Term Limits (47 page)

“No, he's down in Norfolk.”

“All right, I'll talk to him personally, and you'd better put a list together of all the people that know Snatch Back was leaked. Madeline Nanny is going to want to talk to you about this.”

Mike Nance took the short walk from his corner office to Stu Garret's. Passing Garret's secretary, he smiled and said hello. The door was open and Nance closed it behind him. Nance sat in one of the armchairs and crossed his legs. “How is the president today?”

Garret finished what he was writing and pushed himself away from the desk. Taking his cigarette out of his mouth, he blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling and said, “He's doing great. We just got the results back from the most recent Time/CNN poll, and almost seventy percent of the people surveyed are behind his decision to get the military involved.” Garret shoved the cigarette back in his mouth and took a deep drag. “He's very happy. Much more relaxed.”

“Good.” Nance looked down and flicked a speck of lint from his wool pants. “How are you doing?”

“Fine. I could use a little more sleep, but otherwise I feel pretty good.”

“Are you more at ease than you were yesterday?”

“Yes.” Garret was slightly embarrassed by the question.

“I had a meeting with our friend last night.”

“How is he doing?”

“Not well. He's very uneasy about your lack of emotional control.”

Garret's face went flush, and he stabbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. “Why?”

“He heard about your demeanor in the meeting the other day.”

“What meeting?”

“The one where Special Agent McMahon played the tape of his conversation with the terrorist.”

“Why did you have to tell him about that?”

“I didn't. Someone else did.”

“Who?”

“One never knows with Arthur, Stu. He has a lot of contacts.”

“What did he say?”

“He's concerned that you won't be able to keep your mouth shut.”

“Who am I going to tell?”

Nance turned his palms upward and raised his eyebrows.

“Come on, Mike. I'm not that stupid. If I talk, I go down too.”

“I agree, but he doesn't.”

“Why? I haven't done a fucking thing to make him think I would say anything. Why in the hell would I say anything? I'd be cutting my own throat.”

“I agree, but he seems to think that you might fold under pressure. He thinks if someone were to put the screws to you, you'd talk in order to save yourself.”

“That's ludicrous.” Garret grabbed his pack of Marlboros with a shaky hand and fished out a fresh cigarette.

“He wants me to give you a message.” Nance rose from his chair and walked around the desk. Leaning into Garret's ear, he whispered, “Arthur says if you breathe a word of this to anyone, he will have you killed.”

Garret dropped his cigarette and stood. “Why?”

Nance put a hand on his shoulder. “Just calm down, Stu, and you'll have nothing to worry about.”

MICHAEL O'ROURKE AND SCOTT COLEMAN were running a couple of minutes late. They had met at the cabin earlier and finalized the plans for the mission. Because of the lack of preparation time, they had decided to keep things as simple as possible. If Arthur stepped out to smoke a cigar, they would grab him. If he didn't, they would have to try again the next night. Storming the house was out of the question.

The sun had set at about 5:40 P.M., and the rural Maryland roads were crowded with commuters going home after work. The black BMW cruised along with traffic and then turned off the busy
county road and onto one of the narrow and quiet streets of the Curtis Point neighborhood. Coleman was driving and had his night-vision goggles perched on his forehead. He reached up and pulled the microphone from his headset down in front of his mouth. “Hermes and Cyclops, this is Zeus, come in, over.” He kept his eyes fixed on the road and waited for the response.

“This is Hermes, over.”

“Are you in position, over?”

“That's affirmative, we're in position, over.”

“We're about three miles out. Have the gate ready to go, and I'll give you the word right before we round the corner. Check the road for foot traffic, and let me know if there are any cars coming from the other direction, over.”

“Roger, over.”

Michael opened the glove box and pulled off the cover to the fuses. Holding a small penlight in his left hand, he located the fuse for the car's exterior lights and got ready to pull it. They continued to wind down the curvy road, passing the large houses. When they were less than a mile from the old estate, Coleman spoke into his mike again.

“Hermes, how does everything look, over?”

“The coast is clear, over.”

“Open the gate.” Coleman looked at O'Rourke and nodded.

O'Rourke pulled the fuse, and the headlights and rear running lights were extinguished. The thick cloud cover overhead, combined with the lack of streetlights on the narrow, wooded road, cut the visibility to nothing. Coleman pulled down his
nightvision goggles and quickly adjusted his eyes. He took his foot off the gas and coasted. They passed the main gate of the old estate, and Coleman put some pressure on the brakes. About 150 feet later, they reached the service drive, and Coleman turned hard. The black car slipped onto the overgrown drive and squeezed through the encroaching trees and bushes, disappearing from sight.

Stroble quickly closed the gate and wrapped the chain around the post. He stood guard for a minute, looking up and down the road waiting to see if anyone else approached, and then went down the path to join the others. When he arrived at the small shed, Coleman had already turned the car around in the tall grass so it was pointing back toward the road. Coleman, O'Rourke, and Hackett were standing by the open trunk. Hackett handed them their MP-5s and Coleman and O'Rourke checked to make sure a round was chambered. When Stroble joined the group, Coleman checked his watch and brought everyone in.

“What did you do with the Zodiac?”

“We sank it about a mile offshore and swam in,” responded Stroble.

“Good. Let's go over this thing once and then get into position. We don't want to miss him. Stop me if you have any questions. What's the status on the boat next door?”

“It has a full tank of gas, and the battery is fine,” said Hackett.

“Are you going to have to hot-wire her?”

“No, we found an extra set of keys under the seat cushions.”

“Good.… Okay, once from the top.” Coleman pointed at Hackett and Stroble. “You two move into position on the north side of the house. Kevin, you're in the same tree you were in last night. From there you can cover the entire backyard. Dan, you are in your spot by the front of the house, and Michael and I are just opposite the patio on this side of the fence. When we get into position, the first thing all of us do is make sure our ropes are secure. Then we sit tight, watch the guards, and wait. The surveillance reports that Michael got say he steps out for a cigar almost every night, unless it's raining. Sometimes he stays out there for hours, sometimes for only a couple of minutes. The point being… if he shows, we move fast.” Coleman looked up at the dark sky. “The forecast calls for possible showers, so we'll have to wait and see. If he comes out, we wait for him to move to the edge of the patio, as far away from the house as possible, and then depending on what the guards are doing, we make our move.”

“What if he's not alone?” asked Hackett.

Coleman looked to Michael, who thought about it and answered, “I'll make the call on the spot.”

“Back to the guards,” said Coleman. “If they stick to their routines, one of them will stay by the front door, and the other one will patrol the sides and rear of the house with the dog. There's another one at the front gate, but I don't think he'll leave the guardhouse. That leaves one more in the house, and after we take the cameras out, he'll be blind.

“Assuming everything goes right, and Arthur steps out, I will ask the two of you if you have a
clear shot. Kevin, you've got the guard in back and Dan you've got the one by the front door. As soon as I get a positive answer from both of you, I'll say ‘bingo.' Shoot the guards first and then the dogs. At that point, Michael and I swing over the fence in the backyard, and Dan comes over in the front. The second we hit the ground, the security control board inside the house is going to light up. I don't know for sure, but it's my guess that the guard inside will hit those floodlights that we saw last night. Don't worry about them right away. Take the cameras out first. There are two sets of cameras mounted on each of the four corners of the house. Dan, you take out the ones in front and then take out the floodlights closest to the house. While you're running from one side of the house to the other, I want you to fire some shots at the windows. It'll set off more alarms inside and keep that fourth guard busy.”

Coleman turned to Hackett. “There are four floodlights in the backyard. I want you to pop them ASAP and then cover us.” Looking back at Stroble, he said, “Now for the tricky part. The surveillance report says that Arthur is outfitted with a homing device and alarm. He has a lot of secrets in his head, and the CIA doesn't want someone getting ahold of them. I don't know if this homing device is sewn into his clothes or in his shoe or in his watch, so Michael and I have decided not to take any chances. We're going to strip him naked and put everything in a bag. Dan, when you reach the patio, we should have everything ready to go. Michael will give you the bag, and then I want you to get down
to the boat as fast as possible and get the engines warmed up.” Coleman pointed at Hackett. “Kevin, you stay in the tree and cover Michael and me until we are over the wall with Arthur. The second we're clear, get the hell out of the tree and down to the boat.”

“What do I do if the owner of the house hears the engines start and comes out to see what's going on?” asked Hackett.

“Scare him away with a couple of warning shots.”

“What if he has a gun?”

“If he keeps coming at you, kneecap him. Once both of you are on the boat, I want you to head straight out into the Bay. No one is going to be around to cover you, and I don't want one of the guards taking potshots at you from the cliff. When you are about three hundred yards from shore, head south. Run at full throttle and keep your running lights off. I'm estimating that you should be able to do about seventy knots in that boat. If the CIA is on the ball, I'm estimating that the quickest they could get a chopper up to intercept you would be fifteen minutes from the time the alarm is sounded. Kevin, after you're done taking the guard out, mark the time. At seventy knots it should take you approximately fifteen minutes to reach Cove Point. Seventeen minutes after we go over the wall, I want both of you out of the boat! Even if you haven't made it to Cove Point, jump ship. I don't want you on board a second longer. Tim O'Rourke will be waiting to pick you up. He has a radio and a red filter light. When you go over, ask him to give you a signal for bearing.”

Coleman paused and looked all of them in the eye. “I know we're not as prepared for this as we'd like to be, but we don't have the time. Just stay cool and everything will be fine. Any questions?”

They all shook their heads, and then Coleman went to the trunk of the car. He grabbed four bundles of rope and handed one to each man. “Let's get moving. Be careful and stay cool.” Coleman patted each of them on the shoulder as they started down the path. The former SEAL team commander took up the rear and fell in step. The four dark figures moved one by one into the black night.

Six floors beneath the main level of the Central Intelligence Agency was a room that never slept. The Operations Center of the CIA was the Agency's version of NASA's Mission Control. But instead of monitoring space missions, these men and women monitored spy missions. They were in constant contact with every U.S. embassy and consulate around the globe. The men and women who worked in the Operations Center were not in charge of running spy operations. Their function was to serve as the main communications link between the field and the rest of the Agency. Information was what the Agency was all about, and disseminating it in a quick, secretive, and orderly fashion was crucial to the overall mission.

The Operations Center was divided into four separate clusters of desks. In the front of the room, beneath three twelve-by-twelve-foot computer-projection screens, was the European Section. The section had one supervisor and three operators who
handled Western Europe, Eastern Europe, and the former Soviet republics. The next section handled the Middle East and Africa. The third section monitored Asia and the South Pacific, and the last section handled Central America, South America, and the United States. In the rear of the room, elevated and watching over the section supervisors and operators, were two watch officers. Just behind them, elevated still farther and behind a wall of Plexiglas, was the Operations Center's watch commander.

The room was softly lit and comfortable. Every operator had three monitors on his or her desk and multiple phone lines. To battle boredom, they were encouraged to read or play computer games while on watch. If they received any flash traffic, their computers would beep, letting them know it was time to pay attention. The supervisors and watch commanders often kept the operators on their toes by running drills. Day to day, the Operations Center was one of the most boring places in the Agency to work, but when a crisis erupted, it was one of the most exciting.

Charlie Dobbs sat behind the Plexiglas wall of the watch commander's office and looked at the computer monitor to his far left. A chessboard was on the screen. Charlie was sixteen moves into the game at the grand-master level and was holding his own. The computer monitor to the right beeped once, and his eyes jumped from one screen to the other. A routine message was coming in from the Tokyo embassy. Charlie noted that it was on time and went back to calculating what the computer's next move would be.