Term Limits (39 page)

McMahon was not happy with the ludicrous and senseless restriction. It drove him nuts watching the huge amounts of energy and time that was wasted on worrying about the media and public opinion. He couldn't run an investigation if his people didn't know what was going on. After he'd gotten away with putting Garret in his place, he'd decided not to press his luck. The president was obviously not in the mood to be challenged, so he shut his mouth with the hope that Roach could get the president to loosen up later.

All the way to the Pentagon, McMahon was trying to figure out how he could leave Kennedy and General Heaney out of the loop. He couldn't. He needed their minds. They gave him insight into an area that he knew little about, and this morning's phone call was a valuable piece of the puzzle.

Skip entered the conference room just before noon and was slightly surprised. The last time he'd seen the room it was neat and orderly. Now it had stacks of folders piled everywhere, and the
blackboard was covered with writing. Kennedy looked tired and worn, but the general was clean shaven and looking the perfect Marine. “You two look like you got some work done.”

“We've been up all night pounding through these files.” Kennedy stretched her hands over her head and yawned.

McMahon nodded. “Fill me in on what you've done.”

Kennedy took off her glasses and stood. “Down at the far end of the table are all of the Delta Force files, in the middle are the Green Berets, and down here are the two Navy SEAL files. We took the description of the black assassin that killed Downs and tried to match it with the former black commandos. First, we separated them by height and skin color. If they were too short or their skin color was too light, we put them in a pile marked ‘not probable.' From there, we sorted them by current address, our rationale being that the commandos would need to live in the D.C. metro area to have an alibi. If we go talk to one of these guys who lives out in L.A. and find out that they've been out of town for the last two weeks, it's going to look a little fishy. The commandos that fit the description of the assassin, but don't live in the D.C. area, are in piles marked ‘possible.' And the commandos who fit the description of the assassin and live in town are in the piles marked ‘probable.'”

McMahon nodded. “Sounds good. What's the next step?”

“Well, we're all in agreement that to conduct an operation of this nature you would need a minimum
of four commandos, and they would have to know each other pretty well. As the general said earlier, you don't do something like this unless you trust the people on your team. That led us to the conclusion that it is highly likely these commandos served together when they were in the military. The odds are this group is composed of all former Delta Force commandos, Green Berets, or SEALs, not a mix of the three. Knowing that, we are going through the personnel files for every former commando and looking for men that served in the same units with the black commandos that are in the probable stacks.”

“When will we have the list?”

“The general is running a sort on their computer. We should have a list by… When do you think it'll be done, General?”

“Hopefully sometime around seventeen hundred.”

“Then what's the plan?” asked McMahon.

“That's what you and I need to talk about. You have to decide if you want to go knocking on doors and question these guys personally, or if you want to put them under surveillance and watch them.”

“How many suspects are we talking about?”

“There are fourteen former black commandos who live in the metro area and fit the description of the assassin that killed Downs.”

McMahon did the math. “That's going to take a lot of agents to run twenty-four-hour surveillance on fourteen people. What about the other commandos that are going to come up on the general's list?”

“What I think we should do is have you get solid
surveillance set up on the fourteen former black commandos and let the Agency handle the other names that come up on the general's list. When all of your agents are in place, and all of my surveillance people are in place, then you can start beating the bush.”

McMahon nodded. “And then we sit back and watch who talks to whom.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you have enough people to run that many surveillance teams?” asked McMahon. “We have to be talking about at least fifty suspects.”

“We have enough assets,” Kennedy said with a slight smirk on her face.

“Seriously?”

“We conduct our surveillance a little differently than you do.”

McMahon shook his head and said, “I don't even want to know what you're going to do.” He looked to General Heaney. “I'm going to need the complete dossiers of the fourteen guys on the probable list. I would also like the names of their commanding officers while they were in the service.” Turning back to Kennedy, McMahon asked, “How long will it take you to get your people in place?”

“Depending on how many names come up, we should have everything ready to go by Friday morning.”

“I'll call Brian and get everything rolling on my end, and, Irene, you do…” McMahon waved his hand in the air. “I don't want to know what you're doing. Just please be careful and don't end up on the front page of the
Post.”

THE SMALL CESSNA FLEW ALONG THE SOUTHEAST ridge of the Appalachian Mountain Range. Autumn colors painted the mountains beneath. Dotted among the rich reds, oranges, and yellows, tall Georgia pines jutted into the sky. Not a cloud was in sight, and the sun added an extra intensity to the full mix of colors below. They passed over a mountaintop, and a town farther up the valley came into sight. Seamus pointed and said, “There she is.”

Brasstown, Georgia, was a small town about one and a half hours north of Atlanta that was nestled in a valley at the southern end of the Appalachians. From the far end of the valley they could barely make out two church steeples and a water tower that broke above the trees. As they neared, other buildings and streets became visible.

“The airstrip is out on the southern end of town,” said Seamus, who banked the plane farther to the southeast and came in for a sweeping pass. The airstrip was cut right out of the tree line. Passing over it, Seamus took note of the direction the bright
orange wind sock was pointing and came back around for a landing. He lined up his approach with a slight allowance for the crosswind and came in low above the trees. When he reached the clearing, he throttled back and let the plane float down onto the grass strip. She bounced once and then settled in, rolling to the end of the runway. An old, rusty hangar was the only structure in sight, and next to it was a Dodge pickup. Leaning against the hood was a man in boots, jeans, a red-and-black flannel shirt, and green John Deere hat. Seamus cut the engine and shut everything down. He and Michael got out of the plane, and the man by the pickup approached. Seamus met him halfway and they embraced, slapping each other on the back.

Seamus turned and said, “Michael, you remember Augie, don't you?”

Michael stuck out his hand. “It's been a while. Good to see you again, sir.”

“Good to see you, Michael.” Jackson stared at him for a moment and said, “God, you look just like your grandfather.” Michael smiled and Augie asked, “Things have been pretty hectic in Washington lately, haven't they?”

“Yes.”

Augie gestured toward the rear of the truck. “Let's go sit down. My old legs don't work so well anymore.” Augie led them to the back of the truck, where he lowered the tailgate. He and Seamus sat and Michael stood with his arms folded across his chest. Augie pulled out a pipe and a bag of tobacco. He filled the bowl and offered the bag to Seamus.

While Augie packed his pipe, he said, “I've been
doing a lot of thinking since I got your call last night, Seamus. In fact, I've been doing a lot of thinking since this whole thing started. Kind of a professional curiosity I guess you'd call it.” He put the packing tool back in his pocket and pulled out a lighter. “Michael, did your grandfather tell you what I used to do for the CIA?”

“A little.”

Augie lit the lighter and held the flame over the bowl, sucking on the pipe until the packed tobacco caught fire. Exhaling the smoke, he moved the pipe to the corner of his mouth and said, “Well, I'll give you the short version. After the war, I stayed in the Corps and went to work for Naval Intelligence back in Washington. Several years later, when the CIA was formed, I was hired and sent to work at our Paris embassy. I spent my first fifteen years in Europe and then was brought back to Langley, where I became kind of a roving analyst on Russo-European intelligence issues. During my time at Langley, I was also part of a special group that planned covert operations.” Jackson took several deep puffs. “I think I might have some information that could help you, but before I go any further, I'd like to ask a few questions.”

Michael nodded his head and said, “Shoot.”

“Where did you hear that there is a second group responsible for the murders of Olson and Turnquist?”

“I really can't say.”

“You mean you won't.” Jackson exhaled a puff of smoke and kept his eyes fixed on Michael's. “Why are you talking to me and not the FBI?”

“The FBI has this information. I'd like to do a little searching on my own.”

Augie thought about the answer over several puffs of his pipe and then asked, “Why?”

“Erik Olson was a good friend.”

“That's the only reason?” Jackson stared into Michael's eyes and waited for an answer.

Michael looked to Seamus for a moment and then back at Augie. “Yes.”

“You're a bad liar, Michael. Just like your grandfather.” Augie looked at Seamus and smiled. Then, looking down at the ground, he said, “I suppose neither of you have any idea who is behind the first four assassinations?” Michael shook his head. In a cynical tone Augie said, “I didn't think you would.” Augie bobbed his chin up and down. “Well, I have a hunch who might have been involved, but before we get to that, I have some information that I think you will find interesting. I'm going to tell you a story about something I took part in while I was at the Agency, but first I have to give you a little background information.

“In the late fifties and early sixties I was the CIA's station chief at our Paris embassy. Tensions between us and the Soviet Union were running hot. There was a very real threat that the Soviets might wage a conventional war and try to take Western Europe. All along the Iron Curtain, NATO forces were outgunned almost five to one in tanks, artillery, and troop strength. Our military planners thought the best way to deter the Soviet Union from any aggressive action was to deploy tactical nuclear weapons in Western Europe. Our NATO allies
agreed, and the missiles were moved into place. The message to the Soviet Union was simple. If you initiate any military action towards Western Europe, we will retaliate with a tactical nuclear strike. This policy worked perfectly until the early sixties, when France started to get goofy on us.

“There was a group of politicians in the French parliament who wanted all U.S. nuclear missiles removed from French soil. There were even a few who wanted all U.S. military personnel removed. These ingrates started to attract quite a following, holding protests outside the gates of our military bases we had over there and making more and more speeches demanding that we leave. The writing on the wall was clear. France had a history of being one of our most fickle allies—never mind that fifteen years earlier we had kicked the Nazis out of their country for them. From the president down, our political leadership was furious that France could be so ungrateful. We were given the go-ahead by Langley to initiate clandestine action against the leaders of this anti-U.S. movement. Our orders were to find a way to make them change their minds. Over a period of about six months we managed to bribe several of them and blackmail a few more. We were not successful, however, with the core leaders of the movement. After exhausting all efforts, Langley sent a man to Paris who was a specialist of sorts. But, before I get to that, are you familiar with the French Algerian conflict?”

“A little,” answered Michael.

Augie took several puffs on his pipe. “Well, back in the late fifties the French military was immersed
in a war with revolutionary Algerian forces who wanted independence from France. This war waged on for several years, and although they suffered some high casualties early on, the French military eventually put down the uprising. Throughout the war there were certain fringe members of the French parliament who were demanding Algeria be granted independence.” Augie paused and raised his eyebrows. “These politicians also happened to be the same ones protesting against U.S. nuclear weapons on French soil.

“Well, the French military had done their job. They had suffered significant casualties and fought a bloody war with the rebels. With the conflict all but over and the rebels on the run, the French parliament and President de Gaulle did something that shocked everyone. They granted Algeria independence and ordered the French military out. At the time there were over a quarter of a million French nationals living in Algeria.

“This decision completely alienated the French military from the country's political leadership. And it so infuriated a group of commanders who had fought in Algeria that they deserted and formed a paramilitary group called the OAS.” Augie paused to see if Michael was with him and then continued. “The OAS went underground in Algeria and France and initiated a violent commando war with the French political leadership and the leaders of the Algerian liberation movement. They started blowing up bombs and assassinating politicians left and right. They even made several attempts on President de Gaulle.

“Just after the first OAS attempt on de Gaulle's life, this specialist arrived from Washington. I was instructed to give him whatever assistance he needed. I met him at a safe house that we had in Paris and found out he was a covert-operations expert. This man had a brilliant but simple plan. The two most vocal critics of our nuclear weapons being on French soil were also two of the most vocal proponents of Algerian independence. This covert-operations specialist's plan was to assassinate them and make it look like it was the work of the OAS. It took us about two months to plan the whole thing, and then we got the green light from Washington.”