“Yes. Keep your head down but carry out all orders to the best of your ability. I am allowed to tell you that while you may not go back to PR Directorate when you come back to work with us, due to the risk of exposure having you traveling abroad, you will have your pick of high-level postings in Directorate R.” PR Directorate was political intelligence, Kovalenko’s old posting and career track. Directorate R was operational planning and analysis. While he’d much prefer to return to his life as an assistant rezident in London, he knew that was out of the question. Working at the Kremlin for R, developing worldwide SVR ops, was a plum position for anyone in SVR. If he could get away from Chinese intelligence and back to SVR, he would not complain about Directorate R one damn bit.
Already he was thinking about going home to Moscow as a hero. What an incredible reversal of fortune.
But quickly he cleared his mind and got back to his situation. “Do you… do you know about Georgetown?”
Dema nodded. “Doesn’t concern you. The Americans will work out that the Chinese are doing this, and they will go after the Chinese. We are in the clear. You are in the clear. The Americans have enough on their plate at the moment.”
Kovalenko smiled, but his smile faltered. There was something else.
“Listen, one more thing. Center had a Saint Petersburg mafia group break me out of Matrosskaya. I had nothing to do with the death of the—”
“Relax, sir. We know. Yes, it was Tambovskaya Bratva.”
Kovalenko knew a little about this particular bratva, or brotherhood. Tambovskaya were tough guys who operated all over Russia and in many other European countries. He was relieved to know that the SVR knew that he had not been involved in the escape.
“That is a great relief, Dema,” he said.
Apilikov patted Kovalenko on the shoulder. “Just stick with this for now, do what they tell you to do. We’ll pull you out before too long, and get you back home.”
The men shook hands. “Thank you, Dema.”
FIFTY-SIX
On the third morning of his weeklong suspension, Jack left Columbia and drove with rush-hour traffic toward Alexandria.
He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he wanted to spend some time outside Melanie’s apartment while she was at work. He wasn’t thinking about breaking in — at least he wasn’t seriously thinking about breaking in — but he was considering peeking through the windows and checking through her garbage can.
He wasn’t proud about any of this, but for the past three days he’d done little but sit at home and stew.
He knew Melanie had done something to his phone back at his apartment before he went to Miami, and when Gavin told him, in no uncertain terms, that a bug had been put on the device, he realized he would be nothing more than a lovesick fool to think she had nothing to do with it.
He needed answers, and to get them he decided to go to her house and dig in her trash.
“Nice one, Jack. Your dad the CIA legend would be really damn proud.”
As he passed through Arlington at nine-thirty a.m., however, his plans changed.
His phone rang. “This is Ryan.”
“Hi, Jack. Mary Pat.”
“Director Foley, how are you?”
“Jack, we’ve talked about this. It’s still Mary Pat to you.”
Jack smiled despite himself. “Okay, Mary Pat, but don’t think that means I’m going to let you call me Junior.”
She chuckled at the joke, but immediately Jack got the impression that things were about to get serious.
She said, “I was wondering if we could meet.”
“Of course. When?”
“How does right this minute suit you?”
“Oh… okay. Sure. I’m in Arlington. I can run right over to McLean.” Jack knew this was big. He could not imagine everything the director of the Office of National Intelligence had on her plate at the moment. This definitely would not be a social get-together.
Next she said, “Actually, I need to keep this low-key. How about we meet someplace quiet. Can you come over to the house? I can be there in a half-hour.”
Mary Pat and Ed Foley lived in the Adams Morgan neighborhood of D.C. Jack had been over many times; in the past nine months most of his visits had been with Melanie.
“I’ll head that way. Ed can keep me company until you get there.” Jack knew Ed was retired.
“Actually, Ed is out of town. I’ll be there as quick as I can.”
Jack and Mary Pat sat at a patio table on the deck out in back of her Adams Morgan colonial. The backyard was a garden of thick trees and other foliage, mostly brown with the autumn cold. She’d offered him coffee and he’d declined, simply because he could see the urgency on her face as soon as she pulled up in her car. She’d asked her security officer to remain in the house, which surprised Jack even more.
As soon as they sat down she pulled her chair close to him and spoke softly. “I called John Clark this morning. I was surprised to learn he wasn’t working at Hendley anymore.”
“His own choosing,” said Jack. “We hated to lose him, that’s for sure.”
Mary Pat said, “I get it. The man has served his country, sacrificed a lot, for a long, long time. A few years of normal life can start to look mighty appealing, and he has most definitely earned them, especially after what he went through last year.”
Ryan said, “You called Clark, found out he was out of the business, so you called me. Am I to assume there is something you wanted to share with us?”
She nodded. “Everything I am about to say is classified.”
“Understood.”
“Jack, it is time the U.S. intelligence community faces up to the reality that we have a serious compromise with respect to assets in China.”
“You have a leak.”
“You don’t seem surprised.”
Jack hesitated. Finally he said, “We’ve had our suspicions.”
Foley regarded his comment, and then continued: “We’ve had a number of opportunities to liaise with people in China — local dissidents, protest groups, disaffected government and military employees, and others well positioned in the CPC. Every last one of these opportunities has been discovered by Chinese intelligence. Men and women over there have been arrested, chased into hiding, or killed.”
“So your eyes and ears on the ground in China are lacking.”
“I wish they were just lacking. No, our HUMINT assets are virtually nonexistent in China right now.”
“Any idea where the leak is coming from?”
Mary Pat said, “It’s at CIA, we know that. We don’t know if they have some sort of visualization into our cable traffic or if it is someone on the inside. Beijing Station or Shanghai Station or maybe even someone at Asia desk at Langley.” She paused. “Or someone higher.”
Jack said, “I’d be looking hard at their cybercapabilities in light of everything else that’s going on.”
“Yes, we are. But if it is coming from our traffic, then they have been masterful at hiding it. They have been using the information very judiciously, confining it only to certain aspects of counterintelligence with respect to China. Obviously there is a lot of information traveling across our wires that could be beneficial for China, but we don’t see that level of exploitation.”
“How can we help you?” he asked.
“A new opportunity has popped up.”
Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Popped up from your leaky CIA?”
She smiled. “No. At this point I can’t trust any organization in the U.S. intelligence community, nor can I trust any service under the DoD, in light of what they are going through over there at the Pentagon.” She paused. “The only people I trust with this information are outsiders. Outsiders with an incentive to keep quiet about it.”