“Preston, my dear fellow,” McGill began. “It appears we have a problem. A really serious problem, unfortunately.”
“May I sit down?” Allender asked, and then sat down and had a sip of coffee.
McGill did not sit down. He stood looking out the window, his back to Allender, as if he was searching for the right words. Finally he turned around, and began pacing. “The director called this morning,” he said. “Apparently the president, himself, called him and asked why the Agency had chosen this precise moment, just when some extremely delicate negotiations were ongoing between the US and China, to blow up the Chinese MSS station chief.”
“I wonder why,” Allender said. “Surely the director had briefed the president after the op went down.”
“You don’t understand, do you. I never briefed the director, so, no, the director did not brief the president, because the director didn’t fucking know about it!”
“Oh, Carson,” Allender asked, with as straight a face as he could muster. “Was that wise?”
McGill exploded. “Wise? Wise? It’s been standard procedure, for Chrissakes, ever since Hingham took over. He is not an ops man. You know that. He’s a political creature, and not a competent one at that. I never tell him about the serious stuff until way after the fact, and I saw no reason to do so with this op.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Apparently the Chinese ambassador made a formal representation to the president, and then threatened to break off the talks. Now the president wants someone’s head.”
“Someone’s getting ahead of himself,” Allender said. “Who said we had anything to do with what happened to Chiang?”
McGill frowned and stopped pacing for a moment. “I might have admitted as much. The director back-footed me, calling direct like that. Normally he would have gone through Hank. As you know, Hank’s much better at dealing with angry directors than I am.”
“Why didn’t he go through Hank?”
“Um, apparently he did. Unfortunately, Hank was also in the dark.”
“You kept Hank in the dark, too? Good God, Carson, what were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that if this scheme of yours actually worked, Hank and the director would be so pleased that they’d forget about the fact that I hadn’t pre-briefed them. As it is…”
Whoops, Allender thought. He suddenly thought he knew where this was heading, especially with McGill under the gun. He put down his coffee cup.
“Let me speculate on the resulting narrative,” he said, barely controlling his anger. “The director told the president he didn’t know anything about any of this. Then Hank Wallace tells the director he didn’t know anything about this. Next outraged call came down to the DDO—that would be you—and you told the director you didn’t know anything about this, either, other than that Chiang had shown his ass in a hotel here in town. You promised to get to the bottom of this ASAP and hold whomever was behind the Chiang debacle personally and professionally responsible. Am I close, Carson?”
McGill had the decency to blush. He turned back to the view out the windows, apparently unwilling, or unable, to face Allender. He cleared his throat. “I fessed up to Hank, and then Hank and I went to the director’s office. It was not a pleasant session, as you could imagine. I was then dismissed. Hank remained behind.”
“When are you leaving us?” Allender asked.
“I’m not,” McGill said, and suddenly the “my dear fellow” tone of voice wasn’t there anymore. “You are.”
“You pinned this on me?”
“Well, no, not exactly. I told them I’d called you in because of your Oriental background and that you had agreed to concoct something truly destructive. I told them about our conversation in re my briefing Hank on what was coming. That you wouldn’t tell me exactly what was coming, and that, for my sins, I let it run. All my fault for not keeping them properly informed. Your fault for not telling me exactly what you had planned. And to be candid, the new intelligence organization in our government is also a factor—if the director of the Agency were still the director of central intelligence, he would have known about the secret talks with China, and therefore I would have known about the secret talks. As it was, I didn’t.”
The ambassador isn’t going to be the only one carrying a black bowl, Allender realized. “So the president wants a head, and you three have decided it will be mine?”
“Hank and I have consulted at length with the director,” McGill said. “We feel that, in the best interests of the Agency, we must be able to tell the president that this was an uncoordinated, and unauthorized operation, conducted by someone spontaneously who saw an opportunity to damage the Chinese intel structure here in America, but who was outside of the operations world and therefore didn’t know the rules about keeping the head-shed in the loop. And, that that person is no longer with us.”
“Spontaneously,” Allender said, not giving him an inch. “Nice touch, Carson.”
McGill finally returned to his desk and sat down. “Since you are SES, you will be not be fired, per se. You’ll be given the opportunity to seek early retirement.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Please, Preston, don’t even go there.”
“Funny, in a way,” Allender said. “My meeting with the Chinese ambassador last night.”
“You did what?!”
“It wasn’t planned,” Allender said. “More of a spontaneous opportunity. We happened to be in the same restaurant, and he wanted to practice his Mandarin, I suppose.”
McGill was aghast and not pleased with Allender’s sarcasm. “Good God, Preston. Do you know what this will look like to the White House?”
“Then it won’t be early retirement, Carson,” Allender said. “It will be a thirty years, time in service maxed out at my current grade of SES-2, retirement. You can hold off on the bonus until the end of the year, but it will be forthcoming. Plus, one more thing.”
“This isn’t supposed to be a negotiation, Preston. You’re the one in trouble here.”
“We’re the ones in trouble here, Carson, or have you forgotten? I know the White House operator’s number. Want some more excitement in your life?”
McGill blinked at talk of the White House operator’s number. “What’s the one more thing?” he asked petulantly.
“Sloan is to be protected. She gets her new face, and her bonus, and keeps her job with us unless someone can identify a clear and present danger to her as a result of her part in this clusterfuck.”
McGill pretended to think about it. “You will not be able to keep your clearances,” he said, finally. “That means you are finished with this business of ours. No consulting. No contracting. No think tanks.”
“Oh, no, Br’er Fox,” Allender said in mock dismay. “Not the briar patch. Anything but the briar patch.”
McGill leaned back in his chair. “All right. Sloan will be protected.”
“And rewarded,” Allender said. “She did a superb job. It was management that screwed the thing up.”
“All right, I agree.”
“Then, you know what?” Allender said. “I’m good with it. For the record, I think your actions are craven in the extreme. I actually don’t want to work here anymore.”
“You can just leave it? Just like that? Walk away as if you’d never been here? Dragon Eyes? The scariest interrogator in the Company?”
Allender took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes for a moment, and then focused on McGill’s uneasy face. “At some point, Carson, we all have to leave, and we all have to die, for that matter. Since we live and work in the dark, we’ll all probably leave and die in the dark. But understand something: I can, from time to time, look into the minds of men and see or hear things. As you’ve acknowledged, it’s what I’m famous for. If I detect the faintest hint of my name migrating onto anybody’s loose-end file, I will bring Armageddon. Are we clear, Carson?”
“See here, Allender,” McGill protested. “I don’t much l
ike being threatened.” He was trying for a brave face now, but not quite succeeding. No more “my dear Preston,” either.
Allender leaned forward and intensified his stare. “Tell me, Carson,” he said, softly. “Does your pancreas ever bother you?”
Almost despite himself, McGill touched his abdomen. He tried to speak, but it appeared that his throat suddenly had gone dry. His expression was one of incipient pain. Allender watched McGill make the inevitable association that most people make when they hear the word “pancreas,” as in, pancreatic.
“Are we clear, Carson?” Allender asked again.
“Crystal,” McGill squeaked.
“I’m going back down to my office,” Allender said, putting his glasses back on. “You write me a memo, informing me that I’m being offered retirement under the terms we just discussed. All the terms. Put an acceptance signature line at the bottom. I want the director to sign it, and I want Hank Wallace to witness it. Then have it sent down to me.”
He got up. “Oh, by the way,” he added. “Make sure it tells me to whom I’m to turn over the records of my office. You know, the ones just chock-full of fascinating personnel insights on anyone of importance here at Langley? I’m sure you have someone in mind to replace me, yes?”
“Um,” McGill began, but then stopped. Allender grunted. The DDO obviously hadn’t thought that far ahead, but he, Preston Allender, had. If anyone made trouble for him down the pike, he could make Edward Snowden look like Snow White.
“Well, then,” Allender said. “Color me gone. It was fun while it lasted.”
The office door opened and McGill’s secretary stepped in. “Doctor Allender,” she announced. “If you’re finished here, the director wants a word.”
Allender looked back at McGill, who simply shrugged his shoulders and put a “beats me” expression on his face.
One of the director’s admin aides was waiting for him in the anteroom. Allender followed him down the hall and into the director’s outer office. He got to cool his heels for ten minutes before being summoned before the throne. J. Leverett Hingham was sitting with a large book in his hands at his enormous desk. He did not appear to be in a good mood. He didn’t offer a chair, but rather launched right into an erudite tirade about just how much damage he, Preston Allender, had done to the heretofore developing détente between the United States and the People’s Republic. That years of careful diplomacy had been undone in a single stroke by the debacle at the Wingate hotel. That the president himself was furious beyond words. Allender waited for him to take a breath before speaking.
“Mister Hingham, I did not launch this operation. I did not control it. The nucleus of the idea was mine, but I was principally—”
“I do not care,” Hingham interrupted. “I have, no doubt, other people with whom I will be further sharing my thinking this morning. But you—of all people—you who were raised in China, speaks their language, understands their cultural foibles—you should have known better. Much better. You have done some real damage here, Doctor Allender. You’re lucky we’re just going to dismiss you. How could you?”
Allender had had enough. “It was actually pretty easy,” he said. “We had the head of the Chinese security services here in Washington willing to put his head on a plate, all for the sake of a one-night stand. We have wrecked their espionage apparatus here in town, at least for a while. As far as I’m concerned, it was a brilliant piece of counterespionage. That’s how I could do it. It’s supposedly what we’re here for, Mister Hingham. To protect our democracy against the likes of the Chinese Communist Party.”
“You do display an amazing ignorance of the bigger picture, Doctor,” Hingham hissed. “You’re just another one of those ‘old hand’ troglodytes who are determined to continue this endless spy-versus-counterspy-versus-double-agent-or-maybe-even-a-triple-agent badminton game, all of this tit-for-tat while the currents of history and international power flow past your tinted windows. How can you people be so oblivious?”
Allender started to speak, but Hingham slammed that book down on his desk with an explosive report. “You speak of a democracy? Don’t you know the inevitable fate of all democracies? They decline in eight steps: from bondage to spiritual faith; from spiritual faith to great courage; from courage to liberty; from liberty to abundance; from abundance to complacency; from complacence to apathy; from apathy to dependence; and from dependence back into bondage. And that was written in 1787. Every democracy in history has trudged through those eight steps, and America will be no exception, Doctor Allender. You think you won a victory. Your ‘victory’ is of no account whatsoever. Now get out of my office, my building, and my Agency.”
As Allender made his way to the elevators, Hank Wallace’s secretary, Caroline Haversham, intercepted him and asked if he had a moment to speak to the deputy. Allender wondered, What’s one more? After his séance with Hingham, he was not in the mood for any more ass-chewing or grand lectures, but then he decided he should probably hear what Wallace had to say, if only because Hank Wallace was, by intellectual default, the senior spook in the game. Caroline gave him a sympathetic look, knowing he’d been in to see the director. She was more of an executive assistant than just a secretary, and Allender had known her for years and had always nurtured the relationship. Caroline knew many things and even more people.
When he entered Wallace’s office, he was struck by the deputy’s appearance: He looked much older than the last time he’d seen him. His eyes had a slightly hunted look to them.
“Doctor Allender,” Wallace said, getting up to shake his hand. “What you did to that snake was positively brilliant.”
“The Company has a funny way of showing its appreciation,” Allender said. “And my lord Hingham was definitely not pleased.”
Wallace asked him to take a seat. “You wouldn’t be the first to fall victim to our DDO’s Machiavellian sense of right and wrong. You could have avoided this by telling me about it.”
“I realize that now, but McGill wouldn’t let me talk to you, and I didn’t trust him to not fuck the thing up, so I stuck with it.”
“Good instincts,” Wallace said. “But you’ve been here awhile, Doctor, and you should have known that he folded you into this scheme in order to protect himself should things go—how shall I put it—awry?”
“That thought crossed my mind, of course,” Allender said. “But I actually believed he wanted me to gin up something really egregious because his people can rarely think out of the box. And, I believe I did.”
“You surely did. And now this ‘interesting’ president of ours wants a head.”
“The master of accountability and executive transparency himself?” Allender laughed. “How droll.”
Wallace smiled. “Tell me,” he said, “are you in a position to protect yourself should there be thoughts of eventual retaliation?”
“I’ve told Carson my terms, and that I want both your and the director’s signature on the piece of paper that sends me out into the cold, cruel night. He seemed amenable to making those arrangements conform to my expectations. I just hope Hingham doesn’t resist.”
“Not to worry. He’ll sign, but he’ll never learn the terms, trust me. And he won’t ask McGill because it was McGill who advised him to throw you under the bus; the least I can do is to give you a chance to avoid the rear wheels.”
“And you?” Allender asked.
“I’ve been here a long time, Doctor. I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure my position and the health of the Agency. If I can help you while maintaining that endeavor, I will.”
Allender nodded. “The truth, for once,” he said.
“The roof will probably fall right in,” Wallace said. “But: I mean that. You’re getting a bum deal, but I hope you’ll look at this as taking one for the team. I appreciate that, and I absolutely applaud what you did to the general.”
“Then I have a favor to ask,” Allender said.
“What is that?”
“That you w
arn me if someone here in the building does decide to tie off any potential loose ends.”
Wallace’s eyebrows went up. “Honestly, Doctor, this isn’t Moscow Center. We would never do such a thing. Mostly, because we’re not that organized.”
“Right,” Allender said. “You’d contract it out. So will you warn me?”
“I will do that, Doctor, if only to prevent whatever insurance measures you’ve undoubtedly put in place from causing another firestorm right here in River City.”
Allender smiled. “I’m not that organized, Mister Wallace, but given time, that might change, especially since I’m leaving here thinking that I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“And we did,” Wallace said. “Unfortunately, your public dismissal is how we smooth the waters. And I have to tell you, directors come and go, just like administrations come and go. You might actually be back one day.”
“Nevermore,” Allender said.
“Never say never, Doctor,” Wallace said. “Do you remember what the soothsayer told Caesar to beware of?”
“Yes, I do,” Allender said.
“Good,” he said, and then stood up. “Remember that phrase. And now, a grateful nation thanks you for your service to your country, and we sincerely regret the circumstances of your early retirement.”
Allender was tempted to say, “Sure you do,” but decided that would be pushing it. They were giving him everything he’d demanded. This was not the time to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory just for the pleasure of being a smartass.
THIRTEEN
Three hours later, Preston Allender walked out through the gleaming marble lobby of the headquarters building, escorted by no fewer than four security guards and one of McGill’s aides. It was all acceptably dignified, and not some kind of perp walk. He’d turned over his pack of building passes, and, even more important, his Langley headquarters parking permit. Someone from the security division would come by later that afternoon to retrieve the secure telephony equipment from his house. HR owed him a packet of paperwork that would finalize his retirement from the federal senior executive service. He was amused to watch the reaction of people coming and going in the lobby. Word traveled fast in the headquarters building. “Dragon Eyes is out.” He could almost hear the collective sighs of relief in certain offices.
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