Term Limits

chapter Twenty-One
"Did you tell Commander Coleman that the leak came from a politician?"

There was a moment of silence, then the admiral answered, "Yes."

McMahon and Kennedy looked at each other. Both were thinking the same thing.

McMahon looked back at the phone. "How did Coleman react to the information?"

"Like all of us did. He was pissed, but, gentlemen, I can assure you Commander Coleman is not your man." Kennedy raised her eyebrows in a doubtful manner and McMahon said, "Admiral, that's all the questions we have for now. I'm going to ask that you not tell anyone about our conversation, especially Mr. Coleman. I promise that either myself or General Heaney will keep you informed about any part of the investigation that may involve you. General Heaney, we have a meeting with Director Roach that should last an hour or so. Could you meet Irene and me in my office around ten A.M.?"

"I'll be there."

"Thank you, gentlemen." McMahon hit the speaker button and disconnected the line. He looked up at Kennedy, who was still standing, and asked, "How many prominent politicians would have known about Operation Snatch Back beforehand?" Kennedy shrugged her shoulders. "The way those guys gossip, you can never be sure, but according to law, the President and a ranking member of the Senate Intelligence Committee must be informed before we run a covert operation."

"Who were the two ranking members of the Senate Intelligence Committee a year and a half ago?"

"Erik Olson and Daniel Fitzgerald."

"Isn't that a coincidence. They're both dead." McMahon stood and put on his jacket. "Let's go talk to Brian and see if we can find out who this mystery politician is."

"I think I already know who it is," Kennedy said with a glum look on her face. "Who?"

"Fitzgerald."

"Why?"

"He resigned from the Intelligence Committee about a year ago, claiming that he needed to focus more of his energy on the Finance Committee."

McMahon led the way down the hall and up the two flights of stairs.

Skip greeted Roach's assistant and told her that he needed to see the boss immediately. She buzzed Roach, and a minute later McMahon and Kennedy were let in. Roach was sitting at his conference table surrounded by the usual stacks of files and papers. He stood and greeted the visitors, professional as always. "How's the investigation going?"

"We may have come across a break." McMahon looked over his shoulder to make sure the door was closed and then asked, "What do you know about a covert mission called Operation Snatch Back?" Roach looked more than a little surprised. "Where did you hear about Operation Snatch Back?

That's classified." Roach turned to Kennedy. "Did you tell him?"

"Not in the way you're thinking. We stumbled across it in our investigation."

"How?"

"Irene was looking into the file of a former Navy SEAL and the name came up."

"In what way did it come up?" Kennedy stepped forward. "About a month after the mission, one of SEALS involved in the operation received an early discharge. We talked to his commanding officer and found out some interesting things."

"Go on," commanded Roach.

"Admiral Devoe, the force commander for the SEALS, told us that the officer in question, Commander Scott Coleman, was in charge of the SEAL team that participated in Operation Snatch Back. After the mission, Coleman stated that he thought the Libyans had set a trap. He also blamed himself for the loss of his men because he ordered them in. A couple of weeks after the mission, Admiral Devoe finds out that the FBI has identified who leaked the mission. The admiral passes the information on to Coleman, telling him that he doesn't know who leaked the mission, only that it was a prominent politician. Shortly after that, Coleman demands an early discharge and gets it. So far none of this adds up to anything hard, but if the prominent politician who leaked that mission happened to be Senator Daniel Fitzgerald, then we have a possible motive." Roach looked more than a little surprised and asked, "What makes you think it was Fitzgerald?"

"An educated guess," said Kennedy. "Was it Fitzgerald?"

"Yes .... Both of you take a seat. This is more complicated than it looks." McMahon and Kennedy sat in the two chairs in front of Roach's desk, and the director sat on the edge of his desk. "What I'm about to tell you does not leave this room .... Fitzgerald was the one who leaked the mission. He didn't do it intentionally, and that is why he was never prosecuted. In fact, we stumbled across it in an unusual way. Our Counter Espionage Department regularly reviews the tax returns, asset portfolios, and credit history of certain people that, by the nature of their jobs, come in contact with government employees that have access to sensitive information-people like journalists, attorneys, secretaries, lobbyists, even waitresses and bartenders.

Last year, one of our agents was reviewing the tax returns for all of the employees that worked at a local restaurant. She discovered that one of the bartenders had purchased a two-hundred-thousand dollar condo in Georgetown. The guy only makes about thirty thousand a year, so a red flag pops up. She calls the mortgage company and finds out the person in question put down sixty grand for the down payment on the condo. A little more investigating and she rules out that the money came from his parents. We think the guy is probably selling drugs, but there's an outside chance he may be talking to people we don't want him talking to.

A lot of big hitters frequent the establishment where he works, and after a few drinks these politicians and their staffers have been known to discuss things they shouldn't in public. "We decided there was enough to put this bartender under surveillance. We wired the bar, his condo, and tapped his phone." Roach shook his head. "Two days before Operation Snatch Back was to commence, Fitzgerald gets done with work and stops by for a couple of drinks. The nightly news is on and they run a segment on the anniversary of the downing of the Pan Am flight over Lockerbie. The reporter ends the segment saying that the two men suspected of planting the bomb are believed to be hiding in Libya.

Fitzgerald responds out loud, 'Not for long,' and the bartender asks what he means. Fitzgerald says, 'Between you and me, kid, those two bastards are going to be sitting in a U.S. jail in about forty-eight hours." The kid asks how, if they're in Libya, and Fitzgerald tells him he can't go into it. "At the time this meant nothing to our people that were on the case, but after Snatch Back failed, the CIA gave our Counter Espionage people a heads-up warning that the mission may have been compromised. One of the names on the list of people that knew about the mission beforehand was Senator Fitzgerald. Our agents put two and two together and hauled the bartender in for a shakedown. They told him he was either going to spend the next twenty years in a Federal pen or he could spill the beans .... He spilled the beans. The guy thought he was passing the information on to a reporter. It turns out the reporter is a former KGB agent who is now operating for himself and selling his secrets abroad. The rest of the story is highly classified, and I can't go into what we found out It's an ongoing operation."

"You're using the kid to feed him misinformation, aren't you?" Kennedy waited for an answer. Roach shrugged his shoulders and said, "Director Stansfield knows all about it. We're working in cooperation with the Agency." Roach walked around to the other side of his desk and sat.

McMahon sat forward and said, "I'm going to have to talk to everyone who was involved in this."

"No, you're not," answered Roach. "Brian, if this Coleman is our guy, all of this information about Fitzgerald is going to have to come out in the indictment."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, but for now I don't want Fitzgerald's name and Operation Snatch Back mentioned in the same sentence. Do what you have to do to investigate Coleman, but keep Fitzgerald out of it. I assume I can get ahold of Admiral Devoe at the Pentagon?"

"No, he's down in Norfolk."

"All right, I'll talk to him personally, and you'd better put a list together of all the people that know Snatch Back was leaked.

Madeline Nanny is going to want to talk to you about this." Mike Nance took the short walk from his corner office to Stu Garret's. Passing Garret's secretary, he smiled and said hello. The door was open and Nance closed it behind him. Nance sat in one of the armchairs and crossed his legs. "How is the President today?" Garret finished what he was writing and pushed himself away from the desk. Taking his cigarette out of his mouth, he blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling and said, "He's doing great. We just got the results back from the most recent Time/CNN poll, and almost seventy percent of the people surveyed are behind his decision to get the military involved." Garret shoved the cigarette back in his mouth and took a deep drag. "He's very happy. Much more relaxed."

"Good." Nance looked down and flicked a speck of lint from his wool pants. "How are you doing?"

"Fine. I could use a little more sleep, but otherwise I feel pretty good."

"Are you more at ease than you were yesterday?"

"Yes." Garret was slightly embarrassed by the question. "I had a meeting with our friend last night."

"How is he doing?"

"Not well. He's very uneasy about your lack of emotional control."

Garret's face went flush, and he stabbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. "Why?"

"He heard about your demeanor in the meeting the other day."

"What meeting?"

"The one where Special Agent McMahon played the tape of his conversation with the terrorist."

"Why did you have to tell him about that?"

"I didn't. Someone else did."

"Who?" "One never knows with Arthur, Stu. He has a lot of contacts."

"What did he say?"

"He's concerned that you won't be able to keep your mouth shut."

"Who am I going to tell?" Nance turned his palms upward and raised his eyebrows. "Come on, Mike. I'm not that stupid. If I talk, I go down too."

"I agree, but he doesn't."

"Why? I haven't done a f*cking thing to make him think I would say anything. Why in the hell would I say anything? I'd be cutting my own throat."

"I agree, but he seems to think that you might fold under pressure. He thinks if someone were to put the screws to you, you'd talk in order to save yourself."

"That's ludicrous." Garret grabbed his pack of Marlboros with a shaky hand and fished out a fresh cigarette. "He wants me to give you a message." Nance rose from his chair and walked around the desk.

Leaning into Garret's ear, he whispered, "Arthur says if you breathe a word of this to anyone, he will have you killed." Garret dropped his cigarette and stood. "Why?"

Nance put a hand on his shoulder. "Just calm down, Stu, and you'll have nothing to worry about."

MICHAEL O'ROURKE AND SCOTT COLEMAN WERE RUNNING A COUPLE OF minutes late. They had met at the cabin earlier and finalized the plans for the mission. Because of the lack of preparation time, they had decided to keep things as simple as possible. If Arthur stepped out to smoke a cigar, they would grab him.

If he didn't, they would have to try again the next night. Storming the house was out of the question. The sun had set at about 5:40 P.M and the rural Maryland roads were crowded with commuters going home after work. The black BMW cruised along with traffic and then turned off the busy county road and onto one of the narrow and quiet streets of the Curtis Point neighborhood. Coleman was driving and had his night-vision goggles perched on his forehead. He reached up and pulled the microphone from his headset down in front of his mouth. "Hermes and Cyclops, this is Zeus, come in, over." He kept his eyes fixed on the road and waited for the response. "This is Hermes, over."

"Are you in position, over?"

"That's affirmative, we're in position, over."

"We're about three miles out. Have the gate ready to go, and I'll give you the word right before we round the corner. Check the road for foot traffic, and let me know if there are any cars coming from the other direction, over."

"Roger, over." Michael opened the glove box and pulled off the cover to the fuses. Holding a small penlight in his left hand, he located the fuse for the car's exterior lights and got ready to pull it. They continued to wind down the curvy road, passing the large houses. When they were less than a mile from the old estate, Coleman spoke into his mike again.

"Hermes, how does everything look, over?"

"The coast is clear, over."

"Open the gate." Coleman looked at O'Rourke and nodded. O'Rourke pulled the fuse, and the headlights and rear running lights were extinguished.

The thick cloud cover overhead, combined with the lack of streetlights on the narrow, wooded road, cut the visibility to nothing. Coleman pulled down his night-vision goggles '. and quickly adjusted his eyes.

He took his foot off the gas and coasted. They passed the main gate of the old estate, and Coleman put some pressure on the brakes. About 150 feet later, they reached the service drive, and Coleman turned hard.

The black car slipped onto the overgrown drive and squeezed through the encroaching trees and bushes, disappearing from sight. Stroble quickly closed the gate and wrapped the chain around the post. He stood guard for a minute, looking up and down the road waiting to see if anyone else approached, and then went down the path to join the others. When he arrived at the small shed, Coleman had already turned the car around in the tall grass so it was pointing back toward the road. Coleman, O'Rourke, and Hackett were standing by the open trunk. Hackett handed them their MP-5s and Coleman and O'Rourke checked to make sure a round was chambered. When Stroble joined the group, Coleman checked his watch and brought everyone in. "What did you do with the Zodiac?"

"We sank it about a mile offshore and swam in," responded Stroble.

"Good. Let's go over this thing once and then get into position. We don't want to miss him. Stop me if you have any questions. What's the status on the boat next door?"

"It has a full tank of gas, and the battery is fine," said Hackett.

"Are you going to have to hot-wire her?"

"No, we found an extra set of keys under the seat cushions."

"Good .... Okay, once from the top." Coleman pointed at Hackett and Stroble. "You two move into position on the north side of the house.

Kevin, you're in the same tree you were in last night. From there you can cover the entire backyard.

Dan, you are in your spot by the front of the house, and Michael and I are just opposite the patio on this side of the fence. When we get into position, the first thing all of us do is make sure our ropes are secure. Then we sit tight, watch the guards, and wait. The surveillance reports that Michael got say he steps out for a cigar almost every night, unless it's raining. Sometimes he stays out there for hours, sometimes for only a couple of minutes. The point being.

if he shows, we move fast." Coleman looked up at the dark sky. "The forecast calls for possible showers, so we'll have to wait and see. If he comes out, we wait for him to move to the edge of the patio, as far  away from the house as possible, and then depending on what the guards are doing, we make our move."

"What if he's not alone?" asked Hackett. Coleman looked to Michael, who thought about it and answered, "I'll make the call on the spot."

"Back to the guards," said Coleman. "If they stick to their routines, one of them will stay by the front door, and the other one will patrol the sides and rear of the house with the dog. There's another one at the front gate, but I don't think he'll leave the guardhouse. That leaves one more in the house, and after we take the cameras out, he'll be blind. "Assuming everything goes right, and Arthur steps out, I will ask the two of you if you have a clear shot. Kevin, you've got the guard in back and Dan you've got the one by the front door. As soon as I get a positive answer from both of you, I'll say 'bingo."

Shoot the guards first and then the dogs. At that point, Michael and I swing over the fence in the backyard, and Dan comes over in the front.

The second we hit the ground, the security control board inside the house is going to light up. I don't know for sure, but it's my guess that the guard inside will hit those floodlights that we saw last night. Don't worry about them right away. Take the cameras out first.

There are two sets of cameras mounted on each of the four corners of the house. Dan, you take out the ones in front and then take out the floodlights closest to the house. While you're running from one side of the house to the other, I want you to fire some shots at the windows.

It'll set off more alarms inside and keep that fourth guard busy."

Coleman turned to Hackett. "There are four floodlights in the backyard.

I want you to pop them ASAP and then cover us." Looking back at Stroble, he said, "Now for the tricky part. The surveillance report says that Arthur is outfitted with a homing device and alarm. He has a lot of secrets in his head, and the CIA doesn't want someone getting ahold of them. I don't know if this homing device is sewn into his clothes or in his shoe or in his watch, so Michael and I have decided  not to take any chances. We're going to strip him naked and put everything in a bag.

Dan, when you reach the patio, we should have everything ready to go.

Michael will give you the bag, and then I want you to get down to the boat as fast as possible and get the engines warmed up." Coleman pointed at Hackett. "Kevin, you stay in the tree and cover Michael and me until we are over the wall with Arthur. The second we're clear, get the hell out of the tree and down to the boat."

"What do I do if the owner of the house hears the engines start and comes out to see what's going on?" asked Hackett. "Scare him away with a couple of warning shots."

"What if he has a gun?"

"If he keeps coming at you, kneecap him. Once both of you are on the boat, I want you to head straight out into the Bay. No one is going to be around to cover you, and I don't want one of the guards taking potshots at you from the cliff. When you are about three hundred yards from shore, head south. Run at full throttle and keep your running lights off. I'm estimating that you should be able to do about seventy knots in that boat. If the CIA is on the ball, I'm estimating that the quickest they could get a chopper up to intercept you would be fifteen minutes from the time the alarm is sounded. Kevin, after you're done taking the guard out, mark the time. At seventy knots it should take you approximately fifteen minutes to reach Cove Point. Seventeen minutes after we go over the wall, I want both of you out of the boat!

Even if you haven't made it to Cove Point, jump ship. I don't want you on board a second longer. Tim O'Rourke will be waiting to pick you up.

He has a radio and a red filter light. When you go over, ask him to give you a signal for bearing." Coleman paused and looked all of them in the eye.

"I know we're not as prepared for this as we'd like to be, but we don't have the time. Just stay cool and everything will be fine. Any questions?" They all shook their heads, and then Coleman went to the trunk of the car. He grabbed four bundles of rope and handed one to each man. "Let's get moving. Be careful and stay cool." Coleman patted each of them on the shoulder as they started down the path. The former SEAL team commander took up the rear and fell in step. The four dark figures moved one by one into the black night. Six floors beneath the main level of the Central Intelligence Agency was a room that never slept. The Operations Center of the CIA was the Agency's version of  NASA's Mission Control. But instead of monitoring space missions, these men and women monitored spy missions. They were in constant contact with every U.S. embassy and consulate around the globe. The men and women who worked in the Operations Center were not in charge of running spy operations.

Their function was to serve as the main communications link between the field and the rest of the Agency. Information was what the Agency was all about, and disseminating it in a quick, secretive, and orderly fashion was crucial to the overall mission. The Operations Center was divided into four separate clusters of desks. In the front of the room, beneath three twelve-by-twelve-foot computer-projection screens, was the European Section. The section had one supervisor and three operators who handled Western Europe, Eastern Europe, and the former Soviet republics.

The next section handled the Middle East and Africa. The third section monitored Asia and the South Pacific, and the last section handled Central America, South America, and the United States. In the rear of the room, elevated and watching over the section supervisors and operators, were two watch officers. Just behind them, elevated still farther and behind a wall of Plexiglas, was the Operations Center's watch commander. The room was softly lit and comfortable. Every operator had three monitors on his or her desk and multiple phone lines. To battle boredom, they were encouraged to read or play computer games while on watch. If they received any flash traffic, their computers would beep, letting them know it was time to pay attention. The supervisors and watch commanders often kept the operators on their toes by running drills. Day to day, the Operations Center was one of the most boring places in the Agency to work, but when a crisis erupted, it was one of the most exciting. Charlie Dobbs sat behind the Plexiglas wall of the watch commander's office and looked at the computer monitor to his far left. A chessboard was on the screen. Charlie was sixteen moves into the game at the grand-master level and was holding his own. The computer monitor to the right beeped once, and his eyes jumped from one screen to the other. A routine message was coming in from the Tokyo embassy.

Charlie noted that it was on time and went back to calculating what the computer's next move would be. Five computers were on Dobbs's desk, and at any time he could check on his operators and see what they were doing. He could do this manually or let the system run on automatic.

Messages came in off their satellite system and were encoded with a number designating their importance. Routine traffic came in preceded by the number one, and emergency traffic came in preceded by the number five. The computer prioritized these messages and queued them according to their importance. Level five traffic was not uncommon during a crisis in a given region, but since the global scene had been pretty quiet for the last several weeks, Dobbs was expecting a slow night.

When they reached the large yard to the south of Arthur's estate, Stroble and Hackett headed for the stairs that led down to the water.

Michael and Coleman watched from the trees with their night-vision goggles. Michael kept an eye on the neighbor's house and Coleman watched his two men.

Stroble and Hackett disappeared down the stairs. From there, they were to get in the water and swim past Arthur's to the neighbor's just to the north, where the Cigarette boat was docked. Coleman and Michael ran across the open lawn to the brick wall that separated Arthur's compound from the neighbor to the south. They found the large oak tree that they had scouted out the night before and climbed it in silence.

Stopping at the first rung of branches, they pulled their night-vision goggles back down and surveyed Arthur's estate. The wall was ten feet high and the base of the tree was about six feet away from it. No one was in sight, so Coleman climbed another ten feet up the tree and scooted out onto a thick branch that hung just over the wall. He tied both ropes around the branch and carried the remainder of the bundle back down. Michael stood on the east side of the base of the tree and Coleman stood on the west side. Both of them hung on to branches that jutted out from overhead.

Michael was just about to comment on how difficult it was going to be to hang out in this tree all night when a guard and dog came around the side of the house. Michael and Coleman moved as close to the main trunk as possible. The old oak still had most of its leaves, although they had turned to a dry, dark maroon. They would be safe unless the guard got close and shone a light on them from underneath. The guard continued his walk past the patio and down toward the water. Coleman spoke into his mike. "Hermes and Cyclops, this is Zeus, where are you, over?" Coleman watched the guard while he waited for the reply.

Hackett and Stroble were on the narrow shoreline next to the dock unpacking their weapons when the call came over their headsets.

Hackett responded, "We just got out of the water and are getting ready to move up the stairs, over."

"You've got a guard and a dog approaching the cliff. You have about ten seconds before he gets there, so hurry up, over!" Without hesitation, they grabbed their waterproof backpacks and scurried up the steep, zigzagging flight of stairs. The whole time, they looked to their left waiting for the guard to appear a mere hundred feet away.

They reached the top with seconds to spare. While Coleman was watching the guard, Michael kept an eye on the house. He listened to Coleman give Hackett and Stroble a second-by-second update of what the guard was doing.

Seconds after Coleman announced that the guard had reached the edge of the cliff, the French doors of Arthur's study opened, and the owner of the estate strode out onto the brick veranda. Michael felt his heartbeat quicken as he watched Arthur approach the far edge. As quietly as possible, he whispered to Coleman, "Our target has appeared.

I repeat, our target has appeared, over." Coleman turned around just in time to see the bright orange flame of Arthur's lighter licking away at the tip of the cigar. Hackett and Stroble were asking for a verification, and Coleman gave it to them. "Hermes and Cyclops, our target is in sight, and I have no idea how long he's going to be there.

Move into position as quickly as possible, and give me the play-by-play, over." Hackett and Stroble ran toward the tree where Hackett had sat the night before and stopped at the base. Hackett whispered into his mike, "How many guards in the backyard, over?"

"One guard, over," answered Coleman. Coleman leaned around the back side of the tree and whispered to Michael, "You keep an eye on Arthur, and I'll watch the guard." O'Rourke nodded.

Stroble and Hackett quickly affixed the silencers to the end of their weapons and put on their backpacks. Stroble slung his MP-5 over his shoulder and clasped his hands in front of his stomach. Hackett slung his rifle over his back and put his right foot in Stroble's clasped hands. Stroble boosted Hackett up and he grabbed the first branch, pulling himself quietly into the tree. Not wasting any time, Stroble turned and ran along the wall toward the front of the house. When he reached the tree where he had been the night before, he stopped and checked for noise. Then, pulling himself up into the tree, he looked for the guard standing by the front door. He peered over the top of the wall and saw nothing. Quietly, he swore to himself and then called Coleman.

"Zeus, this is Hermes. I've got a problem. The guard by the front door is not at his post, over."

"Can you see him anywhere in the front yard, over?"

"That's a negative, over."

"Get your rope set up, and we'll wait as long as we can, over."

Coleman stayed calm, telling himself these things never went exactly as planned.

"Gentlemen, let's be patient. Get ready to go on a moment's notice.

As soon as the other guard appears, we'll move, over." Now that Hackett was in position, Coleman could watch Arthur. He judged the distance between Arthur and the house to be about forty feet. There was no way he could beat him to the door, so he would have to fire some warning shots in his path. He'd thought about shooting him in the leg, but the old man might bleed to death before they found out what they needed to know. Stroble's voice came over their headsets.

"The missing guard just appeared from inside the house, over." Coleman took a deep breath and stared at Arthur, who was puffing away on his cigar. "Do we have any other surprises, over?" One by one they responded that they were ready to go. Coleman gave Michael the thumbs-up signal and they grabbed their ropes. "Cyclops, do you have a clear shot, over?"

"That's a roger, over."