The Last Man

Chapter 45
FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C.

JOEL Wilson didn't mind that his entire career was in the balance. At least that was the conclusion he'd come to while shaving in the morning. Rather than crumble, he took it as a challenge. Washington was a universally corrupt town and that corruption did not stop at the doors of the FBI. Wilson had been fighting it his entire career, and although there were times like this, when he felt as if he was the only noble person in the building, that he took solace in the fact that there were men like Senator Cal Ferris who understood what was at stake.

Now the big question was, When was Ferris going to jump in and save him? The senator was cautious to a point, and then he came out with both guns blazing - usually on TV. Ferris's strategy was growing on him. Director Miller had made a tactical error when he recalled the team from Afghanistan. It was now documented that he had interfered in an important investigation and had plainly come down on the side of the CIA. This was the type of toehold that Ferris could use to drag Miller before the Judicial Committee when the time was right. And Wilson would be the star witness.

Wilson didn't like playing down his relationship with Ferris. Especially this morning, when it seemed entirely possible that his career was about to suffer serious harm. Washington, in general, was sympathetic to Kennedy's plight, but that would all change when the truth came out about Rickman and Rapp. The misuse of government funds was a serious crime, but the brazenness with which Rickman and Rapp had abused the trust Congress afforded to the black side of intelligence was nothing short of a major breach in national security. Wilson speculated that they were the tip of the iceberg. Others in the Clandestine Service were likely involved. Wilson's next move if he stayed in his post was to look into John Hubbard. Was it possible that Mitch Rapp had killed Hubbard for fear that he was about to expose him? Could Rapp have been behind Rickman's abduction and execution - again to protect himself, or to take all of the money they had been ferreting away?

Anything was possible when discussing these clandestine warriors. They were a bunch of degenerates. If they weren't working for the CIA, a good number of them would be criminals. During Wilson's fitful night's sleep he considered whistle-blower status. While the idea, in a grand operatic sense, was appealing, it was also extremely risky. Martyrs in Washington were always vilified by one side of the aisle and sanctified by the other. It would be a tough slog, probably three to four years. In the end, either he would be disgraced and unemployable, with his pension gone, or he would receive a gigantic eight-figure judgment and become a mini celebrity with the antimilitary intelligence establishment. He'd probably even have a movie made about his gutsy decision to speak truth to power. The lure of Hollywood, a book deal, and publicly exposing the corruption at Langley was extremely tempting.

It wasn't that Wilson lacked confidence in his abilities. He truly believed he was better than any three people in this town, but the CIA was more than three people. It was a building filled with individuals whose job it was to lie, cheat, and steal. They couldn't be trusted to wage any kind of war in a fair, honorable way. No, Wilson feared, he might be able to use the whistle-blower statute to scare his bosses, but it wouldn't intimidate the CIA for a second. They would find a way to win in the end. If this got worse, Wilson would have to get the media involved. It was his only hope for success.

It was nice to have Ferris in his corner, but the FBI was still an organization with rules and regulations and a very strong chain of command. Wilson had wandered off into dangerous territory in order to keep Hargrave in the dark. Technically, the old coot had him, but Wilson had a few surprises in store for him. It was all going to come down to Director Miller and how much latitude he was willing to give him.

Wilson was sitting in the director's outer office trying his best to ignore the hulking bodyguards and predict how his bosses would come after him. He'd been waiting for more than an hour, which could not be a good sign. Director Miller was militant when it came to punctuality. Hargrave, with a stick up his ass, was sure to have everything documented. Wilson could see him in there right now, with his ridiculously bushy eyebrows, pompously and meticulously going over every perceived transgression. Wilson was filled with hatred for the man and was putting the final brushstrokes on his plan to take him down when Director Miller's personal assistant told him it was time to go in.

Wilson stood and picked up his briefcase. The secretary was a very attractive brunette with brown bedroom eyes. Wilson flashed her a smile and said, "So this must be what they felt like before they were led to the gallows."

The woman ignored his attempt at humor with a blank stare and then turned her attention to her computer screen. Wilson, in a rare moment of insecurity, wondered if she was privy to his transgressions and had already passed judgment. He straightened his tie and prepared for the onslaught. As he put his hand on the doorknob he told himself that there would come a day where this repugnant little woman and a lot of other people would be apologizing to him.

Wilson stepped into the office, closed the door, and tried to remain confident as he faced the people arrayed around the twenty-person conference table. Wilson had expected Director Miller and Hargrave, and maybe someone from the General Counsel's Office, but he didn't expect to see Lisa Williams, the director of the Intelligence Division, and Jason Smith, who ran the Office of Congressional Affairs. Perhaps the most ominous sign, however, was the presence of Wilson's direct boss, David Taylor, who was on medical leave after back surgery. As he took a quick glance at the five faces, he didn't find a welcoming or supportive expression among them.

Wilson fought the urge to sit at the far end of the table across from Director Miller. The distance would have made things even more awkward, so he picked his way down the right side of the long table and grabbed the seat next to David Taylor. Wilson set his briefcase on the floor and looked at Taylor, who was wearing a white plastic clamshell that encased his upper body from his neck down to his torso. The device was Velcroed into place at the shoulders and on the sides. Taylor looked extremely uncomfortable.

"How are you feeling?" Wilson asked.

Taylor looked at Wilson but made no effort to speak.

"Let's get right to it," started an impatient Director Miller. He pointed his pen at Wilson and said, "Do have anything you'd like to say in your defense before we get started?"

Wilson felt his throat tighten while he chided himself for not coming to see Miller the second he landed. It was a mistake to cede the discussion to Hargrave. It was obvious by the pissed-off look on Miller's face that the well had been poisoned. With his options limited he started with the avenue that seemed most natural.

"Director, I have no idea what EAD Hargrave has been telling you, but I can assure you that there is another side to this extremely complicated and important investigation and I have some very good reasons for not keeping EAD Hargrave up to speed on every aspect of it." Wilson leaned back and took a deep breath, hoping Miller would slow things down and at least be open-minded.

Miller did not pause. He instead forcefully stated how things were to proceed. In light of the fact that he was a former federal judge, that shouldn't have been surprising. "I don't want to hear innuendo, I don't want to hear rumors. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes."

"Good." Miller looked at his watch and said, "Start."

"Sir, with all due respect, I think EAD Hargrave is not in the best position to judge me and the actions of my team."

Taylor, with his stiff back brace, held up a hand and didn't bother to try to look at anyone, as his neck couldn't move. "We are not here to discuss the men and women on your team. This is solely about you and your behavior."

"Fine," Wilson said, trying to sound reasonable. "EAD Hargrave is not in the best position to judge me."

"And why is that?" Director Miller asked.

"Because of his extremely close relationship with Director Kennedy."

Miller's face twisted into a look of disapproval while he leaned forward and tapped the screen of an iPad several times.

Wilson heard his voice emanate from the overhead speakers. Oh, I'm reading you loud and clear. Are you still recording our conversation? Because I want to make sure you get this part. I didn't tell you any of this because I can't trust you. Because the entire Counterintelligence Division knows that you're too close to Director Kennedy, and based on what I've experienced the last few days I'm inclined to believe those rumors. So you better get ready for your own board of inquiry.

Wilson remembered the words all too well. At the time he had spewed them at Hargrave it felt good. Hearing them now in this setting, they seemed foolish.

"This is a fairly serious accusation." Miller picked up a pen and held it just above the surface of a yellow legal pad. "Which employees of the Counterintelligence Division believe that Sam is too close to DCI Kennedy?"

"Sir, I'm here to answer for myself. I'm not comfortable involving other people in this."

"But you're comfortable enough to throw around wild accusations?" Miller stared at Wilson, waiting for a reply.

"It's not that, sir, it's just that I'm willing to answer for my own opinions, but I'm not going to get any of my people into trouble."

Miller turned to Taylor. "David, you ran that division for three and a half years. At any point during that time did you hear anyone complain that Sam was too cozy with DCI Kennedy?"

"Not a single person."

"How about anyone else at the CIA?"

"Nope."

"Well," Miller said, setting down his pen, "that's a pretty short list. Your case doesn't look very strong at the moment. We have protocols in place for a reason, and it is not up to you to decide when you may or may not follow them. So this is your last chance. Why did you think you couldn't trust EAD Hargrave?"

Wilson cleared his throat and drummed his fingers on the table for a minute. This was a card he'd hoped he wouldn't have to play, but he really had no choice. "Senator Ferris told me that EAD Hargrave was not to be trusted in this matter and that I should try to run my investigation without his interference."

Miller made a great show of taking notes. As he scratched away he asked, "Tell me, Joel, I'm pretty familiar with the Bureau's organizational chart, but I must have missed something. Just where does Senator Ferris's name appear on that chart?"

"It doesn't, sir."

"Jason," Miller said, turning to the head of the FBI's Office of Congressional Affairs, "I assume Joel followed protocol and reported his discussions with Senator Ferris to your office."

"He did not."

"Were you aware in any way that Joel was working with Senator Ferris?"

"No. We had no idea."

Wilson could see how bad this looked. His only hope was to get to the heart of the corruption. "Sir, I don't want people's animosity toward the senator to cloud their judgment."

"Careful," Miller snapped, like a judge warning a wayward attorney, "we're not talking about feelings or opinions. We're sticking to the facts right now. And so far the facts are looking an awful lot like you willfully withheld information from your superior and that you failed to inform Congressional Affairs that you were running an investigation based on information passed along to you by Senator Ferris."

"That's not true, sir. I received independent information that employees of the CIA were stealing millions of dollars in cash and placing the money in a private bank in Switzerland." Wilson grabbed the file from his briefcase and slid it toward the director. "I have the accounts and the amounts and dates of the deposits along with a sworn affidavit from the private banker who handled the accounts. In the affidavit the banker swears that both Joe Rickman and Mitch Rapp were the owners of these accounts."

"And how did you come by this information?" Miller asked.

"The first batch in the mail, and then I interviewed the banker myself. He's a very credible witness."

Miller looked at the file. "That affidavit is in this file?"

"Yes, it is, sir."

Miller flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for. "The banker's name has been blacked out."

"For security reasons, sir."

Miller picked up his pen again. "Let's have it."

Wilson squirmed. "Sir, I would rather not reveal that name until the investigation is on firmer ground."

"You will either give me the name or you will give me your badge and your sidearm."

Wilson saw no way out. "Leo Obrecht."

"And this first batch of information you mentioned . . . let me take a wild guess . . . it was given to you by an anonymous source?"

"Because of the nature of our work, we receive a good number of anonymous tips."

"Are you familiar with Swiss banking?"

"Somewhat, sir."

Miller placed his hands on the file. "And how easy do you think it is to come by information like this?"

"I wouldn't know, sir."

"Lisa," Miller said.

The head of the Bureau's Intelligence Division said, "Extremely difficult, sir. We spend months on end trying to just find out if a person of interest has an account at an institution like this. Getting our hands on detailed account records is extremely rare."

Miller closed the file. "Did it ever occur to you that this is disinformation?"

"It did until I was able to interview the banker."

"Lisa," Miller barked, "how difficult is it to get these bankers to talk about private accounts?"

"I'm unaware of it happening without an order from a Swiss court."

"Did you have a court order?"

"No."

"Did it ever occur to you that these were legitimate accounts?"

"Legitimate . . . how?"

"You do understand that the CIA has to move money around the world?"

"Yes."

"And that because they're the CIA, they need to do a lot of it in a secretive manner."

Wilson nodded. "All the more reason we need to keep an eye on them."

Miller shook his head. "You're not getting this, are you."

"Getting what, sir?"

"That you've f*cked this thing up so bad, you'll be lucky if you have a job by the time this is over."

"With all due respect - "

"Shut up," Miller barked. "Lisa, please explain to Senator Ferris's man what's going on."

"It appears that a hostile foreign intelligence agency launched an operation against the CIA's Clandestine Service. We believe that part of that operation involved sending disinformation to the FBI's Counterintelligence Division."

Wilson frowned. "Says who . . . the CIA? This is bullshit. Where did you get this information?"

"I'm afraid it's classified." Williams looked from Wilson to the director.

Wilson wasn't going to go down so easily. "My clearance is as high as yours."

"Your clearance used to be as high as Lisa's," Director Miller said.

"What is going on here? I don't get it. The fact that a few of you don't like Senator Ferris doesn't mean this information is false. You need to allow me to finish my investigation. Give me thirty minutes with Rapp. I'll hook him up to a polly and we'll get some answers."

Miller shook his head. "I've decided to pull your clearance until an official review can be completed."

"But . . . you have to let me take a shot at Rapp."

Lisa Williams, the only woman in the room, looked at Wilson as if he was nuts and said, "Do you have any idea who you are talking about?"

"You mean Rapp? Yeah, I know who I'm talking about. He's dirty and he's corrupt and I don't understand why everyone is so afraid of taking him on."

Miller shook his finger at Wilson and said, "Let's get something straight. First off, you could polly Mitch Rapp for the next year and you wouldn't get a thing out of him."

"I disagree, sir."

"Stop interrupting me. You have no idea what you're talking about. Rapp would eat you for lunch. Beyond that, you don't know jack shit about the man. He's a damn national hero. You've been played, Joel, and you've made the FBI look like a bunch of fools." Miller hit the intercom button and said, "Please send her in." Turning his attention back to Wilson he said, "You are on indefinite administrative leave until I say otherwise. If you are lucky enough to keep your badge, I can promise you that you will be assigned to some benign post where you can do as little damage as possible."

Wilson was reeling. In his wildest dreams he hadn't imagined it could get this bad, and then the door opened and it got worse.

Director Kennedy stopped directly across from Wilson. She placed a document on the wood surface and slid it across the table. After Wilson caught it, she said, "I assume you recognize the legal document in your hands."

Wilson scanned the heading. It was a national security nondisclosure contract.

"If you flip to the last page, you'll see your signature."

Wilson went to the last page and noted his signature. He'd signed the document when he went to work for counterintelligence. He began to slide the document back to Kennedy. "I think we should be looking at your - "

Kennedy reached out and stopped him from moving the document another inch. "That copy is for you. I suggest you read it, and then you find a really good lawyer. A private one, who will more than likely be very expensive, because the FBI will not be supplying you with counsel on this little screwup."

"What are you talking about? You don't decide what the FBI does or doesn't do." Wilson looked to Miller.

"No, I don't, but I do run the CIA, and we have a very good legal department, and we happen to have a very good working relationship with some federal judges who take national security issues quite seriously. We haven't even begun to investigate you, and we've already come across three instances in which you are in violation of your national security contract. I'm no lawyer, Agent Wilson, but they tell me if we want to press the issue we could have your ass thrown in a high-security federal facility for months. You screwed up here big-time, and if you want to avoid jail you had better start to show some serious cooperation, or at a bare minimum shut your mouth and crawl under some rock, but this is your only warning. If you run to Ferris, or try to claim victimhood, I will have your ass thrown in jail."

"You can't intimidate me."

Kennedy realized Wilson didn't get it. "I'm not trying to intimidate you. I'm telling you the facts. You have screwed up like very few people in your position can screw up. You signed that document in your hands and we happen to take it very seriously. Do yourself a favor and find a lawyer who has had some experience with this type of thing. He will tell you that if I decide to push this, you will go to jail."

"If you have everything all locked up, then why don't you do it?" Wilson asked Kennedy in an overconfident tone.

Kennedy looked to Miller and said, "I'm done with him. The man's a fool. If you can talk some sense into him by this evening, I'll call the dogs off. If not, my people will be in federal court in the morning." Kennedy turned and left without saying another word.

Wilson looked at his five colleagues and said incredulously, "Can't you see what's going on? She wants me to drop this because she knows I'm onto something." When no one reacted, Wilson looked at David Taylor, whom he'd worked closely with for the last three years. "David, don't you see what's going on?"

Taylor spun his chair to his left. With his back brace it was the only way he could look Wilson in the eye. "Do you know what your problem is, Joel? You think you're the only noble person in this town."

"Come on."

"I'm serious. The rest of us are all corrupt or greedy. Our motives are suspect, but not you. You're above all of that. You're a f*cking martyr and you brought this all down on yourself because you're an arrogant know-it-all. Even in the face of all of this, you can't see that you've screwed up."

Director Miller looked at him with pure disgust. "Maybe you'd gain a little more perspective from our field office in Bismarck, North Dakota."