“So, I ask you, Senator: What’s your guess as to what President Assad is feeling? The big kids have stopped playing with him, and his power base — his very ability to remain in power — is being eroded.”
Smith put his hand over the microphone and whispered to his vice chairman, Senator Dean. Smith was good at rhetoric, Mason knew, but rarely did his homework, and in this case he was so intent on punching holes in one of the president’s pet projects, he didn’t bother to find out what the hell he was talking about. Even so, Smith wielded power on the Hill. Though a confirmed womanizer and a borderline drunk, he won countless battles by simply wearing down his opponents. Victory by forfeiture was still victory.
“That’s a start, Mr. Director. Now you’ve caught on to what I’m talking about: tangible progress. But is your example an isolated one, or is it representative?”
“It is becoming more the rule rather than exception, Senator.” But we’ve got a long, long, way to go, Mason didn’t add. Destitute or flush, state-sponsored terrorist groups would never quit altogether.
Smith considered this and nodded. “Very well, Mr. Director, we appreciate your time. We may call on you again.”
“Of course.”
Mason nodded as the committee filed out of the hearing room. Once they were gone, he let out a long breath.
He was back in his office an hour later.
“Morning, Mr. Director,” said his secretary.
“Morning, Ginny.” Mason had stopped trying to get Ginny to call him anything but “Mr. Director.”
“The world still in one piece?”
“You tell me. You’re the one who faced the beast this morning.”
“And got away only slightly scathed.”
“Mr. Coates and Ms. Albrecht are in your conference room.”
“Okay.” Mason walked into his office, checked his inbox and voice messages, then opened his door to the adjoining conference room. George Coates, his deputy director, Operations (DDO) and Sylvia Albrecht, his deputy director, Intelligence (DDI) were waiting. Coates and Albrect headed the two main directorates at the CIA, the “doers” and the “thinkers,” as Mason called them.
Dick Mason had been appointed by the previous administration and then asked to stay on by its successor. From day one, Mason dedicated himself to revamping the CIA and had never wavered in that pursuit. Among the many problems he tackled, the biggest had been rivalry: in-house rivalry between his directorates and outside rivalry between the CIA and other agencies such as the FBI and NSA. He handled the former by first doing some housecleaning that included cutting the position of DDCI, or deputy director of Central Intelligence, and becoming his own number-two man; and then by simply converting other agency heads through the sheer force of his personality.
Within a month of his appointment, Mason fired the incumbent DDO and DDI, both career bureaucrats. To their replacements he gave the simple warning, “Work together, or I’ll fire you.” They didn’t, so he did.
Mason then appointed George Coates and Sylvia Albrecht, gave them the same warning, and got very different results. For the first time in years, Operations and Intelligence began working hand in hand. The DI got quality raw product from the field, and in return the DO got unvarnished analysis. Most importantly, the agency’s output was unslanted and immune to the vagaries of political winds. This, Mason felt, was the CIA’s primary job.
“Why the long faces?” he asked as he took a seat.
In reply, Coates slid a buff-colored folder across the table. On the diagonal red stripe across the cover was the annotation, NOFORN/TS/EYES ONLY/SYMMETRY. Mason mentally translated the spookese to plain English: No Foreign Dissemination/Top Secret/No Unauthorized Electronic Reproduction or Conveyance. The last word, SYMMETRY, was the computer-generated name for their Beirut operation.
“We lost Marcus, Dick,” said Coates. “The report’s on top.”
Mason opened the folder and scanned Art Stucky’s message. He sighed. “Anybody claiming credit for it?”
Coates shook his head. “No. Too early anyway.” Like Mason, the DDO was hoping this was simply a random kidnapping. In Beirut, it was possible.
“What did Stucky do?”
“He told the agent to lay low and make contact again in two days. That should give us time to make decisions.”
“Okay, you and Sylvia put your heads together. I want all the SYMMETRY product sifted, and I want rough conclusions by tomorrow. Focus on whatever Marcus had going the last few weeks. Maybe he struck a nerve somewhere, and we missed it. Next, I want OpSec checked inside and out, and I want a plan to cauterize this thing if we have to. Questions?”
Both deputies shook their heads.
“This is not good news,” Mason said. “Aside from the fact we’ve lost a good agent and maybe a whole network, there’s a political side. I just got done with Smith over at the IOC — by the way, George, you best put on your hip waders before you go over tomorrow.”
“That, bad?”
“He’s got an agenda, that’s for certain.”
“What about SYMMETRY?”
“Not a word. Right now, there’s nothing to tell. My call — I’ll take the flak.
“Bottom line: SYMMETRY is our flagship on our ‘war on terrorism’ as Smith put it. The president is dedicated to making a dent in terrorism, and everybody knows it — especially on the Hill. Plenty of people are looking for anything they can use to sink him. Being able to label a major policy a failure would be just the kind of ammunition they need. And as much as I’d like to think we’re above politics, that’s just not the case.”
Mason leaned forward to make sure he had their attention. “This is what they call a career decider, people. Whatever it takes, we fix SYMMETRY, and if it can’t be fixed, we find a way to turn it into a win. Understood?”
What Mason had essentially told Coates and Albrect was, I think it stinks,but if we don’t make this thing right,we’re all out of jobs.
When Charlie Latham’s boss first approached him with the idea of teaching a few seminars at the FBI academy, Latham balked. He wasn’t a teacher, he argued. As usual, his wife Bonnie had simplified it for him: “Crap.” Whether he was in the field teaching by example or in a classroom teaching by lecture, it was the same thing. Now, two years later, Latham had to admit he enjoyed it.
Today’s topic was the fall of the Soviet Union and its effect on espionage operations in Europe and Asia. Though a decade had passed, the U.S.S.R.’s dissolution was still an idea backdrop for the kind of lessons fledgling agents needed to learn.
To the trainees Latham was something of a legend, perhaps the greatest CE/I (counterespionage and intelligence) and spy hunter in FBI history. Now he was working counterterrorism.
“… it’s important we don’t get tunnel vision when assessing threats,” he said. “The former Soviet intelligence community hasn’t vanished. And there are other organizations out there that deserve our attention. Think about the old Cold War term the Soviets used for its bloc countries: satellites. Initially, they were designed to insulate the U.S.S.R. against invasion, but it didn’t take long for the Kremlin to see the opportunity. These satellites could be molded in Russia’s image, could carry out its clandestine dictates. In other words, surrogate covert warfare. Why do the dirty work when you can get someone else to do it for you?
“So, when you get into the field — and if you are so blessed as to find yourself in CE and I—” Latham paused as there was general laughter. “—ask yourself this: All that infrastructure, all those agents, all those controllers… Where did they go and what are they doing now?”