Mission Compromised (28 page)

Newman put all the papers back into the file pouch that he had pulled out of the safe and got up from his desk. He tried to think of what he should do with the find. He knew that simply turning them over to someone in the present administration had political ramifications, and the legal proceedings had ended several years ago so he wasn't concerned about “obstruction of justice” charges. Because he was tired and uncertain about what he had discovered, he decided to return the documents to where he had found them until he could think through the right thing to do.

He put the pouch back into the safe and closed the drawer, careful not to lock it. It took him a few minutes to figure out how to close the back wall of the fireplace for access to the safe. He had to find the exact spots where he'd placed his hands when the mechanism was triggered, and then he pulled forward on the mantel. As the mantel slid toward him, the back wall of the fireplace closed. He looked carefully, peering into the fireplace to see if he could detect that it had been opened. Nothing showed. It appeared as a soot-blackened wall of firebrick with no discernable sign that it had ever moved since being built more than a century before. He replaced the grate and logs. And then he brushed the little specks of soot from his hands.

By now it was 2230 hours, and he was exhausted. As he walked out to his car, it began to snow.
Why am I not surprised?
he thought, as he headed out the North West Gate onto an empty Pennsylvania Avenue.

 

Situation Room

________________________________________

The White House

Washington, D.C.

Monday, 5 December 1994

2300 Hours, Local

 

“You told me to call you anytime something of significance happened, Dr. Harrod, and this is sort of interesting. I thought you ought to see it.” The watch chief of the White House Situation Room's communication center had phoned Harrod's cell phone number. The National Security Advisor was in the study, upstairs in the White House residence. He had just settled into a comfortable couch with one of the chief executive's good cigars, and the President had just started to say, “That was a great fund-raiser tonight, Simon. I thought I'd fall over laughing when you said—” Then the cell phone rang.

Harrod said, “Excuse me,” and put the phone to his ear. “Harrod—what is it!” he snapped. He listened for a moment, then said, “All right … I'll be right there,” and hung up. He excused himself from the President's study and headed for a meeting with the caller.

“Show me,” Harrod said, huffing a little from his walk down the stairs from the residence to the Situation Room on the ground floor of the West Wing.

“I've got the surveillance tape in my office where you can see it,” the watch chief said.

Harrod knew that his decision to place mini—video cameras in strategic places would one day come in handy. He just hadn't expected them to bear fruit so soon after being planted. The WHCA technicians had installed the cameras the previous Wednesday while they were hooking up the new communications equipment for Newman and his deputies in the Special Projects Office. There were two cameras hidden
in Newman's office. One was integrated into the smoke alarm in the twelve-foot-high ceiling. The other was behind a cold air return at ceiling level in the other end of the two rooms.

The tape began with a fairly clear picture of Newman coming into his office and throwing his overcoat on the chair. The time-code at the bottom of the screen recorded the time and date and the running time of what Harrod was watching. Then Newman was partially out of view as he walked into the other room to stand by the fireplace.

“I need to switch tapes for the next sequences,” the watch chief said as he ejected the first tape and put in a second one. “This is the camera behind the register up high in the corner. It's going to be kind of hard to see what's going on, but I think I've figured it out.” The second tape began with Newman's back as he entered from the outer room and came into view for this camera. The view was looking down into the room, across the fireplace from the side, and from this angle it was not possible to see inside the fireplace.

“We can't see everything, but watch what happens when he starts to stretch by the fireplace. Right there—did you see it?”

“See what? I didn't see anything.”

The man rewound the tape a bit and repeated the sequence. “There—did you see the mantel move?”

Harrod did see the movement of the mantel of the fireplace as it recessed a few inches into the masonry.

“Look at the way Major—I mean, Lieutenant Colonel—Newman reacted, Dr. Harrod. He stumbled and nearly lost his balance. It's clear that he didn't expect that to happen.”

“Expect what to happen?”

The watch chief pointed to the monitor. Newman was quickly grabbing at the fireplace grate and the logs. Then his body blocked the
camera's view. He seemed to be doing some kind of action inside the fireplace.

“What's he doing? Did he break something? What's so important about this surveillance tape?” Harrod asked impatiently.

Then the video screen showed Newman standing, then turning to face the camera, holding a package of some kind.

“What is that?” Harrod asked.

“It looks like a file folder, sir.”

“Where'd he get it? It looks like he pulled it out of the fireplace.”

The two men watched as Newman took the package to his desk and sat down, opened the file folder, and spread out the documents on his desk. The watch chief ejected the tape and put the first one back into the video player. He fast-forwarded the action to the point where Newman sat down at his desk. The camera was positioned right over the desk and gave a perfect view of the documents spread out on Newman's desk. All the men could read, however, were the
TOP SECRET
legends on the folders.

“Can you zoom in on those documents? I need to know what he's reading. It doesn't look like anything I gave him. Look, that blue folder is for the President—that's the presidential seal. He's got very sensitive, secret files in his office. I need to know what they are and how he got 'em.”

“I'll get right on it, Dr. Harrod. You'll have my work on your desk when you arrive in the morning.”

“Can you zoom in on that stuff now?”

The watch chief grabbed a patch cord to route the video through a video editor nearby. By the time he had finished the connections, the program was up and running. After keying in some commands, he cued the tape to the overhead shot of the office desk and did a freeze-frame of the scene.

He clicked the mouse and magnified the picture. It was now somewhat grainy, so he fiddled with it until the picture was clear. Then he magnified it once more, fiddled some more, and the documents were readable. The watch chief reached over and pushed the
Play
button on the video player, which then began to play back the surveillance tape on two monitors—the first one showing the wide angle of the room, and the second showing the highly magnified close-up of the documents on the desk.

“Well, I'll be …” Harrod said disbelieving. “Look at the dates. From the sixties … no, those are eights … from the eighties—that stuff is from the Reagan-Bush period.” Then Harrod's eyes widened. “Of course,” he grinned. “I forgot whose office that was. North must've hidden those files. There's a secret hiding place in that fireplace.”

The two men watched awhile longer and saw Newman collect the files, put them back into the pouch, and walk into the other room. Then they switched tapes again to see if there was any telling detail as to where the hiding place was. The camera angle was still not positioned well enough to see inside the fireplace. Newman was bent over for nearly a full minute before standing again.

“He put it somewhere inside …” Harrod said.

“Yes, and I think I know where. Look at this.” The watch chief rewound the tape to the place where the mantel first moved and Newman bent down. “See there, he grabbed the grate and logs and set them on the floor in front of the fireplace. The hiding place must be inside the fireplace, otherwise he wouldn't have moved the grate.”

“Yes …” Harrod said slowly, still entranced with the tape. Then he said, “Who knows about this?”

“You and me, sir. I was watching the surveillance tape bank, and it happened just before the 2300 hours' shift change. I took out the tapes
and put in new tapes because Lieutenant Colonel Newman had already left his office. I called you right after that. No one else knows.”

“Keep it that way,” Harrod ordered.

“Do you want me to have some NSC security people go up to his office and check it out?”

“No, don't do anything! I'll take it from here.” Harrod knew that if some NSC operators swept Newman's office, Newman would know it. The National Security Advisor remembered how Newman had reacted to being followed, and he didn't want the Marine's overactive (
though accurate
, Harrod mused) suspicions to gum up works for the UN mission ahead. Harrod took the surveillance tapes with him, stopping only to put them in the safe in his office.

He reasoned that this would be a good test of Newman's loyalty. If he came forward and admitted to finding them, he could be trusted. If he didn't, well …

Harrod wasn't sure what he'd do about it if Newman didn't turn over those files. There was no hurry to get a look at them—they'd been buried in that safe for all these years; another few weeks wouldn't matter. He was sure of one thing, however. He would have to increase surveillance on his Special Projects officer.

 

Headquarters, Joint Special Operations Command

________________________________________

Fort Bragg, North Carolina

Saturday, 24 December 1994

0945 Hours, Local

 

Lieutenant Colonel Peter Newman hadn't planned on spending Christmas Eve at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, but when he accelerated the schedule at Harrod's urging, the training for the ISEG had started on Monday, December 5, rather than January 2, as Newman had originally planned. The team had been hard at it since they returned from
Washington, but Harrod wanted them to be ready for deployment in thirty days, and that meant setting aside any thought of holidays. Newman knew that he could have simply taken a few days off for Christmas, but he'd never believed in asking his troops to do something he wouldn't do. So, if they had to train over the holidays, he would be with them. He had called his wife to tell her why he wouldn't be home with her for yet another Christmas. As he expected, she didn't understand and went to be with her parents in Culpepper, Virginia. The ISEG had begun their training using the Delta operators at Bragg as “aggressors.” Based on the assumption that the ISEG's first mission would be to capture or kill General Mohammed Farrah Aidid, they didn't want to make the same mistakes that had been made in '93 when Task Force Ranger descended on Mogadishu. Thus, the input from those who had already been there was invaluable.

This time, ISET Echo would be inserted by parachute to establish an advanced operations base outside the city, somewhere in the Somali desert. Then ISET Bravo—the all-black unit and the one designated to carry out the hit on Aidid—would parachute in and join them. Once they had a secure base, ISET Bravo would don local garb and make its way into the city. According to the plan, the rest of the ISEG would proceed to Djibouti aboard the repainted MD-80, complete with an Aer Lingus tail number, ID markings, and a UN humanitarian relief logo. If all proceeded according to plan, the MD-80 would be pre-positioned at the airport in Djibouti, a field controlled by the French foreign legion. Newman, Coombs, and McDade planned to run the operation from there. Robertson, the Air Force officer detailed to the Special Projects Office, would stay in Washington and monitor the satellite phones at the OEOB and, at least theoretically, send help if needed.

Newman had been planning the operation for several weeks and was still not satisfied. The team would be at a distinct disadvantage on the ground without mobility, and in particular, without armor. The vague and uneasy similarity to the situation that his brother faced in 1993 made him concentrate on all their options and to review them over and over. The last thing Newman wanted in the world was to have history repeat itself.

His three assistants each contributed to the overall plan, but it was Newman who took responsibility for the details. He reviewed the known facts with each of the men and sought their input. Then each night, Newman, Weiskopf, Macklin, Coombs, McDade, Robertson, and Sergeant Major Gabbard worked late into the night, searching for vulnerabilities and ways to reduce them. “I don't want to go in there without every man knowing not only his job but the job of each of his fellow team members. If things fall apart in the field, I want you guys to be able to pick up and fill in for any of your team members who might become casualties,” Newman told them during training exercise one morning.

No one groused about having to train over Christmas. The consensus of the team was clear—to get the job done and come home as soon as possible.
Their
holiday would have to wait.

Earlier that morning, a CIA station chief from Africa had briefed them. “Things have gotten much worse since October of '93. When the President pulled out all American troops and closed the embassy, we had to go to deep cover operations,” he said. “Our intelligence is pretty skimpy these days. But we've put a priority on it and will give it some intense coverage over the next few weeks while your guys finish training. The last thing any of us wants is another Mogadishu bloodbath.”

Newman nodded. “Do we have any locals on our side—guys we can trust?”

The CIA man shrugged. “We like to think so, but in that part of the world, loyalty is a commodity often bought and sold. I wouldn't count on too much. Once you're there, and if a couple of these guys seem reliable, you can use 'em. If they stay with you, they won't be able to give you up to Aidid's mercenaries. If they buck at anything, you'll have to use your own judgment as to what to do. They might become ‘casualties of war' if you feel they can't be trusted. Once they know you're there, you won't be able to let 'em out of your sight or your mission might be compromised. Remember that.”