Term Limits (50 page)

“This is Director Stansfield of the CIA. Is the president on premise?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Alert the National Security Council and bring them in. We have a potential crisis in the making. Tell the president I'll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

Stansfield hung up the phone and told his bodyguard to get the chopper warmed up. The director then turned to Dobbs. “Charlie, hopefully we'll get him back, but we have to start preparing for the worst. Get everyone in here. I want damage assessment reports as quickly as possible. We need to know what current operations might be in jeopardy, and how many of our agents' covers could be blown if Arthur is interrogated.”

“Do you want me to alert our friends overseas?”

“Don't tell the embassies yet. We'll wait another hour or so.”

“What about the Brits? Arthur did a lot of work with them.”

Stansfield hadn't even thought of that yet. Their allies would be extremely upset. “Hold off on that for another hour or so. I'll have to make those calls personally. If any further developments arise, call me immediately.”

Arthur answered the last question of his life. Michael looked at Coleman in complete disbelief and hit the stop button on the tape recorder. As Michael rose, he pointed toward the door and Coleman followed. When they got into the hallway, they took off their masks and stared at each other. They could not believe what they had just heard.

Michael spoke first, through clenched teeth. “This is unbelievable!”

“It's more than unbelievable, it's enough to bring the whole government down. Do you know what would happen if we released this tape to the press?”

“We'll be the bastards of the international community,” said O'Rourke.

“It'll rip the country apart. If Watergate tarnished the presidency, this will destroy it forever.” Coleman pointed toward the room. “Do you want to ask any more questions?”

O'Rourke thought about it for a second and said, “No. We found out what we wanted.” Michael looked at his watch. “The sooner we get rid of him the better.”

“I agree. Make a copy of the tape, and I'll take care of Arthur.”

They both went back into the room. Michael grabbed the tape and went upstairs. Coleman grabbed the empty syringe from atop the dryer and
pulled the plunger back, filling it with air. Bending down, he looked into Arthur's glassy eyes for a second, and then, with utter disdain, he stuck the needle into Arthur's arm. Coleman depressed the plunger, sending thousands of lethal air bubbles into Arthur's bloodstream. Coleman had no desire to watch him die and went to the garage to find something to wrap the body in.

Michael came back downstairs several minutes later and helped Coleman wrap Arthur in green trash bags. They placed the corpse in the trunk of the BMW and covered it with some blankets. Coleman looked at O'Rourke and asked, “What are you going to do with the tapes?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Are you thinking about releasing them to the media?”

“I'm not so sure it would be a good idea.”

Coleman nodded. “I think it would set us back a hundred years.”

“I agree.”

“Well, whatever you decide to do, you're going to have to do it without me. I don't think you and I will be able to see each other for a while. If you're right about the FBI, I'm going to have to lay low.”

“I've been thinking about that. This tape might come in handy.”

“How?” asked Coleman.

Michael shook the tape in front of Coleman's face. “This little confession would topple the entire government if it was released. Whether Stevens was involved or not, he would be implicated. He would be willing to do almost anything to keep this from
being released, and the CIA… they stand to lose the most. If this thing went public, the entire Agency would be shut down within a week. They would do almost anything to keep it quiet.”

“Yeah, like putting a bullet in the back of our heads.”

“Not if we do it right. Let's talk about it in the car.”

“You're coming with me to dump the body?” asked a surprised Coleman.

“Yeah, I know the perfect place.”

DIRECTOR STANSFIELD'S HELICOPTER FLEW UP the Potomac, its bright spotlight shining off the dark water below. It banked to the east, passing over the Lincoln Memorial, and continued up the Mall. The strobe light fluttering near the White House alerted the pilot to his exact landing area on the South Lawn. The small chopper came in and set down gently on the grass. Stansfield opened the door and got out, bending at the waist as he walked clear of the blades. Two Secret Service agents approached
and escorted him through the Rose Garden and into the West Wing of the White House, where they were greeted by one of Stu Garret's aides.

Stansfield started for the stairs that would take him to the Situation Room and the aide said, “Excuse me, sir. I was told to bring you to the Oval Office.”

With a look of surprise Stansfield asked, “Why?”

“I don't know, sir. I was only told to take you to the Oval Office.”

Stansfield followed the aide down the hallway and into the empty presidential office. The aide left and Stansfield stood awkwardly in the middle of the room shifting his weight from one foot to the other. As the minutes mounted, so did his blood pressure. He looked at a Secret Service agent standing watch at the door and asked, “Where is the president?”

“He's attending a state dinner, sir.”

Stansfield looked down at the floor and then back at the agent. For the first time in a long while he thought he might lose his temper. The complete lack of professionalism by the Stevens administration was wearing on him. Instead of yelling, he turned and walked over to the president's desk. Picking up the phone, he told the operator to get him the National Security Desk.

Several seconds later, there was a click on the line and a voice said, “National Security Desk, Major Maxwell speaking, please identify yourself.”

“CIA director Stansfield. Have the members of the National Security Council been told that I've called an emergency meeting?”

“No, sir.”

“Why?”

“I was told to wait until you arrived, sir.”

“By whom?”

“Chief of Staff Garret, sir.”

Stansfield's voice stayed even, but gained a slight edge. “Major, is Chief of Staff Garret in the national security chain of command?”

“No, sir.”

“Listen to me carefully. We have a level four national security crisis on our hands. I am giving you a direct order to send out an alert immediately! I want the NSA, the SOD, the SOS, and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs here within the next ten minutes! Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Stansfield hung up the phone and dialed the number for the CIA's Operations Center. Charlie Dobbs answered and Stansfield asked him for an update.

“The divers found a boat sunk at the spot where the beacon was last marked. They also found a bag on board with Arthur's clothes and watch.… It looks like a diversion.”

“Anything else?” Stansfield looked up from the desk as Garret strutted into the room wearing a tuxedo. Before Dobbs could answer, Stansfield said, “I have to go, Charlie. I'll call you back.” Stansfield hung up the phone and watched Garret approach in his black tuxedo.

Garret pulled a cigarette out of his mouth and said, “This better be good, Tom. This is the first time the president has had a chance to relax in over two weeks.”

“Where is Mike Nance?”

“He's at home. What's so important?”

Stansfield was almost distracted by the anger he felt for Garret but forced himself to stay focused on the crisis. “A high-level CIA official has been kidnapped.”

“How high?” asked Garret as smoke billowed from his nostrils.

“I'll tell you as soon as you get the president down in the Situation Room where he should be!” Stansfield's frustration was becoming evident.

“Hey, take it easy, Tom. You can't expect us to drop everything we're doing every time you call over here.”

Stansfield shook his head and walked toward the door. “This is not a game, Mr. Garret. I expect to see the president down in the Situation Room immediately!”

Coleman was back behind the wheel of the BMW and was less than excited about Michael's dumping spot. Originally, Coleman had planned on taking Arthur's body out to sea. He thought they had pressed their luck enough for the evening, and Michael's idea was far from cautious. Michael wanted to leave Arthur's body where it would be found—where they could send a message.

Burning Tree Country Club was less than ten minutes from Michael's house. As they neared the golf course, Coleman said for the third time, “You know, the Secret Service will be watching his house.”

“I know. I'm not planning on leaving him at the front gate. He has a corner lot. We can leave the
body around by the side. We'll drive by the house once and check out the security.”

“You've been in the house before?”

“Yes. Senator Muetzel used to live there. After Muetzel lost in the last election, Garret bought it from him.” Michael looked over at Coleman and said, “I want to show these bastards that we're willing to go to the media with this thing. If we end up releasing the tape, leaving Arthur's body at his house will give it more meaning. Besides, it'll make Garret and Nance sweat.”

“That's true.”

They reached the ritzy neighborhood several minutes later, and Michael directed Coleman to the house. It was a large Tudor with a wrought-iron fence that ran around the entire yard. They drove slowly past the front gate, where a Ford sedan was parked across the driveway. Two men were sitting in the front seat and one camera was over the gate. Coleman took a left at the end of the property and turned down the next street. On this side of the house the fence was lined with trees and bushes.

“What do you think?” asked Michael.

“I think it's doable.” Coleman pulled a U-turn in the middle of the road and stopped the car on the same side of the street as Garret's house. He turned off the lights and looked down the tree-lined side street.

Michael tugged on his thin leather gloves and said, “I'm ready when you are.”

Coleman took his foot off the brake and the car slowly rolled forward. When they reached the back edge of the property line, Michael pulled the fuse so
the dome and brake lights wouldn't come on. Coleman told Michael to pop the trunk and he did.

While the car was still rolling, Michael jumped out and opened the trunk. He tossed the blankets to the side and scooped the dead body out of the trunk. The fence was only fifteen feet from the curb. Michael ran the short distance and set Arthur down, propping him up against the wrought-iron bars. Yanking the green garbage bag off his head, Michael threw it on the ground and jumped back in the car. Coleman spun the car around and sped away.

Grabbing the mobile scramble phone out of the backseat, Michael punched in the phone number for the local NBC affiliate. After several rings, someone answered on the other end.

“Newsroom.”

“Listen to me carefully.” Michael spoke in a slow, precise tone. “This is not a prank. There is a dead man at Stu Garret's house. The man's name is Arthur Higgins. He is a former employee of the CIA. The body can be found by the fence on the north side of the house. The address is 469 Burning Tree Lane.”

“Who is this?” asked an eager voice. “How do I know this isn't a prank?”

“You don't, but you'd better get one of your news crews out there as quick as you can, because I'm calling the other two networks right now.” Michael pushed a button ending the call and immediately dialed the next number.

The next two calls went about the same as the first. The more Michael thought about it, the more
he knew the news directors couldn't resist investigating. A dead former CIA employee found on the property of the president's chief of staff would make for juicy news. The only catch was that the news crews had to get there before the Secret Service found the body.

As they neared Georgetown, Michael said, “Things are going to get really hairy. This might be our last chance to talk for a while. If the FBI is on your tail, call my pager and punch in nine seven times.”

“What are you going to do with the tape?”

“I'm not sure. I'll figure something out. Pull over up here.”

Coleman pulled over and offered his hand.

Michael took it and said, “Lay low until things cool down.” Michael slammed the door, and the car sped off.

The secretary of defense and the secretary of state were also attending the state dinner. So as to not raise too much attention, they left the room in intervals, the president being the last. When Stevens arrived in the Situation Room, Director Stansfield was on the phone and the secretaries of state and defense were standing off to the side talking to Garret. The president approached his chief of staff. “Stu, what's this all about?”

“Stansfield says a high-level CIA official has been abducted.”

“How high?”

“I don't know, he hasn't told us. He's been waiting for you.”

The thought of Arthur being the official in mind was something that Garret hadn't considered. Arthur was, after all, a former CIA employee and lived in the United States. Garret assumed the CIA employee in question must be someone stationed abroad.

Stansfield hung up the phone and approached the group. “Good evening, Mr. President. I'm sorry to interrupt your party, but something very serious has come up.”

“What's the problem?”

“The Agency's former director of Black Ops, Arthur Higgins, was abducted from his home in Maryland at seven oh six this evening.”

Garret's cocky attitude vanished instantly. His mouth fell open, and his face turned white.