McQueen’s eyes widened and he looked genuinely surprised. “What?”
Remar did nothing to reveal his satisfaction with the stimulus/response effect. The director had taught him that with a certain class of national security fetishist, attributing something bad to the Chinese, or Russians, or Iranians was the equivalent of blaming domestic crimes on angry black men. Prepping people to believe something was the hard part. Once the framework was established, they became eager to fill in the details themselves, and could be counted on to do so even if those details made little sense.
Remar leaned forward and lowered his voice. “It seems the Chinese have managed to track your cell phone and correlate its movements with that of a second cell phone — a prepaid model purchased for cash in a Walmart two years ago. They have further tracked the movements of both phones to an apartment here on Capitol Hill. The lease on this apartment is being paid by a dummy corporation set up by your personal attorney. And the inhabitant of this apartment is a young woman named Natalia Robart, the movements of whose own cell phone have been correlated to yours on numerous business trips you’ve taken, on none of which has your wife’s cell phone indicated your wife was present.”
McQueen had gradually paled as Remar briefed him, and his mouth was now agape. Remar waited while it all sank in.
“I don’t… I don’t see how…” McQueen stammered, and then was silent, shaking his head, apparently unable to find words.
“Obviously, this is all just metadata. But also obviously, it’s more than enough to cause a scandal — and that’s assuming the Chinese haven’t penetrated Ms. Robart’s apartment and installed hidden cameras. That is something we could discreetly rule out, if you’d like.”
“I don’t… I don’t understand…”
“Let me assure you, Senator, this information is being held in the strictest confidence and in the tightest circle possible at NSA. None of us wants to see you hurt.”
“Yes, but… Jesus Christ, how is this even possible?”
Remar permitted himself a sympathetic smile. “Do you still feel I’m being paranoid?”
McQueen looked as though he’d been gut-punched. “Christ, no. Is there anything that can be done?”
“In fact, there is. The system we’ve uncovered seems to be automated. We’ve tracked its uploads to a dedicated server, which we’ve covertly penetrated. We’re in a position now where we should be able to permanently destroy the data on that server.”
“Well, that’s great news!”
“Yes. We’re holding off to first confirm there isn’t a backup server. If there is, we want to trace back to it and destroy it simultaneously. If we act too quickly, we could tip off the Chinese and lose the chance to wipe out the problematic records completely.”
All at once, McQueen’s shocked expression transmuted into a more canny one. He leaned back in his chair and looked Remar up and down as though evaluating him. Then he nodded and smiled.
“All right, Remar. What’s your game?”
“Game, Senator?”
“Why are you really telling me all this? What do you want from me?”
Remar realized the man had figured out the situation was less scary than he’d first thought. He’d seen that it was a business transaction, not a random threat, and therefore that presumably there was no reason the parties couldn’t arrive at a mutually acceptable price.
Remar effected a puzzled look. “I don’t want anything from you, Senator. Well, I’d like you to be more careful, but of course in the end that’s up to you.”
McQueen’s smile broadened. “Oh, really? There’s no quid pro quo here?”
Remar shrugged. “No, but if there were, I’d say you’ve already delivered through all your support of the intelligence community. So if anything, this is a thank-you, not a quid pro quo.”
They were quiet for a moment. McQueen looked confused. Could it really be that simple — his friends paying off a debt by protecting him?
“All right, then,” McQueen said, his tone cautious. “You’ll just… keep me posted on your efforts against that Chinese server?”
Remar retrieved the attaché from the floor. “Of course. We’re making every effort, and I’m cautiously optimistic we’ll be able to contain it.”
McQueen nodded, as though afraid to speak.
Remar stood and placed the attaché on the desk. “Well, I’ve taken enough of your time today, Senator. Please do be more careful about the phones — we downplay it to the public, but the metadata really does reveal a lot. As the saying goes, ‘We kill people based on metadata.’”
McQueen nodded again. “Yes, I can see that.”
“Oh, and one other thing. You know that journalist who’s been kidnapped in Syria?”
“Hamilton? Of course.”
“Yes, Hamilton. There’s a pretty decent chance we can get him out. But it’s going to have to be done quietly and will require a little patience. Naturally, the president wants to send in Delta or whoever and make political hay out of a rescue.”
McQueen cocked his head. “The president wants to send in the military?”
“Unfortunately, yes. He thinks it’s a guaranteed political win — either Hamilton gets rescued, or Hamilton gets killed while Spec Ops mows down a bunch of jihadists and the president gets to crow about how he’ll never negotiate with terrorists. We’ve told him the right way to get Hamilton out is something low-key that won’t offer him a big political payoff. You can imagine how that advice is going over.”
“Yes, I can.”
“Anyway. I know you and every other responsible person affiliated with the intelligence community wants the same thing we do — to get that young man out of there alive. Now, I don’t have to tell you, your national security credentials are unimpeachable. People listen to you. Even the president listens to you, despite himself. So when the networks bring you on to talk about Hamilton, it would be great if you could speak up about the virtues of patience and stealth, and the vices of hot-headed military showboating that’s more likely to get Hamilton killed than anything else. Can we count on you for that, Senator?”
McQueen came to his feet and all but saluted. “You know you can, General. I’m glad you asked and I’m pleased to help.”
It was fascinating, how people could be so reluctant to recognize blackmail, how eager they could be to convince themselves it was something else, even something fundamentally mutually cooperative. And sometimes it seemed the more powerful the individual, the greater the capacity for self-deception.
He shook the senator’s hand again and left. Out in the corridor, he wiped his palm on his trousers. There was a time, he knew, when the kind of thing he had just done would have horrified him. He tried, but couldn’t remember when that had been.
It didn’t matter. What mattered was that they had bought themselves some time.
And owned another senator.
CHAPTER
11
Anders sat with the other principals of the National Security Council in the White House Situation Room. The atmosphere was claustrophobic, and the small, low-ceilinged room, dominated by a wooden table large enough for twelve, exacerbated the feeling. Small talk was minimal, and the participants radiated all the warmth one might expect of a gathering of jealous warlords, or of scorpions shoved together into a bottle. Everyone in the room looked at everyone else as an enemy or, at best, as a potential ally of convenience. Every one of them thought he or she would make a better president than the guy running the meeting. And a few of them might even have been right.