"You consider the aims of the Presidential Commission Garth and I are working for to be potentially very damaging to the national security of the United States. In fact, given that the potential damage should be obvious even to a child, you believe the members of the commission and the people working for them to be not only unpatriotic, but very likely traitorous."
"That is also exactly right," he replied, drawing himself up slightly and thrusting out his chin. "You state my feelings more precisely than I ever would, Frederickson."
"So what would one of your first acts in office as president be regarding this commission?"
"I'd disband it," Kranes answered without hesitation.
"Bingo. And what about the work the commission has already done up to this point? What about all the files and raw data? What if the final report had almost been completed?"
This time he did hesitate, and I prompted him with a wiggling finger. "Making public any part of the commission's raw data and speculations would be damaging to national security," he said at last. "I'd order it sealed."
"Right again. You're on a roll. Those are the two things the CIA desperately wants, the only two things they give a damn about. Do you see now why they're so eager to get you into office as quickly as possible? If they can get you into the Oval Office now, even for a few weeks, it won't matter to them who wins the next election. The issue will be moot; the commission will have been disbanded, and all its work product safely squirreled away, or even shredded."
He hesitated again, but this time I didn't prompt him. I wanted him to think about it, let the picture I had painted come into sharper focus and unfold before his eyes. Apparently he didn't like what he was seeing, for he finally said, "I have many personal friends in the CIA, Frederickson. They're decent people. Patriots. They'd never be part of a conspiracy like the one you're describing."
"And they're probably not. Don't misunderstand me, Kranes; I'm not suggesting that the director of the Central Intelligence Agency sits down every morning for a breakfast meeting with the heads of his departments to discuss how this operation is going. The director doesn't know about this, I can assure you; probably only an infinitesimal number of people over at Langley even have a hint of what's going on, and the director of Operations himself probably isn't one of them. This gig is being run by a handful of people in Ops, but the work of this handful of unelected people could be enough to subvert the Constitution of the United States and change the very nature of this country for the foreseeable future. The fact that such a tiny number of men could effectively operate within the confines of such a massive organization shows the extent of the corruption of the entire organization itself. They're supposed to stop people like this, not nurture them, but the CIA isn't going to be able to stop them any more than they were able to bring themselves to finally stop Aldrich Ames, after it was too late."
"This is all just sheer speculation," Kranes said tightly, but fear had once again appeared in his eyes.
"This is a classic operation, Kranes. Ops is manipulating clowns and madmen to bring about a desired end. It's the kind of thing Ops does best, and when they're at the top of their game-which they seem to have been in this case until they murdered Thomas Dickens and gave us a peek under the canvas-there's no covert organization in the world better at it. What they've done in this instance is to whisper in the ears of an assortment of lunatics. They've spun dreams of what life in the United States would be like under the presidency of William P. Kranes, what a hard-right president could accomplish with the aid of a hard-right Congress. Prayer in schools three times a day, and maybe even the United States officially declared a Christian country, all gun control laws rescinded, Roe versus Wade overturned and all abortions outlawed. The list of right-wing social goals is endless, and there'd be no problem in achieving most, if not all, of them once you were in office. After all, you'd immediately have two vacancies on the Supreme Court to fill. You'd waste no time in naming your choices, have the immediate support of Congress for whoever you nominated, and we all know what type of judges you'd offer up. That's the package the CIA has been offering."
Kranes's flesh had turned the color of a dirty dishcloth, and his breathing had become shallow and slightly hoarse. "You can't be implying that-"
"Wake-up call, shithead," Garth said in the same soft, silky tone.
I nodded. "Our conspirators, for whom the CIA as an organization bears responsibility, offed two Supreme Court justices, guaranteed."
"But one died in a car accident, and the other in her sleep!"
"Keep your voice down. They were murdered as part of a pact between these Ops renegades and their flunkies who are going to do their big kills for them. There are any number of wacko Right-to-Lifers who believe that killing abortion doctors is their ticket to heaven. They don't care if they die themselves, because they consider themselves blessed. Imagine how fast they'd get their rocks off at the notion of just two kills that would lead to the total banning of abortion throughout the country. Well, the CIA-our renegades, if you will-has at least two of these people on tap, and they're the boys who are going to carry out the assassinations. With the right equipment and training, you can kill anybody, provided you don't care about dying yourself. These folks can't wait to die carrying out this mission; they believe they're going to wake up in heaven on the lap of God."
Kranes licked his lips, then swallowed hard. He looked at Garth, then back at me. "I can't believe any of this is possible. Where's your proof?"
"You can believe Thomas Dickens is dead. Call your people in New York and check it out. He was blinded, and had his tongue, heart, and testicles cut out of him."
Kranes blanched, put a hand to his chest, shook his head. "If these CIA conspirators of yours were so clever as to murder two Supreme Court justices and make their deaths look like accidents, why wouldn't they have done the same thing to Dickens-especially if their purpose was to shield me? After he was killed in. . that manner.. the two of you came running right to my office. Why do something that results in the opposite of what was intended?"
"A good question," I conceded reluctantly, disturbed by the tiny gleam of triumph in his eyes, "and we'll have to get back to you on that. My best guess is that there was some initial confusion at operation headquarters on how best to handle the situation. Conflicting signals may have been sent out, and those signals got crossed. There may have been an abrupt change in plans. Their first mistake was in automatically assuming that I wasn't on the level during our conversation in your Huntsville office, and that I intended sooner or later to use the plagiarism incident to publicly embarrass you, no matter what I said. Working on that assumption, they first decided maybe they should just try to buy me off, which is how Taylor Mackintosh wound up in my office waving a checkbook. But before the bagman even got there, somebody may have successfully argued that my purpose was ideological, and it was unlikely I could be bought off. So then a decision was made to change course and simply remove the core source of the problem, and then things began to go haywire. The wrong personnel were chosen for the job, just as Taylor Mackintosh had been absolutely the wrong person to send to me. I won't know how and why those mistakes were made until we can penetrate their command structure, which is that big fish we're trying to fry. But these are the things that can go wrong when you have said clowns and madmen fronting for you."
"What you're saying is that you don't have proof of any of this."
"Taylor Mackintosh's visit is proof that your offices are bugged. You're certainly aware of Thomas Dickens' link to you, and the manner of his death, by the same voodoo hit squad that's been killing our Haitian witnesses, links that killing to the CIA-and our conversation in your Huntsville office. I could go on, but how much proof do you need?"