The Aegis Conspiracy

by Galen Winter

  Reluctantly he concluded he had been permanently sentenced to an analyst’s chair. He would have preferred a prison term. There were other alternatives. Den planned to quit the Agency and look for them. Before he could execute his plan, he was called to a meeting with Teddy Smith.

  Den didn’t have a clue about the reason for the meeting. After making inquiry, he learned Smith was in the Projects Branch of the CIA’s Foreign Intelligence Service. The Projects Branch screened proposed operations to be undertaken by field operatives. A CIA organizational chart would show both the Projects Branch and the Foreign Intelligence Service were a part of the Directorate of Operations. Also called the Clandestine Service, it was the part of the CIA involved in overseas espionage.

  Den suspected he would be interviewed for some sort of planning position in the Projects Branch. It would be another desk job, probably one like preparing logistic support for an off-shore covert plan to break into someone’s office and steal the plans for the enemy’s supersecret portable outhouses. Den was sure it would be a position in which he would slowly sink and drown in the swamps of the Washingtonian bureaucracy.

  He wasn’t in a good humor when he arrived at a part of the building he had never before visited in Langley’s complex of 1,400,000 square feet of CIA office space. After being properly identified, a Marine corporal took him through a maze of corridors and, finally, to a door identified only by a number. The corporal led him into a suite of offices, turned and left.

  Three people were already seated in the anteroom. They were mildly surprised and somewhat irritated when the receptionist told Den he was expected and immediately ushered him into one of the inner offices.

  A bald man got up from behind an uncluttered desk and, smiling, walked toward him. When men with desk jobs pass beyond the fifty year mark, they tend to go to pot. The man who arose to greet him had avoided that tendency. His stomach was flat. He was tanned and well muscled. He watched his diet, exercised regularly and jogged every morning,

  “Good morning, Denver,” the man said. “I’m Teddy Smith and I’ve looked forward to this meeting. I’ve heard good reports about you.” He extended his right hand and used his left to hold Den’s elbow. It was one of Smith’s studied maneuvers, meant to show warmth and friendship.

  Den winced. “He called me ‘Denver’. I haven’t used that name in years,” he thought. “How in hell did this guy find it out?”

  He was happier when Smith said: “If you get the idea I’m an informal cuss, you’re right. I want you to call me ‘Teddy’. Everyone else does.”

  Den was happier because he now had the chance to say: “And I hope you will always call me ‘Den’. No one ever calls me anything else.”

  Den immediately realized Teddy Smith must have ordered a careful investigation of his background. Obviously, those inquiries were more than a simple review of the files. Den had taken pains to conceal his actual given name. All Navy and CIA written records and even his passport carried it as Den Clark. Teddy Smith had dug deep enough to learn his birth name.

  “I’d offer you a dram of The Macallan,” Smith said, “but I don’t have any. The guys here in Washington are a cautious and timid lot. They’re afraid of the press. If a reporter got even the slightest rumor of there being Scotch whisky in a CIA office, we’d all be painted as a bunch of drunks. I sometimes think the country’s most dangerous enemies aren’t Middle Eastern terrorists. They’re our own gentlemen of the press.”

  Smith liked to engage his visitors in friendly conversation. It gave him an opportunity to observe their reactions. It also created a proper atmosphere. A man spoke more freely and, possibly, more honestly if he were comfortable and satisfied that he was talking to a friendly sort of guy.

  Den was capable of playing small talk games, but, today, he had no time for them. In his mood, small talk was an irritant. He wanted to know why he had been called to Teddy Smith’s office. He expected to be offered a job he didn’t want and had already decided to refuse. He would resign. He would look for a job with some international personnel security outfit. With his Spanish language ability and background, he would be a natural to act as a bodyguard for an American businessman working in some troubled part of Latin America.

  “You may be right about the press, Teddy,” was Den’s non-committal observation. Then, in order to end the interview as quickly as possible, he abruptly changed the subject. “There are three people in your waiting room. I’m sure they have important matters to talk about, but your secretary let me in first. You’ve uncovered the name on my birth certificate and you know my preference for single malt - right down to the brand. Why all the attention, Teddy? Why am I here?”

  Teddy Smith was tired of watching Senators and Representatives impose restraints on the Central Intelligence Agency. At one time, if diplomatic maneuvers proved unsuccessful, the CIA could be expected to be used as an instrument for executing foreign policy. The men who, only a few decades ago engineered the overthrow of Mossadiq in Iran and Arbenz in Guatemala would no longer recognize the Agency.

  Unequivocally, but quietly, Teddy objected to “Sense of Congress” resolutions, Presidential mandates and Agency policies that shackled the hands and sometimes threatened to punish the men who planned and carried out covert operations. He watched as the Agency’s purpose was slowly changing into one which, he was sure, would ultimately be limited to the collection of information. Satellites, foreign newspaper articles, reports from friends in foreign countries and gossip from embassy parties might, he feared, become the sole arena of CIA activity.

  The Agency’s constant development into an ever larger and more complex bureaucracy also discouraged him. Bureaucracy and timely action were seldom close companions. Teddy came to believe an organization’s effectiveness was inversely proportional to its size. His opinion was shared by many of the Agency’s old timers.

  As the Central Intelligence Agency grew and changed, Teddy became more restive. When he was a field agent, certain amounts of discretion were allowed. An agent was expected to use his imagination. A rule might be bent a bit or even fractured if the result advanced the mission. Now it seemed as if procedure was far more important that substance.

  You might be able to lie or cheat or blackmail to get information, but you couldn’t torture. Everybody knew that. But nobody really knew exactly what constituted torture. Apparently, the definition of torture was subject was to change, depending upon the gravity of the situation.

  The old adage of the wild West: “Shoot first and ask questions later” was, Teddy believed, changed into: “Ask a lot of questions first, analyze the hell out of the answers, have some Congressional Committee meet in closed session a few times, leak the deliberations to the press and then think about if you should shoot and what sort of weapon you should use and what you should shoot at.” Teddy became convinced it was time for someone to reverse the trend. Many of the CIA’s old timers were likewise convinced.

  And now Denver Clark sat before him, asking why he was here.

  Chapter 3

  On paper, Den Clark was the kind of man Teddy sought. He was a SEAL, trained to handle himself in difficult situations. He was tough and resourceful. He was battle tested. He had courage, a fact that was amply proven by his record. During this short interview, Clark had already shown he was perceptive as well as smart.

  Teddy’s problem involved uncovering Den’s core beliefs? How do you find if a man is trustworthy? Teddy would have to make decisions based on the way Den reacted when he got an answer to his question: “Why am I here?”

  Teddy took a Dominican Republic cigar from a humidor atop his desk. “Care for one?” he asked. Den shook his head. Teddy lighted the cigar. He studied its glowing end and, satisfied, blew a smoke ring. “Of course you want to know why you’re here and, of course, I’m going to tell you.”

  Teddy began by disapproving politicians’ interference in CIA affairs. “It hamstrings the Agency’s ability to effectively perform its functions. For deca
des they cut our budgets,” he complained. “They nearly destroyed our on-the-ground sources of information,” he continued. “We used to get solid reports from felons, perverts, prostitutes, drug dealers, disreputable types of all sorts. They weren’t nice people so the politicians told us we couldn’t use them.

  “As a result, we had no accurate information about the Ayatollah Khomeini when our politicians managed to get us thrown out of Iran. We didn’t even know the man our politicians put in power after that Haitian mess. He was an admirer of Castro. Look at the problems we’ve had in Iraq trying to get local informants.

  “We used the Mafia to keep the docks operating in World War II. The OSS used them in Italy, too. That’s all changed. Now our people on the ground have to be squeaky clean. Remember when some fools believed we could get all the information we needed through satellite surveillances?

  “These same idiots are busy burying us under layer upon layer of bureaucracy. Defense, State, the military, the Agency - we all had intelligence operations. Now we are magically interrelated. It’s a classic example of the strange and clearly insane belief that ‘change’ means ‘progress.’

  “You don’t keep secrets by telling them to ten governmental agencies and five congressional committees. Hell, Den, those guys would tell a reporter everything they knew if they could get even the slightest personal advantage from it.

  “And that’s not all. Lines of communication are confused. The connections between authority and responsibility are vague. Who reports to who?” Teddy asked without expecting an answer. “Who decides what projects are to be pursued? The Defense Department? Those wimps at State? Damned politicians.”

  Den had heard it all before. It was a common subject in CIA casual conversation. There may have been some truth to the complaints. On the other hand, they may have been based on nothing more than the Belt Line bureaucrat’s nightmarish fear of losing turf.

  “And that stupid Executive Order 12333,” Teddy said as he blew another smoke ring and carefully watched for Den’s reaction. “Isn’t that one for the books?” Then he was silent. Den knew Executive Order 12333 forbade CIA involvement in assassinations and he also knew Teddy was waiting for a response.

  Again, Den’s comment was non-committal. “Twelve-three-three-three is one of the rules of the game and I suppose we have to live with it,” he said. But he thought: “I wish Smith would get to the point.”

  “Do you really think so?” Teddy asked. “Let me ask you a question, Den. Suppose someone high up in the Agency - I mean very high up in the Agency - asked you to develop a plan calculated to cause the death of a person not only antagonistic to our national interests, but, to use that hard-to-define phrase, ‘a clear and present danger.’ Suppose you were told you would he officially disowned and castigated if your plan ever came to light. You could expect no help or support from anyone. What would you do?”

  Teddy immediately held up his hand, silencing any answer Den might make, and added, “Let me make my proposition more concrete. If it was 1938 and Executive Order 12333 was in effect, would you create and execute an unofficial and unauthorized plan designed to kill, say, Adolf Hitler?”

  “Now there’s a loaded question if I ever heard one,” Den thought. “Well, Teddy expects an answer and I’ll give him one.” Aloud he said: “Only the silliest academic would answer that one in the negative. A tougher question is: If it were 1928, when Hitler was nothing more than the leader of a small super-nationalistic German socialist political party, would I plan and carry out his assassination?”

  The friendly, pleasant face Teddy Smith presented to the world seemed to erode. His expression appeared to harden and his eyes, without any movement, were fixed on Den’s face. “If not in 1928,” he asked, “How about in 1930? How about in 1932? ‘34? ‘36?”

  “Is assassination appropriate only after an enemy has attacked us? Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto planned Pearl Harbor. We killed him in April of 1943. We discovered his flight plans and we sent a group of fighters to shoot him out of the sky. Do you know we had to go to the President of the United States to get the go-ahead to shoot him down? We were at war, Den, a war for our survival - and this was long before the 12333 Order.

  “We had no CIA and we had no OSS when World War II began. Today we have a much more extensive intelligence community. We are capable of uncovering the very early development of growing and serious threats to our country. It’s a rapidly changing world. Can it be said we have not only the right, but the duty to perform pre-emptive strikes?” Teddy paused for only a few seconds before adding: “You served in the Second Gulf War, didn’t you?”

  Den didn’t answer. Of course, he knew Gulf War II was a preemptive strike. He saw the logic of Teddy’s argument. How many millions of people were killed because of Hitler and Mussolini and Tojo? More recently, how many Southeast Asians were slaughtered in the killing fields of Pol Pot? Still more recently, would an assassination have avoided 3000 deaths on September 11th?

  Teddy’s question, Den began to suspect, was not a part of a mere casual conversation. Teddy had hinted at the presence of people inside the CIA structure who were dissatisfied with Agency policies limiting their abilities to act. Slowly, the light began to dawn. “This guy is in the Projects Branch. He plans clandestine operations. He is suggesting the possibility of assassinations planned secretly within the Central Intelligence Agency. He is asking me to join the group.”

  Part of Den’s brain told him to refuse Teddy’s overture. Den entered the CIA for covert field work. Sitting behind a desk in the Projects Branch and planning the logistics or even the mechanism for killing some foreign politician or head man in some terrorist organization held little appeal. His immediate reaction to Teddy Smith’s unspoken invitation was negative.

  By refusing the offer, Den would be rejecting an invitation from the people Teddy described as “high up in the Agency”. Rejection would limit his future in the CIA, but such a probability was not a factor in his considerations. He had already planned to resign.

  Another part of Den’s brain told him to consider Teddy’s as yet undisclosed proposition. If the nation’s intelligence services uncovered a serious threat requiring drastic and direct action, should ‘policy’ require inaction? In a world of terrorists willing to commit suicide by flying airplanes into buildings, atomic explosives that can be carried in suitcases and deadly disease that can be poured into water systems, should ‘policy’ tell us we must wait for disaster before striking?

  Den decided to postpone any immediate decision. He would wait to see if he had accurately analyzed the reason for Teddy’s interview. That meant he had to give the answer Teddy wanted. Den returned Teddy’s unwavering gaze. “If we were sure one of our enemies represented a real danger to the country, I wouldn’t hesitate for a moment. I’d work out a plan to kill the son-of-a-bitch.”

  That was what Teddy wanted to hear. He quietly speculated for a few moments and then made his decision. “I know your record,” he began. “You’ve undertaken some dangerous missions for your country. You’ve been shot at and you’ve been wounded. You are a patriot. Now, I’m going to tell you things. You’re not going to remember any of them. This conversation never took place.”

  Teddy waited, looking down at his desk. He wanted to give Den a good opportunity to object before proceeding. When he looked up, he saw Den ever so slightly nod his head. Confirming Den’s guess, Teddy explained the reason for the interview.

  Over the years, some men inside the Central Intelligence Agency had become increasingly alarmed by policies and regulation imposed by college professors and politicians who had no true understanding of the dangers of international threats. A group of CIA officials considered the changes in Agency authorities and objectives to border on the suicidal.

  A few of them, Teddy confided, decided to disregard policies that had little application to the kinds of dangers faced in today’s world. Teddy described those men as a closely-knit group of patriots, some of them occupying
the highest of positions in the Central Intelligence Agency. Some of them were part of the Directorate of Operations - the Clandestine Service. Others were inside other Agency Directorates and in their Branches and subsections. Teddy admitted he could only guess who they might be.

  These men, Teddy explained, believed there were circumstances demanding the assassination of people who represented growing threats to the country. They did not look for any kind of authorizations for their programs calling for the killing of our enemies. Teddy emphasized how very careful they were in determining when an assassination became necessary.

  “These men consider themselves to be the shield of the Republic,” Teddy said. “They call themselves ‘Aegis’. Clandestine Services does not know they exist’. No one outside of Aegis has even a suspicion of its existence.”

  Aegis projects left no records of their activities. They were carefully concealed within other authorized missions given to officers under the jurisdiction of the Directorate of Operations - the Section of the CIA involved in overseas espionage. Teddy finished his comments by stating an imperative. No one outside the circle should ever learn of the existence of Aegis. Even the most remote danger of the discovery of their invisible organization could not be tolerated. It would have to be avoided at all cost.

  Teddy’s last words were; “The men who carry out Aegis plans, must be more than merely capable of carrying out assignments. They must be particularly dedicated and completely trustworthy.” Then he leaned back in his chair and waited for Den’s reaction.

  Den’s reaction was immediate. “This is not desk work,” he thought. “Teddy wants me to carry out assignments. He wants me do the killing.” Den looked for confirmation. “I suppose you are running a risk right now because I’ve been checked out and someone wonders if I might be willing to undertake,” Den paused for a second before saying, “a special project.” Teddy nodded.

  “I suppose this is all you’re going to tell me about Aegis?”