Millikan cleared his throat. “I hate this time of year in Washington. The allergies set off a river in my head.” The assembled directors indicated their sympathy. Betsy, the only one standing, began to notice that her nose was running, too. She felt a sneeze building.
“As you know,” Millikan continued, “the making of middle-eastern policy is a difficult task. We count heavily on you to help us. We know of your difficulty because of the devastation of our HUMINT resources after the Iranian Embassy takeover and the death of Colonel Buckley.
“The goal of our policy is simple. It is to keep Iran in check. Their brand of Islamic fundamentalism, their population and resource base, and their terrorist network around the world constitute a clear and continuous threat to us and to our new Soviet colleagues in Central Asia. As unpleasant as it may be, we have only one counterweight to Iran, and that is Iraq and the theatrical Saddam Hussein.”
His face began to redden. “It’s tough enough to handle the Israeli lobby and their pressures, and the liberals and their bitching about George’s lack of vision, and the press with their sniping attacks. But when we get sandbagged by bottom-fish analysts, this is too much. We have to be on the same page! Is that clear?”
The exalted directors around the table were taking a tongue-lashing from the White House. Betsy watched this passively, much as she might be watching C-Span at home. She knew that she was the object of this attack, but she didn’t feel as if she were in the same room. Millikan talked more and more and began to turn red and pound the table as he lashed out at incompetent underlings, disloyal subordinates, and the helplessness of government to clean out bad employees. He then stood up and pointed directly at Betsy, who imagined herself as Joan of Arc, tied to the stake, smoke curling up into her inflamed nasal passages—
She sneezed. It was a good one. It came out when Millikan, like Pavarotti going for a high C, was ready to drive his point home. A long thread of mucus flew out over her upper and lower lip, and everyone in the room looked away from her. She fumbled for a Kleenex.
The room was paralyzed. The deputy director of Operations blurted, “Gesundheit.”
Betsy said, “Sorry.”
Millikan had lost his train of thought. He could not sustain his anger at anyone this pathetic. He could only shake his head in disbelief and look helplessly at the DCI.
“I’d like to thank Dr. Millikan for his insights and for his typically acute analysis of a serious problem in policy formation. Ms. Vandeventer. You have been our guest here for the past week. I’m sorry you’re feeling poorly—as soon as you’ve got yourself together, could we see your report?”
“Of course. Maggie, would you pass these out?” Betsy said, dumping the heap of binders in front of the crippled dragon lady. Hume had fully recovered her composure, and she hobbled around the table cheerfully dispensing the copies.
Betsy began. “The level of classification for this briefing is FOUO—for official use only.”
“What? Nothing important is FOUO,” said one of the suits.
“If I may continue,” Betsy appealed to the DCI.
“Go ahead.”
“I will welcome questions or requests for elucidation at the end of my presentation.”
She then read her paper on soybean markets, present and future, in Southwest Asia. As she patiently explained that there was a healthy market for American soybeans, if the U.S. could keep the Indians from entering the market, the men around the table began to mutter and look across at each other. Their staffers in chairs around the edge of the room began to growl in sympathetic response.
Millikan finally broke in. “You know goddamned well that this is not what you’re here for. You’re here to expand on the line you gave the attaché about Saddam using our Ag funds for improper purposes.”
“Oh, sir, that’s not what I was tasked for. I was dealt with harshly by my branch chief, Mr. Howard King, who has since received a promotion for his good work. He told me forcefully never to exceed my task again, never again to mention anything outside my job of tracing commodities flow. I’m doing some interesting work on the lentil market now. Would you like to hear something about lentils?”
“You mean that you won’t discuss your notions of improper Iraqi use of USG funds?”
“With all due respect, sir, I cannot exceed my task. Now, if you gentlemen would like to contact my branch and task me to pursue Iraqi use of USG funds, I would be glad to. But I’m sure that you all are considering that.”
Millikan interrupted, softly and slowly. “Then why did you tell the attaché that Mr. Hussein was misusing USG funds? Don’t play stupid with me.”