“He’s a weenie. He cut his teeth under Casey. His understanding of the role of the Agency is to prove whatever it is that downtown wants proved. Anything that does not fit is either ‘forward-leaning analysis’ or else wrong. But since CIA doesn’t do wrong things, it will probably be forward-leaning analysis.”
“So what’s going to happen to me?”
“You’ll be sacrificed. For the good of the Agency, don’t you know. But each of them will want their piece of you.”
Betsy felt light-headed and tried to swallow a big lump in her throat, the same lump she used to get when Mom took her to the dentist to get her cavities drilled out.
“Look, I’ve been watching your work, and I know where you’re going with it,” Spector said. “And you’re right. But that’s not germane. Tell me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you going to come up with the notion that there is a massive Iraqi research effort in nonconventional warfare under way? And that not only is it funded with our agricultural credits, but it’s being carried out largely on our soil, in our academic institutions?”
“God, you’re good.”
“No, you’re good. But in the immortal words of the new chief of collections in Mobile, Alabama, ‘You’ve exceeded your task.’ So say nothing. When they ask you for your report, say that you have not got all the results you need. They will proceed to stomp all over you. The Director of Central Intelligence will be pissed off because you did not fall for the trap of being brought out to headquarters to release your findings prematurely. The Office of Science and Technologies head will be pissed off at you because you have found something that his shop should have found, but because you’ll say nothing, he won’t even have the pleasure of venting his wrath. The Policy staff will be pissed off at you because you have scooped them. And on and on. You will take some shit for not exposing your body to their poisoned arrows, but if you say nothing, you will be alive to fight again another day.”
Betsy had not touched her McMuffin. She was sick. For the moment Nampa, Idaho, seemed like an awfully nice place to her. Spector finished his meal and was sipping at his coffee. “I’ve saved the worst for last. Our friend Ed Hennessey has come up with the same conclusions you have. He needs our foreign information, and you need his help on the domestic front. Hennessey may be the Agency’s most hated man in Washington—he’s let it be known that he’s found a lot of bad actors among our ranks, but he’s playing his cards close, so everyone’s afraid of him. Millikan hates him, too, for reasons that would take all morning to enumerate. You were seen talking to him the other day. My dear, you are in deep shit. You’ve got only one friend in town, and it’s not me.”
“Then why are you telling me this?”
“Because I ultimately work not for the Director of Central Intelligence or for Millikan, but for the President, and the President knows how these things work. He knows how totally irrational this system is and how much there is a need to change things. But this is the only system there is. He wants you to hang in there. I’m instructed to cover for you insofar as possible.”
Betsy began to shiver; chills ran up and down her body, and she didn’t know if it was from the damp April morning or sheer terror. She had never been this afraid before.
“I’m not real good at pep talks. I got out of Operations because I wasn’t comfortable with sending people to virtually certain deaths. You are not going to be physically murdered—if you were, you’d get a star on the wall. You are going to be career-murdered. You will probably not get another promotion, and you will spend the rest of your life doing soybean studies. But you are in a situation that comes to few of us. You can, honest to God, make a difference.”
“Why…”
“Yeah, I know, why if it is so dangerous doesn’t the system take care of the problem? Don’t forget, during the Cuban missile crisis John Scali of the American Broadcasting Company, meeting a Soviet diplomat at a restaurant, probably saved the world from nuclear destruction. This is not quite so dramatic. But it is important. And the system simply can’t handle it. We have to do everything back-channel, both because of the peculiar chain of command and because we think there’s a mole somewhere in the system. Eat your breakfast.”
They sat there for fifteen minutes, watching the sun coming up over the city, listening to the increasing rumble of the incoming traffic. Finally Spector went to his car phone. Moments later a Red Top cab pulled up.
Betsy was shaking. Nothing in her life had prepared her for what was to come. Spector squeezed her elbow, gave her the most earnest, serious, eye-to-eye-contact look she had ever received from a Washington person. “Do good, kid. My ass is on the line, too. Unlike you, who stumbled into this, I’m a volunteer. See you next week.”
Betsy walked over to the cab. It was the same cabbie from last night. “Good morning, madam,” he said brightly. “Did you get a good night’s sleep?”
“Not good enough. And you?”
“Oh, yes.” Giggling. “Oh, yes, a very nice night’s sleep.”
Chapter Ten