Chapter 32
THE limousine’s door closed with a sense of finality.
This was partly due to the soundproofing material designed to frustrate eavesdroppers and partly driven by the driver’s exuberance.
Traffic in DC was notoriously hard to manage, and the drive from the White House across the Potomac to CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia, was no exception.
This time of day, the trip northwest might take anywhere from twenty minutes to the better part of an hour depending on how many motorists decided to collide with one another along the George Washington Memorial Parkway.
No doubt Stansfield’s security team was eager to get moving.
So was Irene.
She’d driven to the White House separately, but had asked to speak with Stansfield in private before he returned to Langley, and he’d suggested his car.
Stansfield settled into the seat opposite her, but before she could speak, he waved to the head of his security detail.
“I’m rolling the divider up, George. If something comes up, feel free to interrupt. ”
“Yes, sir.”
Stansfield thumbed the button that closed the glass pane that separated the passengers from the two-man detail seated in the limo’s front seats. Then he turned to Irene with a smile. “Something on your mind?”
She returned his smile with a small one of her own, but her heart wasn’t in it.
Thoughts were flashing through her head at a million miles a minute, and the shock at learning she was going to be the agency’s point person for the raid hadn’t yet worn off.
And this was to say nothing of her reaction to personally briefing the president.
She did have something on her mind.
Many things, actually.
“Sir, I’m honored that you put me forward as the agency’s liaison for the planning cell, but I’m worried that I’m not the right person for the job. I don’t have much experience with paramilitary operations and my chemical weapons expertise is also negligible.”
“But other than that, you’re the perfect choice.”
Irene grimaced. “What do you mean?”
Stansfield removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“If successful, this raid will send a message to Hussein. One he can’t ignore.
Not only will he be embarrassed on the world stage, but he’ll know that his organization has been penetrated.
I would not be surprised if he conducts another purge of his military and intelligence leadership in an effort to ferret out collaborators both real and imagined.
We need to insulate our assets in Syria and Iraq from the potential fallout by keeping them as far away from this as possible. ”
“Then how will we be ascertaining information about the convoy?”
Stansfield smiled again.
“Mitch?”
He inclined his head. “Mr. Rapp is very good at killing people, but we’ve yet to scratch his full potential. He can blend in with the local populace, speak Arabic like a native, and thinks outside the box. Many people can put a gun to a man’s head and pull the trigger. Rapp can do much more.”
Irene wasn’t sure she liked what she was hearing. “You want to turn Mitch into a case officer?”
Stansfield chuckled. “While I have no doubt that he possesses the mental acuity to work as a spy, I don’t think recruiting assets is the highest and best use of Rapp’s particular skill set.
No, I’m considering a more martial role.
Our Air Force friends love to show videos of their smart bombs obliterating targets.
What they don’t like to talk about is how many of those bombs wander off course without a Green Beret painting the target with a laser.
Regardless of how the concept of the operation for this raid shapes up, I know the military’s planners would appreciate having an American on the ground who could provide real-time intelligence and perhaps even lend a hand if need arises. ”
“An American who blends in with the locals and speaks Arabic like a native.”
“Precisely.”
“That makes sense, sir,” Irene said, “but it will require altering Mitch’s current tasking.”
“How so?” Stansfield said with a frown. “Rapp was scheduled to eliminate the Pakistani scientist days ago. I thought he’d be back on his way to Paris by now.”
“Yes, well, there’s been an update to that. I intended to bring you up to speed before now, but we needed to speak face-to-face.”
Stansfield’s frown deepened. “I suppose I have been running you a bit ragged. Let me have it.”
Irene relayed the status of the operation against the Pakistani as well as Rapp’s request to use Ridley’s team to conduct surveillance on the Italian asset, Romano.
“Did you approve Mr. Rapp’s request?”
Irene nodded. “If there’s one thing Mitch has proven by now it’s that his operational instincts are excellent.
He was not calling from an embassy, so our communication was purposefully vague.
I didn’t have all the information, but I trusted that he did.
Someone once told me that, when in doubt, always go with the person on the ground. ”
Stansfield harrumphed, but she could tell his heart wasn’t really in it. “Yes, well, did that same oracle also tell you that it isn’t kind to use a person’s words against them?”
“He did not.”
She thought about pointing out that Stansfield’s complaint was pretty rich considering the verbal judo he’d just pulled off against the leader of the free world, but she didn’t.
Perhaps her reticence was driven by the thought that her boss was at least partially right.
Maybe she should have found a way to tell him before now that Rapp’s assignment had gone off track.
But even if this wasn’t the case, she was willing to let him have the win in the hopes that it would put him in a better mood for what was coming next.
“Either way, we’re going to need to bring Mitch in from the cold. This assignment supersedes his sleuthing in Verona. He’s going to need a proper legend for the Iraq operation.”
“From Baghdad Station?”
Stansfield shook his head. “I have something else in mind if I can convince an old friend to play ball. I’ll give you the details as soon as I learn what he says. Now, as delightful as it’s been to chat, I think we both have work to do.”
“Actually, there’s one more thing, sir,” Irene said.
“More trouble with Mr. Rapp?”
“No. This time it’s Stan.”
Stansfield fished a cloth from his pocket and began to polish his glasses. “Perhaps you and I need to schedule a daily update.”
“Until we get things sorted, that might be wise, sir.”
Stansfield snorted. “You’ve known Mr. Hurley for most of your life, and after the last several years, I’d say you know Mr. Rapp almost equally well. What makes you think we’ll ever ‘get things sorted’?”
Irene had internalized many valuable lessons during her time learning to be a spy at the Farm. One of those was to never volunteer an answer to an interrogator’s hypothetical question.
“Hurley was targeted by a Hezbollah shooter while conducting an overseas training exercise for his current crop of Orion team candidates. Hurley’s interrogation of the shooter yielded little usable information beyond the fact the cell was charged with surveilling Westerners visiting Doha who fit the profile of a likely foreign intelligence officer. ”
Stansfield secreted the cloth back into his pocket, but rather than slipping the glasses back onto his face, he began to twirl them by the stem. “This is interesting. And what is Mr. Hurley’s current status?”
“Stan was able to extract one lead from the gunman—the name of a travel agency located in Doha that was facilitating the movements of the Hezbollah cell’s members. He intended to use his surveillance team to set up on the establishment.”
“And you approved this request as well?”
Irene laughed in spite of herself. “With all due respect, sir, you’ve seriously misjudged the situation if you’re under the impression that Stan was calling to ask my permission.”
Stansfield gave a wan smile. “Point taken. Based on what you told the president, I’m assuming the meeting with the Israelis was less than productive?”
“Let’s just say they were hoping for someone more senior to represent America’s interests. I don’t think we’ll be having a second meeting.”
“Small steps, Irene,” Stansfield said. “Trust is rebuilt in small steps. Okay—I can see that you’re juggling far too many balls, so let me re-scope your responsibilities.
I want you to make contact with Rapp and fill him in.
You’re his handler, and more importantly, he respects you.
I also need you to be the bridge between the agency’s Iraq fusion cell and the JSOC planners as the military begins to refine the concept for the Iraq raid.
Bring in whoever you think is appropriate, but keep the operational circle small.
We can’t afford any leaks. If the Iraqis get wind of what we’re planning, the consequences could be catastrophic. ”
“Understood,” Irene said. “What about Hurley?”
“I’ll handle Stan.”
Irene nodded, but for the first time she didn’t speak what was on her mind. She thought the world of her surrogate father, but in this instance, she wholeheartedly disagreed with what he’d said.
No one could handle Stan Hurley.