Term Limits

chapter Seventeen
After all, he helped form the coalition, but it makes no sense that they would rush out and kill Turnquist without giving you a chance to respond to their demands."

"Where does it say any of this has to make sense?" snapped Garret.

McMahon ignored the comment. "I think that we have no choice but to look into the possibility that there may be another group."

"Unbelievable," scoffed Garret. "Has it occurred to you that maybe they sent you this message to throw you off?."

"Yes, it has."

"Well, Mr. McMahon, I think you're having a hard enough time running this investigation without letting these terrorists confuse you with one simple phone call. It's no wonder you haven't made any progress when you're willing to run off on these wild-goose chases." McMahon  smiled broadly and bobbed his head up and down at Garret. "Do you find this humorous, Mr. McMahon?" asked Garret. "No." McMahon continued to grin.

"Then what in the hell are you smiling about?"

"If I didn't smile at your childish behavior, I wouldn't be able to keep myself from jumping over this table and knocking your head off."

The smile faded from McMahon's face and he turned to Stevens. "As I was saying, Mr. President, we have no choice but to take this seriously." Stu Garret's face was turning a new shade of red, and he was about to open his mouth and explode when from the far end of the table Mike Nance drew the attention of everyone away from Garret and to himself. "I think Special Agent McMahon is correct. We can't just ignore this phone call, but I do think there are some guidelines we need to set up." Nance continued to talk in his smooth, even voice, content that he had diverted the focus of the group away from the volatile Garret.

Michael arrived at his office at 8 A.M. and left instructions with Susan that he didn't want to be disturbed unless it was Seamus or Liz.

With less than three hours of sleep since Monday, he collapsed on the sofa. As he drifted away, he thought of the innocent men and their families and, for the hundredth time in the last two days, asked himself who could be behind the killings. He didn't know how long he'd  been asleep when he heard Susan's voice calling for him over the intercom. Throwing off the blanket, he jumped off the couch and grabbed the phone. "Yes."

"Seamus, line one."

There was a click and then Michael heard his grandfather's voice.

"Michael?" The Congressman shook his left arm, which had fallen asleep.

"Yeah."

"How are you?"

"Fine."

"What's your schedule look like for the rest of the day?"

Michael rubbed his eyes. "Well, we're not in session until Monday, so I'm pretty open."

"Good. I thought it might be nice for you and me to get away for a while and spend some relaxing time up in the clouds." Michael wondered what Seamus had in mind. It was obvious that he couldn't talk about it over the phone. "Ah... that sounds great.

What time and where do you want to meet?"

"How about noon at your house?" Michael looked at his watch and was surprised to see that it was 11:07 A.M. "Yeah, noon will be fine. I'll see you then." Michael hung up the phone and again tried to shake the tingling feeling out of his arm.

He calculated that he'd gotten about three hours of sleep, more than enough to get him through the day. When the meeting in the Situation Room was over, Mike Nance went to his office and waited exactly one hour. Then, pressing the intercom button on his phone, he asked his secretary if she could track Stu Garret down and have him come to his office. Less than a minute later, Garret came puffing through the door and closed it behind him. His entire body was rigid. He paced back and forth in front of Nance's desk. "We've got to do something about that f*cking McMahon. I knew he was going to be trouble."

"Stu, sit down."

Garret continued to pace. "We have got to do something. I mean we can't-" Mike Nance rose out of his leather chair and pointed toward an armchair by the side of his desk. "Stu, sit down and shut up!" The uncharacteristic remark by the always composed Nance got Garret's attention, and he sat. "The only thing you are going to do, Stu, is relax and keep your mouth shut. The FBI can dig all they want and they'll find nothing. That is, unless you give them a reason to look in our direction." Nance tapped his clenched fist against his forehead and looked away for a brief moment. "Did you pay attention to what was going on in that meeting this morning?" Garret gave Nance a puzzled look.

"Stansfield watched your every gesture while that tape was being played." Nance hated dealing with amateurs and was using all of his energy to suppress the contempt he felt toward Garret at this moment.

"He saw you sweating, and he saw you look at me with that stupid, panicked expression on your face. Stu, you have to get a grip on yourself. You have to learn to control your emotions, or you are going to screw this whole thing up."

McMahon left the White House and returned to his office briefly before leaving for the Pentagon. Kennedy and General Heaney were unaware of the most recent phone call from the assassins. The President agreed that they had to take the call seriously and investigate, but at the same time he knew if the public found out, the conspiracy theorists would go nuts. They would start pointing fingers at every institution of power, and the media would fan the flames. The President directed McMahon to assign a small contingent of agents to look into who might have wanted to kill Turnquist and Olson.

The agents were not to be told of the tape and the possibility that another group was responsible for the last two assassinations. At the urging of Mike Nance, the President asked for a list of everyone who knew about the most recent call and wanted them informed that they were not to discuss the tape with anyone. McMahon was not happy with the ludicrous and senseless restriction. It drove him nuts watching the huge amounts of energy and time that was wasted on worrying about the media and public opinion. He couldn't run an investigation if his people didn't know what was going on. After he'd gotten away with putting Garret in his place, he'd decided not to press his luck. The President was obviously not in the mood to be challenged, so he shut his mouth with the hope that Roach could get the President to loosen up later. All the way to the Pentagon, McMahon was trying to figure out how he could leave Kennedy and General Heaney out of the loop. He couldn't. He needed their minds. They gave him insight into an area  that he knew little about, and this morning's phone call was a valuable piece of the puzzle.

Skip entered the conference room just before noon and was slightly surprised. The last time he'd seen the room it was neat and orderly.

Now it had stacks of folders piled everywhere, and the blackboard was covered with writing. Kennedy looked tired and worn, but the general was clean shaven and looking the perfect Marine. "You two look like you got some work done."

"We've been up all night pounding through these files."

Kennedy stretched her hands over her head and yawned. McMahon nodded.

"Fill me in on what you've done." Kennedy took off her glasses and stood.

"Down at the far end of the table are all of the Delta Force files, in the middle are the Green Berets, and down here are the two Navy SEAL files. We took the description of the black assassin that killed Downs and tried to match it with the former black commandos. First, we separated them by height and skin color. If they were too short or their skin color was too light, we put them in a pile marked 'not probable."

From there, we sorted them by current address, our rationale being that the commandos would need to live in the D.C. metro area to have an alibi. If we go talk to one of these guys who lives out in L.A. and find out that they've been out of town for the last two weeks, it's going to look a little fishy. The commandos that fit the description  of the assassin, but don't live in the D.C. area, are in piles marked 'possible'." And the commandos who fit the description of the assassin and live in town are in the piles marked 'probable."" McMahon nodded.

"Sounds good. What's the next step?"

"Well, we're all in agreement that to conduct an operation of this nature you would need a minimum of four commandos, and they would have to know each other pretty well. As the general said earlier, you don't do something like this unless you trust the people on your team. That led us to the conclusion that it is highly likely these commandos served together when they were in the military.

The odds are this group is composed of all former Delta Force commandos, Green Berets, or SEALS, not a mix of the three. Knowing that, we are going through the personnel files for every former commando and looking for men that served in the same units with the black commandos that are in the probable stacks."

"When will we have the list?"

"The general is running a sort on their computer. We should have a list by... When do you think it'll be done, General?"

"Hopefully sometime around seventeen hundred."

"Then what's the plan?" asked McMahon. "That's what you and I need to talk about. You have to decide if you want to go knocking on doors and question these guys personally, or if you want to put them under surveillance and watch them."

"How many suspects are we talking about?"

"There are fourteen former black commandos who live in the metro area and fit the description of the assassin that killed Downs." McMahon did the math. "That's going to take a lot of agents to run twenty-four-hour surveillance on fourteen people. What about the other commandos that are going to come up on the general's list?"

"What I think we should do is have you get solid surveillance set up on the fourteen former black commandos and let the Agency handle the other names that come up on the general's list. When all of your agents are in place, and all of my surveillance people are in place, then you can start beating the bush." McMahon nodded. "And then we sit back and watch who talks to whom."

"Exactly."

"Do you have enough people to run that many surveillance teams?" asked McMahon. "We have to be talking about at least fifty suspects."

"We have enough assets," Kennedy said with a slight smirk on her face.

"Seriously?"

"We conduct our surveillance a little differently than you do."

McMahon shook his head and said, "I don't even want to know what you're going to do." He looked to General Heaney. "I'm going to need the complete dossiers of the fourteen guys on the probable list. I would also like the names of their commanding officers while they were in the service."

Turning back to Kennedy, McMahon asked, "How long will it take you to get your people in place?"

"Depending on how many names come up, we should have everything ready to go by Friday morning."

"I'll call Brian and get everything rolling on my end, and, Irene, you do . . ." McMahon waved his hand in the air. "I don't want to know what you're doing. Just please be careful and don't end up on the front page of the Post."

THE SMALL CESSNA FLEW ALONG THE SOUTHEAST RIDGE OF THE APPALACHIAN Mountain Range. Autumn colors painted the mountains beneath.

Dotted among the rich reds, oranges, and yellows, tall Georgia pines jutted into the sky. Not a cloud was in sight, and the sun added an extra intensity to the full mix of colors below. They passed over a mountaintop, and a town farther up the valley came into sight. Seamus pointed and said, "There she is." Brasstown, Georgia, was a small town  about one and a half hours north of Atlanta that was nestled in a valley at the southern end of the Appalachians. From the far end of the valley they could barely make out two church steeples and a water tower that broke above the trees. As they neared, other buildings and streets became visible. "The airstrip is out on the southern end of town," said Seamus, who banked the plane farther to the southeast and came in for a sweeping pass. The airstrip was cut right out of the  tree line. Passing over it, Seamus took note of the direction the bright orange wind sock was pointing and came back around for a landing. He lined up his approach with a slight allowance for the crosswind and came in low above the trees. When he reached the clearing, he throttled back and let the plane float down onto the grass strip. She bounced once and then settled in, rolling to the end of the runway. An old, rusty fuel pump was the only structure in sight, and next to it was a Dodge pickup. Leaning against the hood was a man in boots, jeans, a red-and-black flannel shirt, and green John Deere hat.

Seamus cut the engine and shut everything down. He and Michael got out of the plane, and the man by the pickup approached. Seamus met him halfway and they embraced, slapping each other on the back. Seamus turned and said, "Michael, you remember Augie, don't you?" Michael stuck out his hand.

"It's been a while. Good to see you again, sir."

"Good to see you, Michael." Jackson stared at him for a moment and said, "God, you look just like your grandfather." Michael smiled and Augie asked, "Things have been pretty hectic in Washington lately, haven't they?"

"Yes."

Augie gestured toward the rear of the truck. "Let's go sit down. My old legs don't work so well anymore." Augie led them to the back of the truck, where he lowered the tailgate. He and Seamus sat and Michael stood with his arms folded across his chest. Augie pulled out a pipe and a bag of tobacco. He filled the bowl and offered the bag to Seamus.

While Augie packed his pipe, he said, "I've been doing a lot of thinking since I got your call last night, Seamus. In fact, I've been, doing a lot of thinking since this whole thing started. Kind of a professional curiosity I guess you'd call it." He put the packing tool back in his pocket and pulled out a lighter. "Michael, did your grandfather tell you what I used to do for the CIA?"

"A little." Augie lit the lighter and held the flame over the bowl, sucking on the pipe until the packed tobacco caught fire. Exhaling the smoke, he moved the pipe to the corner of his mouth and said, "Well, I'll give you the short version. After the war, I stayed in the Corps and went to work for Naval Intelligence back in Washington. Several years later, when the CIA was formed, I was hired and sent to work at  our Paris embassy. I spent my first fifteen years in Europe and then was brought back to Langley, where I became kind of a roving analyst on Russo-European intelligence issues. During my time at Langley, I was also part of a special group that planned covert operations." Jackson took several deep puffs. "I think I might have some information that could help you, but before I go any further, I'd like to ask a few questions." Michael nodded his head and said, "Shoot."

"Where did you hear that there is a second group responsible for the murders of Olson and Turnquist?"

"I really can't say."

"You mean you won't." Jackson exhaled a puff of smoke and kept his eyes fixed on Michael's. "Why are you talking to me and not the FBI?"

"The FBI has this information. I'd like to do a little searching on my own." Augie thought about the answer over several puffs of his pipe and then asked, "Why?"

"Erik Olson was a good friend."

"That's the only reason?" Jackson stared into Michael's eyes and waited for an answer. Michael looked to Seamus for a moment and then back at Augie. "Yes."

"You're a bad liar, Michael. Just like your grandfather." Augie looked at Seamus and smiled.

Then, looking down at the ground, he said, "I suppose neither of you have any idea who is behind the first four assassinations?" Michael shook his head. In a cynical tone Augie said, "I didn't think you would." Augie bobbed his chin up and down. "Well, I have a hunch who might have been involved, but before we get to that, I have some information that I think you will find interesting. I'm going to tell you a story about something I took part in while I was at the Agency, but first I have to give you a little background information. "In the late fifties and early sixties I was the CIA's station chief at our Paris embassy. Tensions between us and the Soviet Union were running hot. There was a very real threat that the Soviets might wage a conventional war and try to take Western Europe. All along the Iron Curtain, NATO forces were outgunned almost five to one in tanks,  artillery, and troop strength. Our military planners thought the best way to deter the Soviet Union from any aggressive action was to deploy tactical nuclear weapons in Western Europe. Our NATO allies agreed, and the missiles were moved into place. The message to the Soviet Union was simple. If you initiate any military action towards Western Europe, we will retaliate with a tactical nuclear strike. This policy worked perfectly until the early sixties, when France started to get goofy on us. "There was a group of politicians in the French parliament who wanted all U.S. nuclear missiles removed from French soil. There were even a few who wanted all U.S. military personnel removed. These ingrates started to attract quite a following, holding protests outside the gates of our military bases we had over there and making more and more speeches demanding that we leave. The writing on the wall was clear. France had a history of being one of our most  fickle allies--never mind that fifteen years earlier we had kicked the Nazis out of their country for them. From the President down, our political leadership was furious that France could be so ungrateful.

We were given the go-ahead by Langley to initiate clandestine action against the leaders of this anti-U.S, movement. Our orders were to find a way to make them change their minds. Over a period of about six months we managed to bribe several of them and blackmail a few more.

We were not successful, however, with the core leaders of the movement.

After exhausting all efforts, Langley sent a man to Paris who was a specialist of sorts. But, before I get to that, are you familiar with the French Algerian conflict?"

"A little," answered Michael. Augie took several puffs on his pipe.

"Well, back in the late fifties the French military was immersed in a war with revolutionary Algerian forces who wanted independence from France. This war waged on for several years, and although they suffered some high casualties early on, the French military eventually put down the uprising. Throughout the war there were certain fringe members of the French parliament who were demanding Algeria be granted independence." Augie paused and raised his eyebrows.

"These politicians also happened to be the same ones protesting against U.S. nuclear weapons on French soil. "Well, the French military had done their job. They had suffered significant casualties and fought a bloody war with the rebels. With the conflict all but over and the rebels on the run, the French parliament and President de Gaulle did something that shocked everyone. They granted Algeria independence and ordered the French military out. At the time there were over a quarter of a million French nationals living in Algeria. "This decision completely alienated the French military from the country's political leadership. And it so infuriated a group of commanders who had fought in Algeria that they deserted and formed a paramilitary group called the OAS." Augie paused to see if Michael was with him and then continued. "The OAS went underground in Algeria and France and initiated a violent commando war with the French political leadership and the leaders of the Algerian liberation movement. They started blowing up bombs and assassinating politicians left and right. They even made several attempts on President de Gaulle.

"Just after the first OAS attempt on de Gaulle's life, this specialist arrived from Washington. I was instructed to give him whatever assistance he needed. I met him at a safe house that we had in Paris and found out he was a covert-operations expert. This man had a brilliant but simple plan. The two most vocal critics of our nuclear weapons being on French soil were also two of the most vocal proponents of Algerian independence. This covert-operations specialist's plan was to assassinate them and make it look like it was the work of the OAS. It took us about two months to plan the whole thing, and then we got the green light from Washington."

"Did it work?" Augie nodded his head and puffed on his pipe. Michael asked, "The CIA assassinated two elected officials in an allied country?"

"Yes. Michael, you have to understand things were a lot different back then. The stakes were considerably higher than they are today, and the spying business was a far deadlier game." Michael shrugged his  shoulders. "I'm not into revisionism, and I'm not in much of a position to judge you." Augie rubbed the end of his pipe with his thumb. "Do you understand why I told you that story?"

"I think so."

"What would your reaction be if I told you I think I know who might be behind the assassinations of Olson and Turnquist?" Michael shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I would be very interested to hear what you have to say."

"The man that came up with the idea to use the OAS as a cover went on to head the Black Operations Directorate of the CIA from the mid-sixties until just several years ago.

Have you ever heard of Arthur Higgins?" Michael frowned and said, "Yes... I thought he was retired."

"Forced out would be a more precise term."

"Why?"

"There are a lot of reasons, but the short version is that he and Director Stansfield had some issues." Michael looked at Seamus and then back at Augie. "Where are you going with this?"

"I think Arthur is behind the assassinations of Turnquist and Olson."

"I hope you're basing this on more than the story you just told me."

"Oh, I am. There's a lot more." Michael's chin dropped down into his chest, and he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Without looking up, he asked, "What's the motive for Higgins to kill Turnquist and Erik?"

"I'm not sure about Turnquist, but Arthur had a personal score to settle with Olson."

"What score?" Michael looked up. "Arthur was next in line for the top job at the CIA when Director Carlyle stepped down four years ago.

Everybody thought the job was Arthur's, including me. That was until your old boss stepped in."

"Erik?"

"Yep. You must remember, when all of this happened, you were on Olson's staff."

"Of course I do, but I don't remember Higgins's name being mentioned.

All I remember is the President nominating Stansfield and that he was confirmed with bipartisan support." Augie grinned. "Stansfield was the only person nominated because your boss, Chairman Olson, went to the President and told him if Arthur's name was sent to the Intelligence Committee, he would do everything in his power to block the nomination.

Olson told the President if the nomination was lucky enough to get out of his committee and make it to the Senate floor for a vote, he would resign his chairmanship in protest." Augie pointed the end of his pipe at Michael.

"Rather than risk the embarrassment, the President nominated Stansfield, and Arthur missed his chance at the one job he had worked his entire life to get." Michael frowned. "You think he would kill Erik over that?"

"You've never met Arthur, have you?"

"No."

"He's the most evil son of a bitch I've ever known." Michael skeptically shook his head. "I'm having a hard time buying this."

"Michael, it runs much deeper than what I've told you. For over thirty years Arthur ran the most secretive part of the Agency. He answered to no one. Directors came and went and not one of them dared cross him.

Arthur always hid behind internal-secrecy rules and a need-to-know basis. In the early years he received a blank check for his operations, but then, when the House and the Senate implemented oversight committees, he was left with the option of telling them what he was doing or having his funding cut. Arthur was not involved in the type  of things he could talk about in public. He didn't even tell people in the Agency what he was up to, and he sure as hell wasn't going to walk into a committee room and explain himself to a roomful of men who were about as good at keeping secrets as a gossip columnist. Over the years his funding shrank significantly, but his operating budget continued to grow. He started to finance his operations through various illegal endeavors."

"Why didn't someone reel him in?" asked Seamus.

"Senator Olson did."

"I can't believe I never heard any of this from Erik."

"Your boss was a very reasonable man, and he understood the value of the Agency. He was a realist, and he knew that going after Arthur through hearings or an investigation would do more harm than good.

Instead, he worked behind the scenes to try and keep him as honest as possible." Augie tapped the bowl of his pipe on the tailgate and the spent tobacco fell to the ground in clumps. "Let's not lose sight of something here. The other reason Arthur was tolerated was that he served a very valuable purpose. When things got ugly, he was called in to clean up. He handled all of the stuff that no one else wanted to.

He took care of the Agency's dirty work." Michael thought about it for a minute. "Can you be sure he's responsible for this?"

"I can't be one hundred percent sure." Augie dumped some more tobacco into the bowl of the pipe and packed it down. "There are a lot of other reasons why I think Arthur killed Senator Olson and Congressman Turnquist .... I have my reasons for not wanting to discuss them, just like you have yours for not wanting to discuss your source."

"Why don't you go to the FBI with this?"

Augie lit his pipe and frowned. "The FBI can't do anything."

"Why not? All we have to do is tell them what you just said, and they'll initiate an investigation."

Augie smiled. "And they'll find nothing, and I'll end up with a bullet in the back of my head. Michael, I don't think you understand who we are talking about. Arthur is a very brilliant and ruthless person.

He's assassinated people all over the world, and he hasn't come close to getting caught. Not once Besides, I can't tell the FBI anything.

I'm bound by the national secrecy act."

"Well, I can."

"Michael, I don't think you understand. If you go to the FBI, Arthur will find out. He has sources everywhere. After he finds out it was you who went to the FBI, he will very subtly threaten your life or the life of someone close to you. Or maybe he'll just have you killed. He is not a man to be toyed with."

"Why are you telling me all of this if you don't think I should do anything?"

"I expect you to do something, but before I get to that, I have to ask you some questions." Augie sucked on his pipe for a while. "When Downs, Fitzgerald, Koslowski, and Basset were killed, I wasn't real torn up. I hated everything they stood for, and I was glad to see them gone. I've thought for a long time that the crusty old windbags in Washington needed to be shaken up." Augie paused, contemplating how to phrase his next statement. "I have a good idea who was behind the first four assassinations." Augie shifted his weight and put one foot on the ground. He looked at Seamus and said, "I could ask a more direct question, but I don't want to be lied to, so I'll skirt the issue slightly. If you really had to ... could you get in touch with someone who is involved in the original assassinations?" After a moment of silence Seamus said, "Yes." Michael's face remained passive.

"Good."