”

  Spock thought fast. “I’m done. Want to hear it?”

  “I’ll hold it. What’s the plan?”

  Spock recommended an immediate burial at sea according to Muslim tradition. That was a touch none of them could have imagined.

  “That’s perfect,” Cox said. “Gentlemen, I think we have a plan. What do you say?” He placed his fist in the center of the men. The others bumped fists with him.

  “Hooyah!”

  “Now I’ll go piss. It’ll be a long flight.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  2200 May 1, 2011

  The White House

  “Who the fuck told them to bury him at sea?” the President squealed.

  The Vice President, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the SECDEF, the DCI, and the Secretary of State didn’t have an answer.

  Though he didn’t realize it, the Secretary of State came to the rescue. “Mr. President, none of the Islamic nations would take the body. It sounds like the commander made a great snap decision in hindsight. Pictures of the body are being processed at the CTC.”