“You heard me, Mr. Coates. I said, what had Marcus been delivering? In fact, I think we’d be wise to hear a lot more about SYMMETRY.”
“Such as?”
“Anything that might help us understand what went wrong. For example, what exactly was Marcus’s task in Lebanon? What type of information was he gathering? Had he penetrated any terrorist operations, and if so, which ones?”
“Senator, I don’t—”
“I know you don’t want to answer, Mr. Coates. I know the CIA wants to protect its ass. Well, the time for dodging is over.”
Coates was stunned. Several members of the panel glanced nervously at Smith. The IOC vice chairman, Senator Dean, leaned toward Smith, only to be waved off.
Smith had just crossed a very big line in the CIA-IOC relationship. In his four years as DDO, Coates had never been asked such questions. The premise behind the IOC could be found in its very name: oversight. The CIA was not expected to divulge tradecraft particulars such as raw product or op sec measures. It just wasn’t done.
“The question stands, Mr. Coates,” Smith said.
What was Smith up to? Coates wondered. Was he simply flexing his muscles, looking for ammunition? If so, he might be appeased with some juicy yet insubstantial answers. He leaned over and put the question to the chief counsel.
“Fine, but not today. Don’t talk off the top of your head.”
“We’re waiting, Mr. Coates.”
“Senator, I did not come prepared with the information you’re looking for.”
“I’m unsurprised.”
“If we can reschedule for another day, I can—”
“No, Mr. Coates, I will not—”
Smith was cut off as Senator Dean put a hand over the microphone. They whispered for several minutes, then Smith said, “Fine, Mr. Coates, we’ll reconvene in three days. But be advised: Bring answers.”
Coates was walking down out of the room when Senator Dean stopped him. “Got a minute, George?”
“Depends. On or off the record?”
“Off.”
“Then sure,” Coates said. He and Dean had a solid relationship.
“It’s Smith. His questions were news to the rest of us. In fact, he and I had discussed the format yesterday. This wasn’t part of it.”
“So he’s got a burr under his saddle. What’s new?”
“What I’m saying is, whatever his agenda, he’s keeping it to himself.”
“It’ll be a cold day in hell when I give him what he wants, Harry. What he’s asking for is need-to-know stuff, details even the DCI doesn’t have. And if Dick Mason doesn’t need to have them, Smith sure as hell doesn’t.”
“I agree. Take my advice, George: Next time we meet, give him a few details… minor stuff. Chances are it’ll satisfy him. You know Smith, if he’s not pissed off, he’s not happy. Whatever witch hunt he’s on, he’ll get tired and move on to something else.”
“He’d better, Harry, because he’s on thin ice.”
Near dusk, Judith Smith and Fayyad lay together in bed.
She propped herself up on an elbow. “I stopped by earlier. I missed you.”
“Oh? What time?”
“About four. I thought I’d surprise you.”
“I went for a drive.”
“Where?”
“Up to Harper’s Ferry. It was beautiful; we should go.” In truth, Fayyad had met Smith and collected his notes from the hearing. Fayyad had yet to review them.
Judith played with his chest hair. “I hear they have wonderful B and Bs in Harper’s Ferry.”
“B and Bs?”
“Bed-and-breakfasts. The emphasis being on the former, of course.”
He smiled. “Of course.”
Fayyad was pleased with the relationship. They made love often and in every imaginable way, which was to be expected. What he hadn’t expected was his reaction to her. She was a remarkable woman: intelligent, bright, and warm, and he found himself responding to her. He found himself torn between his two selves. Which was real? he found himself wondering.
“What are you thinking about?” Judith asked.
“Pardon me?”
“You look so far away. Were you thinking of something?”
Fayyad smiled. “Yes. You.”
The bedside phone rang, and Fayyad reached for it. “Hello.”
“Is Heloise home?” said the voice.
Fayyad felt his heart skip. Damn them! “I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong number.”
“This is not six seven two four?”
“No, sorry, wrong number.” Fayyad hung up.
“What is it, darling?” asked Judith.
“Nothing, wrong number.” He checked his watch. “It’s late. We must get you home.”
“I don’t want to go home,” she said.
“Are things bad?”
“No more than usual. He’s drinking more, and he’s nastier, but it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“Do you think he suspects anything?”
“He’s oblivious to anything but work, scotch, and his little bimbo.” She looked at him. “You’re very curious about him all of the sudden.”
“I know he hurts you. I want to understand.”
“It feels good to have someone worry about me.”
“Is this increased drinking of his unusual? Or the meanness?”
“Whenever he’s under stress he gets that way. I’m first in the pecking order. Can we stop talking about this? I don’t want to ruin our time together.”
“I’m sorry. Speaking of time—”
“I know,” she said, slipping her hand beneath the covers. “Just a few more minutes…?”
“You are a beast, Judith.”
She smiled and rolled on top him. “Blame yourself, lover.”
Once alone, Fayyad drove to the phone booth and dialed.
Al-Baz answered. “What took you so long?”
“She was with me.”
“More film for the library? When this is over, I think I would like to see—”
“Is this why you contacted me, to exchange entendres?”
“Exchange what?”
“Never mind. What do you want?”
“We are considering a change.”
“What kind of change?” Fayyad asked.
Al-Baz explained. “In fact, we’ve already sent for him.”
“Mustafa, I know this man’s methods. He’ll ruin what we’ve accomplished.”
“Accomplished? What have you accomplished? The bedding of a middle-aged slut?”
“Damn you! I—”
“You have lost your objectivity. Whether you approve or not is irrelevant. The only question is whether we can count on you. I trust we can.”
Fayyad read between the lines. He leaned his head against the booth’s glass and forced himself to think. Al-Baz said they were considering a change. What did that mean? Were they having trouble convincing the Russian? He was wanted by the FBI; perhaps he was reluctant. Fayyad hoped so. Once in charge, the Russian would ratchet the pressure on Smith, either directly or indirectly, and that would mean using either the mistress or Judith. Oh, lord, what if he wants to take her?
“And if I refuse?” Fayyad whispered.
“You are not listening, Ibrahim. You have no choice.”
“He asked for what?” Mason asked.
“Operational details,” George Coates replied. “Nuts and bolts stuff.”
“Give me the whole thing, from start to finish.”
Coates recounted his testimony and ended with his conversation with Senator Dean.
Sylvia Albrecht said, “Witch hunt or not, it’s absurd. Smith has to know that. Obviously he’s got another agenda.”
“My thinking, too,” said Coates. “He wants another meeting the day after tomorrow.”
What is Smith’s game? Mason wondered. He knew the senator had long-term designs on the Oval Office — if not for himself, at least for his party — and was looking for leverage against the current administration. Or was this in fact just another Herb Smith tirade? Either way, Mason didn’t like the feel of it.