To Free a Spy (2 page)

It wasn’t enough for Cross to scan the reports or to have them summarized for him. He read through them while rapid-firing questions at the CIA officer, who had long ago learned to come prepared. The reports had become increasingly ominous in recent months, in part due to ever-advancing detection capabilities but Cross knew the Al-Qaeda mentality had proliferated among independent operators. The looming consensus of those in Cross’s intelligence team was that a major nuclear event on the mainland was a good bet within the next year. It was no secret that the terrorist groups were just one buy of bomb-ready nuclear material away from such an attempt. Acquiring enough for a “dirty” bomb—something to cause local destruction, however devastating—was no longer their aim: They wanted a world-class disaster, something on the order of the bombings that ended the war with Japan more than six decades ago. It was not only Al-Qaeda he worried about. Many other rogue states and movements frequently made statements to remind the United States and its friends of their hate-filled intentions. Still, Congress wouldn’t budge, citing constituency opposition.

But there had been two signal events that ultimately brought President Cross to the decision he was about to implement. Russia recently announced that it would no longer cooperate with the United States and other Western nations to secure and effectively manage the former Soviet nuclear stockpile, saying that Russia could manage it alone. Cross and his national security apparatus were dubious of the claim and believed that opened the door for dramatic expansion of the black market for weapons-grade nuclear materials, for which there certainly were customers. The second factor was the recent apprehension of one Harvey Joplan, an officer of the Central Intelligence Agency, believed to be a mole on the inside of the secretive organization playing against American interests. And Cross knew from his own term at the CIA that the Agency maintained a database not only of locations where the old Soviet nuke stockpile was secured but also the names of actors believed to pose a risk of smuggling nuclear materials out of Russia. U.S. intelligence knew that many of the nuclear scientists at Kremlyov were essentially abandoned by the broken system and even now remained unemployed—some of them likely ripe for using their privileged knowledge and access for illicit purposes. Kremlyov was the former secret government compound where Russian nuclear war systems were designed and manufactured—and still stored. All of this added up to potential for the most dire of outcomes. The identity of the Russian scientists was among the CIA’s carefully guarded secrets.

Cross had been CIA Director before winning the White House, and ensuring the safety of the American people had been his signature presidential campaign theme. It was unknown at this point whether the mole had already delivered compromising intelligence to Iran or other supporters of terrorism but it was irresponsible to assume otherwise. Although the CIA and the FBI had scored many successes in the war on terror, Cross knew the U.S. was fighting with one hand behind its back because of bureaucratic hoops and counterproductive laws and regulations—not to mention the press and the ACLU—that often made necessary security measures impossible. And now the
Washington Post
had reported the deliberate exposure by NSA contractor Edward Snowden of a highly secretive National Security Agency operation known as PRISM. Cross knew the leak rendered the program, which the FBI had said prevented numerous terrorist operations, a liability rather than an effective prevention tool.

Now it was time for Cross to find a way to do what Congress wouldn’t do and the intel agencies couldn’t do.

* * *

The Pentagon delivered Cameron Warfield’s military records to the Oval Office and President Garrison Cross spent the next forty minutes going through them. Once finished, he told his secretary that he was not to be disturbed, leaned back in his chair, and propped his feet on the corner of the grand
Resolute
desk that had served a number of presidents before him.

Cross gazed out into the Rose Garden thinking over his plan one more time, then thumped Warfield’s thick folder, confirmed in his belief that Warfield was the choice candidate for the job he was about to throw at him. If not Cam Warfield for this job,
then who?

Cross frankly was skeptical that Warfield would accept the assignment. For one thing, Warfield was dedicated to Lone Elm, the counterterrorism camp he built from scratch as an army officer and later took over as a private contractor. Warfield conceived the Lone Elm Counterintelligence Center when he was a full colonel in the army, and sold the idea up the chain of command. He received support for its creation from the secretary of defense, and Congress approved the facility following secret hearings in which Warfield’s successful record in counterespionage carried weight. But it had been a fight. The CIA and FBI opposed it, which Cross knew was simple rivalry.

Warfield could make it from Lone Elm to the White House in an hour except during rush hours. He would just as soon never cross the Potomac River into the city again but curiosity about the meeting with Cross occupied his mind now. Paula Newnan, the president’s personal assistant, had called him the day before to set up the meeting but if she knew what it was about she wouldn’t say. Warfield liked Garrison Cross from the time they first met several years ago at Lone Elm. Cross was just getting his feet wet as Director of Central Intelligence, his only government job before winning the presidency, when he called Warfield and invited himself to spend a few days at Lone Elm for orientation.

Warfield knew of Cross even before then. He had been a business leader in the news often during a three-year battle to save Berington Pacific, a Fortune 100 company, from bankruptcy and his name had become a household word. The president had grown up on a farm, gone to Yale and then to Harvard Law where he graduated third in his class.

Warfield cleared security at the White House compound’s Northwest Appointment Gate and inside was escorted to a waiting area where Paula Newnan soon appeared. “Knew you couldn’t wait any longer to see me,” she said. Warfield had learned he could rely on Paula. She’d cut through bureaucratic red tape for him more than once but always gave President Cross the credit. “The boss says I am to always accommodate you. Otherwise, you wouldn’t get the time of day from me,
Cameo
,” she said, laughing. Warfield had her birthday in a reminder file and always called her. They had lunch or a beer now and then and she had enough self-confidence to rag him any time she found an opportunity.

She parked Warfield in a small office in the basement that she said was rarely used.

Cross walked in a few minutes later carrying a thin leather folder and stuck out his hand. At six-foot-one he was about an inch taller than Warfield and maybe ten pounds heavier. Warfield hadn’t seen him for a few months except on TV. He still had an athletic build, a full head of hair that matched the silver-gray suit he wore and an easy smile.

“Glad you could come, Cam.” The president’s handshake was rock solid.

“Mr. President.”

Cross gestured toward a pair of leather chairs separated by a corner table. An aide brought in coffee and pastries and closed the door when she left.

Cross said, “You’re looking well, Cam. Fleming DeGrande must be taking good care of you.”

Even though Cross and Fleming had met on a few occasions, Cross always referred to her by her first and last names.

“As always. But she’s as busy as I am. We meet up on weekends.”

“Marryin’ that girl, Cam?”

“Not sure she’d have me. And how’s the first lady?”

Cross smiled as he took a croissant off the tray. “I’ll tell her you asked. She’s fine. She never dreamed it would be like this, the public life. Handles it okay I guess, after two years.”

“And her husband?”

Cross laughed. “Ah, her husband. That’s another question. I can’t say I was ready either, but I asked for it. Truth is, I like the action. I think my blood pressure optimizes when things are hovering around the edges of chaos. Which brings me to the reason I invited you here, Cam.” Cross paused and locked onto Warfield’s eyes. “There’s a mole. He’s locked up—at least for now. CIA operator named Joplan, Harvey Joplan.

Warfield nodded, wondering how he fit into this picture.

“I need you back in, Cam. For awhile.”

So that was it. It had been a long time since Warfield worked in the field. At Lone Elm, he taught others how to do it—at least the mechanics and theory of it. But the art of intelligence and counterintelligence was something like having a talent for the violin. Either the candidates who come to Lone Elm have something on the ball or they achieve mediocrity.

Warfield loved action but Lone Elm was his life now. He was responsible to the people who came there for training, to the army and to his employees, but he owed the president the courtesy of listening. He waited for Cross to continue.

Cross briefed Warfield on the FBI’s investigation of Joplan. They had been trying for months to get enough evidence to convict him before they arrested him but ten days ago he was boarding a flight to Paris and they had to pick him up before they wanted to. Joplan was not cooperating and the FBI director, Earl Fullwood, couldn’t give Cross any assurance that he ever would. Of course the most urgent problem was to find out who Joplan’s present contact was. Then they would determine the damage he’d done within the CIA and attempt to mitigate it.

The FBI had filed an affidavit in federal court detailing what it had on Joplan so far, in order to persuade the judge to allow the Bureau to search his house, office, cars and computer hard drives. The judge was reluctant based on the slender evidence but agreed to the searches with the condition that Joplan would be released in seven days unless substantial new evidence was uncovered.

With that said, Cross paused and looked at Warfield.

Warfield still wasn’t clear on why Cross needed him. The Bureau understood the requirements and had the people to press the investigation. That was what the Bureau did, wasn’t it?

“So what did you have in mind for me, Mr. President?”

“Take Joplan over.”

Warfield was stunned.

He didn’t think highly of FBI chief Earl Fullwood but the Bureau had its resources. And unlike in the old days, the CIA cooperated with the FBI in the investigation when either agency had a security problem like Joplan.

Warfield stood up and ambled around the room for a minute as he gathered his thoughts. “Don’t see how it would work, Mr. President. You’ve got the FBI, the CIA. They’re not bad at what they do. I can tell you they wouldn’t hang out any yellow ribbons for me to come in and claim the prey they just brought down. They opposed Lone Elm, as you remember. And I’m not too hot to work with them, either, to tell you the truth. All that rigmarole they have to go through. The bureaucracy, the press. Criminal rights to the point of absurdity. I’m more into the kind of work where we don’t have so many rules. Even made my own a time or two,” Warfield said.

Cross nodded. “That’s why this case needs you, Cam. You’d take Joplan out of their hands for awhile. Work on your own, from this room we’re sitting in. Whatever staff you need is here.” He threw his hands out to indicate the vastness of the resources available.

“With all respect, sir, I don’t see how it would be any different with me. Somebody here goes to the john and the newspapers write a front-page story about it. ACLU or some other group files a lawsuit. We fill up all the file cabinets with denials, rebuttals, explanations. Everything moves an inch per millennium. Pretty soon I’d be as bogged down as the FBI or any other outfit here in Washington.”

Cross nodded. “That’s just it, Cam. Only a handful here will know what you’re doing. No reporters coming around. Your name won’t be on anybody’s list. You need red tape cut, some rules bent, that kind of thing, you call me. You already have all the security clearance anyone can get. No one will be checking to see where you are. You’ll report to me, maybe through Paula at times—she knows how to get around the roadblocks. Lot of autonomy to act on your own judgment, and a phone number that’ll reach me anywhere in a couple of minutes when you need me.”

Warfield had to admit it made some sense. His existence wouldn’t be known outside of a small circle—Fullwood from FBI, CIA’s Quinn, the secretary of state, the national security advisor. And even they wouldn’t have to know much if Cross wanted it that way.

Warfield sat down and finished the last of his coffee. “What’s the Joplan investigation turned up so far?”

Cross pushed the Joplan file over to him. The FBI summary inside told what they had learned about Joplan’s bank accounts, spending habits, social contacts, family relationships, cars, clothes and house mortgage. Phone taps and the trash recovered from Joplan’s garbage cans revealed almost nothing. Cross said the FBI didn’t expect to find much more, even with the warrant. Joplan had covered his tracks.

Warfield scanned the file. “It’s obvious why they can’t hold him with what they have here.”

“And the clock’s ticking.”

“What have you told Fullwood and Quinn?”

“Nothing. If you take the job, I’ll get them in here for a little kickoff meeting. I’ll bring in Stern, too.” Otto Stern was the national security advisor.

“Where is Joplan being held?”

“The Bureau has him across the river in Virginia. Alexandria Detention Center.”

Warfield thought about it for a moment, then said, “Here’s what's holding me back, Mr. President. I would have to run the show—Joplan all to myself. No interference from CIA or FBI, any other agencies. You're not going to want to grant me that.”

Cross stood and Warfield followed. Cross’s hands capped Warfield’s shoulders as the president seemed to weigh the moment with due gravity. “I’ll give you Joplan exclusively, Cam. But with that comes all of the responsibility that a president can transfer to you. A lot of our intel brains think something big is in the works now. You’re the one man I trust with this job and it’s not just national security. The very essence of American culture is at stake. You have seven days to find out who Joplan’s contact is. That will lead you to the nukes that walked out of Kremlyov, which if not stopped … well, only God can help us.”