Stanley Crenshaw was the attorney general of the United States.
“And Crenshaw, being an honorable, decent man, did what you and I know better than to do: He looked in the mirror.”
McNab knew Lammelle was referring to what would-be intel officers are taught often on the first day-certainly within the first week-of their training: “Never look in the mirror. Your enemy doesn’t think like you do.”
“Did she have anything to say about what happened at Langley?” McNab asked.
“She said that Porky Parker was the first in the long line of people Clendennen plans to knock off, one at a time. Porky’s disappeared, by the way.”
“Yesterday, he and Roscoe Danton were in Cozumel with Castillo.”
“What’s that all about?”
“I don’t have a clue, Frank. Did Natalie tell you what she plans to do?”
“Yes, she did. She recommended that you and I not do anything at all that would give Clendennen a chance to fire us. She said she was going to talk with you. I gather she hasn’t?”
“No. She didn’t say anything about warning Montvale? Or, for that matter, Naylor?”
“I guess she figures both of them haven’t been looking in the mirror. And if Truman Ellsworth has-which I doubt-Montvale will warn him. So far as Naylor goes, I get the feeling that he wouldn’t be grief stricken if Clendennen relieved you.”
“I can’t believe General Naylor would be complicit in something like that.”
“You’re looking in the mirror, General. Naylor the soldier probably wouldn’t. But above a certain level-and Naylor is way above it-senior officers have to be politicians and play by their rules.”
McNab didn’t reply.
“In this,” Lammelle went on, “I’d say that both Natalie and Naylor really believe they’re doing what they do-for the country; it’s not a personal ego trip-better than anyone replacing them would do. And they’re probably right. They want to keep their jobs for the good of the country, and will do whatever they think is necessary to keep them. Naylor thinks you’re dangerous, and you know it. He wouldn’t throw you under the bus, but if somebody else did, he would be able to put someone else in SPECOPSCOM he could control.”
Again McNab didn’t reply.
“I was there,” Lammelle went on, “at Drug Cartel International when Naylor suddenly decided to help. And he even told us why. If Operation March Hare failed, that would’ve been worse for the country than if it succeeded.”
“Is that why you changed sides, Frank? For the good of the country?”
“No. I changed sides because I realized I was being used, by Clendennen, by Montvale, and-maybe especially-by Jack Powell to do something I knew was wrong. And I’m like you, I guess.”
John J. Powell was the former director of the Central Intelligence Agency. Lammelle had replaced Powell when he resigned two months previously.
“What do you mean, you’re like me?”
“I’m a simple soul who sees things in black or white. Sometimes I’m a little slow in making the distinction, but once I do, I try to act accordingly.”
McNab didn’t answer.
“Two things about Natalie. .” Lammelle began, then added: “Why do I have a hard time using your first name?”
“It’s Bruce. Use it.”
“Two things about Natalie, Bruce. Not only does she want to keep her job, but she really believes the way to deal with Mexico-and especially with this latest outrage-is to talk about it and keep talking about it until reason prevails.
“She was willing to resign over Clendennen’s trying to swap Charley, Sweaty, and Dmitri to the Russians. But Charley waging a war in Mexico-especially with Aleksandr Pevsner-that’s something that’ll make her just as mad.”
“So you don’t think I should tell her that Charley just talked Pevsner out of snatching the Russian rezident in Mexico City? They decided to wait until they see if Ferris is hurt; then they’ll whack him.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“The trouble with what you just told me, Frank, is that it all makes sense. It just took me a little time-like a decade-to figure it out.”
“Watch your back, Bruce.”
“You, too.”
McNab closed the lid of the Brick, and then met D’Alessandro’s eyes.
“That was interesting, wasn’t it, Vic?”
“The word that comes to mind is ‘scary,’” D’Alessandro said.
THREE
Office of the FBI Liaison Officer United States Special Operations Command Fort Bragg, North Carolina 0750 14 April 2007
When Charles D. Stevens walked into his office, his telephone was ringing. Since his secretary had not yet arrived, he answered it himself.
“FBI, Stevens.”
“Max Caruthers, Stevens. Where the hell have you been? The general’s been looking for you since oh-seven-hundred. No answer at your house, and none at your office until now.”
Stevens had a mental picture of McNab’s huge senior aide-de-camp.
“I must have been driving to work,” Stevens said.
“You didn’t answer your cell phone, either,” Caruthers accused.
Stevens decided that Caruthers would not be interested in his explanation for not answering his cell phone. Not only was talking on a cell phone while driving against the law, he regarded it as dangerous, too.
“What can the FBI do for General McNab, Colonel? Aside from getting that envelope you were asking for? That should be delivered sometime this morning.”
“General McNab’s compliments, Mr. Stevens. The general would appreciate seeing you at your earliest convenience in his office,” Caruthers said, paused, and then finished: “. . where we have had that envelope since oh-five-fifteen.”
Chuck Stevens-who had willed himself to walk slowly from Foggy Bottom to the SPECOPSCOM headquarters building; “I’m an FBI Inspector, not some PFC who has to run whenever his master whistles”-arrived five minutes later in McNab’s office.
He found Colonel J. J. Tufts, the liaison officer of the Defense Intelligence Agency, and Colonel Christopher Dawson, the USCENTCOM liaison officer, already there. And so was Mr. Victor D’Alessandro, about whom Stevens knew very little, except that it was rumored he had something to do with the ultra-secret Gray Fox unit, about which Stevens also knew very little, and that D’Alessandro was sort of a confidant of General McNab.
Colonel Max Caruthers was not in McNab’s office, which surprised Stevens.
“Thank you for coming so quickly, Mr. Stevens,” General McNab greeted him. “Can we get you a cup of coffee?”
“No, thank you, sir,” Stevens said.
“Well, here it is,” McNab said, handing him a large translucent plastic envelope. “The envelope we have been looking for. I place it in your capable hands, confident that the FBI experts at Quantico will find something useful for you.”
“Thank you,” Stevens said.
“I have made photocopies of the contents. I didn’t think to ask permission first. I hope that doesn’t pose any problems.”
“I don’t see why it should, General,” Stevens said.
“As I was just explaining to these gentlemen,” McNab said, nodding toward Colonel Tufts and Colonel Dawson, “my official role in this whole affair is not much more than that of a spectator. Colonel Ferris and Warrant Officer Salazar were detached to the DEA before they were sent to Mexico.
“I can only presume that those who kidnapped Colonel Ferris are unaware of this, by which I mean they don’t know that I have no authority even to reply to their messages. The only thing I can do is follow the protocol laid down by USCENTCOM to deal with matters like this. Under that protocol, I am required to immediately notify my immediate superior-that is, General Naylor-when something like this-like the envelope arriving here-occurs. I did so immediately after opening the envelope. General Naylor ordered me to transfer the envelope and its contents to the FBI, and I have just done so. He also directed me to give copies of everything to Colonels Tufts and Dawson for their respective headquarters. And he gave me permission to retain a copy.