Bradford laughed. “That’s the last thing they’d do, because then they’d have to admit they were conducting an illegal eavesdropping operation. But they might initiate their own investigation.”
Bradford looked out at the Asian pruning the rhody again. Now the gardener was just standing, head cocked, studying the bush, like a painter assessing a work in progress. Bradford supposed that bush-trimming was an art in its way, and again he envied the man his task.
He turned back to Levy. “John, let’s consider the worst case scenario. Let’s assume someone-the NSA, whoever-knows Witherspoon and those two other soldiers were involved in Russo’s death. Let’s even take it a step further. Let’s assume they know Russo was meeting with Hansen. Is there anything you said that night that would have told them why Russo and Hansen were meeting?”
“No, sir. Absolutely not.”
“And Russo didn’t leave anything behind that says why he and Hansen were meeting?”
“No, sir. Hopper searched Russo’s house after the operation and I had searched it before, as soon as we knew that… that General Breed had talked to Russo.”
Bradford could tell Levy was still very much bothered by Martin’s death.
“And as for the reporter,” Levy said, “the Post has repeatedly stated that they have no idea what Hansen was working on prior to his disappearance.”
“I agree,” Bradford said.
“And there’s no way to prove the two soldiers we shipped out were involved in the operation. There’s no evidence that they were at the memorial and, with Hopper handling the case, no evidence will ever be found.”
Bradford was silent for a moment. “John, our biggest liability at this point is those two soldiers talking.”
“They won’t, sir. I know those men. They won’t ever discuss what happened that night.”
“I’m not sure we can afford to take the risk.”
Levy didn’t say anything for a moment, then he looked directly into Bradford’s eyes. “Sir, I am not going to do anything to harm those soldiers.”
There was no doubt Levy meant what he said. Killing Martin Breed on his deathbed was one thing, and even eliminating Witherspoon, a man who would most likely have spent the rest of his days as a vegetable, was different from killing two loyal soldiers who had only followed orders. At least that’s the way Levy would see it. When things settled down a bit, he needed to talk with Levy some more about the sacrifices that men in their positions were sometimes required to make. But not now.
“I’m not asking you to harm them,” Bradford said. “All I’m saying is that you need to make sure those men understand the importance of not talking to anyone, and if anyone tries to talk to them, they need to let you know immediately. Can you get word to them where they’re stationed now?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. For now, just keep tabs on everything. Keep in touch with Hopper at the Bureau and tell Colonel Gilmore to call you if he gets any more inquiries about the sentinels. And I’ll do a little quiet probing over at the NSA.”
“And if we find out the NSA did hear us that night?” Levy asked.
“Then I’ll deal with it,” Bradford said.
Bradford had to participate in a teleconference with his NATO commanders in two minutes, but he continued to sit at his desk. He didn’t tolerate people being late to his meetings and, consequently, he didn’t like it when he was late. But he needed to do something about the NSA, and right away.
As he’d told Levy, he needed to know if the agency had any knowledge of the Russo op. He didn’t, however, want it known that anyone at the Pentagon was interested-and he really didn’t want it known that he was interested. He thought about this problem for a moment before he came up with the perfect answer: Aziz. Yes, the Aziz fiasco would provide the cover he needed.
He picked up the phone, punched in a number, and said, “This is General Bradford. Tell him it’s not urgent, but I need to speak to him.” Forty minutes later, his NATO teleconference was interrupted when the president returned his call.
“Is there a problem, General?” the president asked, and Bradford could hear the stress in his voice. The man was struggling with two wars, an intractable Congress, and a domestic agenda that appeared to be mired in the mud. He didn’t need another problem-which was exactly what Bradford was counting on.
“No, Mr. President, there isn’t a problem,” Bradford said. “In fact, I’m calling to suggest doing something to avoid one, and it would be best if the issue was handled by someone outside of the Department of Defense.”
20
“We got something on that guy Hopper.”
Claire looked up. It was the agent she’d assigned to watch the FBI man. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt that said POTOMAC ELECTRIC POWER COMPANY over the pocket, and she assumed the shirt was part of whatever ploy his team was using to stay close to the subject, maybe a power company truck outside the Hoover Building or near Hopper’s home. What Claire didn’t like was that he looked hung over, his eyes two bloodshot holes in his unshaven face. She made a mental note to have him checked out. Drunks were a liability.
“What did you get?” Claire said.
“Maybe you should just play this,” he said, and offered her a CD.
“Password,” she said.
“Feebwatch,” he said. “One word, lowercase.”
She started to berate him for using a password so closely related to the contents of the CD, but didn’t. She would talk to him about that when she spoke to him about the booze. She inserted the disc into one of her computers and listened to a phone call from a man named DeMarco to Hopper. When the call was over, she said, “So what? So this guy DeMarco is trying to find Russo’s will. What’s the big deal?”
“Listen to the next phone call,” the agent said.
I got your message. What’s going on?
The man speaking was the one who had directed Paul Russo’s execution. Hopper responded by saying:
It’s about the nurse.
What happened?
I got a call from a lawyer named DeMarco who works for Congress. He’s related to the nurse, and he’s trying to find out if the nurse had a will. The thing is, he’s searched the nurse’s apartment at least once and he seems to be following my investigation.
Do you think he’s conducting his own investigation?
I don’t think so. But I get the impression he isn’t buying the story that Russo was killed because of drugs.
There was a moment of silence.
Look, it’s probably nothing.
It was Hopper speaking again.
I’m just letting you know because you told me to keep you informed. You might want to put somebody on this guy, but that’s up to you.
It bothers me that he works for Congress.
Yeah, it bothers me too, but I don’t think his job is related to this. He’s just the nurse’s cousin trying to settle the estate. If you want, I could make up a will for the nurse. You know, fill out one of those online forms and give it to DeMarco. That would probably get him off my back.
No, don’t do that. If the real will shows up, that could just complicate things. Anyway, thanks for calling.
“Were you able to identify the man who called Hopper back?” Claire asked the agent.
“No,” he said. “We got a fix on his position when he was talking to Hopper and he was in a car on the beltway, but after he completed the call he powered down the phone.”
Claire made sure the agent had all the assets he needed to stay on Hopper, then dismissed him.
Her next thought was: DeMarco. Yeah, he might do.
“We need to spook Hopper.”
Claire said this as she paced Dillon’s office and she made him think of a walking pipe bomb, some completely unstable device that could detonate at any moment.
Claire Whiting just sucked the tranquillity out of any room she entered.
“I think we should use this guy DeMarco,” she said.
“Use him how?”