“Thank you, sir.”
“It’s not implausible that something could throw our plans way off track. ECP could die or there could be a riot that turns Cuba upside down. Something big that we don’t expect that derails Mel’s negotiations. That’s why I want you thinking ahead about what could go wrong. And what we could do to respond.”
“I’ll get right on it, sir.”
“Great. I knew I could count on you, Ryker.” Parker stood up, indicating that their meeting was over.
Judd tilted his head to one side. “If you’re really worried about the formal talks breaking down, you might want to try an old Henry Kissinger trick.”
“Kissinger?”
“He always had a second communication track just in case things went wrong.”
“A backchannel?” Parker sat down again in his chair.
“He wanted always to be able to reach the right people at the right time. So he could drive events and keep negotiations moving ahead.”
“Ryker, let me get this straight,” Parker leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “You’re saying that if things went haywire in Cuba—I mean, if our negotiations really fell apart—that your Minute Zero formula for political change in Cuba is . . . seize uncertainty, harness greed, create a backchannel? Have I got that right?”
“Yes, sir. And you’d need a replacement candidate ready to run. If things really come down to Minute Zero, you should have already bet on your horse. After the crisis hits is too late.”
Landon Parker sat back in his chair and thought in silence. After a moment, he extracted a small black leather notebook from his breast pocket, scribbled a few notes, then replaced it.
“It’s a hell of an idea, Ryker. Of course, I don’t know how we’d produce uncertainty, we don’t have suitcases of untraceable cash, and the United States government has never been able to keep secret diplomatic talks out of the newspapers. And I sure as hell don’t have an off-the-shelf candidate ready to lead Cuba. With apologies to you and Adam Smith, I think we are zero for four.” He smiled. “But it definitely is one hell of an idea.”
8.
GEORGETOWN, WASHINGTON, D.C.
TUESDAY, 2:30 P.M.
Aren’t you going to invite your boss into the house?” the CIA’s Deputy Director of Operations asked. He almost looked offended. Almost.
“Why are you here?” Jessica asked, holding the door tight in case she needed to slam it in his face.
“Is that any way to treat your mentor?”
“Mentor? I don’t even know your real name.”
“Neither does my wife,” said the Deputy Director. “What does it matter?”
“You didn’t answer my question,” she said.
“Yes, I am your mentor. You were nothing when BJ van Hollen brought you to me. What were you going to do, run around the world and dig wells for the rest of your life? Waste all your talent on small, meaningless bullshit?”
Jessica held his gaze and didn’t flinch.
He continued his rant, “I’m the reason you are where you are. I’m the reason you are running Purple Cell. I’m the whole goddamn reason that Purple Cell even exists. You can surely remember that.”
“What I remember, sir, is that you suspended me,” she said.
“You gave me no choice after the shit you pulled in Zimbabwe. You should be grateful I didn’t fire you for going rogue.”
“The question you didn’t answer was, why are you here?”
His face softened. “I’m worried about you,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes and gripped the door tighter. “That’s funny, sir. Why are you really here?”
“Am I not allowed to check on my people?”
“I’m not some asset you’re running. You don’t need to flatter me.”
“I’m here because I’ve got a big operation in the pipeline and I’m going to need you.”
“You’re reactivating Purple Cell?” She loosened her grip on the door and stifled a smile.
“Not yet. I need to let things cool off first. The building has a buzz that I haven’t seen since 9/11. I know I’m going to need my best team.”
“So, then, I’m still asking why are you here now?”
“I’m going to need you fresh. Your last mission, authorized or not, took something out of you. I can see it in your face, Jessica. I can hear it in your voice. In the way you’re standing. You’re not yourself. You’re stressed-out. You’re tired.”
“You drove to my house all by yourself to tell me to take a rest?”
“Not a rest.” He dangled a set of keys in front of his face. “A vacation.”
“What are those?”
“My Florida house. In Fort Lauderdale. I want you to use it. Take a few days down there to relax. Take the kids, take your husband, go to the beach, use my boat. Nothing fancy, just a little Cobalt bowrider. You can handle it, no problem. The kids will love it.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Go take a little vacation and I’ll be in touch after you get back. We can talk then about reactivating your team and your next assignment.”
“A vacation?”