by John Dalmas
Haugen was winging his talk now without glancing at notes. "Yet it is covert operations," he went on, "that has gotten all the press. It is covert operations that has made the CIA so susceptible to campaigns of disinformation, and brought it a bad reputation with many people abroad and at home.
"And to make things worse, almost every CIA director has come out of Operations. Covert operations people seem to have had an advantage in in-house politics. At times the intelligence branch has even been pressured or ordered by CIA directors to slant or edit their intelligence findings to support covert operations proposals and programs.
"So—" He paused, then went on. "Let's drop back a step now, and ask why covert operations has such a bad image. Aside from disinformation campaigns by its enemies abroad and at home. First of all, at times they have broken American law, sometimes flagrantly. When this has been exposed, the excuse has sometimes been made, at least within the government, that it was necessary. You're well aware of that.
"Also, there is a personality type which seems to gravitate to covert operations, a personality type which doesn't necessarily have criminal impulses but seems to enjoy being illegal. So we have some of those involved. And besides that, covert operations are something carried out in foreign countries, and their actions are seldom legal by the laws of those countries. In that sense, any covert action field personnel almost always have to act illegally to accomplish their ends. They get used to that; it becomes a part of life for them.
"Now, their actions in foreign countries are also restricted by our own laws and regulations, and sometimes they don't feel as constrained as they should by these either."
The president paused for emphasis. "Particularly since they are the individuals at risk of death or capture. They are the individuals trying to accomplish the often very difficult. They are the ones who know what the local conditions are."
The president's voice eased, became casual again.
"They are the ones who work intimately with the local people, who tend to develop affinity with the locals and with their cause, and become frustrated by red tape and restrictions from Washington, even though much of that red tape, and many of those restrictions, are necessary.
"Thus as long as we have a covert operations organization, and we definitely seem to need one, we will have problems with regulations and laws being broken by some agents. Of course, even if it was squeaky clean, we'd still have problems with foreign and domestic disinformation programs."
The newsmen were quiet. Tape recorders and video cameras turned silently. "Which means," Haugen went on, "that we can expect some continued antagonism here at home toward our covert operations.
"So I am taking covert operations out of the CIA, and putting it into a separate organization, to be called by its old name, the Office of Strategic Services, OSS. I haven't decided yet what branch of government it will be part of—that is, who it will answer to—but it will be outside the CIA, and closely monitored by the National Security Council.
"This should allow CIA recruitment and training to go ahead unharassed. It will also very largely free its intended and vital intelligence-gathering function from pressuring by covert operations.
"The divorce will take place no later than a month from now."
Haugen rested his elbows on the lectern and leaned forward, scanning the press. His smile became almost predatory.
"And now, speaking of dirty tricks—covert operations—I'm going to tell you about one carried out by one of your own media organizations. We have unequivocal, firsthand evidence—submitted affidavits and his own statement—that Arlen Baines of Foremost Cable News rented eight buses to take demonstrators to the CIA Building this morning, using money from what he termed 'the special operations fund.' He has implicated others. Mr. Baines was arrested earlier this evening at his apartment, and just moments before I began talking with you, the FBI impounded the records of that fund."
Haugen stood regarding the utterly silent room for several seconds before continuing.
"You may cover demonstrations, certainly. But news organizations have no business inciting or supporting demonstrations. The government is initiating legal action that will quite likely result in Foremost Cable News losing its broadcasting license.
"Which will be no loss to the country. There are far more reputable channels, cable and otherwise."
He scanned the room again. "Now one more thing. I realize that papers have to be sold. And that ratings are important to the sale of commercial time on TV and radio. And that reporters and editors and producers and anchor people have their ratings evaluated by higher ups. But ethics and integrity should not be cancelled by expediency, in the media any more than in government. The media and its people still have a responsibility to be honest.
"Some news organizations do pretty well on this, while some show as little respect for honesty as the law and clever legal staffs allow. More than a little of what the media peddles as news is colorful rumor, unsubstantiated accusations, or simply misleading headlines, printed or broadcast to sell, with little responsibility shown for reputations damaged.
"Too many of the rumors and accusations that turn out to be untrue are destructive to society and individuals. Too often the misleading headline is all that gets read. Even in more normal times, this degrades our society and our nation."
The room was intensely quiet. The assembled journalists waited for the ax to drop, the announcement of censorship. Then the president continued.
"So I'm having federal libel laws reviewed, to better protect people from libelous media actions. Undoubtedly this will severely affect the tabloids.
"But repeatedly the media, especially the newspapers, have uncovered serious frauds, crimes, bureaucratic abuses, and other skullduggeries, in government and elsewhere. And the media cannot be bridled and fulfill their function of national watchdog. We cannot expect them to be perfect, and we cannot legislate perfection. We have to let them function.
"So as an American citizen, you still need to view critically and read critically what the media tell you. What is the evidence? Who's saying it? And why? What ideological fish is this editor or that commentator trying to fry? Is he exercising some prejudice he has? Ask yourself whether you're willing to believe what you're being told."
He paused. "By them and by me."
The president straightened then. "I believe I've talked enough for now; we've covered a lot of ground this evening. I thank you all for listening, both citizens and press, and no doubt I'll be talking to you again soon."
***
Paul Massey stared unseeingly at the newly blanked TV screen in his living room/office. This Haugen was a dangerous demagogue! And the White House press corps had sat on their hands while the man had intimidated them with his attack! What had become of the spirit of American journalism?
Any kind of investigation of Foremost Cable News would show who held controlling interest in it: Connecticut Investments. And a little further looking would turn up who owned controlling interest in Connecticut Investments: Paul Massey.
FCN was one of his favorite tools, and now he'd almost surely lose it, while attention would be drawn to himself.
He reached for his phone. It was time to call Tallmon and have him take action to terminate this president.
SEVENTEEN
Howard Kreiner and Louis Grosberg walked across the Senate dining room and took seats next to a window. Two days of showery weather had passed, and hazy autumn sunshine lit the capital grounds.
On the table, the flowers of the day were something blue. Neither man paid attention to them. Grosberg, as president pro tern of the Senate, and Kreiner, as minority leader, both had their attention very much on something else.
A waiter had started toward them with coffee pot and menus before they'd even sat down. "The usual, Marty," Grosberg said, as the waiter poured. Kreiner matched Grosberg's order, and the waiter left with the menus still under an arm.
Grosberg shook his head. "Werling's
the biggest problem on my side of the aisle. And he has more favors owed him than almost anyone in the Senate." He flashed a grin. "Except for you and me. His pitch is that Haugen's using his powers a lot more broadly than intended."
Kreiner grunted. "What makes that sonofabitch the authority on what was intended?"
Grosberg nodded agreeably. "But that's how he's pitching it. Surely you're getting some of that too?"
"Not much. Probably because I was on the committee that brought the bill out in the first place. And of course, we're not in the same situation on my side that you folks are. We're not in the position of seeing a term as majority party being diluted by a president who can decree his own laws."
He sipped his scalding coffee carefully. "If it comes down to it and the bill gets out of committee, how do you read the votes on your side?"
"Not serious yet," Grosberg replied. "As of yesterday, only maybe twenty-two to forty for repeal. But tomorrow—Who knows? There's an awful lot of pressure on them, from just about every business lobby in the capital. The kind of thing that can convince people, some of them, that black is white—or at least light gray."
Kreiner grunted. "I read it about ten to twenty-eight on mine. What I'm hearing mostly is that the emergency is actually over because there hasn't been any shooting for a few weeks."
He grinned then, and took a stout envelope from the attaché case he'd brought in with him. "Seen this morning's Times yet?" He pulled a photocopied article from the envelope. "It's probably in just about every other paper, too."
"What is it?"
Kreiner handed it to him. "Food for thought, Louie, food for thought. A survey by Morrisey and Spencer on what people think of Haugen's performance so far. Marquez saw it this morning and had copies made; brought 'em to me."
Grosberg adjusted his glasses and read. It was from a "stratified systematic sample" numbering 2,874 respondents in seventeen states, questioned at food lines, bus stops, and by telephone. And made since the speech on labor and management. There'd been two questions. The first was, "Would you say the president is doing a good job or a poor job?" The answers were: good, 73%; poor, 12%; neither or undecided, 10%; refused to answer, 5%. Six to one liked Haugen, Grosberg said to himself. It was very rare for a president to get that kind of public approval. And only 15% were undecided or wouldn't answer. Allowing for some people's automatic refusal to answer questions, that was pretty unusual too.
The second question was, "Do you consider that the future looks hopeful or not hopeful?" The answers were: hopeful, 64%; not hopeful, 13%; undecided, 18%; refused to answer, 5%.
The standard error of the estimate was supposed to be 7% for both questions. Grosberg snorted. You couldn't calculate a standard error for that kind of sample; not unless probability theory had changed since he'd gone to college. For this survey, you couldn't even define the population you'd sampled, for chrissake. But they were probably decent estimates. He scanned on.
Those who felt that Haugen was doing a good job fell almost entirely in the hopeful and undecided categories, the surveyors said. Those who felt he was doing a poor job fell almost entirely into the "not hopeful" group. And almost all who were undecided about Haugen were undecided or "not hopeful" about how the future looked.
He looked up at Kreiner. "Interesting. You know what this looks like to me?"
Kreiner nodded. "Most people like Haugen, and most of them are hopeful or not hopeful according to whether they like him or not."
"And," Grosberg added, "it's a little like Franklin Roosevelt said in 1932 or three: 'All we have to fear is fear itself.' That's not true of course, but with hope, the country's got a chance. Otherwise..." He made a thumbs down sign across the table, then held up the Xeroxed sheet. "I'll get copies made of this. Most of my people will see it today anyway, but I'll give them copies, just to make a point."
"Yeah," said Kreiner. "Maybe it'll cool things for a while."
***
Raphael Dietrich came abruptly awake in the dark room and spotted the vague grayness of the door opening.
"Rafe!" It was a whisper.
"Come in and shut the door," he murmured.
Mary Vizzini stepped in and pulled the door closed behind her. He could hear the bolt click shut, saw her dim form cross the bedroom toward him. "Mark called, collect," she murmured. "From Dover." She lifted the quilt and crawled under it. "He won't be back till two or three o'clock—maybe even till tomorrow afternoon. The computer there was really fucked up and he's still working on it. Making overtime."
"Good." He pulled her to him and bit her ear. His hands found only a long shirt covering her, and stroked the curve of her back.
"Rafe?"
"Yeah?"
"How long is it going to be before your contact gets the hot stuff?"
"Baby, the only hot stuff I'm interested in now is you."
"Um... But Rafe, it's really on my mind. Getting the stuff."
"Hell, baby! I told you guys at supper yesterday: I don't know. He doesn't know. All he knows is that his source has put it off for now. Without telling him why." Rafe's hand caressed the back of her legs. "He says not to worry; he'll get it. That kind of thing is tricky, for chrissake."
"I was thinking," she said. "Maybe we could blow it off in D.C. Take out the White House."
The thought alarmed him. "No way, baby. For two reasons. First we don't want the army running the country. Plus our source is giving this to us for one reason: to blow a nuke plant. He don't want the army running the country either, and I don't want the goddamn mafia or something looking for me for crossing him up."
"And you really don't have any idea who the source is?"
"My contact does. But me? I don't give a shit. Why should I?"
"I'll bet it's an Arab."
He chuckled, his hand beneath her shirttail now. "You'd like to be in bed with an Arab I'll bet," he said. "A rich one."
"Uh-uh. Not an Arab, rich or otherwise. I like being in bed with you."
"How about Mark?"
"Mark's okay. Is it a Russian?"
"It's an American. With a big dick."
She giggled, then sobered. "Rafe?"
"Yeah?" His fingers fumbled with shirt buttons.
"When you leave here, can I go with you? I like you a lot better than Mark."
"Don't tell him that, for chrissake! It could screw the whole project."
"I wouldn't tell him. I'm not that dumb." She paused and, half sitting up, shrugged out of the shirt. "I don't suppose your contact would tell you anyway."
"He told me, all right. We've done stuff before, different times; he knows me. We got stoned together and he told me."
"Is it really an American?"
"Yeah. Unless he was shitting me, it's really an American. But I don't know if his dick is big or not. He's too old for it to make any difference anyway."
She giggled. "Old? I'll bet it's the president then."
He almost laughed out loud. "Then you'd lose your bet. Now cut the goddamn questions. I've had enough of them."
"Just one more, Rafe. You didn't answer me. When you leave here, can I go with you?"
"If you promise to quit the goddamn questions, yeah. You can go with me."
EIGHTEEN
This time the president was at breakfast when the phone interrupted. If the operator passed it through this early, it was probably important. Haugen picked it up.
"This is the president."
"Mr. President, this is General Hammaker."
"I'm eating breakfast with my wife, Ernie. What have you got for me?"
"The Soviet army in the Teheran district is moving again. Apparently an entire army group—three armies. They're headed south. It could be they simply want to take and secure the towns of Qom and Hamadan. But on the other hand, it's possible they plan to head west from there, through the Zagros Gate and down into Iraq."
Haugen recalled being shown pictures of the Zagros Mountains, big, barren-looking, rugged. "The Zagros Gate. Is that th
e pass through the mountains?"
"Yes sir."
A move west toward Iraq was at odds with the Joint Staff's evaluation of the situation and the available intelligence on Soviet thinking. The Soviet army that had come down through the northern Zagros had just that week finally arrived at Teheran, days after the city had been taken by the Soviet army from Afghanistan. They'd had a long tough trip of it, and both the CIA and the Joint Staff deemed it highly unlikely that they'd get themselves involved with more of the Zagros very soon. Especially now that winter was settling in at higher elevations and much of the Iranian army had returned from Iraq.
That had been the expert evaluation, and it made sense. "Any reason to think they might move west?"
"Nothing compelling, sir. But there's the size of the force they're moving with; they shouldn't need a force anywhere near that large to take and hold Qom and Hamadan. And they're moving more troops into Iran from both the northwest and the northeast."
"What does the CIA think the Soviets are up to? Geopolitically that is. Or the Pentagon?"
"If they have an opinion, sir, they haven't expressed it. But offhand—The oil from the gulf's been cut off for more than a year now, and a lot of countries are suffering for it. Worse than we are. It's conceivable that the Soviets want to set up as the big oil broker of the world—rebuild the pipelines and refineries and docking facilities there. But that's a long, hard, hostile way from Russia for a project like that, and the Sov economy's in real trouble. It's questionable whether they have the resources to pull it off with."
Haugen examined the oil broker idea and smiled inwardly; if that was true, it was going to be a big disappointment to them. "Um-m. Okay Ernie, thanks. Let me know if anything further develops." He paused. "But Ernie, not at breakfast or supper unless it's urgent. And important doesn't necessarily equate with urgent; this could have waited a half-hour. Okay?"