Leland Babbitt knew relations between Townsend and the CIA had never been worse, but the fact that he was here, walking down the corridor on the seventh floor at Langley, meant he still had the juice, and this pleased him greatly.
The drive to McLean had passed in silence. For much of it complete silence, because the moment Babbitt pulled out his phone to call his office and inform them he would be running late, one of the young men sitting next to him in the back of the Yukon took Babbitt’s phone out of his hand and said, “Sorry, sir. Operational security. No calls until we leave headquarters.” The phone disappeared into the jacket of the helpful yet ominous CIA officer.
At Langley Babbitt was processed quickly and placed in an elevator that took him directly up to the top floor. As the elevator door opened he was met by Jordan Mayes, who shook Babbitt’s hand as if today were just any other garden-variety day, and the impending meeting was nothing more than another discussion about contracts, fiscal year budgeting, or logistical allocations.
Babbitt waited in a conference room for several minutes; he and Mayes made a little small talk but there wasn’t much to it, and then Denny Carmichael entered, wrinkled and rail thin, as always. Carmichael always looked to Babbitt like a combat-hardened Abe Lincoln, as if the sixteenth president had spent his twenties through his forties fighting in the Third World, as Carmichael had.
Regal yet menacing.
Patriarchal yet savage.
Denny sat down at the table, folded his hands in front of him. Babbitt knew he’d get right to it, because that was Carmichael’s way.
The head of the Clandestine Service said, “Very well, Lee. You win this round.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t want you talking to Congress. Our temporary discord is not as important as the long-term headache that would create.”
“So?”
“So, we’ll fold you back into the hunt for Courtland Gentry.”
Babbitt had wanted to hear just this out of Carmichael’s mouth, but when he did hear it, he instantly became suspicious. “That quick? You went from ‘fuck you’ to ‘all’s well’ just like that?”
Denny shook his head. “Negative. The ‘fuck you’ remains in place. Threatening to reveal intelligence pisses me off, but I’m nothing if not a pragmatist. I can’t stop you with a stick, so I’ll wave a carrot, see if that does the trick.”
Babbitt had won, and he knew it. He fought a wide grin and a fist pump into the air by focusing immediately on the job at hand. “Excellent. Obviously I’ve been out of the loop for the last several weeks so I’ll need to get back up to speed. Does the Agency have any new confirmed sightings of Court Gentry since Brussels?”
There was no hint of a pause from Carmichael. “No. None at all. Our analysts speculate he has melted back into Central Europe.” Carmichael turned to Mayes. “How about it, Jordan? Any intel more current than that?”
Jordan Mayes shook his head, an expression of gravity and disappointment. “The trail is cold, I’m afraid. We certainly could use some help.”
Babbitt appreciated the conciliation all around. He said, “Expect that to change in short order now that Townsend Government Services is back in action.” He cleared his throat. “While we’re all here together, let’s go over my terms.”
Carmichael’s eyes narrowed. “Your what?”
“Terms . . . I want in. Back in on everything.”
“What does that mean?”
“I want the suspension of all our contracts to be rescinded, our clearance to be reinstated.”
“I’m fine with that.”
“And I want to see submissions from you for new contracts. New opportunities on the horizon we can bid on. This Violator hunt isn’t your only big operation.”
Carmichael raised an eyebrow. “It seems as if you are trying to leverage your newfound position into increased government contracts.”
Babbitt smiled. He was all smiles now. He had the CIA right where he wanted them. “Face it, Denny, I’m the only game in town.”
“Of course you are.”
The meeting lasted another ten minutes. Babbitt had expected it to go even longer, but Carmichael said he had another appointment that could not wait.
—
Carmichael and Mayes watched Babbitt leave the conference room with an unmistakable saunter in his step.
As soon as the door shut, Carmichael looked to Mayes and sighed. “He’s got to go.”
Mayes just nodded, knowing exactly what his boss meant by the statement. “I concur. And it needs to happen soon.”
“How?”
Mayes had an answer ready. “Hightower.”
Denny blew out a chest full of air while he thought. “Will he do it?”
Mayes said, “Back in the Goon Squad, Zack Hightower would do anything we told him to. He sure as hell looked gung ho yesterday.”
“He did, didn’t he?” Carmichael drummed his fingers on his desk. “All right. Turn him loose. But no blowbacks on us.”
Mayes said, “Right.” He thought a moment. “Denny, we might want to look at this as something of an opportunity.”
“I’m way ahead of you.”