Read The Devil's Footprint Online
Authors: Victor O'Reilly
The Devil's Footprint (14 page)
"And
you're wrong.
There
is
all kinds of lethal junk floating around in the world these days, and it is
only a matter of time before some of it falls into the wrong hands.
Nuclear, chemical,
biological.
It is all available
at the right price.
That's the downside
of the collapse of communism and the introduction of market economies.
Everything has a price and the people I am
worried about have money.
Shit, they
have even got credit cards."
He smiled a
little grimly.
"And they surely do
have motivation."
He sipped some
more brandy.
"The trick is to
demotivate them — in advance.
Carrot and
stick, both applied with vigor and subtlety.
You people don't do that.
You
wait until something happens and then pursue the perps to the ends of the earth
— subject to the political exigencies.
A big qualification.
That just won't cut it.
Someday
they will do something and there won't be any earth left to pursue them
around."
He looked
directly at the DDO.
"As I keep
telling you, William, counterterrorism is a serious business.
It isn't just jobs for the boys or for a
bunch of jocks with guns.
Every so often
you have got to deploy those little gray cells and then
do something!
Capisce?"
William Martin nodded his head in acknowledgment.
He knew Kilmara was right, but the reality of
being ‘
The
Superpower’ was that you
moved with the subtlety and coordination of a herd of elephants.
Hell, the Pentagon actually had press quarters
inside it
and the CIA was knee-deep in congressional oversight
committees.
That did not make for
preemptive surgical strikes.
It did make
for an undue focus on ass-covering and gave new meaning to the word
leak
.
It also had a disturbing effect on priorities.
In practical day-to-day terms, a genocidal
war in
A negative article in the
Washington Post
was serious.
And congressional hearings were a crisis.
Given the mandate of the CIA, that was almost exactly the reverse of the
way things should be.
It was one hell of a bloody world.
But you dealt with the world the way it was.
Idealists had notions.
Practical people just dealt with things the
way they were.
Which
was just as well, because nothing ever really changed.
It was time to focus.
"Hugo Fitzduane," said Martin.
"How exactly does he fit into your operation these days?"
"Hugo is his own man," said Kilmara.
"But we work together very closely.
He has a part-time commission in the Rangers
and we train on his island.
But mostly
he does his own thing.
His latest baby
is this counterterrorist think tank.
They're doing some very good analytical work.
Governments don't have a monopoly on
talent.
Hell, you should know.
The agency subscribes."
Martin nodded.
"We're
concerned about the company he's keeping and what it could lead to.
We have enough internal political problems
without you people being caught in the middle.
A little friendly advice might be in order.
Tell Hugo to go and play elsewhere."
Kilmara laughed.
"William,
you know Hugo.
Say something like that
and he'll get curious and then you'll never get rid of him.
Appeal to his reason, on the other hand, and
you are in with a chance.
So tell me the
problem and I'll see what I can do.
Let's start with the Congressional Task Force on Terrorism."
Martin snorted and then spoke with some anger.
"A bunch of congressional staffers have
no business at all in getting involved with counterterrorism.
That's the job of the CIA and other agencies.
Congress should have nothing to do with
it.
These people even go out into the
field, for Christ's sake.
They have no
right.
They should stick on the Hill and
do what they are paid to do."
"As I understand it," said Kilmara, "the Congressional
Task Force came into being because they identified some serious gaps in
counterterrorism work and they consider their oversight role on seeing how a
modest twenty-eight billion is spent on intelligence work justifies some
examination.
Further, they travel
because how else are they going to now what is really going on?"
"All of that is true, but it's not the fucking point," said
Martin.
"The underlying fact is
that counterterrorism belongs to the CIA abroad and the FBI here and we can't
have a bunch of loose cannons screwing up what we're doing."
"Even if they are right?" said Kilmara.
"
Especially
if they are
right," said Martin.
"And
frequently they are.
But the end result
of showing up the Agency is that we get out credibility damaged and maybe our
budget cut, and that does not help the security of the
And it certainly does not help the work that
people like myself are trying to do on the inside.
You have got to look at the bigger picture."
Kilmara eyed his cigar, which had chosen to die when he was not paying
attention.
Cuban cigars did that.
He applied a match to the tip and blew smoke
while he thought.
Counterterrorism was very necessary, but the effectiveness of the
designated agencies was not in proportion to the resources spent.
An underlying problem was the
counterterrorism had become an industry in its own right, and that meant jobs,
money, power and influence, and not a few thriving little empires that had
little to do
with
the
ultimate objective.
The Congressional Task Force's problem was that with minimal resources
they were showing what could be done.
They were succeeding because they were dedicated and focused and the few
people they had were of the highest caliber.
And their very success was in danger of giving Congress as a whole some
radical ideas about what could be done with less money and more of a sense of
purpose.
No wonder the CIA, rocked with scandal recently and therefore
particularly vulnerable, was upset.
Fitzduane, on a routine getting-to-know-you trip, had stepped right into
a turf fight.
And Martin had a
point.
There was a bigger picture.
And almost certainly there was a trigger
issue lurking around.
He thought back
over his recent discussions with Hugo.
It was fairly clear what it must be.
"Let me float a thought," said Kilmara.
"Tecuno.
Governor Diego Quintana is your man."
The Deputy Director of Operations, CIA, was refilling both of their
glasses when Shane Kilmara spoke.
Mentally he screamed a loud "Holy shit!" but was pleased that
otherwise he had not reacted.
His hand
was still rock steady.
He looked at Kilmara with his best WASP career CIA man's look.
In control; urbane;
confident; all-knowing.
We talk
to satellites.
The NSA can break all
codes.
We know things that you don't.
"You are pouring our brandy on the floor," said Kilmara kindly.
Martin looked down at his faithless hand.
It was still rock steady.
And it
was.
*
*
*
*
*
The DDO looked
at his cigar, but there was not enough left to use as a smoke screen.
Besides, he had to share this can of worms
with someone, and Kilmara was nothing if not trustworthy.
And he just might have an idea.
And the DDO had drunk just enough to be
indiscreet.
"The
Agency has been bankrolling the PRI,
keep them strong against communism.
To
repay the favor, we turn a blind eye at drugs and similar scams, and if some
Mexican mover and
shaker like
Quintana wants to set
himself up as a local warlord, that is fine by us.
Just as long as he is
against communism."
"So
Governor Quintana is your man," said Kilmara.
"Well, he
was," said Martin.
"Now he is
so fucking rich he does not need us anymore.
But he remains on the books as an asset.
He is a psychopath.
He makes
Saddam Hussein look like a choirboy — but he is
our
psychopath.
And
experience shows that the Agency needs psychopaths.
There are things that need to be done that
only people like that will do."
"William,
how do you sleep at night?" said Kilmara.
"I look
at the bigger picture and count the pixels," said Martin, "until the
whiskey cuts in."
He stood up
and stretched, then walked to the window and looked down at the street
below.
"So what about Fitzduane,
then?" he said.
"Is he getting
involved or reverting to tourist?"
Kilmara
chuckled.
"He's becoming a father
in six months, so he isn't planning anything foolish.
He was asked, but he turned them down.
So relax.
And that's hot news from the horse's mouth."
Martin left
the window and stood with his hands in his pockets looking down at Kilmara, who
was still sitting back comfortably.
"You know, Shane, just between us, this whole damn thing makes me
very uneasy.
I'm following policy, but I
think those congressional troublemakers are right.
Maurice
Isser
is the smartest damn analyst I
have ever come across, and Cochrane, Maury, and Warner make one hell of a
team.
If they smell something rotten,
then they're right."
"But
you're not going to do anything," said Kilmara.
"Not a
damn thing," said Martin.
"And
by the way, when is your boy leaving town?"
"You
sound like the sheriff," said Kilmara, amused.
"Tomorrow all three of us are off to
little homework.
I am somewhat surprised
that Kathleen is coming, but I guess she will tour the area while we go to the
exhibition."
"Which
Martin.
"There
is a whole raft of them in this country, all called after
We used to like the French in those
days."
"
Carolina
"Uh-huh!"
said Martin.
"
nd
Airborne, Delta Force, and other peaceful people."
"The very
place," said Kilmara.
"Not a
high-crime environment like
Peaceful.
Lots of young men and women
doing healthy things like jumping out of airplanes and learning how to survive
on snakes and weevils.
And we
might do a little touring."
"What's
this exhibition?" said Martin.
"
A sort of Ideal Homes exhibition, except the booths don't
show microwaves and Japanese bread cookers.
This one is focused more on my kind of work."
"Which is
what these days?" said Martin.
He
smiled.
"Given
your advancing years and all."
He knew perfectly well what Kilmara did, but was not quite clear what he
was leading up to.
"Special
operations," said General Kilmara guilelessly.
*
*
*
*
*
"Maury, I
have never seen anything like it in my life," said Fitzduane quite
truthfully.
"That isn't a mobile
home.
It's a whole way of life.
If it was any bigger, it could apply for
statehood."