by J C Ryan
Once again, they trooped into the room with McCormick. Kelly’s eyes were squinted almost shut when she spoke to Russell. “All right. I’ll do what they say. You’re safe as long as you don’t get within ten feet of me. Just know I’ll be carrying this” —she held up the knife she’d snagged off the kitchen counter as they passed through— “always. One false move and I swear I’ll cut it off and feed it to a dog.”
Russell summoned one last word of defiance. “I wouldn’t touch you if I was wearing a hazmat suit. You’re poison.”
Kelly smiled her evil smile again. Just give me one excuse, and you’ll be singing soprano. She said nothing.
“Okay, that’s enough. Let’s get down to business. We’ve got to get you two back to the cottage before daybreak. McCormick, do you know when the black box was installed in your car?” Sean was all business now.
“Roughly,” he said, implicitly admitting he’d been lying before, “about sixteen months ago. I got a message to leave my car at home and take a taxi to work. The message said to leave everything alone. I assume it’s in the panel next to the driver’s seat, because that’s where the beeps come from. But I’ve never looked. They told me they’d know immediately if I did.”
Sean and Dylan kept silent. They’d already had a look, and while they didn’t touch the box, they knew it hadn’t sent a message to anyone. If it had, McCormick wouldn’t be sitting with them now. He’d be fish food at the bottom of the Potomac, probably. The same went for the discovery of the box on the plane.
“How do you communicate with your handler?”
“I’ve told you. I don’t! He communicates with me. He gives me instructions. I carry them out. I have no way to get in touch with him.”
In a way, that was a good thing, Sean reflected. McCormick couldn’t let them know he’d been compromised. Not that he would, since he had a healthy regard for his own skin. But it didn’t hurt to have the extra guarantee. On the other hand, it posed a problem. The trail had reached a dead end.
Dylan was watching McCormick closely when the thought crossed his mind. “Kelly said she met you before all this mess broke, December last year. How did you know she’d be assigned to the case?”
McCormick made a disgusted sound in his throat. “I didn’t. They told me to talk her up. I did as I was told. I don’t know anything else.”
Sean, Dylan, and Kelly exchanged looks. Someone had known she’d be assigned to the case before there even was a case. “Who assigned you to the case, Kelly?”
“My immediate supervisor. But I’m sure he’s clean.”
“No one is clean until we’ve run the background checks. Someone above you in INSCOM is dirty, that’s for sure. They made sure you’d be assigned, because they already had their hooks in you. You just didn’t know it yet.”
Kelly wanted to utter a string of curses that would smoke the air, but she had only herself to blame. Instead, she said quietly, “Then we need to find out who.”
Sean replied, “Yes, we have to, but definitely not now. Asking questions like that will raise suspicions.”
Kelly nodded assent.
Chapter 46 - The first hearing
April 18
The political jockeying was finished—at least that's what it looked like. William (Bill) Griffin, Director of the CIA, James Rhodes as Director of A-Echelon Division of the CIA, and Irene O’Connell the Deputy Director of A-Echelon, plus Carter and Mackenzie Devereux had been summoned to appear before the Homeland Security Committee to answer questions about the activities of A-Echelon.
Carter and Mackenzie would shortly be held in contempt of Congress for failure to appear, but their employers were hopeful that could be sorted out later.
James was appalled as he turned the corner of the hallway leading to the Homeland Security Committee’s meeting room and saw the crowd. The room and the hallway were teeming with politicians and their staffers. The place looked like the cotton candy stall at a school carnival.
He shrugged. Why am I surprised? This is probably the only entertainment this group of overpaid, partisan pen-pushers will get for the duration of their tenures in servitude to their powerful political masters.
Irene was already seated in the first row of chairs behind the witness table, facing the semi-circle podium where their twenty-seven confronters would take up their seats shortly.
He sat down next to her, looked around the room, and took a deep breath as he tried to pacify the rage building up inside him. This meeting was supposed to be held behind closed doors. Nothing said here today was supposed to reach the ears of anyone other than the members of this committee and the people called to testify before it.
Nothing of the top-secret information was supposed to be shared with the staffers crowding the room, but that was not going to be. They would hear it, too, and they would be coming and going, gofers for their bosses including those who weren’t on the committee, relaying messages between them and the sitting members.
The hearing might as well have been open to the public and the media. It would have saved them the trouble of getting the information secondhand.
“The circus has arrived in town,” James said under his breath to Irene. “Twenty-seven politicians and their entourage of staffers, numbering probably forty, will know all about us before the sun goes down today. Security leaks on steroids.”
“I wish I could disagree with you, Jim. But you’re right, this is the end of A-Echelon’s secrecy. All we can do is to skirt around the real facts as much as we can without being charged with perjury or obstruction of justice.”
“It’s demoralizing to think that they have no idea what they are doing. These self-serving boneheads are doing this for political windfall, while hiding behind the façade of serving the best interests of the American people.”
“That’s our job, James,” Irene said thoughtfully.
James looked at her, frowning. “What do you mean?”
“It’s our job to look out for the American people, James. These clowns won’t. It’s as you said—they know not what they’re doing.”
A few minutes later, Bill Griffin arrived and took a seat next to James. The committee members, surrounded by their staffers, started drifting into the room and took their seats.
Another few minutes passed before Senator John Macnab, the chairman of the committee, and two more senators arrived at almost the same time. Shortly after, Bill Griffin’s boss, Sebastian Birch, the Director of National Intelligence, also arrived and took a seat next to Bill.
Bill leaned over to James and whispered, “At least they had the decency to honor us with a full house.”
“I wouldn’t have been satisfied with anything less,” James quipped.
The latecomers struggled to get to their seats, as every few feet they were stopped by staffers and colleagues who had some final messages and questions.
Finally, after another ten minutes of chaos, everyone had a seat, and the chairman gaveled the hearing to order, after which he launched into a series of procedural matters and motions, taking up another fifteen minutes. By the time Senator Macnab was ready and looked at the DNI, Bill, James, and Irene, the hearing was more than an hour behind schedule.
No wonder nothing gets done in this place. James looked at his watch. If any of us had been late, they would have held us in contempt. But maybe those rules ain’t for them.
Macnab called James to the witness table first. James stood, raised his right hand, and took the oath before he sat down.
Macnab theatrically took off his glasses and cleared his throat, making sure he had everyone’s attention. “Director Rhodes, there has been a lot of discussion amongst the senate members about which would be the appropriate committee to hear this matter. There had been several arguments to have it heard by one of the other committees…” He paused for effect, replaced his glasses and looked down at his notes. “Be that as it may—”
He didn’t get any further.
Senator Michelle Davis’s voic
e was forceful. “I would like to place on record my strongest possible objection about the appropriateness of bringing a matter, which so clearly is within the ambit of the Intelligence Committee, before the Homeland Security Committee.
“A-Echelon is a subsidiary of the CIA, Central Intelligence Agency, part of the U.S. Intelligence Community. The CIA reports to the Director of National Intelligence.
“The CIA is tasked with gathering, processing, and analyzing intelligence from around the world. Its focus is on overseas intelligence gathering, with only limited, if any, domestic jurisdiction.”
She paused for effect. “Will the members please note the number of times the word ‘intelligence’ appears in those names and the fact that neither the word ‘Homeland’ nor ‘Security’ is ever mentioned?
“Mr. Chairman, this is not the committee that should conduct this hearing; it should be my committee, the Intelligence Committee.”
While Davis was talking, Macnab’s face had turned red. It was clear he did not expect this. His eyes darted across the committee members, taking note of their body language, and realized he had been outmaneuvered. He immediately knew if he would put it to the vote, he would lose—not only the vote, but also face.
“Your objection is noted, Senator Davis. I’m not going to debate the matter as part of this hearing. I’m calling an hour recess so committee members can reach agreement before we proceed.” Macnab didn’t wait for anyone to agree or object. He gathered his effects and stormed out of the room with the rest of the members trailing out behind him like a bunch of sheep.
James turned around in his chair and looked at Bill and the others. He could see that Bill and Irene were struggling not to explode in raucous laughter. The DNI had a stern expression on his face.
“What now?” James asked.
The DNI grinned. “Now we wait, again. Macnab doesn’t have enough support from his committee. Otherwise he would have put it to a vote and continued. My guess is this will be referred to Davis’s Intelligence Committee.”
“May God have mercy on us, because she won’t,” Bill said. “She hates my guts and everything related to the CIA. She’s been looking for an opportunity to bring us down since long before my time. Finally, she’s going to have her moment of glory.”
The DNI nodded. “That might be so, but this little squabble of theirs has bought us another week or two. Let’s use it for more preparation. You can never be too ready for these hearings.”
Two hours instead of one hour later, the meeting was reconvened, only to let the witnesses know it has been agreed to refer the matter to Senator Michelle Davis’s Committee, and they would be notified of the date.
Irene shook her head ever so slightly. It would be interesting to know how many careers have been ruined, heads knocked, butts kissed, and palms greased the past two hours to reach that “agreement”.
Chapter 47 - Jailed or worse
Mathieu Nabati paced in his luxurious hideaway in the Ural Mountains in western Russia. The Devereux project was going much too slowly, thanks to the ponderous American political system. The moronic Congressional committee had held one meeting that ended in chaos. The journalist, Howard Crane, had been a disappointment, and the joint INSCOM-FBI investigation had come to a standstill for some inexplicable reason.
Carter Devereux and his meddlesome wife should have been in jail by now, CIA director, Bill Griffin, fired, along with his henchmen, James Rhodes and Irene O’Connell. The President of the United States should have resigned by now.
It was time to shake things up. He picked up the phone.
The next morning, headlines in all the major news outlets revealed shocking news. Journalist Howard Crane Diagnosed with Aggressive Brain Cancer.
After breaking the A-Echelon story, Howard had become something of a celebrity, appearing on morning talk shows, Meet the Press, Face the Nation, and even The Howard Stern Show. The news of his sudden terminal illness shocked and saddened the nation.
It also shocked Howard, who’d had no such diagnosis. He called each major outlet to deny the story, telling them it was a sick joke. Those who eschewed fake news apologized and promised to run a retraction. He didn’t bother with the others, knowing it would be a waste of time.
He called Daniella to quote Mark Twain with a twist. “News of my imminent death has been greatly exaggerated.”
Daniella laughed through tears and invited him to dinner. Over the meal in her apartment, he told her it had to be a sick joke. “No one could tell me exactly where it came from,” he added.
“Why would someone do that?” she asked, pouring him another glass of wine.
“No clue. But let’s not allow it to spoil the evening. We’ve got better things to do than worry about a stupid prank.” Howard moved closer to Daniella, who tilted her head back for a lingering kiss. They’d been dating for a while—since he’d agreed to help manage the allegations in the package he’d received, in fact. At first, it had been coffee, or a working lunch. Lately they’d become more serious.
***
The next afternoon, Daniella opened an email and received another shock. She was still reading it when her phone began to ring. It was Scott Eadie.
“Did you get the email?” he asked, sounding out of breath.
“Yes. I’ve just opened it. I don’t understand. Is this another sick joke?” she asked. She read aloud, skimming through the awful words. “… time is up. Can’t go through the cancer… choosing out. Scott, what does this mean?”
“Crane was found dead in his apartment fifteen minutes ago. Cops called me because he also left a note, addressed to the President. It said, ‘President Grant, I get the last laugh. Spin this.’ He sent that email to dozens of people, too. Most of whom are bombarding this office with angry calls, demanding answers.”
Daniella made a small cry when she heard “found dead.” But with Scott’s last sentence, though tears were running uncontrolled down her face, she asked, “What? Why your office?”
“You didn’t get to this part: ‘Before I go, everyone should know I received this information a few weeks ago, and the President threatened me if I reported any of it. He’s kept me quiet until now, but I no longer have anything to lose. Up yours, Grant.’ He goes on to expose everything he agreed to keep quiet.”
Daniella couldn’t believe it. “There’s some mistake.”
“I don’t know how you can call a guy with his brains blown all over his bed a mistake. The gun was in his hand. Homicide detectives have ruled out foul play. This was a suicide.”
“Scott, I don’t believe that. I don’t care what the cops say. I saw Howard last night. He was upset about that stupid prank over his health, but he wasn’t suicidal. The cancer story was a hoax. He was upbeat, and he was in a great mood when he left this—” She stopped.
“This what? Oh, hell, Daniella, were you sleeping with him?”
“None of your business. But mark my words, this wasn’t a suicide,” she sobbed. Daniella hung up and then locked her office door. She wept for what could have been fifteen minutes before pulling herself together. There’d be fallout. She needed to do her job.
***
Daniella arrived in the Oval Office to find she was late. The President, Scott Eadie, the Secretaries of State, Homeland Security, and the Treasury, the Attorney General, and the heads of both the CIA and the FBI were there already, all shouting to be heard.
The President spotted her as she walked in. She wondered if he’d been briefed about her near-slip of the tongue and if he noticed her red-rimmed eyes. He put her apprehension to rest as he crossed over to her, took her hand, and spoke quietly, for her ears only. “I’m so sorry, Daniella. Would you like to delegate this to your staff?”
“No, Mr. President. In fact, I insist on handling it. There’s something very wrong here, and I want to be in the loop when you get to the bottom of it. Meanwhile, what can I do to help?”
“I’m afraid there isn’t much. Everything we wanted to keep under w
raps—the mission into Saudi Arabia, the questionable tactics used against Dwayne Miller, Nate Gordon, and the late Vice President—they’ve all escaped Pandora’s Box. And like the pestilence from the myth, we can’t put them back in again.” Grant took a deep breath. “I’ve heard the word impeachment more than once today already. I think about the best you can do is announce we have no comment today.”
“Mr. President, I strongly suggest you reconsider. With all due respect, that sounds like an admission that it’s all true.”
“Daniella, you already know it is all true. The fact that we did all of it for a good reason is no defense in the eyes of the law.”
Grant was right. Within the next few hours, all hell broke loose, and Daniella had said “no comment” so often it was her automatic phrase no matter who said what to her. Want some coffee? No comment. It was enough to make her head spin, and Howard’s death was far more personal to her than she could let on. That alone was a strain on her nerves.
The news storm when the A-Echelon story broke mid-March had been bad enough, but with Howard’s help, they’d confined the bad news to that, and so far, they’d weathered the storm.
However, it had been nothing to what was hitting them now. The President implicated in murder, the invasion of an ally, Gestapo interrogation techniques…what could have been worse?
The news media was in a frenzy again. Words like impeachment, special prosecutors, jurisdiction of investigators, and more were in the mouths of all the news anchors and screamed from the headlines.
Political analysts were busy discussing the Constitution as it related to the potential arrest of a sitting president.
President Grant was embattled, his former supporters deserting in droves, his remaining friends painted with the same brush. Murderers! Torturers! Liars!
International allies and enemies alike didn’t know what to think. Never had the United States been this unstable since the end of the Civil War.
