To Free a Spy

by Nick Ganaway

  He was surprised at Ana’s appearance. She was frail at her trial but looked strong now.

  Ana interrupted when Warfield started to introduce himself.

  “We’ve met.” Ana looked straight at him but he read no emotion in her eyes.

  “Yes, we have.”

  They weighed each other for a moment.

  “Being treated okay?” he asked.

  “They complicate my social life some, and the air in here smells a little personal at times, but otherwise it’s not bad. But you’re not here to check on my well-being.”

  “Ms. Koronis, an intelligence source contacted me with new information that might affect your case. I went to Paris to check it out. Maybe together we can make more sense out of it.”

  “When you say, affect my case, do you mean it could help me?”

  “It’s only a possibility.”

  Warfield read her forced smile as an indication she didn’t believe a word he said.

  “I’ve never had the feeling you were interested in improving my situation.”

  “It was never personal. Hoped you were not involved. Still do.”

  “Do you need to hear me say it? All right, I didn’t do it! Now what do you want me to do?”

  Warfield studied her for a moment, then said, “I met Suri.” He watched for a sign of recognition.

  “Suri? Yes, I knew her.”

  “She turned against Seth. She’s on the run. A resistance group in Paris took her in and she’s been talking.”

  Ana nodded.

  “She involved in Seth’s operations?” Warfield asked.

  “I don’t know. A girlfriend I think. Know why she left him?”

  “Thought Seth was going to kill her. Suri said he’d murdered Hassan.”

  “Hassan? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at anything in Seth’s world, but how does all of this help me?”

  “Suri told us your reaction when your brother told you what he wanted you to do for him.”

  Ana stared at Warfield.

  He continued. “It’s only a start, but with Suri we have someone backing your claim that you rejected Seth and left him when you learned what he was involved in.”

  Ana stood up and walked around the small room. The young lines on her forehead deepened. “Look, I’m not a criminal lawyer but I am a lawyer, and I know this information from the ex-girlfriend of an international terrorist is not going to get me out of here.”

  “As I said, it’s a start.”

  “That all she told you?”

  “She knew about a meeting in Paris. Thinks it was one of Seth’s men and an American. The date was soon after we arrested Joplan, the CIA mole.”

  “What do you make of the meeting?”

  “I think Joplan told somebody how to contact Seth, and—”

  “And that somebody is the person who met with Seth’s man?”

  “Could be. Joplan’s contact needed a nuclear scientist and nuke materials. That’s what Joplan told me right before he was killed. The CIA has a list of post-Cold War Russians they consider security risks in that category. We know from your trial that Petrevich was on that list. Given the timing and other parts of the puzzle, it’s not too far out to believe Petrevich and the uranium left Russia as a result of Joplan telling someone who his contact was.”

  “Someone who had access to that CIA file. A significant part of my trial.”

  “Right.”

  Both sat without speaking for a few seconds before Warfield stood up to leave. “If you don’t mind me asking, I…I’m curious…the name Seth—”

  Ana smiled a little. “I think he was around seventeen—it was near the time he left our family here in the States and moved to Iran—when he adopted the name after reading about Seth in Egyptian mythology. The name our parents gave him is Ali.”

  * * *

  Back in her own quarters, Ana lay on her mattress pad and stared at the ceiling. She thought of Suri. “Yes!” she breathed.

  * * *

  Warfield sat in his car in the jail parking lot for twenty minutes, staring at nothing, mulling over the information he got from Suri and now from Ana. Ana Koronis was a cold number. To him at least. Was it because he tipped Joe Morgan about her, or was that her baseline?

  He roughed out a timeline of events and made a few notes. It was time to play his best card. Risky because, while he had a few solid facts, he was shooting from the hip. He couldn’t see the target well enough to take direct aim, but this card might draw the mole into the open.

  Back on the expressway, he phoned Paula Newnan and thanked her for setting up the meeting.

  “Glad to help, Cameo.”

  “Then you get another chance.”

  “Thanks, mouth. Okay, what is it now?”

  “Need to meet with Fullwood, Stern and Quinn. Together.”

  “Any special time you’d like this. I’m sure they will cancel everything to make themselves available at your convenience.”

  “Same as always.”

  “I know. ASAP.”

  “Subject is national security. They’ll ask.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “And no substitutes.”

  “Substitutes?”

  “Deputies won’t do.”

  “Got it, Cameo.”

  Warfield started to sign off, then said, “Oh, yeah, Paula, whadda you know about mythology?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Seth. There’s a Seth in Egyptian mythology. Thought you might fill me in on him.”

  “Sorry, can’t help with that one.”

  * * *

  Paula arranged the meeting for noon the next day and reserved a small room at the White House. Warfield briefed Cross on his agenda for the meeting before going to the conference room, but told the president he wanted to meet with Fullwood and Quinn alone. Otto Stern had cancelled.

  Quinn was first to congratulate Warfield on his handling of the Yoshida matter. Fullwood grunted something about it but whatever he said wasn’t clear. Fullwood still held him in contempt.

  Warfield opened by saying he wanted to give them information about Joplan’s contact.

  Fullwood couldn’t wait. “Learned that at the Koronis trial, Kunnel. That why we’re here? So you can remind us that the terrorist Seth recruited his sister to steal secrets from Austin’s computer?”

  “That’s what the trial came up with and I agreed with it. But now…maybe not.”

  Quinn looked surprised. Fullwood, acrid still.

  Warfield went on. “Seth’s girlfriend has turned against him, run away. She’s at a safe house in Paris now. I saw her two days ago.”

  Fullwood rolled his eyes and asked Warfield how he came by this information.

  Warfield remembered detailing Abbas’s history earlier but went over it again before returning to Suri. “She filled in gaps in what I already knew. Based on the information I have from all sources, here’s where I think we stand. Joplan’s contact was Seth. Seth had instructed Joplan to get the names of former Soviet scientists who were CIA-listed security risks. One of Seth’s clients—Fumio Yoshida, of course, using Japan’s money—wanted nuke materials and expertise. Yoshida agreed to pay Seth a few million dollars for it on delivery. Seth was going to use part of that money to pay Joplan if Joplan produced. Joplan knew how to signal Seth when he had the information, but before he got back to Seth the FBI snagged him. That was 6 April last year. After that date—while Joplan was on ice—Buyer X, I’ll call him, got word to Seth that Joplan had been arrested. If Seth wanted the information he had requested from Joplan, he would have to deal with Buyer X.”

  “And what conclusion do you draw from that?” Quinn asked.

  “That Buyer X learned how to reach Seth from Joplan himself.”

  “And how did he do that?” Quinn asked.

  “After Joplan agreed to cooperate with us, Buyer X went in and downloaded from Joplan the information he needed in order to step in where Joplan left off.”

 
“Why after he agreed to cooperate?” Fullwood said. “He could have told someone after he was arrested, but before he agreed to cooperate. Say, someone who was in on it with him.”

  “Joplan was a loner. I don’t believe he had any partners to tell it to. And he refused to cooperate with us until some unlucky soul’s balls showed up in his cell and he realized that in this new world of his they could have been his own.”

  “So, what’re you saying, Warfield?” Fullwood asked with his usual scowl.

  “Somebody who knew that Joplan agreed to cooperate with us—someone who also knew there was a lot of money at stake for the right information—got to Joplan there in prison and milked the Seth information out of him. Wouldn’t have been too hard to do, given Joplan’s state of mind following the Red Russell castration. Then X killed Joplan that night, or had him killed, so Joplan couldn’t reveal anything to the FBI.”

  “Got any thoughts about who X is?” Quinn asked.

  “Since Joplan received no official visitors after he agreed to cooperate, my theory is that Joplan’s killer—our mole—was spawned at our meeting in the Oval Office, the meeting when I turned Joplan back over to the FBI.”

  Fullwood jumped out of his chair. “Wait up here, Warfield! You sayin’ one of us clandestinely visited Joplan that night, got the name of his contact and killed him? You’ve gone around the corner for sure!”

  “I’m saying no one except the few of us who were in the Oval Office that day knew Joplan was ready to give up the name of his contact and that his contact had deep pockets. My Buyer X learned this from one of us who was at that meeting.”

  “Who was present at that meeting?” Quinn asked.

  “The three of us, Stern and the president. And Paula was there. But it wasn’t X himself who debriefed Joplan and killed him. X put someone inside the prison to do it.”

  “And after that, X knew how to contact Seth. That your conspiracy theory, Kunnel?”

  “Call it that if you want to. Seth’s representative, some Frenchman, Suri thinks, met with Joplan’s replacement in Paris on 22 April last year. Now jump ahead six weeks to 9 June. That’s the date Boris Petrevich crossed the border from Turkey into Iraq. Whether he had the uranium at that time is irrelevant to this discussion. I think Petrevich was the name supplied to Seth by X. Petrevich and the uranium ended up in Japan and we know the rest of that story.”

  “What is the point here, Kunnel, in spinning this tale of yours?”

  “The point is we still have an internal security problem and we’re going to have more losses until we find it. Unless you can discredit what I laid out here, you can start looking for another mole. It wasn’t Ana Koronis.”

  Earl Fullwood looked self-assured. With elbows on the table, cigar in hand, he said, “Kunnel, I believe even you would say this story of yours is based on a lot of speculation—the girlfriend of a terrorist, some dark spy-meetin’ in Paris, a conveniently mysterious murder in a prison. We can’t run around witch-huntin’ because of your phlegmy hallucinations. Might as well be readin’ tabloid newspapers and tarot cards. Pretty soon it’ll be the man in the moon spyin’ on us.”

  Warfield was at a loss as to why the director would refuse to consider the possibility of a mole.

  Quinn asked, “Learn anything else on your Paris trip?”

  “Few things I’m check—”

  Fullwood cut Warfield off. “Quinn, you’re askin’ for more fairy tales. Save your breath. I don’t know what’s goin’ on here. Warfield is guessin’. Like he did about that uranium, for example. There’s not an ounce of proof that the Russian at Habur is the one in Japan. Warfield’s tryin’ to make hisself look good after his big fiasco there.”

  Fullwood crammed his cigar between his teeth and stood up to leave. “I got Bureau business to take care of.”

  There was a tap on the door and Cross walked in. “This just came in. Might be of interest to all of you.” Cross placed a thick folder on the table. “It’s a translation of Yoshida’s diary.”

  That Jotaro file! Warfield wanted to jump up onto the table and dance. The authorities in Tokyo had kept it but Warfield requested a copy be sent to Cross. Incredible timing, and it might contain some information for Fullwood.

  Warfield sat back as Fullwood and Quinn began going through it. As Cross was leaving, he caught Warfield’s eye with a look that said everything Warfield had told him about Petrevich and Seth was there in the diary. That meant Fullwood’s rhetoric would crash before his eyes.

  Twenty minutes later Quinn looked over at Warfield. “In skimming this, Warfield, I see some support for your position, but I’m not convinced of another mole. And how much can you believe this girlfriend, Suri?”

  Warfield fired back. “Are you two going to stick your head in the sand? Look at Rick Ames, CIA. Operated right under Stern’s nose for ten years before he was caught. FBI’s Robert Hanssen spied twenty years. Mohammed Atta and the other 9/11 World Trade Center terrorists hid in open view for two years right here in our country while they planned their destruction. Think of the terrorist attack on our consulate in Benghazi, Libya and the murder of our Ambassador Chris Stephens and three other Americans. Look at how many Americans died because of these people. And there’s Habur crossing. There were warnings and signals in each one of those cases but nothing was done. No one wanted to believe it. Haven’t we learned anything about being proactive?”

  “If you knew so much about the Russian, why didn’t you act before he moved the stuff?” Quinn asked.

  Warfield wondered how many times he’d explained this and wasn’t ready to talk about his conversations with Rachel Gilbert again. Now he was angry. “Look, it boils down to this. Either the CIA’s source lied to the CIA, or somebody at CIA lied to the FBI, or somebody at FBI revised the intelligence that came from the CIA. Two out of three of those scenarios point to a mole. If you buy my theory that only a mole could have known how to contact Seth, it becomes pretty damn convincing that we’ve still got a mole. If you don’t, then you convince me.”

  “You were saying you had other information?” Quinn asked.

  Warfield decided to play that hollow carrot for what it was worth. “Yeah, from Ana, but nothing I’m going to talk about until I check into it.”

  Quinn seemed surprised. “Ana?”

  “Saw her yesterday.”

  Quinn measured Warfield for a moment, then said, “She’s all right I hope.”

  “She’s fine,” Warfield said dismissively.

  * * *

  Warfield was in his office later on when Paula called. “Cameo, Director Quinn called here, wants you to meet him at Langley.”

  “Yeah?” Warfield expected it. Had his theory caused some concern?

  “Five this afternoon.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Warfield drove past a six-foot-square sign on the side of the road that warned the unauthorized to keep going, fell into the turn lane and shot into the divided street that led inside the CIA campus. Another sign loomed there and a large and ominous armored personnel carrier with blackout windows stood at the corner poised to eradicate any problem. A guard shack manned by armed security personnel sat two-hundred yards inside the compound. The gate officer required I.D.

  Always the same, Warfield thought. No credit for good behavior on earlier visits. He cleared the checkpoint and drove deeper into the woods to where the headquarters building hid far from the view of outsiders. For years the location of CIA was a guarded secret, and even now it was far more shielded from the public than was the White House, a more sensitive and symbolic target. In the midst of Washington city streets and public parks the White House compound was a sieve in comparison to the CIA base. The White House, icon of democracy and freedom, must not be seen as a fortress. The CIA had no such image to protect. Darkness and shadows were its stock in trade.

  An armed officer inside the CIA headquarters building seemed to be expecting Warfield and led him to a parking garage where Quinn was already seated and waiting in
his SUV. Quinn and Warfield sat alone in the rear of the vehicle, which was configured with a small round table and leather seats. A glass partition separated them from the driver. Quinn offered something to drink but Warfield declined. The driver maneuvered around barricades and tire-shredders along the road leading back to the public highway as Quinn initiated the conversation. “Just curious about Ana,” he said. “Haven’t seen her for a while.”

  Quinn was taking a swipe at the carrot Warfield had thrown out a few hours earlier at the White House. Warfield wanted to slap the table but reminded himself that Quinn’s hyper curiosity proved nothing—yet.

  “Frankly, Cam, I miss her. Thought you could clue me in. How is she?”

  Warfield yielded no clue that he was beginning to suspect Quinn now. “Seems okay. I hadn’t seen her since the trial. Actually looks healthier now.”

  “I got the impression you know more than you shared with Fullwood and me. I know how it is with Fullwood, so I thought you and I could talk.”

  Warfield shrugged. “Couple of things. Maybe insignificant, so I don’t want to clutter the table with it at this point.”

  Quinn turned to look at him. “You’re safe talking with me about it.”

  Warfield looked straight at Quinn. “I’m not discussing it with anyone. Not yet.”

  Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “You know, Warfield, you’re not only chasing shadows, you live in the shadows. You’ll have everybody in Washington on a list of suspects. Could cause trouble for a lot of innocent people around here!”

  Quinn hit the intercom button and told the driver to return to Langley. When he stopped to let Warfield out near his car, Quinn laid a finger on Warfield’s shirt sleeve and looked at him for a second before speaking. “The president likes you, Warfield, but I’ve known Garrison a lot longer than you have. We played college ball together. Drank whiskey. Chased girls. Drove fast cars. Best man at each other’s wedding. We were buddies then, and we’ve become more than that through the years. He appointed me to run the CIA, for example. Like brothers, Garrison and me.”