“McQueen’s white noise. No one takes him seriously.”
“No? He’s on the Homeland Security Committee, the Finance Committee, and the Intelligence Committee; and the networks love putting him on because they can always count on him to say something incendiary in that Alabama drawl of his.”
“You really think the president is going to respond to that bozo?”
“Not respond. React. If he sees a chance to shore up his national security credentials, he’ll take it. That means the longer this goes on, the more he’ll be tempted to do something dramatic. Can you imagine how it’ll play on the news if the president sends in Delta or DEVGRU and they bring Hamilton safely home?”
“Yes, and I can imagine how it’ll play if the raid is botched and Hamilton gets killed.”
Anders waved a hand as though fanning away some minor flatulence. “They’ll say they had intel that Hamilton was about to be killed anyway. At least they sent some jihadists to hell with him. The president will make the announcement surrounded by brass. He’ll look tough either way. ‘We don’t negotiate with terrorists,’ that kind of thing. I’m telling you, if this goes on for more than another day, two at the most, he’s going in.”
They were both silent for a moment. Remar said, “How do you want to handle it?”
Anders considered for a moment. “That talking-head interview I have later this morning.”
“You want me to cancel?”
“No, I want to exploit it. Use it to give the president a little breathing room. What do we have on McQueen?”
Remar squinted with his good eye. “We don’t have a file. He’s always been on-side, we’ve never needed anything on him before.”
“Well, we do now. Use God’s Eye. You’ll find something.”
“How heavy-handed do you want me to be?”
“No more so than necessary. But make sure the job gets done.”
“Roger that.”
The secure line buzzed. Anders glanced at the monitor. “The White House. Go. Get McQueen on board. We might not have much time.”
CHAPTER
9
It turned out to be worse than Anders was expecting. The White House chief of staff told him the president was convening the National Security Council to consider “all options,” including a rescue. They needed to know what NSA could deliver based on everything in the video: topography, angle of the sun, quality of light, vegetation. Every electronic communication in the region was to be scoured. If they could identify Hamilton’s location, JSOC wanted to go in. And the president was inclined to let them.
He assured the chief of staff that NSA was collating all available intelligence and would have it ready for the NSC’s consideration later that morning. And then he headed over to his interview.
The original plan was for a general-interest discussion, with the talking head softened up by the sight of Anders in his full fruit-salad army service uniform. The venue would also be seductive: an otherwise useless room called the Information Dominance Center that had been designed to look like the deck of the starship Enterprise, with arrays of giant flat-panel screens, ellipses of LED lighting, and banks of computer monitors. The NSA advance team knew to instruct the camera crew to film only from certain angles, lest the top-secret nature of the room be revealed to America’s enemies, and the crew would naturally comply, grateful for the opportunity to behold one of NSA’s mysteries, with the desired subservience thereby established before even a word of the interview had been conducted.
Anders arrived on schedule, a tablet-toting aide in tow. The aide held the tablet while Anders scanned and signed something on it, and then the aide made a show of scurrying off, as though the fate of the free world rode on the timely delivery of Anders’s signature. Of course the aide could have just transmitted the signature rather than hand-carrying it, but where was the drama, the importance, in that?
“Brian,” Anders said, extending his hand. “Good to see you.”
“A pleasure, General,” the talking head replied, pumping Anders’s hand. “I really appreciate your taking the time. Especially with the new terrorist video this morning. Is it all right if I ask about that? I know the interview parameters have already been agreed upon, but I think the American people would want to hear your thoughts on so important a matter.”
Anders smiled at the man’s attempt at flattery. Was he really so dim he didn’t know Anders would want to discuss that video, that he wouldn’t have to be cajoled into doing it?
“Of course, Brian. I’m happy to discuss what I can. I’m afraid we might have to cut things short, though. Obviously there’s a lot going on just now.”
“Of course, sir, absolutely. If the way we’ve positioned the camera is acceptable, we can get started right away.”
Anders nodded. Sir and General and If that would be acceptable. He would never get over the supposed watchdog press’s instinctive deference to power. Not that he minded, of course.
With the camera rolling, the talking head introduced himself and explained in breathless tones that he was conducting this interview from NSA’s own Information Dominance Center, which they weren’t permitted to film because it was all so secret.
“Good morning, General.”
“Good morning, Brian.”
“Sir, I know your schedule is particularly tight today and I appreciate your taking the time. This morning we all woke to another horrifying video: an American journalist, bound and on his knees, threatened by a masked terrorist.”
They’d be sure to overlay the appropriate image when they aired the interview. That was good.
“Yes,” Anders said in his most sober tone.
“I guess what I and every other member of the civilized world is wondering now, sir, is what response the government is planning.”
“Obviously, Brian, I’m not in a position to discuss what we may or may not be thinking in terms of a response.”
“Fair enough, sir, but what about your capabilities? For better or worse, and many would say worse, we all know a great deal more today about NSA capabilities than we did not so very long ago. And yet here we have another journalist kidnapped. Is there anything the government could have done to prevent this?”
That, Anders knew, would strike viewers as a tough question, which was why the talking head had asked it. Appearances had to be maintained.
“Well, Brian, what I’d say is this: There’s a lot NSA can lawfully do, and within that legal framework, we are as aggressive as we can be. And, of course, there are always additional tools we’d like to have to keep Americans safe. But whether we should have those tools is a question for the legislature, not for NSA.”
“Not even an opinion, sir?”
He badly wanted to float the notion of implanting people with chips, but sensed it would be too much at this point. But wait, what about what the Pakistani government was doing… cutting off cell phone service to anyone who hadn’t agreed to have his or her fingerprints matched to a phone SIM card? If Pakistan could do that, why couldn’t America? And in fact, wouldn’t that be a great sound bite? Why is Pakistan doing more to keep its citizens safe than we are?
But he rejected that temptation, too. This wasn’t the occasion. And certainly there would be other opportunities.
“Not one that would be relevant or appropriate, no,” Anders said, after a moment. “As for our response to the latest outrage, that is of course the president’s purview.”
The talking head seized on that, as Anders had hoped he would. “If — hypothetically — the president were to order a rescue, what would be NSA’s role?”