The two men looked at each other a moment, their silence only underscored by the loud whine of turbines as the plane accelerated for takeoff. Kealey felt the usual lurch inside him as it bucked against gravity and went wheels up into the air.
“It was Jonathan Harper who once demanded I leave the CIA,” White finally said. “The legendary Harper. Did you know he called me to his office at Langley to request my departure in person?”
Kealey shrugged. “Guess he probably didn’t think it was worth the cost of a phone call.”
“Good one. I didn’t realize you had a sense of humor.” White chuckled automatically, kept staring at Kealey through his metal rims. “I only bring up his name for one reason. And that’s to ask…without Harper, where would you be?”
“What’s your point?” said Kealey.
“It’s no secret he had faith in you when others didn’t. That he’s been your guardian angel at the Agency,” White said. “What would you do if he needed, absolutely required you for a task he could entrust to no one else? An assignment that had certain vital elements you found…objectionable? Would you refuse? Or do it, anyway, because of everything you owed him?”
Kealey shook his head. “I don’t believe in guardian angels,” he said.
“Ah…but there is one who’s believed in you,” White replied.
Kealey was quiet for a while before he gave another shrug. “His problem,” he said.
And he returned his eyes to his window as the jet banked to the right, leaving the African coastline behind for the Red Sea, then climbing gradually through a blue haze to cruising altitude and the greater part of its flight north to Egypt.
“I’ve just received word that Cullen White has been placed aboard a direct flight from Cairo to New York,” President Brenneman said. He was at his desk in the Oval Office, talking to Brynn Fitzgerald, his back to the large bay windows looking out on the South Lawn. “He remains in the Agency’s custody.”
“And once he lands?” Fitzgerald asked.
“He’ll be air-shuttled to D.C. and brought to a safe house for preliminary interrogation,” Brenneman said. “I’m not sure a decision’s been made as to where he’ll be held after that.”
Fitzgerald nodded. It was gusty outside, and as she sat facing the windows, she could see the breeze rustling the magnolias on the South Lawn. “Have you put in a call to the DIA?”
“Yes.” Brenneman rubbed the bottom of his chin with his index finger. “Joel Stralen requested that his personnel have a role in White’s questioning. His preference was that it be active, but he would have settled for having one or more people there as observers.”
“And your response to him was…?”
“Exactly what you would expect.”
“And how did General Stralen react to being refused outright?”
“He’s on his way over from the Pentagon right now. I suppose he intends to argue his case.” Brenneman shrugged. “You know, Brynn…as a kind of mental exercise, or way of getting a handle on a person, I try to imagine their thoughts in terms of printed type-styles. Been doing it since my early teens. I’ve known the general for a long time and have always imagined him thinking in boldface.”
“A large font, I’d guess.”
“Very large,” Brenneman said with a grim smile. “Joel Stralen is a hard-liner, and I wanted that perspective among my core advisors. We’ve all gotten so used to sticking our thumbs in the wind here in D.C., I felt it important.”
“You weren’t mistaken,” Fitzgerald said. “Our error was in letting ourselves be swayed too far by his point of view.” She hesitated. “May I speak personally of something? It’s a difficult subject.”
He nodded his head and sat there waiting.
“I’ve done a lot of soul-searching over the past several days,” Fitzgerald said. “In fact, I’ve turned my soul inside out and shaken it to see what falls loose. And I realized I wasn’t nearly as recovered from the trauma of my kidnapping as I’d believed. As a woman in the capital…in any position of authority, I suppose…you have to present a tough facade. I felt that if I didn’t appear to be over what happened to me in Pakistan, my effectiveness as an advisor and negotiator would be comprised. I won’t second-guess myself now, not in that regard. But where I erred, and erred terribly, was in buying my own act. I was swayed by Stralen because I identified too closely with your niece. I let emotions throw me off balance, overtake my capacity for making rational decisions-”
Brenneman raised a hand to interrupt. “Don’t beat yourself up,” he said. “You and I share the same essential regrets. Our emotions colored how we saw things. The timing was horrific, which does not mitigate our responsibility for what was done. We own the results of our decisions… We will always own them. But all we can do now is move on and deal with the consequences.” He expanded his chest with air, slowly breathed out, his sober, weary eyes holding on her face. “Brynn…when I say General Stralen views things in terms of absolutes, it is not to imply he’s simpleminded. He’s a shrewd, calculating military man. A chess player. And what I’ve wondered, God help us all-”
Brenneman’s intercom line flashed, and he pressed the speakerphone button to answer his personal secretary. “Yes?”
“Mr. President, General Stralen is here to see you.”
“Right on cue,” Brenneman observed.
“Excuse me?” asked the secretary.
“Nothing, Fran…sorry.” Brenneman saw his secretary of state look at him, her eyes silently asking whether he preferred she stay or excuse herself from the office. He motioned for her to stay put. “Tell the general to come right in,” he said over the intercom.
“Joel, please have a seat.” Brenneman motioned the DIA chief into a chair without rising from behind his desk. “Brynn and I were just wrapping up our conversation about Cullen White.”
In his air force dress blues, his jacket buttoned almost to the collar, Stralen looked surprised to see Fitzgerald in the office. Quick to recover, he took her hand decorously but remained on his feet. “Sir,” he said, facing the president, “White’s the reason I’m here as well, and I intend to be brief. If you don’t mind, though”-he glanced back at Fitzgerald-“and with no disrespect to Madam Secretary, I’d ask that we speak privately.”
“I think it’s best we all stay,” Brenneman said. “There’s nothing that needs hiding between the three of us.”
Stralen nodded. “I don’t wish to hide anything. But my issue is strictly of concern to the DIA-”
“No,” Brenneman said. “If it relates to Cullen White’s activities in Sudan, it’s all our concern…mine, yours, and Brynn’s. You can forget about trying to compartmentalize.”
“Fine, sir,” Stralen said. “That is fully understood. Indeed, I might agree with it. But then why isn’t the DIA a participant in White’s interrogation?”
Brenneman looked at him. “Are you serious?”
“Of course.” The skin tightened over the well-defined planes and angles of Stralen’s face. “Do I sound like I’m joking?”
“Joking, no,” Brenneman said. “But in frankness, I don’t see how you think the DIA can participate. Only the CIA has clean hands here. DOD, State, this very office-we’ve all compromised ourselves.”
“How so? What precisely have we done wrong? ”
“If you don’t already know, Joel, you are in pronounced denial,” replied Brenneman.
Stralen was shaking his head. “The worst we can be accused of is misappropriation of funds. And even so, the distribution of CINC discretionary resources has its gray areas. As far as seeming to run against our own embargo, we could argue-”
“My God, we shipped arms to the very people who killed my niece, ” Brenneman said sharply. He inhaled, struggling to control himself. “Enough, Joel. You can save your argument for other ears besides mine. But while you’re here, I do have a question for you. A blunt one. And I would appreciate a direct response.”
Stralen did not budge from the middle of the room but simply met the president’s gaze. “I’m listening, sir.”