by Frank Perry
news. Will Lawrence had been the Director of the CIA and had disappeared after being implicated in an extortion scheme, involving more than a billion dollars. The treachery had begun over three decades earlier at Cal Berkeley where Lawrence befriended a wealthy Iranian student. That relationship had helped him professionally by providing intelligence information from Iran as his friend rose higher in the Iranian Government, but it had also led to a plot between them based on terrorizing Americans by destroying airliners in flight with shoulder-launched missiles smuggled into the states. Lawrence had been missing for months; the Agency had not recovered from his treachery. Congressional leaders wanted his head, but it was nowhere to be had. Beyond that, they wanted the “old guard” supplemented by personnel from outside the CIA. Rachael Aston had a pristine record in the Department of the Army, as an Intelligence Analyst. Through direct counter-terror action, where she met Peter, her credentials were golden at the highest levels in government. Like Peter, she had bled for her country.
The waiter arrived, took their orders, and then delivered small salads. Peter was relieved and excited for her. He was thrilled for her career, but even more excited that she had chosen to tell him in this special setting. “Rachael, this is outstanding! What will you be doing — if I can ask?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m meeting with the new Acting Director tomorrow morning. Simmons pulled strings for this, and he says I’ll get a regional oversight post, responsible for intel operations in the Americas, outside the U.S., of course.”
“You know (he wanted to say ‘sweetheart’), I’m so happy for you. Your star is the brightest in Washington. You’re still a child by DC standards! I’m so proud of you.”
They talked superficially about her new opportunity before the meal arrived. Neither knew enough about the Agency or her future role to discuss it further. At some point, Peter became subdued, partly as his anxiety drained away, but also feeling regret that he couldn’t risk crossing the personal abyss toward the affection they had shared until recently. After lunch, they parted, both feeling a little awkward in their new relationship. From Peter’s standpoint, lunch was a hopeful sign.
Earlier that morning, Rachael had just returned to her office in the Pentagon after a week’s vacation in Connecticut, visiting her parents. She had not planned the trip ahead of time and spent most of it inside their home, trying to avoid people. She’d broken a relationship with the only man she’d ever really loved -- and still loved. After weeks, feeling isolated in Washington with her own emotions, she needed some time alone in the sanctuary of her parents home. Peter’s profession, as an Army Green Beret, conflicted with the lifestyle she wanted. It was heartbreaking to leave him, but she couldn’t deal with the uncertainty and risks of his profession.
She was intelligent, young, beautiful and respected in her role as the Director of Operations and Plans (DAMI-OP), under the Army’s Deputy Chief of Staff, Army Intelligence. At thirty, she was far younger than her peers in Government, but she’d earned the position, nearly losing her life in the process. It was rewarding work, and she felt honored to do it.
Lt. General John Simmons, code G-2, was Rachael’s boss. Simmons was an Air Force pilot, but assigned to an Army position, common for three-star officers. He had a daughter, nearly Rachael’s age, and he exhibited occasional paternalism around her. He’d been in the Air Force for over thirty years, with most of that in the Intelligence (MI) field. After successfully recovering over a billion dollars in extortion funds heading towards Iran, with Peter’s help, Simmons was in line to become the next Director of the NSA (National Security Agency), leading to his forth star. The NSA is under the DoD, responsible for analyzing foreign communications and also protecting U.S. Government communications and information systems through cryptography. Simmons was a proven operations leader, respected throughout Government.
The only person in the Directorate earlier than Rachael each morning was “The General.” This morning, she had been following her morning routine, balancing her breakfast between her forearm and chin, green tea and a bagel, while unlocking her office door. She’d hardly had time to start her computer when Simmons walked in, “Good morning, Rachael, and, welcome back to our little dominion!” He was unusually expressive, appearing excited.
She smiled, feeling his genuine warmth, “Hi, General. It’s good to be back.”
He stepped inside her office and sat in one of her office side chairs after closing the door. She pushed her breakfast aside. This was uncommon behavior for him. He never came to her office to talk. She’d always gone to him.
“Rachael, I have something to ask you, which is important for you professionally. How would you like a promotion out of the Army and into the CIA?”
She stared at him quizzically for a few seconds, but he went on. “As you’ve probably heard, I’m being considered to run NSA.”
“That’s more than a consideration from what I hear, Sir.”
Raising his hand he continued, “Well, it’s not official, and I’ve learned the hard way on several occasions not to assume anything. Anyway, I was talking to some friends at CIA, and there’s a nice SES (Senior Executive Service) slot open since Will Lawrence disappeared -- and they’re interested in you joining them.”
She spoke cautiously, “General, I’m not sure what to say. I’m honored, but I don’t have the experience for Will’s job, and I’m just getting settled in here.”
“I understand, Rachael, but I want you to talk to them anyway. This place is going to change when I leave, and I’d like to see you better positioned to use your beautiful brain more productively. The CIA is at the top of the intel community, and you should be in it.”
“I wouldn’t want to let you down, Sir, but Will had thirty years of experience at Langley.”
“Okay, Rachael. Here’s the deal. You won’t replace Will. They’re gonna move someone else into his slot, creating a Deputy opening underneath. They’re planning to shift the work around among the Deputies and assign you to handle the Americas, both south and north continents. So, what should I tell them?” He was looking at her intently, and she had a hard time gauging how much pressure he was exerting.
“Sir, why would they want me? There must be dozens of experienced CIA people who would be shocked if I came over.” It was more of an exploratory question.
“Can’t argue with you. You’ll need to be watching your backside all the time. Let me give you some insight, Rachael. The ‘Company’ (CIA) got smeared real bad when Lawrence was found out to be a traitor. All eyes are on the institution, and there’s even pressure to get rid of it.”
He continued, “They won’t break it up ‘cause it’s too valuable and effective, but some new blood from outside the org would take pressure down a notch. You are a recognizable national hero.”
She blushed then responded, “So, this is window dressing?”
“Not at all. Some will see it that way, but so what? I know you, and I know you’ll quickly impress everyone.”
“Wow. I’m not sure what to say, General. This is kind of a lot to handle on Monday before breakfast.”
He chuckled and stood to leave. “All right, Rachael, I think you know what’s the right thing to do, so get back to me later today. I want to get you over there before I ship out of here.”
He walked out leaving her door open. She stared through the opening trying to absorb what they had just discussed. She already knew her answer.
The next morning Rachael dressed in her nicest dress and jacket, looking like the most professional woman executive in Washington. To deal with her nervousness, she went to the Pentagon as usual, even though she needed to leave for the CIA at Langley only an hour later. It would have been harder to stay at home in anticipation of her interview.
At nine thirty, she went to the north entrance where a taxi was waiting. She normally took the metro train from Georgetown to work and hadn’t found the need to own a car. Georgetown street
s are old and narrow without good parking, so she’d lived without a car.
The ride north along the parkway took only fifteen minutes, but the security processes for “visitors” took longer than anticipated, even for an unclassified meeting. After signing in, she was photographed and biometrically printed, then she waited for an escort to the conference room where she would meet with the Acting Director and whomever else he elected to speak to her.
The new Director was a Congressman from the House Intelligence Committee awaiting confirmation to the permanent position. He didn’t seem overly interested in Rachael’s qualifications, and she got the impression that he was simply “rubber stamping” General Simmons’ recommendation. The interview ended at noon with no offer of lunch. No other Agency managers met her, and she left uncertain about the outcome. The Director told her that she’d get a formal letter through Government channels. He didn’t indicate if it was a positive affirmation of her appointment, and he never even bothered to describe the position.
Upon returning to her office, she was greeted by General Simmons. “Okay, Rachael, how did it go?”
“Frankly, Sir, I have no idea.” She wasn’t impressed that her credentials weren’t really discussed, nor had any description of the job