Act of Treason

46

WILLARD HOTEL, WASHINGTON, DC

T he first thing Garret did was separate the stork from his staff. The five people seemed put off, but Garret didn’t give it a second thought. He walked the wannabe politician over to the far corner of the lobby, grabbed two chairs, and got down to business. The stork was a Baptist who attended church every Sunday, which in a state like Indiana was very important. Even more so for a Democrat. The family was loaded. Grandpa started out buying radio stations in the ’30s, Daddy added TV stations in the ’60s, and then further solidified the family’s fortune with a cable monopoly in the ’80s. In the ’90s, the stork, who’d graduated from Purdue with an engineering degree, saw the future and convinced Daddy to get into the satellite business. The company now had three communications satellites in orbit, and the family’s net worth was estimated to be somewhere in the five-billion-dollar range.

The stork claimed to be happily married and faithful to his wife of thirteen years. He had three kids, no history of drug abuse, and no perverse habits that he would admit to. Garret told the man that before he would commit, he wanted to run some preliminary polls to see what the people of Indiana thought of him. The stork said they already had polling data, but Garret was adamant that he would need to do a poll of his own. The aspiring candidate would of course have to foot the bill. Garret would also hire a private eye to check for dirty laundry. It was a steadfast rule of his to have all potential clients investigated. He didn’t like surprises. He’d been burned one too many times by candidates with an over inflated sense of importance and a selective memory.
Garret saw a Secret Service agent enter the main door. He vaguely recognized him as one of the agents assigned to Ross’s detail. The man stopped, swept the room from right to left with a robotic gaze, and then brought his left hand up to his mouth and spoke into a small microphone. Garret knew Ross would be coming through the door shortly, so he apologized for such a brief meeting and promised to call the stork early next week. Even if he didn’t need to meet Ross, he would have kept it short. He wasn’t about to dither with a potential client.
Garret saw two more Secret Service agents come through the door. One stopped to survey the guests while the other continued on to the elevator bank. A second later Ross entered the lobby. The murmurs started almost immediately. Those who saw him first whispered to the others and all heads turned to watch the party’s second most important person. One of the guests shouted something that Garret didn’t quite catch. Ross smiled and pumped his fist and then the other guests broke into applause.
Garret set out on a course to intercept Ross midway between the door and the elevators. The stork called out his name, but Garret didn’t bother to turn around. The guy probably wanted to meet Ross, but Garret had no time for introductions or pleasantries. He wanted to get up to Ross’s suite and turn on CNN. Garret fell into step with the vice president–elect and his bodyguards and marched straight for a waiting elevator. No words were exchanged.
Ross, Garret, and four agents stepped onto the elevator. When the doors closed, Garret looked over at Ross and asked, “How did things go out at Langley?”
Ross kept his eyes on the floor numbers above the elevator door. Out of the side of his mouth he gave a one word answer. “Interesting.”
Interesting, Garret thought. Interesting meant he had something to say, but he didn’t want to talk about it in front of the agents. They passed the rest of the short ride in silence. When the doors opened, another Secret Service agent was waiting for them. They walked down the hall to Ross’s suite where yet another sentinel was posted. The agent slid a card key into the reader and opened the door for Ross and Garret. They entered the suite where the smell of breakfast still hung in the air.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Ross pulled off his suit coat and said, “I can’t wait to see the look on that bitch’s face when she’s forced to resign.”
Garret already had the remote control in his hand and was working the buttons.
Ross draped his coat over the back of a chair and added, “Maybe we should get the Justice Department to launch an investigation. If we’re lucky, she’ll end up in jail.”
Garret frowned and made another attempt at entering the channel for CNN. “Be happy with your victory and leave it at that. The last thing we want is more investigations.”
“You should have seen her this morning.” Ross placed his hands on the back of the chair and looked at the TV. “She was so smug. She sat there in her office with her damn expressionless face and told me she didn’t think it was appropriate to comment on the article. When I was her boss, she used to pull the same shit.”
“What did you expect her to say?” Garret extended the remote, turned up the volume, and in a falsetto voice said, “I screwed up. I’m sorry.” Garret shook his head. “People like Kennedy…they always think they’re the smartest person in the room. No way she’s ever going to admit she blew it.”
The image of the White House Press Room came on the screen. It was just the podium and the blue backdrop with the cutout of the White House. Next to the White House logo a large flat-panel monitor hung from the ceiling. The crawler at the bottom of the screen said the president was expected to make an important announcement. The CNN White House correspondent was reporting the speculation that CIA Director Kennedy was expected to announce her resignation.
“No shit.” Garret laughed. “Isn’t this great?”
“Yes, it is.” Ross flashed a proud smile. “This is real power. Being able to manipulate world events.”
“Look,” Garret said, “here comes bobble head.”
Ross snickered. Garret could be brutally funny some times. After President Hayes had rebuffed the campaign for the umpteenth time and made it clear that he would not be campaigning on behalf of Ross and Alexander, Garret had taken to calling him bobble head. It was a crude reference to the way the president’s Parkinson’s made him shake.
“He must have taken his medicine this morning. He’s not shaking too bad.”
“Turn it up,” Ross commanded.
A series of escalating green bars appeared at the bottom of the screen while the president arranged his notes behind the podium. The expression on his face was very serious. Finally, Hayes cleared his throat and then grabbed the small mike pulling it a bit closer.
“I’m going to make a brief statement,” he said, “and then I’m going to turn things over to Director Kennedy.” Hayes paused for a second to look down at his notes. “I have been blessed in my life to work with some extremely talented people. At the top of that list I would put the woman to my right.” The president stopped and looked at Kennedy with a paternal smile.
Garret said, “He’s going to build her up before he drops the ax.”
“Director Kennedy has been one of my closest advisors over the past four years, and she and her team at the CIA are some of the finest folks in public service today. Many of her successes you will never know about because they are classified. Her failures, unfortunately, often end up on the front pages of newspapers across the country and beyond.” The president stopped, his eyes floating over the press corps with an expression that was somewhere between anger and disappointment. “I would like to say to the country today that there is no one I have depended on more over these past four years than Irene Kennedy. I owe her a deep debt of gratitude. The country owes her a deep debt of gratitude.” Hayes stayed at the microphone, but turned to look at Kennedy. “I am a very lucky man to have worked with someone so talented and loyal.”
The president stepped away from the podium and opened his arms for Kennedy.
Garret shook his head in disgust and said, “You see! That’s what happens when you’re done running for office. You don’t give a shit who you hug. If he was up for reelection, there’s no way he’d be doing this. I’d bet he wouldn’t even be caught in the same room as her.”
Kennedy stood behind the podium with empty hands. She looked decidedly smaller than the president, but she exuded a quiet confidence. Her straight brown hair was tucked behind her ears, and she was wearing a pair of diminutive black-rimmed glasses. A strand of small white pearls hung around her neck. She looked smart, classy, and in control.
She looked straight at the press corps and said, “Since the terrorist attack here in Washington this past October, the CIA has been actively trying to identify the person or persons behind the assault on the motorcade. This past weekend a team of CIA operatives, after nearly a month in the field, apprehended a man on the Greek island of Cyprus. This man has been identified by The New York Times as Alexander Deckas, a Greek national. Just this morning the Greek government filed an official protest at the United Nations accusing the United States of kidnapping one of their citizens. The Greek government is demanding Mr. Deckas be returned immediately.”
Kennedy looked to her right and gave a nod to someone offscreen. A second later the flat-panel monitor that was perched over her right shoulder flickered to life. Kennedy moved around to the far side of the podium, raised her right arm, and pointed it at the screen. A black-and-white image appeared on the screen.
“This surveillance footage was taken at a Starbucks on Wisconsin Avenue only a few blocks away from the explosion that took place this past October. Based on the testimony of a Secret Service agent who was in the motorcade that day, we believe the man standing at the counter wearing the baseball hat is the person who detonated the bomb.”
Kennedy raised her hand, pressed the remote and the screen split in two. The left half showed the Starbucks footage, and the right half showed a new surveillance image. “The picture on the right was taken at JFK the day before the attack. Using facial recognition software, these two photos were analyzed. Experts in the field concur that there is an eighty-plus percent chance that these two men are one and the same.”
Ross’s eyes narrowed and he asked, “What in the hell is she up to?”
“The man on the right entered the U.S. using a Greek passport and was traveling under the name of Nicholas Panagos.” Kennedy hit the remote again and the screen was now split into thirds. “This new picture on the far right is of Alexander Deckas, the man we apprehended in Cyprus this past weekend. Using facial recognition software our experts concur that there is a ninety-nine percent match between the photo in the middle and the one of Mr. Deckas on the right.” Kennedy paused and looked out at the reporters assembled before her.
A hand shot up and then a man stood blocking a good portion of the camera angle. The image on the TV quickly switched to show the reporter from the front. As he began to speak his name appeared at the bottom of the screen along with the newspaper he worked for. It was Sam Cohen, the White House correspondent for The New York Times.
“Director Kennedy, are you denying reports that the CIA kidnapped Mr. Deckas from his home on Cyprus?”
The camera angle switched back around to Kennedy. “I would use the word apprehended.”
“So you’re not denying it?”
Kennedy pursed her lips for a moment and then said, “No.”
Cohen wrote while he talked. “Are you denying reports that Mitch Rapp shot this man four times, once in each knee and then again in both hands?”
Once again Kennedy paused and then gave her one word response. “No.”
Cohen had a look of surprised amusement on his face. “Were these injuries inflicted while Agent Rapp was torturing Mr. Deckas?”
“They occurred during the apprehension of the suspect, but I think you’re getting a bit ahead of the story here, Sam.”
“With all due respect, Director Kennedy, I think the torturing of a fellow human in any situation is an outrage. Our courts have repeatedly said the same thing. The torturing of someone whose guilt or innocence has yet to be proved is an utter travesty.”
“If the man was indeed innocent, and he had in fact been tortured, I would agree with you.”
“You have shown us nothing that comes close to proving that this Deckas fellow was the one who attacked the motorcade and I can’t conceive of a scenario where an individual gets shot in both knees and both hands while being arrested.”
Kennedy’s calm neutral demeanor melted into a playful smile. “That’s because you interrupted me, Sam. It appears to be a habit of The New York Times to jump to conclusions before gathering all the facts.”
The smile was what gave Ross reason to pause. It was the same smile one would give during a chess match when an opponent had stepped into your trap. Something was wrong. Her expression was not what he expected from someone who was about to be gang raped by the media. Ross watched as she turned back to the screen and pressed the remote. The photo of Deckas stayed on the screen and was joined by a second, younger photo of him.
“Mr. Deckas is in fact not a Greek citizen. His real name is Gavrilo Gazich, and he is wanted by The Hague for war crimes committed in the former republic of Yugoslavia. Mr. Gazich is a person of Bosnian heritage who is charged with killing over three dozen men, women, and children during the war. Five years ago he moved to Cyprus and set up a fake identity and a company that specialized in bringing aid to the impoverished nations of Africa. Based on information we found at his office and home, we are now looking into the fact that he may have been involved in as many as sixteen assassinations over the past decade. His targets included a United Nations official, relief workers, politicians, warlords, generals, and at least one reporter.”
Garret tore his eyes away from the TV and said, “What the f*ck is this?”
Before Ross could answer Kennedy continued. “Mr. Gazich has admitted his role in the attack here in Washington this past October.”
“Was that confession made before or after he’d been shot in both knees?” The voice was that of Sam Cohen of the Times. He stayed in his seat this time.
Kennedy did not bother to look at the screen. She kept her eyes on Cohen while she hit the remote, bringing up two new photos. The screen was filled with two ashen-faced dead men. “While observing Mr. Gazich’s movements on the island of Cyprus, the CIA team watched him kill these two men. We do not know who they are, but we have reason to believe they are Russian. We also think they were sent to kill Mr. Gazich so he would no longer be a liability to whoever it was who hired him to attack President–Elect Alexander’s motorcade.
“Here is a brief excerpt of Gazich’s confession. I can’t play all of it for you because he told us some things that we are still investigating.” Kennedy pressed a button again and a typed transcript appeared on the screen of the audio. A second later, voices could be heard.
“How did you get into the U.S.? Be careful. Take your time to think this one through. You wouldn’t want to lie to me.”
“I flew into New York the day before.”
“Which airport?”
“JFK.”
“The explosives?”
“They were waiting for me.”
“Where?”
“Pennsylvania.”
“The state?”
“Yes, the state. Now give me my shot.”
“Not quite yet. You’re doing a good job, though. So you pick up the van, drive it down to Washington…when, on Friday?”
“No, I told you I arrived in New York on Friday.”
“So you stayed in Pennsylvania on Friday night?”
“Yes…Yes! The van was waiting for me and I drove it down to Washington early on Saturday morning. I found my spot, I parked it, I waited, and then when the time was right I blew it up. End of story.”
Garret stood abruptly. “This is all bullshit…right? I mean she’s making this shit up. Isn’t she?”
Ross had his arms folded across his chest, his fist balled up and under his chin. Without bothering to look at Garret he snapped, “Shut up, so I can hear what she’s saying.”
“Director Kennedy,” it was Cohen again, “was that tape made before or after the suspect had been shot?”
“What’s your point, Sam?”
“When someone has been shot in both knees and both hands and then interrogated, it’s reasonable to assume that they would say anything to avoid further pain. That’s called coercion. And if Mitch Rapp shot this man before questioning him there’s not a judge in the land who is going to allow this confession into evidence.”
“I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention, Sam, but this is a pretty nasty business. You don’t send a Boy Scout out to capture a monster like Gavrilo Gazich. You need to send someone like Mitch Rapp. You don’t yell freeze, you don’t flash a badge, you disable the man, so you don’t end up like these two guys.” Kennedy pointed the remote at the screen and returned to the photo of the two dead men. “As for your question as to whether or not the confession was coerced, I’ll let the totality of the evidence speak for itself.”
Kennedy put a photograph of Gazich up on the screen. “This is the man who remote-detonated the bomb that killed nineteen Americans this past October. In addition to his confession, we have discovered some key evidence in his home and office that we think will lead us to the people who hired him. I thank you for your time this morning, and I’d be more than happy to take a few questions.”
The room burst into a free-for-all as more than a dozen reporters burst to their feet and began shouting questions.
Ross quietly swore to himself while Garret let loose a string of profanity.
“What the f*ck are we going to do?” Garret asked. “Those a*sholes said they were going to take care of this.”
Ross stood motionless, with his arms folded and his fist looking like he might drive it through his own chin. Slowly but surely he began to tremble and his face turned crimson.
Garret paced back and forth before him. Ranting and raving. “Did you hear what that bitch said?” He stopped and pointed at the TV, as if Ross might think he was talking about someone else. “She said they have information. Information that is going to lead them to the people who hired Gazich! Did you f*cking hear her?”
“Yes, I f*cking heard her!” Ross snapped and then clenched both fists in front of him like he wanted to pound the hell out of someone. He stepped toward Garret and lowered his voice. “I tell you what you’re going to do, Stu. You are going to get on a plane this afternoon, and you are going to fly over there, and you are going to tell those idiots that I don’t care who they have to kill to put a lid on this thing. I want anyone outside the immediate circle dealt with, and I mean anyone. And don’t take any shit from them. They promised this guy would be dealt with and they blew it, so I don’t want to hear another word about a pardon until they have erased all possible connections between them and this Gazich guy. Have I made myself clear?”
Garret did not feel like getting on a plane to go anywhere other than California, but he knew Ross was right. They were too close to let this thing fall apart and Green and his associates couldn’t be trusted.
“Yes, you have. I’ll go.”