The Case Officer (39 page)

“Before we go I need to ask you
one more thing.” The DDO twisted his napkin and tossed it on the table. “Did
you know about Rodney Jackson?”

“Rotten? What about him?” Mac was
puzzled, surprised.

“Some of the first information
Huang provided instigated a humongous CI investigation on Rodney. Huang says he
was being developed by a female Chinese access agent who was sleeping with him.
That’s how Lim found out about you, which led to the murders of Wei-wei, Le
Belge and François. The guys with the green eyeshades and the little ole’
ladies in tennis shoes in the counterintelligence shop think Rodney Jackson was
a full-blown agent working for the Chinese.”

“That’s bullshit,” MacMurphy spat,
then calmed. “No. I don’t know, really, but I doubt it… Rodney’s a good guy. He
wouldn’t betray his county, his friends...he wouldn’t spy for China.”

“But he might have been tricked
into working for them…”

“Sure. That’s a possibility. In
fact, come to think about it, it’s a very good possibility. And if that’s what
Huang said – that Rotten was under development – I’d believe him. Why would he
lie about such a thing? Why don’t the CI gurus just go back and ask Huang for
the details? He’d certainly know.”

“Apparently they did, but they
said Huang was evasive. He admitted they had targeted him, but that’s all.
Maybe he’s trying to protect that pretty Chinese girlfriend of Rodney’s.”

“Poor Rodney…poor guy. What’s
going to happen to him?”

“I don’t know. I guess it’ll depend
upon whether he really was just duped by the girl or was a willing
collaborator. Either way, he’s in deep trouble. They recalled him to Washington
and put him on administrative leave. He’s only permitted back in the building
for his interrogation sessions and polygraph examinations. He’s not under
arrest yet, but the FBI has been called in, and you know what that means…”

“That’s a bitch. A real bitch… But
I guess it fits, doesn’t it? That’s how Lim knew about me, and that’s what led
him to Wei-wei, François and Le Belge. Son-of-a-bitch…”

“Rodney’s not the only one who
will suffer over this. They’re looking for heads to lop off all over the place.
The last nail has been driven into Little Bob’s coffin, and Burton B. Berger is
back there trying to explain why one of his communicators was permitted to
cohabit openly, in the Marine House no less, with a foreign national –
particularly a communist Chinese one.”

“Can’t say as I’m disappointed
over those two assholes. Whatever they get they deserve.” Mac chuckled and
grimaced in pain. “They created the atmosphere of hate and distrust that makes
people like Rodney vulnerable, and their incompetence at not recognizing the
signs ought to get them both fired.”

“That’s what I think. We’ll nail
them. You can bet on that. Now let’s take that walk.” He drained his glass,
placed both hands on the table and pushed his bulk up into a standing position,
ready to leave.

Chapter One Hundred-Ten

M
acMurphy paid the check and they
walked slowly down to the quay. The bright full moon competed with the flashy
neon lights of the distant Lisboa Casino as it danced on the bay. There was a
gentle breeze coming off the water. Mac took a deep, painful breath, and
inhaled the fresh salt air with a slight fishy smell. They walked silently along
the gravel path on the water’s edge.  

Mac broke the silence. “But what
about the money?”

Rothmann laughed. “Oh yeah, I
almost forgot about the money. They don’t want to hear about it. They don’t
want to hear anything about the money. As far as the organization is concerned,
there is no money.”

“No money? There’s fifty million
Euros sitting in that Swiss bank!”

 “Yep. The money’s a definite problem.
A big problem for all concerned. The Company can’t return it unless the Chinese
ask for it, and they won’t even admit to ever having it. And we can’t give it
to the treasury without having to explain how we got it. So, quite simply,
there is no money.”

“You’re joking!” exclaimed Mac, grunting
again from a stab in his ribs. “Just what the hell do they expect me to do with
50 million Euros?”

“Well, we just need to think
about that.”

“I could just leave it there,” he
said thoughtfully.

“You could do that…”

“Or I could use some of it…you
know, to get me back on my feet—I am unemployed, and after all...”

“Yep, you could do that too. In
fact, that’s a very good idea. Get yourself established someplace. Someplace
warm and close to an airport.”

Mac was puzzled. “Why an airport?”

The big man stopped. “Because I’m
going to help you spend all that money. Think of it as CIA money. There are
plenty of things we used to do in the Agency that we can’t do any more. I’ll
give you an example. Ever since the mid-70’s when we were castrated by the Goddamned
contentious Pike and Church committees, we’ve gotten out of the business of
political covert action. You know what I mean – influencing regime change in
countries that are hostile to the U.S. and installing leaders that are friendly
to the U.S. That’s one of the three things in the original charter for the CIA.
Did you know that? Collection, analysis and covert action. One, two, three.
That’s what we’re supposed to do and we’re afraid to do it any more. The covert
action, I mean.”

Mac said, “Sure, I know what you
mean. Covert action was once explained to me down on The Farm as something
between State’s ‘nice doggy’ and the military’s ‘whack over the head with a
two-by-four.’”

“That’s right, exactly right, something
between diplomacy and war. We’re spending far too much treasure and American
lives on foreign wars – Iraq, Afghanistan – you know what I mean. And now the whole
Middle East is coming apart. Regimes are changing in Libya, Egypt, Yemen,
Syria, all over the place, and the replacements—the Arab League and all those nutty
jokers – look to be much worse than what we had. At least in terms of American
interests, they are. And when things started to come apart in Iran, we had nothing
in place to help overthrow the Ayatollahs and to install a more U.S. friendly
regime.”

“And the Agency can’t do this any
more? Really?” Mac asked.

“Nope, we’re allowed to cajole,
and then when that doesn’t work we’re allowed to invade, but we’re not allowed
to ‘meddle in the internal affairs’ of countries any longer.”

 “That’s stupid!”

“Of course it’s stupid. But that’s
the way it is these days. It’s a fact of life.” Rothmann turned toward Mac,
looked down at him and placed his large hands on Mac’s shoulders. “So save that
money, Mac, we’re going to need it. We’re getting back to the basics. We’re
going to do the things that need to be done, you and me. We’re going to do it.
Covert action and a whole range of things this great outfit used to do but
won’t do any more. No more timidity. We’ll be bold. Just like in the old days.
It’s going to be just like the old days…”

POSTSCRIPT

November
– McLean, Virginia

M
argret “Wei-wei” Ryan was laid to
rest in a small, private ceremony at the Trinity Church in McLean, Virginia.
Wei-Wei’s close Agency friends and her parents were there, as well as
MacMurphy, Culler Santos and Edwin Rothmann.

Following the ceremony, Rothmann
took Mac aside and reiterated that Mac should keep the money safe in the Bern
account “for contingency purposes.” He added that he would be calling on Mac
“from time to time to help out with some sensitive things,” and the money would
come in handy on those occasions.

A few days later, Mac took a
leisurely drive down the Atlantic coast to Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. There Mac
bought a two-story Mediterranean home on a canal in an upscale gated community,
and rented a suite of offices on the eighth floor of an office building
overlooking the Intracoastal Waterway. The sign he hung on the door read:
Global Strategic Reporting.

Culler Santos resigned from the
Agency in characteristic fashion by flipping his badge at the Director and
stomping out the front entrance over the large marble CIA insignia inset in
floor.

He had a better offer which no
longer required him to put up with the bullshit that had become far too much a
part of his job at the CIA. He would join his friend MacMurphy at GSR in Ft.
Lauderdale and embark on a new career in private intelligence.

A day after Wei-wei’s interment,
Edwin Rothmann visited Huang Tsung-yao at a farmhouse in a remote wooded area
of Vienna, Virginia, where Huang was being debriefed by CIA interrogators.

Rothmann took Huang aside and
they went for a quiet walk in the forest. He explained what had transpired and
expressed his and Mac’s sincere apologies for the unintentional pain their
actions had caused Huang. He then presented Huang with a gift from Mac: a bank
book containing a deposit of five million Euros in a numbered account in Bern,
Switzerland.

He also told Huang that once his
debriefing was complete he would be given a new identity and a life-long GS-15
salary from the CIA. That would give him financial independence (beyond the
gift from Mac) and a chance to start a new life in America.

He ended by saying that Mac was
opening a business security and intelligence firm in Florida, and that there
was an open invitation for him to join Mac there. After all, who could be a
more effective adviser for American companies doing business with China than
one of its intelligence elite?

Acknowledgements

T
his book took forever to write. The idea for
the plot began germinating in my mind almost forty years ago when I was a young
case officer assigned to Hong Kong. I tinkered with the story during my active
CIA years, but it wasn’t until after retirement that I had the time to cobble
together a clumsy first draft. Then, when I sat back and read what I had
written, I realized I needed help. What I had was a great story, but it read
like a bland, lifeless intelligence report.

So
the long struggle to polish the narrative and breathe life into the characters
was the next step. I had a number of literary mentors along the way, but the
two that stand out are Phil Jennings and Nat Sobel.

Phil
is an accomplished author (among many other things) and one of my oldest and
dearest friends. We go way back – as far as Oklahoma State University and Beta Theta Pi fraternity – further than either one of us cares to remember. He
shepherded the book through the editing process, polishing my words and dialog
and offering suggestions for improvement along the way.

Nat
is another story. He was my erstwhile literary agent. He believed in the story
and in my ability to tell it. He encouraged me to write lengthy biographies of
the main characters and coached me in the arcane art of building a suspenseful,
literary novel. The book wouldn’t be what it is today without Nat’s input. No
one knows books better than Nat Sobel.

Others
who contributed greatly to the success of
The Case Officer
include
Carolyn Sakolsky, John Woods, David Smith, Jim Wade and Bill Parker. Thank you
Carolyn for your encouragement and unending support; John for your superb
publishing assistance; David for your excellent artwork; Jim for your masterful
editing, and Bill for your sage technical advice on weapons and military equipment. 

And
finally, thanks to all of those former colleagues who supported me in this
project. You really are the very best… 

About the Author

F.W. Rustmann, Jr.
is a twenty-four year veteran of the CIA’s
Clandestine Service. He retired as a member of the elite Senior Intelligence
Service (SIS), with the equivalent rank of major general. One of his
assignments was as an instructor at the CIA’s legendary covert training
facility, “the Farm.” After retiring from the CIA, he founded CTC International
Group, Inc., a pioneer in the field of business intelligence and a recognized
leader in the industry. His numerous articles on intelligence and
counterintelligence have appeared in the Baltimore Sun, Miami Herald, Palm
Beach Post, Newsmax and elsewhere. He has been frequently quoted and
interviewed in many national and international publications including Time
Magazine, USA Today, New York Times, New York Daily News, Far East Economic
Review, CNN, FNN, Reuters, Newsmax and the Associated Press, among others. He
is the author of the best selling non-fiction book
CIA, Inc.: Espionage and
the Craft of Business Intelligence
. He lives and works in West Palm Beach,
Florida.