The budget and staff of the DDI ballooned every year since it was founded. Page was fond of saying how there was definitely no end in sight to the expansion of his fiefdom. Steve had been his first choice to head up the Russian investigation. Back then, they both knew the issue would be sensitive, but they had no idea it would become as explosive as it ultimately did.
This morning Page was clearly uncomfortable; coiled and edgy, as he finished his call. He gave Steve a tight smile, but avoided his gaze.
“Get you some coffee?”
“No, thanks,” said Steve.
“Looks like you’re finally finished with the flu?”
Steve stared at Page bewildered for a second; then remembered the excuse he’d used to stay away from work over the past few days. “Yeah. Guess the flu comes with age.”
“A lot of it going around,” said Page. He paused and then leaned forward raising his eyebrows. “So, what’s up, Steve?”
“That’s what I was going to ask you.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s pretty goddamn obvious from the way the hacking investigation is being buried that the career of anyone connected with it is toast. Certainly mine is.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Page, his eyes still elusive. “Jensen is still feeling her way around.”
Monica Jensen, who Stokes had chosen to head the CIA, had formerly been a congresswoman on the Intelligence Community Oversight committee for three terms. Her picture was on the wall behind Page, next to a larger photograph of President Stokes.
“She doesn’t have a clue about how we operate.” said Steve.
Page gave a noncommittal nod.
“You managed to keep your job though,” said Steve.
“What does that mean?” asked Page.
“You played the game well, obeyed rules, kept your head down. Of course, you were director of the offending unit, but I was the one who wrote the report, who liaised with the other agencies, who briefed the congressional leaders. Once you sniffed which way the political winds were blowing, you didn’t lift a finger to help. Hell, you were even too tied up last week to attend Brian’s funeral.”
Page stiffened but kept his expression neutral. “I had to go to the director’s meeting. We sent flowers. But what exactly are you getting at?”
“Tell me, Jim, how do you go about briefing the guys from the White House?” said Steve, his voice rising. “These days they could be a direct wire to the Kremlin.”
“I don’t get it.” Page’s lips tightened. “You trying to talk yourself out of a job?”
“Let’s not kid each other,” said Steve. “It’s obvious my career is deep-sixed. It’s over. I’m not going to wait for a candy-assed executioner like yourself to tell me I’m fired or demoted to shredding classified garbage for the rest of my professional life.”
Page raised his hand. “Steve, I highly recommend against doing anything precipitous. I understand your situation.” But it was clear he was relieved by Steve’s decision. He was suddenly solicitous, the tension drained from his face. “Why don’t you take some time to think things over?”
“Thanks, I already have,” said Steve. “Bottom line is I’m saving you the trouble of firing me outright. In return for going quietly, however, I want to make sure of a couple of things.”
“What’s that?” Page was abruptly suspicious again.
“First, that, despite what’s happened to the investigation, Dancing Bear continues to get the regular payments we agreed upon as long as her daughter lives.”
Page was silent for a few seconds, brow furrowed. He began stroking his beard.
Steve pulled a piece of paper from his inside jacket pocket. “I’ve got a copy of the email you sent to me with that guarantee,” said Steve.
“That’s classified,” said Page sharply.
“I’ve still got clearance,” said Steve. “Is the agency going to keep its word or not?”
“We will, of course we will,” said Page refusing again to meet Steve’s gaze.
“If one day it does not,” said Steve, “I warn you every major paper in the country will know about it. I’ll blow this place sky high.”
“Is that a threat?” Page’s eyes darkened.
“It’s a promise,” said Steve. “Second thing, I’d appreciate it if the agency would give me a disability retirement, so that I can collect a decent monthly benefit and keep my medical insurance.”
Page’s brow was smooth again, the director obviously relieved that the conversation had returned to standard bureaucratic matters. “Should be no problem, Steve. I’m sure I can set that up. Can’t say I blame you for your decision.” He picked up a pen from his desk and twirled it in his fingers. “Sometimes I think I’d be happy to get out of this racket myself, but I’ve got a family to support. And I’ve signed so many secrecy agreements with the agency, I wouldn’t be of much use in the academic or business world.”
“C’mon, Jim,” said Steve, “Your budgets are going to keep expanding exponentially. Cyber war is the flavor of the month. Your empire’s going to grow and grow forever.”
“Too bad you don’t want to be part of it,” said Page.
Steve leaned forward. “Between us Jim, I’m sick of it.”
“Frankly,” said Page, “I’d already heard via the grapevine that you wanted out.”
“I haven’t bothered to make a secret of it,” said Steve. “I’m washed up. Why try to fight it?”
“Any idea what you’re going to do?”
“Yeah, well, I thought I’d write a book about the inside story of the Russian hacking investigation, kind of an exposé? Already got a great agent.”
Page smiled stiffly but couldn’t hide his face turning white.
Steve shook his head. “Just kidding, I really have no idea what I’m going to do. Not having a family or real ties to anyone can be an asset when you’re with the agency. When you’re out…” He shrugged as his voice trailed off. “So how fast can you do the paperwork?”
“A few days should do it. They’ll of course be several documents for you to sign. Non-disclosure stuff, the usual. Any other forms we can always email to you, okay? And, uh, you’ll return that classified email about Dancing Bear.”
“Of course,” said Steve rising from his chair, “Now I’ve got my house and furnishings to sell. Get rid of some other odds and ends. Then I’m gone. Frankly, I’ll be delighted if I never see this part of the world again.”
“Since that’s what you want, consider it done.” Page came around the desk to shake Steve’s hand. “We’ll miss you around here,” he said with his best attempt at a smile.
“Sure you will,” said Steve.
Page raised his hand, shaking his index finger in mock remonstrance, “But remember: no book.”
“Don’t worry,” said Steve. “People wouldn’t believe it, anyway.”
That afternoon he phoned Gail Larsen, a real estate agent and also a neighbor. A few months ago, he’d invited her out for dinner a couple of times. She was a divorcée in her early forties, auburn hair, nice body, vivacious, and easy to get along with. He thought it might lead to more; she certainly seemed interested. After the first two dates, she had invited him to her house for a candlelight dinner. She was wearing a simple black jersey dress that reached her knees with high neck and long sleeves that clung to her body, a long string of pearls, and high black heels. The spaghetti alle vongole was perfect. Steve had brought two bottles of Brunello. They finished them both. He felt very relaxed, secure, and happier than he’d been in a long time. After they’d eaten the dark chocolate mousse, he put his fork down and placed his hand on Gail’s, the light from the candles reflected in her dark brown eyes.