McClain put down his knife and fork. “I read somewhere there was a blame game going on for some time.”
Maggie flinched as if McClain’s words had struck her. She cocked her head to the left, thought about her answer for a moment, then said, “It is common for intelligence agencies to carefully analyze all details before determining the cause of the problems and suggesting solutions. Sometimes, they include telling allies and partners that they need to change some of their practices, as they are inefficient or plain stupid.” She paused for effect, letting the last word hang in the air. “Some people call this assigning blame; I call it the truth.”
McClain grinned. “Thanks for clarifying it, but I wasn’t saying it was NCS’s fault, just that the FSB and the NCS exchanged some harsh allegations.”
“Yes, and they just remained as such: unsustained allegations.”
A cold stare replaced McClain’s grin. He said, “What’s the favor?”
Maggie smiled. “Glad you asked.”
She pushed away her half-eaten salad, then opened one of the files, careful not to stain the documents on a couple of oil drops that had fallen on the blue tablecloth. “This is what we’ve collected over the last few days about a potential Chechen terrorist attack on US soil.”
“Where?” Justin asked, while McClain looked at the document Maggie had handed him.
“We don’t know. One of the terrorists died in a shootout with police before we could make him talk. Others we have detained don’t know very much.”
McClain asked, “What kind of attack?”
“We don’t know that either. We’ve followed movements of Chechen immigrants suspected of ties to terrorist groups back in their homeland and to Al-Qaeda, but we don’t have all the details. The FSB has been following Chechen terrorists groups for decades.”
Justin looked at McClain, who caught his gaze and passed the file over to him. It was a briefing note, followed by a series of transcripts and a few photographs. He did not recognize any of the faces.
“We want you to take this intelligence to the FSB. In exchange, we want everything they have on this terrorist group and their activities in Russia and abroad. Here are the rest of the files in an electronic form.”
She placed a small USB memory stick on the middle of the table, halfway between her and McClain.
McClain leaned back in his chair. “That’s quite a tall order, Ms. Moore,” he said. He shook his head and ignored the frown that began to form on Maggie’s face. “You’re requesting we vouch for this intel which we haven’t gathered, analyzed, or even reviewed. And in return you want not a part of, but everything the FSB has gathered using their resources, their time, and their money, and shouldering the risk. You’re asking for a small miracle.”
Maggie’s frown stayed on her face for another moment and then she tried to smile. It did not work as well as she had expected it. Her lips drew back and she looked like she had just bitten into a lemon. She took a sip from her glass, then wiped her lips.
“Mr. McClain, I think you’re underestimating the abilities of your agents.” She gestured toward Justin with her left hand. “Mr. Hall is a superb agent, with many connections in the official and unofficial structure of Russia’s power hierarchy. He’s smart and fearless.”
Justin smiled and tried to put a modest look on his face. He knew Maggie was playing to their sense of pride and self-satisfaction.
Maggie continued, “Take your time to review the files. You will come to the conclusion that they are accurate and as complete as yesterday’s morning intelligence briefings. We’re giving you everything, I underline, everything we have gathered so far, and will continue to update you on any new reports as they arrive.”
McClain reached for his glass, but changed his mind and placed his hand on the table, next to the file.
“And Justin will not be working alone. Our operative, the agent working close to the FSB, will be a valuable help. She has many key contacts, which will prove to be priceless. If we pool our resources, this could be a successful operation for both our agencies.”
McClain’s fingers drummed the edge of the table in a nervous rhythm. “Is it safe for her to return to Moscow?”
McClain stressed the word “safe” a bit more than necessary. Justin realized he was subtly asking whether it was safe for Justin to enter Russia.
Maggie shrugged. “As safe as it will ever be. It’s Moscow. It’s Russia.”
McClain nodded. He glanced at his watch, then took a bite of his lamb chop.
Justin was sure he was not chewing just the meat, but Maggie’s proposal as well. She was not talking about a simple intelligence exchange, since the FSB had not been very cooperative in the past. If Justin gave the FSB all the information the NCS had gathered on Chechen terrorist activities in the US and the FSB did not reciprocate, then Justin would be left with only one choice: steal the intelligence.
After what seemed like a very long pause, McClain said, “I can’t give you a definite reply at this moment. Infiltrating the FSB and stealing their secrets is a matter that deserves a deeper discussion within my Service and a lot of careful planning.”
Maggie tried to smile, and this time her lips produced the right facial expression. “I understand your position. Just let me know as soon as you make a decision. I have the authorization in place for our operative, and we’re ready.”
McClain reached for the USB memory stick. He weighed it in his hand for a moment — as if deciding whether he should take it or not — then picked it up and passed it to Justin. “I’ll give you a call by tomorrow morning,” he said to Maggie. “Either way, you’ll have your answer.”
Chapter Nine
McClain was silent on their way back to his Porsche. Justin asked no questions, for he was deep in his thoughts, contemplating the Moscow operation. What’s on the USB? Who is the CIA agent who will work with me? That’s if McClain authorizes this mission.
The snow was coming down hard in big, heavy flakes. They stuck to Justin’s hair and face and he had to blink rapidly and cock his head to the right, away from the blowing wind. About an inch of snow had blanketed the sidewalk. The faded streetlights fought with the gloomy haze that had cloaked everything.
They shook the snow off their coats and boots before getting into the Porsche. McClain paid the parking attendant and they inched their way into the heavy traffic. McClain’s long silence was a bit unsettling to Justin, but he knew better than to interrupt his boss’s train of thoughts.
“You know the FSB is not going to hand over their information easily,” McClain said when they stopped at a traffic light on Sussex Drive.
Justin looked to his left at the US Embassy. Its gray long building — which looked like a battleship from the air — had two long wings joined at the center and a series of concrete barriers in the front, to stop any suicide car bomb from breaking through the embassy’s wrought-iron fence.
“Are we going to at least make an attempt at an exchange?” Justin asked.
McClain adjusted the rearview mirror. “I’m still deciding. We have to analyze the contents of that flash drive. The question in my mind is whether improving our cooperation with the CIA is worth risking your life and the life of their agent in a retrieval operation in Moscow. The CIA will reap the benefits of a successful mission — the intelligence from the FSB, which will enable them to thwart the Chechen terrorist attack — but it’s your life and our Service’s reputation at stake if things go to hell.”