Trial by fire: a novel

by Harold Coyle

  attractive female spokesperson to deliver the prepared statement like some of the more astute agencies did. At least a well-attired and groomed woman provided a pleasing distraction from the dull, arduous task of patiently listening to drivel while one waited one's turn to verbally rip the witness to pieces. But, Lewis lamented, no such luck today, as he watched the geek from the CIA drone on, and on, and on.

  Like most prepared statements, this one was being delivered with a zeal that matched the ceiling fans' slow and tedious rotations. It was cluttered with redundancies, stuffed with embellishments, and liberally sprinkled with caveats. The prepared statement, in short, was ninety percent grade A, government-inspected horseshit. Still, Ed Lewis listened intently, for he knew that there was no such thing as pure horseshit.

  Somewhere hidden in the horde of words the witness was issuing was an idea, a grain of truth, a real and cognitive thought. It was the task of Ed Lewis, and the other members of the House Committee on Intelligence, to capture those few precious thoughts and truths as they whizzed by and beat them to death during the questioning that would follow.

  The likelihood of that happening this day, however, was quite remote, and the witness knew that. At least his bosses did, which is why only a relatively low-ranking administrative assistant had been sent to deal with the congressional committee. With the summer recess about to begin, Lewis, by pushing for hearings on-the crisis in Mexico, was fighting the annual drive to finish up or postpone all business that might force the congressmen and their staffs to prolong their stays in D.C. Opposition from every quarter, including an occasional plaintive whimper from his own staff, had threatened to postpone the hearings until the Congress met again in October.

  It was only through threats and a few well-chosen comments to the press that Lewis had been able to convince his fellow congressmen on the committee to hold preliminary hearings on the failure of the nation's intelligence community to predict and accurately track recent events in Mexico. In an election year, when the race was close, the last thing an incumbent could do was appear to be negligent in his duties, especially when they were connected to the crisis du jour.

  Lulled into inattention by the lackluster delivery of the prepared statement, the assembled congressmen took a few seconds to realize that the CIA man had finished. There was a momentary shifting in seats and reshuffling of papers as people throughout the chamber stirred themselves back into a state of mental awareness. When the chairman of the committee finally roused himself to speak, his voice and comments betrayed his lack of interest and focus. Even his questions were rather perfunctory.

  The witness, sitting across from the committee members, stared at them through his large, round, horn-rimmed glasses. With his hands folded on the table, he responded to each of the chairman's questions with stock answers that were as uninformative and evasive as they were predictable.

  In some cases, Lewis had great difficulty relating what was given as a response to the question that had been asked. Still, no one seemed to mind. A function was being performed. Like cogs, and wheels, and gears of a great machine, the congressional hearing was grinding on as scheduled.

  When the floor was turned over to Lewis to ask his questions, he paused before proceeding. Looking over at his colleagues, and then at the witness, he considered his approach for a moment. On one hand, he could follow suit, asking mundane questions that avoided controversy, thereby ensuring that the hearing would end on time and in a nice, neat, tidy manner. Or he could, as his instincts told him to, go for the throat. By choosing the latter, he would be assured some media coverage, incur the wrath of his fellow committee members who wanted to end this session, and, possibly, just maybe, put some people in the intelligence community on notice that their poor performance in Mexico to date would not escape punishment.

  Had Lewis chosen the easy out, he would have surprised both friends and foes. A former officer in the National Guard, he had participated as a battalion executive officer in the Persian Gulf war and had experienced, firsthand, the price of poor intelligence. The people who had paid the price for those failures had been his friends and the soldiers who had entrusted their lives into his care. To allow the intelligence community to do whatever it wanted, without regard to consequences, would be, to Lewis, a betrayal of those he had left behind.

  He could not, therefore, do otherwise. Of all his congressional duties, Lewis considered the time spent working as a member of the House Intelligence Committee as being the most important and, potentially, as having the greatest impact. He could not, and would not, fluff off the witness simply for the sake of convening on time. Like a samurai warrior about to do battle with an opponent, Lewis held the papers in front of him in both hands like a weapon, leaned forward, and stared the witness in the eyes.

  Stressing the word Mister as a way of reminding everyone present that the witness was without a title, an important distinction in Washington, Lewis began his questioning. "I've read the report submitted by your agency, Mister Napier, with great interest. Are you familiar with its contents?"

  The CIA rep leaned forward to the microphone. "Yes, Congressman Lewis, I wrote it."

  There was a hint of pride in Napier's response, which bothered Lewis.

  Everyone knew Napier had written the report. Napier's comment, as far as Lewis was concerned, was nothing more than a stab at publicly receiving credit for simply doing the mundane job he was being paid to do.

  After glancing at the report, then at Napier for a few seconds, creating a pause for effect, Lewis grunted, "Uh-huh." Looking back down at the report for a few more seconds, Lewis gave the impression he was considering his next question, even though he already knew what it and the following questions would be. "This report is quite informative, Mr.

  Napier. In it, you describe CIA operations in Mexico, providing dates, details, facts, and figures galore. Were someone to read this in isolation, he, or she, could not help but get the impression that we had the means in place to monitor trends and developments in Mexico that could pose a threat to the United States. And yet, the events of June 28 through June 30 of this year do not bear this out. Comparatively speaking, the people at Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, were wide awake and alert. How, sir, do you explain the discrepancy between the means available, as delineated in your report, and the poor results, as demonstrated by recent events?"

  Napier was prepared for the question. A smirk lit his face as he leaned back in his seat before answering, unaware that he was being set up.

  "Well, Congressman Lewis, as a member of the House Committee on Intelligence, you are well aware of the many requirements placed on the intelligence community of the United States. You are also aware, I am sure, of the budget with which we are expected to execute the multitude of tasks necessary to fulfill those requirements. There is, and again, I am sure you are aware, a discrepancy between many requirements and too few funds. We, therefore, have to make hard choices, prioritizing our efforts based on what we perceive to be the greatest need at any given time."

  "Who, Mr. Napier, makes those choices?"

  Napier responded with a tone that emphasized his confidence, and a wave of his hand. "The director, of course, based on recommendations from subject-matter experts and area specialists."

  Lewis cut in. "Such as yourself?"

  Cocking his head back, Napier responded, with pride, "Yes sir, like me."

  "Do you, Mr. Napier, provide much input to the director concerning affairs in Mexico?"

  "Yes, Congressman, of course. Central America, and Mexico in particular, is my responsibility. Just about everything concerning Mexico comes across my desk for my review, screening, and reworking before going to the director, or higher."

  Like a skilled hunter, Lewis continued to close, preparing to snare Napier as his prey, while turning Napier's own arrogance against him.

  "Then, I assume, Mr. Napier, that you also advise the director on what requirements should be pursued and how best to allocate funds
and resources to meet those requirements?"

  "Yes, Congressman, of course. The director, responsible for many areas, normally goes along with our recommendations."

  For a moment, Lewis had to suppress the urge to lash out at the pompous bureaucrat seated before him. Instead, in a rather nonchalant manner, Lewis struck. "Then, Mr. Napier, you accept responsibility for the CIA's failure to understand the threat to the Mexican government and the Agency's inability to predict the military coup that brought it down at the end of June."

  Lewis's statement struck Napier like a bullet. Sitting upright, his face flushed, Napier stared blankly at Lewis before answering. His response was quick and reactive. "I said nothing of the sort. There was no failure on our part. As my report states, the events of this past June were totally unprecedented, unexpected. The spontaneous action on the part of a handful of military officers could not possibly be predicted."

  It was now Lewis's turn to settle back in his chair and snicker. "You would have us believe that this entire crisis was a bolt out of the blue, that these thirteen colonels woke up one day and suddenly decided to overthrow their government?"

  Napier was angry. Lewis was trying to make him look like a fool and he didn't like it. He was, however, too rattled to respond rationally, and it showed. "Of course not, Mister Congressman. You just don't pull off an operation like they did without detailed planning and preparation.

  Such things take time, as well as motivation."

  "And your agency detected none of this detailed planning and preparation?

  And, Mister Napier, you just stated that the coup was spontaneous.

  Which is it? Deliberate and premeditated or spontaneous?"

  Caught between a rock and a hard place of his own creation, Napier slowed down this time before answering. His next response was more controlled. "As I have already pointed out, Congressman Lewis, our efforts were oriented toward gathering information on drug-trafficking operations. I didn't believe ... the Agency didn't see any need to question the stability of the Mexican government or the loyalty of the Army."

  Shooting forward in his seat, Lewis looked Napier in the eyes. "Then, sir, you failed. You failed to do what the CIA is supposed to do. In the twinkling of an eye, the entire government of a nation that shares a fifteen-hundred-mile border with the United States was eliminated and replaced by a group of men whom we know absolutely nothing about. If that, sir, is not a failure, then what is?"

  Napier, at a loss for words, fumbled about in an effort to find a suitable response. Lewis, however, did not give him the chance. He had the floor, Napier was on the ropes, and it was time to go for the kill. Lewis was not interested in hacking up a minor flunky. He was going for bigger things, the entire intelligence community. Napier was just a foot soldier who had been placed in the line of fire and had been shot.

  Turning in his seat and facing the chairman of the subcommittee, Lewis addressed him specifically, and the entire chamber in general. "As in the past, the United States finds itself caught off guard and reacting to an international crisis. Instead of being forewarned and prepared, the leadership of this country has no better understanding of events in Mexico today, five weeks after the event, than the average man and woman on the street." Holding Napier's report up in one hand and crumpling it like a piece of scrap paper, Lewis drove on. "I find it totally reprehensible that Jan Fields, a simple reporter for a news network, who just happened to be in Mexico City at the time of the coup, is providing better information, and greater insight into this crisis, than an agency that we annually sink billions of dollars into. Now, I really do not expect anyone to justify this, for in my mind, there is no reasonable justification. What we should be interested in, Mr. Chairman, is what Mr. Napier, and his agency, are going to do to correct this glaring deficiency. That, sir, is what we need to work on. We owe it to the American public and ourselves. To do anything less would be criminal."

  Though most of his fellow committee members were not at all pleased with the line of attack that Lewis had taken, no one dared challenge him.

  His approach had been sound and his speech was real mom-and-apple-pie stuff, the kind that made good press in an election year. After a moment of reflection, the chairman, realizing that these proceedings were out of his control and were not going to be wrapped up before the summer session ended, called a recess. Lewis had skillfully put them on the offensive and now, in order to save face, and perhaps enhance his reelection efforts, the chairman had to figure out where to go with the attack on the intelligence community.

  Mexico City, Mexico

  1155 hours, 3 August

  Anyone who knew Jan Fields and followed her work would have been surprised by Ed Lewis's description of Jan as a simple reporter. Were it not for what some called an illogical love affair with a lieutenant colonel in the U.S. Army, Jan would have been able to name her price in any national network news slot she chose. Even after she had spent three years in self-imposed exile as a simple correspondent, the current situation in Mexico, and her coverage, had once again catapulted her to the front of the pack. It was a feat that pleased her no end and earned her both the respect and envy of a horde of reporters currently flooding Mexico City in search of a story.

  It didn't take the correspondents coming into Mexico City long to figure out that, regardless of how good they were, no one could catch Jan Fields. From day one of the crisis, she had dominated the field as if it were an exclusive. While everyone else reported the coup in traditional terms of sinister assassinations and rising military dictatorship, Jan presented to the American public the story behind the story. Opening with a hard-hitting ten-minute WNN special report that laid out in clear and striking terms the story behind the coup, Jan had captured the attention of the American public and never let go. While other reporters found it a struggle to make even a simple phone call, let alone arrange an interview with a government spokesman, Jan floated through the corridors of power like a summer breeze. To her credit was a series of thirteen interviews, one with each member of the ruling council, a visit to each of Mexico's thirty-one states, and numerous tours and trips to every nook and cranny of Mexico City, from the barrios to the presidential palace. Throughout, there was no doubt that Jan was in her element, in charge, and determined to stay there.

  Doing so, however, was not as easy as some would think. For every flashy and intriguing interview Jan did, there were three she would rather have ignored. The story she was covering at that moment, the public execution of criminals for crimes against the state, was a prime example.

  Most Americans, including Jan, accepted that there had been a need for change in Mexico. The Council of 13 had proven quite astute at mustering support for their cause in the United States through the use of the media and the large Hispanic-American community. Even the most ardent opponent of the new regime in Mexico had to concede that the Council of 13 was justified in seeking a change. It was some of the methods used by the council that caused a major split in the United States between those who pushed for acceptance and support of the new regime and those who advocated action to restore the old government. No issue caused more debate and concern than the use of summary trials, conducted by military tribunals.

  From the beginning, the Council of 13 understood that the success or failure of their efforts rested upon their ability to win popular support.

  The revolution had to be a revolution of the people, not just of a select group of individuals, if it were to have meaning and a chance to succeed.

  As far as the council was concerned, they were doing nothing more than continuing the Revolution of 1917, bringing it back on course and to the people of Mexico, where it belonged. Molina, Guajardo, Zavala, and the others understood this and believed in it. They had to, in order to justify themselves individually and collectively to the striking down of the government that they had sworn to defend. Convincing the people of Mexico, grown cynical after living under a corrupt and ineffective government for decades, was a differ
ent, and more difficult matter. The members of the council, trained in the art of war, naturally sought measures that would be swift, positive, effective, and would touch every citizen. The specter of the failed Soviet coup in August 1991 guided their planning as they worked to ensure that they did not repeat the errors of the Soviet conspirators.

  '.

  The

  council approached the problem in a cold and analytical manner.

  Conditions in Mexico were bad, and they knew those conditions would grow worse, considerably worse, before the council would be able to show a real and widespread improvement for the nation and its people.

  The council, as the PRI had done many times before, was going to have to ask an impoverished people to make new sacrifices in order to save their future. What the council had to demonstrate to the people, in a way that would be of immediate and direct benefit to them, was that it not only was sincere about saving Mexico, but that it had the ability to actually w; effect

  sweeping changes that would reach all citizens. Unable to provide food, money, or jobs to the people, the Council of 13 attacked two of the

  major things that had contributed to the people's disillusionment with their own government: corruption and unrestrained crime.

  The elimination of corruption at all levels throughout the country using swift and uncompromising justice would have many benefits. By administering it at the local level in every state and town, it would be highly visible and provide every citizen in Mexico the feeling that the revolution was a national undertaking, not simply confined to the capital. The use of public executions would also serve as a warning to anyone who entertained the notion of resisting the will of the council. One could turn off the radio or the television or throw away a newspaper. Executions, on the other hand, were an entirely different matter. Most people in Mexico found it difficult to ignore the crack of rifles and the smell of fresh blood H