“Unfortunately, recent history compels us to treat presidential pronouncements about weapons of mass destruction with skepticism. Over the next two days, we will hear testimony from the DCI and other members of the intelligence community. But I want to begin by hearing from the CIA officer who found the uranium. We are in closed session. I am going to use your real name, sir, Brian Taylor. And your real title, deputy chief of base for Istanbul. Mr. Taylor, please stand and raise your right hand, so I may administer the oath.”
Taylor stood, raised his hand. “I, Brian Taylor, do solemnly swear—”
For the next forty-four minutes, Taylor explained everything that had happened in Istanbul since the day when the first letter from Reza arrived on his desk. “Thank you for allowing me to testify,” he said when he was done. “It’s an honor. I’m happy to answer any questions.”
He spoke mostly from memory, referring to his notes as little as possible. Try not to read the whole time, Carcetti had said. Head up, so you can look the committee members in the eye. They like that. Taylor wasn’t so sure. He’d expected his statement would sway the senators, break the tension in the room. It seemed to have the opposite effect. He felt like a kid who had broken a window and been called into the principal’s office. Only the faint hum of filtered air pumping through the vault’s narrow vents broke the silence.
Frommer cleared her throat. “Mr. Taylor. We appreciate your coming before us. You do understand, the story you’re telling is unusual.” She drew out the last word. “Would you agree?”
Defer when you can, Carcetti had said. She’s the boss. Don’t fight her. When in doubt, stretch out the at bat, get more information. And never cut her off. Never never. Senators don’t like that.
“I’m not sure exactly what you mean.”
“I mean the way you handled Reza’s recruitment and handling. The fact that he came to you. That you never learned his real name or position within the Quds Force. Have you ever had another agent like that?”
“No, ma’am — chairwoman.”
“Senator, please. And the fact that the agency cannot find Reza despite a quote-unquote intense effort, that’s also unusual.”
“Yes.”
“What do you make of these oddities, Mr. Taylor? I remind you that you are under oath.”
If Frommer meant to intimidate him by mentioning that he was under oath, she succeeded. Taylor heard his pulse thumping in his skull, the blood surging through. The funny part was that he had told the truth. He believed in Reza. Even so, he felt like a kid caught in a riptide pulling him out to sea. If he kept calm, didn’t fight the current, he’d be fine. But it was hard to keep calm with the water lunging into his nose. The next few minutes would be crucial. If he failed, the President might face a revolt on Capitol Hill.
“Mr. Taylor? Still with us?”
Taylor didn’t know how long he’d been silent. Too long. Hunt leaned over, murmured in his ear, her breath warm against his skin, her perfume filling his nose. “You all right?”
Her words broke the spell. Or maybe her perfume. That fast, Taylor knew what to say. “Chairwoman Frommer. I’m sorry. I wanted to answer you as precisely as possible. You are correct that walk-ins are unusual. Most of the time, the agency makes the initial approach. That’s the classic method. In our training at the Farm, we spend a lot of time practicing recruitments. And it’s true that walk-ins can be double agents dangled by foreign services. I assume that’s your paramount concern, that Reza is working for a foreign agency trying to fool us into attacking Iran.”
“Yes.”
“But walk-ins have been among the best assets in the CIA’s history. They have unique advantages. They are often spies themselves, so they understand tradecraft and don’t need hand-holding. They give up vital information quickly, because it is the very importance of the information that has caused them to approach us. Put another way, they’re motivated. We don’t have to play games with them. I hope that makes sense.”
When you’re answering, don’t go on and on, Carcetti said. Pause halfway through. Get them to buy in.
“I suppose.”
“I believe the man who called himself Reza was one of these ultra-high-value walk-ins. Do I wish I knew his name? Yes. That we had him under our protection, in a safe house somewhere? Yes. Would I prefer someone else had seen him? Of course. At least then I wouldn’t be the only one in front of the firing squad.”
Taylor thought he was close to breaking through. But Frommer merely shook her head.
“Mr. Taylor. If a firing squad is required, you won’t be its only target. We’re going to hear much more testimony today. And, of course, we will discuss next steps.”
“That’s above my pay grade.”
Even as the words left his mouth Taylor knew he’d made a mistake. Frommer was in no mood for canned lines.
“You are correct. Far above. Let’s focus on the question that you are here to answer. Is the man who calls himself Reza who he claims to be? Is he real?”
Taylor’s life had shrunk to the microphone in front of him. He reached for it, cupped it toward him. His hands weren’t shaking. A small victory.
“Believe me, I understand what that question means for our country, Chairwoman. I’ve spent more hours than I can count thinking it through. And my answer is yes.”
“Why?”
Because no one could be that good an actor. But Taylor knew Frommer didn’t want pronouncements. She wanted specifics.
“Because the truth is that no one betrays his country without good reason. I saw Reza’s motivations up close and they were real, believable, and specific. I’ve outlined them today and I discussed them in detail in my reports, which I know the agency has made available to you. Nor do I fault Reza for his desire to keep his real name secret. He mentioned Edward Snowden and Bradley Manning when I promised to protect him and his identity. I can’t disagree with his assessment of our security flaws.”
“Is that all?”
“It is not, ma’am. I believe a foreign agency would have presented someone whose cover story didn’t raise as many questions as Reza’s. I repeatedly demanded more information from him. A would-be double agent would have answered at least some questions. Tried to ease my suspicions. His superiors would have insisted. Reza refused. He never gave me the impression that he was under anyone’s control.”
“So the holes in his story actually make him more plausible?”
“I know that’s counterintuitive, but yes. He told me repeatedly that the intelligence he provided would speak for itself. And that has proven to be correct.”
“Mr. Taylor, the agency sometimes uses the term source capture, does it not?”
Taylor hadn’t heard anyone at the CIA utter those words since his training at Camp Peary. But this was not the moment to argue. “Yes, Madam Chairwoman.”
“Can you define those words for me?”
“Source capture occurs when a CIA officer becomes so overly protective of an agent that he can no longer determine the agent’s value or reliability. It isn’t the same as being doubled, where the officer winds up becoming an active spy for the other side. It’s more subtle and insidious. It happens for any number of reasons. Sexual attraction, or even friendship over a long period. Usually, the officer doesn’t even recognize what’s happening. Ultimately, instead of running the source, he winds up quote-unquote captured by him.”