by Vince Flynn
“Then you discovered they were all wearing suicide vests and you had the presence of mind not to flee.” Dickerson shook his head in a manner that said this was the part that most impressed him. “You and Mr. Nash, with the aid of several agents, then proceeded to throw all six terrorists out a window, where they landed at the base of the concrete ramp that led to the underground parking structure. Each vest then exploded and caused severe damage to the parking garage, but not another person was lost.”
It had all gone down pretty fast, but from what Rapp could recall, the man had pretty much nailed the high points.
Dickerson continued, “Now, there’s a fair number of people who would consider what you did to be either stupid or crazy, but I see things a little differently. You see, Mr. Rapp, much of my job depends on sizing people up. Not all that different from a good tailor who has the ability to look at a man from across the room and know exactly what jacket size the man wears. Although I’m not worried about jacket size.” Dickerson tapped his temple with one of his long, manicured fingers and then patted his chest. “I’m worried about what’s up here and what’s in a man’s heart. I can usually size up a prospective client in thirty seconds.” Dickerson looked Rapp over from head to toe and said, “There was nothing stupid or crazy about what you did last week. You are at your best when things are most chaotic. While others panic and react without thought, things slow down for you. You tune out all the noise . . . your brain begins looking for avenues of action first and avenues of retreat second. You size up an enemy the way a lumberjack surveys a tree and then you move efficiently and effectively.” Dickerson shook his head. “Nothing crazy or stupid about it.”
CHAPTER 21
RAPP didn’t like any of this. Didn’t like the fact that the damn FBI had to put everything in writing, or triplicate or whatever in hell it was that they did now with all the damn forms they had to fill out. It was one of his big bitches about this war on terror—too many lawyers created too many cover-your-ass bureaucrats who in turn demanded that everything be put in writing. Assuming it took a few days to put the report together, it couldn’t have been in circulation for more than three or four days, yet here was a private citizen who had already read it. Rapp was pissed, not because of Dickerson really, but because he had failed to have the damn report sanitized, or at least have his role in the affair minimized to a footnote and have someone else given the credit. Things were happening too fast, and he was making mistakes.
Everyone took a seat and then Dickerson said, “You don’t look too pleased.”
“I’m not used to discussing classified information with civilians.”
“Ah . . . I see. You’re bothered that a man like me, who does not work for the federal government, and has no security clearance that you know of . . . ended up with the official FBI report of what happened at the National Counterterrorism Center last week.”
“That’s a pretty accurate assessment.”
Dickerson nodded in a thoughtful manner and said, “The president showed me the report this morning.”
Rapp looked at Kennedy, who appeared to be taking the news much better than he was. “And why would he do that?” Rapp asked Dickerson.
“He trusts me, Mr. Rapp.”
Rapp looked around the room. “I assume he’s not showing up?”
“That would be correct.”
Rapp looked to Kennedy.
The CIA director said, “It’s politics, Mitch.”
“What does this have to do with politics?” Rapp knew it was a stupid question the second it left his lips. The factions in D.C. could turn anything into a partisan issue. Much of it he ignored, but when it came to National Security it really got his blood boiling.
Kennedy said, “That FBI report that Gabe is referring to contained mention of an incident between you and Mr. Abad bin Baaz.”
“You’re talking about the Saudi terrorists that I apprehended the day of the attacks?”
“Yes,” Kennedy replied.
“So?”
Dickerson answered, “He has dual citizenship.”
Rapp was afraid some Dudley Do-Right would make an issue of this. “He’s a Saudi terrorist who applied for dual citizenship so we couldn’t put the screws to him. If we had any common sense left in this town, you’d take his citizenship away and hand him over to me so I can finish interrogating him.”
“The president,” Dickerson sighed, “actually agrees with you, but there is a rather vocal group in his party that, to put it mildly, disagrees with him.”
“Don’t tell me they’re going to come after me for this?” Rapp asked Kennedy. “There is too much going on right now. Too many things that I need to take care of. I can’t be dealing with these idiots right now.”
Kennedy said, “Fortunately, it looks like they have run into an obstacle.”
“What kind of obstacle?”
Dickerson said, “A fellow senator who has vouched for you.”
“Lonsdale?”
“Yes. The FBI report has a section that outlines Mr. bin Baaz’s claim that you dislocated his shoulder and a doctor’s report that backs up his claim that the injury was caused by you while he was in your custody. Before he was turned over to the feds.”
Rapp knew it had been caused while in his custody. He remembered vividly dislocating the little pecker’s arm and twisting it to the point where he thought he might actually rip it off. “And Lonsdale?”
“She has filed an affidavit stating that Mr. bin Baaz was in perfectly good condition when she arrived at the National Counterterrorism Center and that he was hurt during the attack when he was thrown to the floor by none other than herself.”
Rapp concealed his surprise. The fact that the senator had lied for him was an interesting development, to say the least. Rapp kept a straight face and asked, “So what’s the problem?”
“Things in Washington are very rarely open and shut. This group of senators and representatives has retreated for the moment, but they have very powerful lobbying groups that give them piles of cash, and in return they expect them to take the fight to the enemy. Those groups will demand that they open a new front.”
With evident sarcasm Rapp said, “I thought we were all on the same team.”
“They despise you, Mr. Rapp.” Dickerson looked around the office. “They despise this entire Agency.”
Rapp was somewhat alarmed to hear he was on their radar screen, but he wasn’t about to let on. “I would imagine some of those powerful lobbying groups are clients of yours.”
“They are.”
“And you make a lot of money from them.”
“I do.”
“So why do I get the feeling you’re not here on their behalf this morning?”
Dickerson smiled, “You are a quick study, Mr. Rapp. I am not here on their behalf.”
“Conflict of interest?”
“Don’t confuse lobbying with the legal system. It’s the first thing I tell my new associates, who are almost always fresh out of law school and full of ideals. I’m a pragmatic man, Mr. Rapp. I’ve been a lot of places . . . seen a lot of things, and if I’m lucky I’ve got another ten years before I meet my maker. I take money from these groups because I’m a capitalist, and I earn every penny of it trying to moderate their crazy demands. I know who they are, and I don’t particularly sympathize with their view of the world, but they are a force to be reckoned with.”
“So whose meter are you on right now?”
“Let’s just say I’m here because I feel it’s my patriotic duty . . . that and because the president asked me to take his place.”
“And why would the president do that?”
“Because I advised him to cancel this meeting.”
Rapp asked the obvious question, “Why?”
“He was briefed by the FBI late last night about the ongoing manhunt, and let’s just say it didn’t go well.”
“How so?”
“They don’t have a single lead and the suspects
that you took into custody the day of the attacks have all lawyered up and are refusing to talk.”
“And this surprised the president?”
“Not entirely, but he is a man who expects results. He thought some progress would be made, but these three men have simply vanished. The FBI doesn’t have a single solid lead.”
“Well . . . when you fight with both hands tied behind your back it’s hard to win.”
“The president is starting to see things your way, but I’m getting ahead of myself. There was another development at the meeting. One of the deputy attorneys general also pointed out this sticky issue between you and Mr. bin Baaz. He went so far as to say he felt Senator Lonsdale had filed a false affidavit and that you in fact had abused the prisoner.”
Rapp groaned, “I bet the president loved hearing that.”
“It did not please him in the least.” Dickerson turned even more serious. “He told the briefers that the only two people who seemed to have gotten anything done in the past week were you and Mr. Nash, and that in his honest and very important opinion, if men like you didn’t have to spend so much time answering the Justice Department’s inquiries, you might have been able to prevent the attack that occurred last week. He then went on to suggest that it might be a good idea if we stopped persecuting our own people and focused a little more on the terrorists who attacked us.”
Kennedy said to Rapp, “The president called me after the meeting. He said he wanted to talk to you and Mike first thing. Thank you for the sacrifices you’ve made and ask you for a favor.”
Rapp turned to Dickerson. “And you talked him out of coming?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, Mr. Rapp, but I think it would be best if the president kept his distance from you.”
CHAPTER 22
RAPP really wasn’t the insecure type, so rather than taking offense at Dickerson’s comment, he began to laugh. He didn’t need to ask for clarification. Any fool could see why a gamer like Dickerson would advise the president to steer clear of a man of Rapp’s ilk. His curiosity, however, was piqued by the revelation that the president had suddenly taken an interest in his unique skill set. It was funny how that worked in Washington. Guys like Rapp were often viewed as the problem until the politicians themselves were threatened.
Rapp looked at Dickerson and with a slight grin said, “As you may have already guessed . . . it’s pretty hard to offend me.”
“No . . . I wouldn’t imagine you care too much about other people’s opinions. Probably not even the president’s.”
“I don’t want to sound disrespectful,” Rapp said. “He is our president after all . . . it’s just that I’ve been at this a while. I’m a little jaded.”
“So am I. I’ve worked in this town for fifty-five years. I’ve seen a lot of administrations come and go and while each one has its strengths and weaknesses, the good ones all have something in common.”
“What’s that?” Rapp asked.
“Deniability.”
Rapp’s face showed his surprise. There were a lot of words he could have anticipated, but this was not one of them. “How so?”
“This is a shitty business and the chief executive needs to stay out of the shit. I served in the Navy after college. Learned a lot about a lot of things, but the thing that impressed me most about the Navy was the way they thought everything through to the tenth . . . twentieth . . . sometimes hundredth degree. The way they design those ships is amazing. The training . . . everything is geared toward not just putting out a fire, but putting out the fire while still taking the fight to the enemy. You take a torpedo, up front below the water line, you close the watertight doors and keep fighting. You seal off that part of the ship and there more than likely are going to be some guys who aren’t going to make it out . . . but you seal the doors anyway.”
“Your point?”
“I’m that watertight door between you and the president.”
Rapp thought about it for a moment and then said, “So in other words you expect me to put my neck on the line, but if things start going bad . . . water starts flooding the compartment, to use your analogy, and I try to get out, you’re going to slam that door in my face and let me drown.”
Now it was Dickerson’s turn to put a frown on. “No, that’s not what I’m saying.”
Rapp’s version of the sinking-ship analogy was more accurate than Dickerson would allow himself to see. The only problem was, the political operative, mostly due to his station in life, viewed the scenario from the top down. Not an unusual thing for a wealthy, successful person. Dickerson naturally saw himself on the bridge of the ship with the captain. To save the ship others would have to die. Conveniently, however, they would also be saving themselves. Rapp understood the draconian necessity in the military application, but in the political arena it was tinged with selfishness and arrogance. Especially when bracketed in the context of national security. The number of politicians in Washington who were willing to stand on principle and put the security of the country before their beloved party was quickly becoming a pathetically small group. They’d all spent too much time on the bridge and not enough time in the engine room.
Rapp leaned back and crossed his legs. “I think that’s pretty much exactly what you’re saying.”
“No.” Dickerson shook his head vehemently. “And trust me on this, the president is a big supporter of yours. I have advised him, however, that due to the way things work in this town it would be best if he kept a few people between himself and you. Especially in light of what he wanted to talk to you about today.”
Here it is, Rapp thought to himself. He bet a guy like Dickerson billed between five hundred and seven hundred dollars an hour, and while it was unlikely that he would be charging the president for this slice of time, he was nonetheless an extremely busy man who wouldn’t bother coming out to Langley unless it was something serious.
“As I already stated, the president is not happy about the FBI’s lack of progress.”
“I know some of those guys, and to be fair to them, the Justice Department isn’t doing them any favors.”
“I wouldn’t disagree with you, but we are a nation of laws.”
Rapp leaned forward and put out his hand, giving Dickerson the stop sign. “You know you’re the second person today who has used that line on me and I gotta tell you I think it’s a copout.”
Dickerson was not used to people speaking to him so bluntly. “Really?”
“A throwaway line that means everything and nothing at the same time.”
“You don’t think we’re a nation of laws?” Dickerson asked.
“No . . . I agree we’re a nation of laws, but there are a lot of people running around parroting that statement without any sense of history.”
“I think I have a very good sense of history.”
“Then help me with this . . . when did we get so hell bent on affording our legal protections to our enemies?”
Dickerson paused a beat and then said, “That’s a complicated answer, Mr. Rapp.”
“No, it isn’t,” Rapp replied bluntly. “You don’t want to answer it because you’re going to ask me in a very coded way to put my neck on the line and break these very laws you and the president pretend to hold so dear, and if I’m right about that, I’d appreciate a little honesty from you on this issue.” Rapp paused for a beat and then added, “And don’t worry, I won’t be running to the press. Not my style. The only people I dislike more than politicians are reporters. I just want to make sure we’re on the same page, before you send me down to the engine room to plug the leak.”
Dickerson nodded as if to say, fair enough.
Kennedy held up a finger, looked at Rapp, and said, “If I may?”
Rapp said, “Go right ahead.”
“This country of laws,” Kennedy said in a slightly sarcastic tone, “has a long history of curtailing its citizens’ rights during times of war and n
ational emergency. The Civil War is the most obvious example. Lincoln suspended what many would argue is the most sacred law of all . . . habeas corpus. During World War II, the FBI opened any piece of mail they wanted. They listened in on phone calls, intercepted cable traffic, and they did it all without a single warrant. And anyone who is naïve enough to think we treated every POW to the exact standards of the Geneva Conventions has never spoken to a Marine who served in the Pacific. Not every Japanese POW was treated as well as we’d like to believe. FDR, a man who is considered by many to be one of our greatest presidents, interned thousands of Japanese Americans as well as German and Italian Americans. We simply rounded these people up based solely on their ethnicity and stuck them in prisoner of war camps until the war was over.
