“I’m not the right man,” McGarvey replied, shaking his head. “I’m just a field officer-” “You’re a hell of a lot more than that, and you know it,” Murphy interjected. He turned to the President. “Everybody in the Company would be shocked if Mac wasn’t appointed. Right now the DO
is functioning with a greater efficiency than it ever has, because of him. He’s a born leader. His people practically fall over themselves to do what he wants, because they know that if they didn’t or couldn’t do the job, he’d step in and do it for them.” “I’d probably be impeached if I didn’t hire you,” the President said. McGarvey had to chuckle. “You’ll probably be impeached if you do, if Hammond has anything to say about it.” “You’ll have to face him and his crowd, but you leave handling him to me,” the President said sternly. “The CIA has been run by politicians, or by military men who’ve turned politician, entirely too long,” He glanced at Murphy. “No offense, Roland.” “None taken, Mr. President.” “I need a career intelligence officer at the helm. A man who knows the Agency, what it can and can’t do from the ground floor up.” “I was a shooter,” McGarvey said, no apology in his voice. “Did you ever shoot at anybody in your military career?” the President asked Murphy. “Yes, as a tank commander.”
“With the intent to kill?” “Yes.” “We’re in trouble right now and you know it.” The President turned back to McGarvey. “Besides fighting terrorists, Pakistan has gone back to its old tricks. They’re on the verge of developing a thermonuclear device that could be strapped atop one of their missiles. The PRC is on the verge of a Pearl Harbor attack on Taiwan. Russia is falling apart faster than we thought would happen. All of Lebanon is on fire again. And half of the African continent is slaughtering the other half. I need information. I need it fast. And I need it unvarnished. You’re the only man I know who can do the job the way I want it done, because you’re not afraid to tell the truth no matter how much it hurts.” The President sat back.
He’d taken his shot. “I need you to run the CIA. Will you do it?”
“I’ll think about it,” McGarvey said. “Fair enough. When Roland steps down you’ll take over as interim director until you’re confirmed or until you step down.”
Once an intelligence officer, always an intelligence officer. God help him, but the past couple of months had been interesting. “The matter before us today is whether this committee should recommend to the full Senate that it consent to or reject the President’s nomination of Kirk Cullough McGarvey as Director of Central Intelligence.” McGarvey took a look at his opening statement, which Paterson had completely rewritten this morning, as Hammond droned on about the procedures for the witnesses, the questions and evidence that could be presented, and the documents that the CIA might be required to turn over. Paterson’s theme was that since the attacks on the World Trade Center in New York and on the Pentagon, it was more important than ever for the United States to be well informed about what was going on in the world. There would almost certainly be more attacks on our military installations and ships, and on civilian targets. It proved that we needed a strong intelligence agency. In order to maintain superiority we needed an experienced man at the helm of the CIA. Not the CEO of a major corporation, but a person well versed in the business. Someone who had worked at every level; from field officer in Germany, France, Russia, Hong Kong, Japan and France to deputy director of Operations at headquarters. A loyal American. A man who obviously and repeatedly had placed his own safety and that of his family second to the security of his country. A man young enough to understand the new millennium with all of its technical means to lead the Agency to the next level of excellence. Hammond had started on his opening statement, but McGarvey wasn’t really listening. He laid Paterson’s document back on the table. This was not going to be so polite, so neat and tidy as the Agency’s general counsel wanted it to be. The hearings would mirror the real world; they would be down and dirty, contentious, and filled with bullshit because Hammond would tell a version of the truth as he saw it, and McGarvey would tell the committee a sanitized version of the way things really were. It would be like two women at an expensive cocktail party telling each other how good they looked while actually despising one another. The other senators on the committee paid no attention to Hammond. They shuffled through their files and notes. The opening hours of these kinds of hearings were usually mild and polite.
The real fireworks wouldn’t start until later, perhaps in the second or third day, when the pressure would build. These were seasoned politicians who well understood that public perception and reality were often two separate things. One of the C-SPAN cameras was trained on McGarvey, looking for his reaction to what Hammond was saying. He kept his face neutral. Every DCI before him had gone through this process.
He suspected that none of them had enjoyed the experience any more than he did. And if he was confirmed, he would be back up here on the Hill testifying before Congress several times a year. Paterson held a hand over the microphone and leaned toward McGarvey. “He’s being too polite. He knows something, so you’re going to have to stick with the script, at least today.” “It won’t matter what I say. They’re going to hear what they want to hear and nothing more.” McGarvey glanced over his shoulder toward the back of the room. “Who are you looking for?” “Nobody important,” McGarvey said. Senator Hammond wound up his remarks and looked up from his notes. “Mr. McGarvey, do you wish to make an opening statement at this time?” McGarvey glanced at the script that Paterson had prepared for him. He’d read it on the way over from Langley, and he more or less agreed with everything the CIA’s general counsel had written. More than ever before, the United States needed the presence of a strong and capable spy agency to protect her interests in a world gone mad. The CIA needed a strong director; someone with experience and decisiveness; someone who not only understood America’s enemies, but who perfectly understood the exact nature of the country. That had been McGarvey’s personal philosophy from the beginning of his career; you could not protect a flag that you didn’t understand. He’d always thought that he understood what it was to be an American. But suddenly he wasn’t so sure any longer. Perhaps people like Hammond and Madden were correct after all; perhaps he was unfit for the job. That was a question that had plagued him ever since the President asked him to take the job. Maybe he didn’t have the moral or philosophical equipment. He was, or at least he had been, an assassin. Such acts were against the law. Yet the law had never stopped him. A few years ago someone had asked him who the hell he thought he was. “What gives you the right to be judge, jury and executioner?” And now someone or something was coming after him; stalking him and his family; some dark, malevolent beast out of his past. Something. It was something whispering at his shoulder. He couldn’t shake the growing feeling of dread.