Chifune's heart leaped when Fitzduane's name was mentioned. Then the complexities of the task ahead of her hit home. It was probably the best way to achieve the desired result, but it would be a very difficult operation.
"You may take Inspector Oga with you," said the Spider in conclusion, "and such other sources as you may need will be provided." He indicated a thick file on his desk. "This is the operation file. I think you will find it helpful."
The meeting was at an end. Chifune stood up and bowed respectfully.
The Spider stood up also and returned her bow. This was not the dismissal of an employee but an acknowledgment of a different, stronger relationship.
"Tanabu- san," said the Spider. "You must know that despite appearances, I have never doubted you."
Chifune bowed again and left. She felt drained, exhilarated, awed, and confused. She fought to get control of her feelings. The sight of a sensible, solid, reliable Inspector Oga was like a breath of fresh air.
"Oga- san," she said. "You must practice your already excellent English."
Oga contemplated Chifune's face. It was slightly flushed. There was a mixture of emotions coming from her. Her normal reserve was missing. Whatever had been said by the Spider was rather more than routine. He suspected it might involve the gaijin. He said nothing.
"We are going to America," she said.
"North or South," said Oga lightly.
Chifune's face clouded over as the significance of the mix of Reiko Oshima and Edgar Rheiman hit home. "Probably both," she said grimly, and strode off down the corridor.
Oga, the smile gone from his face, walked after her.
5
General Shane Kilmara, commander of the Irish Rangers – Ireland's elite counterterrorist and special-operations force – sipped at his brandy and smiled.
"One of Washington's finer French restaurants and a private room. And this from a man who normally forgets to offer me a hot dog, and always forgets the mustard. What is on your mind, William?"
The man with the thinning hair and high domed forehead sitting on the other side of the table blew a smoke ring into the air. Neither man normally smoked, but good cigars were an occasional exception. Both had a weakness for Cuban, and Kilmara had brought a box when he had flown in from Ireland. Since he was received personally by Deputy Director for Operations of the CIA, clearing customs with such embargoed goods was not a problem.
They had known each other since both the Irish and the CIA had been knee-deep in the Congo in the 1960s. The Congo operation was long in the past – the country had even changed its name to Zaire – but the relationship had endured. Each man considered it more an alliance than a friendship, but mutual regard had sneaked in nonetheless. You tended to learn the true worth of someone over a quarter of a century.
In Kilmara's opinion, the CIA was much maligned. They were very far from perfect and they had their fair share of self-serving bureaucrats, but they had some very good people. Even more to the point, imperfect or not, they were necessary.
William Martin was not quite ready yet to get to the point. "What is the U.S. doing wrong on counterterrorism, Shane?" he said. "You've got more experience than most. I'd value your opinion."
"You already know my opinions," said Kilmara. "Too many cooks and not enough terrorists. Closing down an airport when there is a bomb scare is not counterterrorism. Crucially, your political direction is weak and you don't approach the whole thing at the right cerebral level. You've got to know your enemy, really understand the fuckers!
Fundamentally, you don't think there is a real threat. The U.S. is too big and too strong. Even if there are hordes of bad guys running around doing their worst, you don't think they can do more than inflict the occasional pinprick.
"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 Africa was of scant consequence. 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."