“And you cured that, correct?”
Healy didn’t respond right away. “Something like that.”
“Bud, we suspected from some of the wiretap transcripts that Anthony might have known, but we didn’t know how,” Drummond said. “Now we do.”
“So the CFS learned about Portero from Garrity.”
“And they must have contacted him,” the DDI finished the NSA’s thought.
“And believed him,” Bud added further. “And now we’re about to put a group of corrupt scum in charge of an entire country.”
“With a nuclear weapon,” Healy said.
“Not once we’re through with it.” The NSA’s words were like a wall of determination, impossible to breach. “That was obviously what they thought, but they can forget it.”
“Gordy, with what we have right now, who can we nail?” the DDI asked.
“Just who you have. That’s it.”
“But we can’t let those guys take power in Cuba! The rebellion is going to succeed, probably within twenty-four hours, from what the reports tell us.”
“Greg, it isn’t as easy as that,” Bud said. “These men have been given the tacit approval of the United States government to assume power in their country. By your boss, by the Congress, by the President. If we toy and prevent that without an absolute certainty of being able to prove their involvement in this, we will all be out of a job.”
“A fucking job, Bud?” Drummond practically yelled. “We’re talking about the leadership of a country!”
“Not the same one, Greg. I’m talking about our own. Possibly others,” Bud said. A strong American government sometimes meant a stronger government somewhere else — like Moscow. “If we arbitrarily stop Alvarez from assuming power and can’t justify it, the whole thing will point first at your boss, then at you and everyone at Langley, then at Jim Coventry for helping broker the arrangements, then at me for not knowing, then, my friend, the finger will point right at the President for approving the fiasco in the first place.”
“So, what, we just let things happen as planned?” Drummond said with mild sarcasm.
“No,” Bud countered. “But we have to do it right We have to be able to nail something criminal on them. If we can do that, we can stop this thing and deflect a good deal of the criticism that will follow in any case right on your boss, where it belongs.”
“The President will still feel the heat,” Healy said.
“He can handle it if he can show that he took immediate steps once evidence of illegal activities was discovered. Otherwise,” Bud went on, “nothing he does will matter. The press will crucify him. And so will everyone else, right or wrong.”
“We have to get Anthony out, too,” Healy said.
“Has he done anything other than make a bad decision?” Jones inquired.
“Legally, no,” Drummond answered. “He hasn’t violated any security rules either.”
“Greg!”
“Mike, what do we have?”
“So the CFS goes and Anthony stays?” Healy could be heard falling back in his chair.
“Now wait. Anthony is secondary right now.” Bud knew his observation, though right, would not find favor with the DDO. “We have to—”
A few rapid knocks at the NSA’s door preceded its opening. “Bud, there’s—”
“Nick,” Bud said, one hand covering the phone and his eyes asking what the interruption was for.
“Sorry, but there’s a call from an Agent Jefferson,” the deputy NSA said. “He said he couldn’t get through to the director. Then he got a hold of Ellis, and Ellis said you’d want this right away. Jefferson said to tell you he has another tape.”
“Another tape of what?”
Beney shrugged. “Your flashing line. Do you want it?”
Bud drew in a short breath. All the unknowns were coming together, and instead of making the situation clearer, they were complicating it. Now this, whatever “this” was. “I’ll take it.” Bud removed his hand from the mouthpiece. “The three of you hold on for a minute.” He put them on hold and pressed the flashing line. “This is DiContino.”
“Sir, Director Jones’s secretary would not put me through because he’s on a call,” Art explained.
“With me. What’s this about another tape?”
“Of Francisco Portero discussing the missile.”
“With who?”
“I’m not a hundred percent certain, but I know I’ve heard the voice before, at a speech.”
“Who, Jefferson?”
“I think it’s the director of Central Intelligence, Anthony Merriweather.”
A momentary void of silence greeted the FBI agent’s disclosure. “Discussing the missile?”
“Yes. It sounds like Portero recorded a phone conversation with Merriweather.”
Bud thought quickly. This might be what was needed to do what mere suspicion could not. “Any warning beeps?”
“None,” Art answered. In order for phone conversations to be legally recorded without a wiretap warrant, both parties had to be knowledgeable of and agree to its being done. In addition, a distinct beep had to sound every fifteen seconds as a reminder that the conversation was being recorded.
It was just a shot. Merriweather would never have allowed himself to be recorded talking to Portero. And a surreptitious recording without a warrant was blatantly inadmissible as evidence. But as evidence of what? Even this wasn’t illegal. Borderline improper and damned stupid without a doubt, but that wasn’t enough. Bud wanted Merriweather gone as much as Mike Healy. His remaining in the picture while the CFS was being accused — and telling all, no doubt, to bring down anyone else with them— would point to the President harboring the man responsible for their recruitment. He had to go, but how? Recordings or not, there wasn’t enough on him to force him out. Or on the CFS, Bud reminded himself. With all the technology and all the manpower they had at their disposal, time was the one obstacle he could not see them being able to surmount. Merriweather and the CFS had to be dealt with before the time came for the changing of the guard in Cuba, or not at all.
“I appreciate you letting me know, Jefferson, but you know as well as I that you’re describing an illegal recording.”
“I know, but…he’s the director of the CIA. Are you saying that he can just talk about a potential national-security issue over an open phone line, and no one is gonna care?”
“I don’t care if he’s God, Jefferson. We can’t use it, even if it is him and he’s discussing something he shouldn’t.” Bud knew that even this wasn’t beyond the bounds of legal, though it would certainly take Anthony down if it could be admitted as evidence in a case against one of the others. “If he had been warned he was being recorded, then that…” A thought occurred instantly, and Bud seized it before going on. “…that would have been different.” Very different.
“So this means nothing?” Art asked with irritation.
Bud didn’t notice the tone. The thought he had had a second before had become an idea, which was playing over and over in his mind. After a few seconds the idea became a plan, with both a beginning and an end. And with participants.
“Maybe not,” Bud said. He checked the time. It would have to happen fast, preferably before Delta’s operation was over. And it would have to be quiet. Beyond even hushed. Entirely because half of what he was envisioning was more unethical than anything Anthony had done. But Bud was willing to step over that line for this. In fact, he looked forward to it. For this the circle could not expand, meaning he would have to use people already in the loop to tighten it around the necks of two different men. “Jefferson, your partner knows about this, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hang on.” Bud gave the same direction to the other three still waiting and dialed the NMCC. “This is NSA DiContino. Give me the secretary.”