Carter swore softly. “Maybe you really have lost your mind.”
From a pump-action thermos flask atop a credenza, he drew himself a cup of coffee. They were in the sitting room of a redbrick Federal house on N Street in Georgetown, the crown jewel of the CIA’s vast network of safe houses in metropolitan Washington. Gabriel had been a frequent guest at the house during the salad days of the Office’s post–9/11 relationship with Langley. He had planned operations there, recruited agents there, and once, early in the American president’s first term, he had agreed to hunt down and kill a terrorist who happened to carry an American passport in his pocket. Such had been the nature of the relationship. Gabriel had willingly served as a black branch office of the CIA, carrying out operations that, for political reasons, Carter could not undertake himself. But soon Gabriel would be the chief of his service, which meant that, for protocol’s sake, he would outrank Carter. Secretly, Gabriel suspected that Carter wanted nothing more than to be a chief himself. His past, however, would not allow it. In the months after 9/11, he had locked terrorists in secret black sites, rendered them to countries that tortured, and subjected them to interrogation methods of the sort that Gabriel had just countenanced in a farmhouse in the north of France. In short, Carter had done the dirty work necessary to prevent another al-Qaeda spectacular on the American homeland. And for his punishment he would be forever forced to knock politely on the doors of lesser men.
“I didn’t realize the Office had any interest in going after ISIS,” he was saying.
“Someone has to do it, Adrian. It might as well be us.”
Carter frowned at Gabriel over his shoulder. Pointedly, he neglected to offer Gabriel any of the coffee.
“The last time I talked to Uzi about Syria, he was more than content to let the crazies fight it out. The enemy of my enemy is my friend—isn’t that the golden rule in your charming little neighborhood? As long as the regime, the Iranians, Hezbollah, and the Sunni jihadists were all killing each other, the Office was content to sit in the orchestra section and enjoy the show. So don’t stand there and lecture me about sitting on my hands and doing nothing about ISIS.”
“Uzi isn’t going to be the chief for long.”
“That’s the rumor,” agreed Carter. “In fact, we were expecting the transition to occur several months ago and were quite surprised when Uzi let us know he would be staying on for an indefinite period of time. For a while we wondered whether the reports regarding the unfortunate death of Uzi’s chosen successor were true. Now we know the real reason why Uzi is still the chief. His successor has decided to try to penetrate ISIS’s global terror network with a live agent, a noble goal but incredibly dangerous.”
Gabriel made no reply.
“For the record,” said Carter, “I was very relieved to learn that the reports of your demise were premature. Maybe someday you’ll tell me why you did it.”
“Maybe someday. And, yes,” Gabriel added, “I’d love a coffee.”
Carter squeezed out a second cup. “I would have thought you’d had your fill of Syria after your last operation. How much did that one cost you? Eight billion dollars rings a bell.”
“Eight point two,” answered Gabriel. “But who’s counting?”
“Rather steep for a single human life.”
“It was the best deal I ever made. And you would have made the same one in my position.”
“But I wasn’t in your position,” said Carter, “because you didn’t tell us about that operation, either.”
“And you didn’t tell us that the administration was secretly negotiating with the Iranians, did you, Adrian? After all the work we did together to delay the program, you blindsided us.”
“I didn’t blindside you, my president did. I don’t make policy, I steal secrets and produce analysis. Actually,” Carter added after a thoughtful pause, “I don’t do much of that anymore. Mainly, I kill terrorists.”
“Not enough of them.”
“I take it you’re referring to our policy regarding ISIS.”
“If that’s what you want to call it. First, you failed to see the gathering storm. And then you refused to pack a raincoat and an umbrella.”
“We weren’t the only ones to miss the rise of ISIS. The Office missed it, too.”
“We were preoccupied with Iran at the time. You remember Iran, don’t you, Adrian?”
There was a silence. “Let’s not do this,” said Carter after a moment. “We accomplished too much together to allow a politician to come between us.”
It was an olive branch. With a nod, Gabriel accepted it.
“It’s true,” said Carter. “We were late to the ISIS party. It is also true that even after arriving at the party we avoided the buffet and the punch bowl. You see, after many years of attending such parties, we’ve grown weary of them. Our president has made it clear that the last one, the one in Iraq, was a crashing bore. Expensive, too, in American blood and treasure. And he has no interest in throwing another one in Syria, especially when it conflicts with the narrative.”
“What narrative is that?”
“The one about how we overreacted to nine-eleven. The one about how terrorism is a nuisance, not a threat. The one about how we can absorb another strike like the one that brought our economy and transportation system to its knees, and be stronger as a result. And let us not forget,” Carter added, “the president’s unfortunate remarks about ISIS being the jayvee team. Presidents don’t like being proved wrong.”
“Neither do spies, for that matter.”
“I don’t make policy,” Carter repeated. “I produce intelligence. And at the moment, that intelligence is painting a dire picture of what we’re up against. The attacks in Paris and Amsterdam were but a preview of coming attractions. The movie is coming to theaters everywhere, including here in America.”
“If I had to guess,” said Gabriel, “it’s going to be a blockbuster.”
“The president’s closest advisers agree. They’re concerned an attack on the homeland so late in his second term will leave an indelible stain on his legacy. They’ve told the Agency in no uncertain terms to keep the beast at bay, at least until the president gets on Marine One for the last time.”
“Then I suggest you get busy, Adrian, because the beast is already at the gates.”
“We’re aware of that. But unfortunately the beast is largely immune to our dominance in cyberspace, and we have no human assets in ISIS to speak of.” Carter paused, then added, “Until now.”
Gabriel was silent.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were trying to get inside?”
“Because it’s our operation.”
“You’re working alone?”
“We have partners.”
“Where?”
“Western Europe and the region.”
“The French and the Jordanians?”
“The British crashed the party, too.”
“They’re a lot of fun, the British.” Carter paused, then asked, “So why are you coming to us now?”