Betrayals

by Brian Freemantle

  “Would this meeting be taking place if I had not made some sort of protest?”

  “I told you we had to be sure,” repeated Willsher.

  “What harm has the publicity done?”

  “From the outset the aim has been damage limitation,” said Willsher, pedantically. He looked away from her, appearing almost embarrassed, then continued: “The CIA, as an organization, is a particular target among these people. We wanted as much as possible to minimize Sheridan’s position.”

  Janet felt the familiar anger begin to build up. The man was discussing John as if he were some disembodied awkwardness, not a human being going through God knows what sort of torment. She said: “I did not disclose John’s position in the CIA. I didn’t even know he was connected to the CIA until I heard it on a television newscast. If you’d been so goddamned anxious to deny any connection with the CIA you could have done so by doing just that: telling a lie and denying it. That ridiculous statement saying neither one thing or the other was practically an out-and-out admission!”

  “Something else that wasn’t handled particularly well,” conceded the man.

  “I know about William Buckley,” said Janet, flatly.

  “So do we, ma’am,” said Willsher, more forcefully than he had so far spoken. “And we don’t want anything like it to happen again.”

  “There must be something the government can do, other than just sit around and wait!” said Janet. “Why not issue a public warning about retribution if any harm comes to him!”

  Willsher shook his head. “You must believe me, Ms. Stone. A lot of discussion and consideration has already gone into this. The combined view of the Agency and the State Department is that a confrontational stance is not the right one to adopt.”

  What the hell was a confrontational stance? thought Janet. Ma’am and Ms. had re-entered the conversation, too, she realized. She said: “What is, then?”

  “It has been decided to wait until the demand.”

  “Then what?”

  “We can’t answer that until we know what the demand is.”

  Around and around on the carousel, thought Janet. She said: “That could take weeks … months …”

  “We’re prepared for it to take as long as necessary, if it means getting John safely back.”

  Janet supposed it was the right attitude—the only attitude—but she was impatient with it. She wanted to be told that something positive was being done, like offering a definite ransom or assembling some sort of gung-ho rescue squad. She said: “Just sit back and wait!”

  “No,” said Willsher, patiently. “I told you everything that can be done is being done, and it is. The State Department has made approaches to every Arab country, saying that the government will react in the strongest possible way … without being specific what that might be … if any harm befalls him.”

  “I thought you were pulling back from confrontation!”

  “These are diplomatic messages, not press statements getting headlines,” Willsher said. “And I think it’s important they remain that way. I don’t think what I’ve just told you should get to the newspapers.”

  “The New York Times has already come pretty close.”

  Willsher shook his head. “No one has reported how we might react.”

  Remembering her earlier impatience, Janet said: “What about when there is contact? What about sending in some sort of snatch squad?”

  “I thought I’d already made it clear, Ms. Stone, that every sort of contingency is being explored.”

  “Including some sort of commando assault?”

  “I don’t think I can be as specific as that.”

  “You don’t trust me, do you?”

  “I don’t think trust comes into it, Ms. Stone. I don’t know the specific proposals myself.”

  “And if you did you wouldn’t tell me?”

  “Probably not,” admitted Willsher, at once. “That wouldn’t be particularly good security, would it?”

  “Did you know John?” Janet asked abruptly. “Personally, I mean?”

  Willsher hesitated and then said: “We were on station together once, some time ago. But not together here, in Washington.”

  “Were you a friend?”

  Willsher frowned once more, head to one side. “We saw each other occasionally,” he said. “It wasn’t really friendship.”

  “Will he be able to stand it?” asked Janet, urgently. “The imprisonment … and … and …” She stumbled to a halt and then blurted out. “Whatever else there might be …?”

  For the first time Willsher’s reserved formality wavered. He said: “John’s a very strong man. Very tough.”

  Janet laughed, without humor. “That’s the strangest part, since all this happened. I realize I never thought of him as someone with strength … with resilience. Isn’t that odd?”

  “I’m not going to say anything ridiculous, like don’t worry, but he’s able to sustain hardship,” Willsher said.

  “I hope you’re right,” said Janet. “Dear God, I hope you’re right.”

  “You must leave things with us now,” Willsher said. “No more media hype. Or protests from senators.”

  “For how long?”

  “For as long as it takes, Ms. Stone.”

  “Gagged, you mean?”

  “I mean there’s only one consideration, for both of us. Which is getting John out. And we think that means low profile.”

  “You wouldn’t abandon him, would you?” Janet demanded.

  “I don’t understand that question, ma’am.”

  “I mean that it wouldn’t be considered wise politics in a region in which America has already made a whole bunch of mistakes to consider John Sheridan as being disposable …” Janet paused. Remembering the phrase, she said: “Someone who’s plausibly deniable.”

  “No, Ms. Stone. I can assure you that isn’t the way we’re thinking.”

  “I’d like to believe you, Mr. Willsher.”

  “All I can do is repeat that it isn’t so.”

  “Are you going to remain in contact?”

  “Of course.”

  “How?”

  Willsher paused and said: “You shouldn’t have disclosed the telephone number that John gave you: we’ve had to close it down.”

  “And I shouldn’t have been given the bum’s rush when I asked for help,” came back Janet. “I thought we’d cleared the decks on that.”

  “I hope we have,” agreed the CIA officer.

  “So how?”

  “I’ve got your number.”

  “No!” refused Janet, shaking her head. “I want something better than that!”

  Willsher sighed, looking down at his pristine blotter. He said: “There are going to be more media approaches.”

  Every conversation reverted to their sensitivity about publicity, Janet recognized. She said: “I understand what you’re saying: I really do. To refuse to talk would be as wrong as saying too much. How about if I said there had been a meeting with an official of the Agency who assured me that everything possible was being done?”

  Willsher smiled, suddenly, an unexpected expression. He said: “I think that sounds fine.”

  “In return for which I get a number where I can reach you whenever I want,” insisted Janet.

  The smile died. Willsher said: “You have my word I will call as soon as there is news.”

  “I want a number, damn it!”

  Willsher blinked at the outburst. He said: “For you only.”

  “I told you I understand!”

  There was the briefest of hesitations and the man scrawled out a number on a scratch pad and offered it to her across the table. Janet took it and saw at once, relieved, that it was prefixed by the 703 Langley area code. Willsher said: “We’re going to stay on top with this one. You must believe me on that.”

  “I’ll try,” said Janet.

  She rigidly maintained her side of the bargain, confining herself to what they had agreed when the renewed news
paper and television inquiries came, until after three days the only regular callers were news agencies. The Washington Post tried to keep the story alive by publishing in their Sunday “Style” section more of the letters between herself and Sheridan that she had made available that first day, and Janet spent an uncomfortable twenty-four hours until Monday, when she could reach Willsher to explain. The CIA man said he understood and that there the feature hadn’t caused any problems.

  In the first few days Janet rang Willsher morning and night. Never once did he react impatiently. By the end of the second week Janet herself recognized the pointlessness and reduced her calls to one a day.

  For his part, Willsher kept the terms on behalf of the Agency, as well, reaching her, at the beginning of the third week before any news outlet to tell her of the photographs released by the Islamic Jihad. Harriet hurried over, in response to Janet’s call, and together they sat, hands linked, in front of the television.

  Janet whimpered aloud when the picture flashed up, shocked by Sheridan’s appearance. There was no identifiable background and she guessed it had been taken against the wall of the cell in which he was being held. He had not been allowed to shave and the beard growth was very white, making him look much older. His hair was unkempt and straggled in places almost to his collar and it was grayer than she remembered, too, adding to the impression of age. The sports shirt was open at the neck and his thinness, almost a frailty, was more obvious to her from the bony ridges around his neck and chest than the hollow, sunken cheeks. Sheridan’s eyes were sunken, as well. Janet thought how similar he appeared around the eyes to how she had looked that day of the intended bathroom suicide.

  Beside her Harriet said: “Jesus!” and then at once, embarrassed at the unthinking reaction, tried to correct it by saying “I’m sorry … I didn’t mean that …” and finally, “Oh shit!”

  The commentary said the photograph had been accompanied by demands for the release of ten members of the group with whom the kidnappers were linked and who were currently being held in custody in Kuwait. If the Kuwaiti prisoners were not released, the American would be executed. The still photograph of Sheridan faded, to be replaced by live footage of a State Department spokesman in front of a map of the world, saying that the demands were being considered and discussed with friendly countries. Janet took the first two calls herself but after that relayed her reaction through Harriet, saying that she was relieved at the evidence that Sheridan was still alive and that she hoped negotiations could now be opened leading to his freedom. So busy was her telephone that it was difficult to get a call out but she finally did. Willsher seemed to be expecting her.

  “Kuwait normally refuses to be pressured,” Janet said at once.

  “Yes,” agreed the CIA official, just as quickly.

  “Will they on this occasion?”

  “The liaison is through the State Department,” Willsher said vaguely.

  “Is Kuwait being asked to concede?”

  “It’s delicate,” Willsher said. “There’s a limit to the requests and demands we can make.”

  Janet paused, needing to force herself to ask the question. “So John is going to die?”

  “No, Ms. Stone,” said the man, always patient. “Everything that can be done is being done: I keep telling you that. And you’ve overlooked something in their demand.”

  “What!” asked Janet.

  “They haven’t imposed a time limit for compliance.”

  Janet was annoyed at herself for not having spotted the fact, which was important. Probing to see if the official view were the same as her own, Janet said: “How do you see the significance of that?”

  “A concession, before we even start,” said Willsher, encouragingly. “They know a time limit would have boxed us in. So they’ve already accepted that persuasion can take a while. We’ve got room to move.”

  “Yes,” agreed Janet, feeling a sweep of hope.

  “So let’s not get too depressed too quickly,” Willsher said encouragingly.

  “I’ll try not to let it happen,” Janet said.

  It was not an easy undertaking to keep. Two days later Kuwait officially announced that it saw no reason to abandon its established policy of resisting terrorist pressure and that they would not comply with the demand involving the American citizen, John Sheridan. The State Department immediately summoned the Kuwaiti ambassador to Foggy Bottom for talks with the Secretary of State, who was photographed bidding the diplomat farewell. On the steps of the Kuwait embassy the ambassador allowed himself to be interviewed. He said that while his country sympathized with the hostage taking of a U.S. national there had been nothing in his conversation with the Secretary of State to make him think his country would alter its stance. Concessions to terrorism encouraged further and worse acts of terrorism.

  Three days after the Kuwaiti rejection, Sheridan’s kidnappers issued another photograph of him, this time apparently manacled to a metal bed or platform, with a second statement threatening to send to the U.S. embassy in Beirut severed parts of the CIA man’s body, to convince Washington and Kuwait of the seriousness of their demands.

  The White House in turn issued a statement of its own deploring the threat as bestial, insisting that any such act would be treated as common criminality to be prosecuted in any country in the world and called upon civilized governments to impose their combined efforts to resolve the situation. In an unprecedented demonstration of cooperation between Mikhail Gorbachev and Ronald Reagan, Moscow published a condemnation of hostage taking and promised to liaise with Western governments to bring about its cessation.

  Janet was inundated by fresh press inquiries, invitations to television appearances and offers, one as high as $10,000, to write her own account of her romance with John Sheridan and the pressure to which she felt subjected by the kidnap. A talk-show agency in Atlanta asked to represent her, suggesting a country-wide lecture tour at $5,000 an address with an assurance of a minimum of ten lectures. Senator Blackstone tried to persuade her to appear with him on a televised evangelical church service when he intended asking watching worshippers to link hands across the entire United States in a silent vigil for the safe release of John Sehridan. Janet refused them all, sticking to the agreement she had made with Willsher, although she believed that continued publicity would have maintained the U.S. public concern she regarded as necessary. She did, however, insist upon another personal meeting, and Willsher set it up at the Franklin Park office block.

  The day before the appointment the university authorities gratefully agreed to her taking an unspecified leave of absence. After being besieged for so long in her apartment, Janet sneaked out the basement garbage entrance to hide in Harriet’s Georgetown house.

  The next day, with Willsher, Janet carefully enumerated all approaches, wanting to impress upon the CIA officer that she was observing her side of the pact. Willsher said: “I think you’ve been very wise.”

  “I don’t, particularly,” said Janet. “I made a deal and I’ve kept to it. So what have you got to offer in return?”

  “You wouldn’t believe the background pressure that’s being imposed,” said Willsher.

  “I won’t, unless it’s spelled out to me in detail,” agreed Janet, relentlessly.

  The neat, precise man coughed. “It’s unheard of for Moscow to come out, like they did. It means that between us there isn’t an Arab government, pro-East or pro-West, that isn’t involved.”

  “Doing what?” persisted Janet.

  “We’ve positive assurances from Syria of the cooperation of their troops on the ground and their intelligence service actively to try to find him,” Willsher said. “In addition, the President has been personally assured by Israel that the Mossad are pulling out all the stops.”

  “You haven’t mentioned Iran,” reminded Janet, pointedly. “And the only lead the Islamic Jihad and the Fundamentalists follow comes from Teheran and the ayatollahs.”

  “Who would you say has closest links?” />
  Janet considered the question and said: “France.”

  Willsher smiled. “Another President to President promise, from Paris. In adddition the British have made available to us all their electronic eavesdropping facilities on Cyprus and we’re flying overhead intercepts the length and breadth of the Lebanon, from the NATO bases in Turkey. A fortnight ago NSA shifted one of its Mediterranean satellites and put it in permanent geostationary orbit directly over Beirut. No one speaks on the telephone or the radio without us hearing what’s said: we can count the bricks in the walls.”

  “All very impressive,” said Janet.

  “I’m glad you think so,” said Willsher, misunderatanding.

  “So what’s it achieved?”

  “Ms. Stone,” said Willsher, gently. “Some hostages have been held in the Lebanon for years.”

  “Seventeen hostages,” enumerated Janet, just as controlled. “And if we’re going to go on quoting statistics, seven more have been tortured and killed. All of which frightens the hell out of me because I don’t want John Sheridan achieving some kidnap endurance record or being tortured or dismembered or killed.”

  “Tell me!” demanded Willsher, holding his hands out towards her. “Tell me what else or what more you’d have us do! Tell me something we haven’t thought of!”

  “You know why no other Russians have been kidnapped, after October, 1985?”

  “Yes I do, Ms. Stone,” Willsher responded at once. “I know the KGB sent in hit squads and I know that fifteen Shia fanatics were killed as a warning to leave Soviet personnel alone. But I also know that one of the four Russians kidnapped in October, 1985, was murdered before the rescue squads got to him.”

  “There must be some way you can force the Kuwaitis to give in!” pleaded Janet, desperately.

  “We can’t,” said the CIA officer. “We know we can’t because we’ve tried that, too.”

  That night, in Harriet’s Georgetown house where she’d first met John Sheridan, Janet drank more than she normally did, agreeing to brandy after the wine, but the idea, when it came, was in no way a drunken one, although that was Harriet’s immediate thought.

  When she belatedly realized that Janet was quite serious, Harriet said: “That’s absurd: absolutely absurd.”