Close Quarters

TWENTY-TWO

Chapin looked at Benson in surprise. ‘What the hell was that about? The man’s a self-serving weasel, we all know that, but did you have to be so rude?’

‘Blame Ambrose, not me,’ Benson snarled, and turned on Teller, who wilted under his gaze. ‘Jesus, could you have been any more open? That little schmuck is not stupid; he knew what you were suggesting — what we’re all thinking right now. If this gets out that we were planning on using inside knowledge about energy movements, we’ll be finished.’ He took a sip of water and wondered how much damage had been done. If Conkley panicked and let it be known that he was paid to come here and spill details of matters discussed in the seat of government, and that some of that information was being used to line the pockets of a handful of speculators, they would likely end up in jail.

‘Come on, Howard,’ Chapin muttered soothingly, ‘calm down. Conkley won’t talk; I’ve known him for years. He’s got too much to lose. Now, if you’ve got something on your tricky little mind, let’s hear it before we all grow a day older.’

Benson nodded and breathed deeply to restore a sense of calm. Perhaps he had overreacted and Chapin was right; Conkley was a typical civil servant, with a love of meetings, paperwork and procedure, and a prudish distaste for anything too adventurous. ‘You’re right,’ he agreed. ‘I’m sorry.’ He held up two fingers. ‘Two points I wanted to raise: one is at the forefront of all our minds: the reversal of budget cuts to the intelligence agencies and the continuation of their position in fighting terrorism and securing information from our enemies. We’ve all been in this game too long to enjoy seeing the numbers going down, the budgets slashed and our hands tied by the idiots currently in charge.’

‘I agree,’ Chapin murmured, but he was frowning as if he failed to see the direction Benson was going.

‘But it’s not entirely their fault; there was a time when intelligence gathering produced real results. But that was in the past, before the CIA was taken over by hoodlums who seem to think they’re above the law. Their record of inappropriate and, frankly, illegal activities over the past twenty years, such as hiring private armies of mercenaries, kidnappings, black flights, God knows what else, has ruined the good work of other agencies; agencies who are better equipped to put the fight on a level above the gunfighter mentality.’ He hesitated while his message sank in, noting the nods as the others gave their agreement. ‘I’m talking about electronic intelligence gathering, and it’s time we got back to that situation. This could be our chance.’

‘You’ll get no argument from me there,’ Teller murmured. Like the others, many of his investments were in the electronics industry where much of the equipment and expertise Benson was talking about was produced. Any change in government spending in these areas would affect them all directly.

Chapin nodded. ‘Good. And point two?’

Benson smiled and in response looked down the table at the fourth man present, who had so far said nothing. ‘I’m sure Burman can see where I’m going.’

‘I can indeed.’ With heavily veined hands and a shock of white hair, Burman Cassler crouched in his chair as if being pressed downwards by an invisible burden, using the power of his eyes to draw the attention of the other men. Thought by many in Washington to be long dead or retired to his country estate in New Hampshire, he was still a big hitter in industrial and banking circles. He had served briefly in the US State Department before finding an outlet for his razor-sharp brain in Wall Street, with a leaning towards military and defence production, and it was his talent for spotting and using investment opportunities that had drawn him to this group, allying their insider knowledge to his ability to play the markets. ‘Where there’s a war,’ he continued, ‘there’s a percentage. The drawdown of US personnel and commitment in Afghanistan is already showing a shortfall in military spending; a situation where we all stand to lose out. Frankly, if we don’t find an alternative somewhere else, we could get our fingers burned.’

‘So how does Europe allow us to make that up?’ Teller queried. ‘There’s already an over-supply of weapons in Eastern Europe, with old Russian arsenals being discovered and ripped open all the time and the contents sold off to the highest bidder. That market is saturated.’

Cassler nodded. ‘True enough. However, I’m not talking about AK-47s or missiles. As Howard said earlier, there’s a growing energy-supply problem over there. G7 is already threatening sanctions against Russian interference in Ukraine. If Moscow calls their bluff and shuts down the pipelines, somebody will have to step in.’ He looked around at the other faces as realization began to build. ‘It might as well be us.’

Chapin nodded. ‘All we need to do is get Congress to loosen export restrictions and we can get more natural gas on to the market.’

‘Aren’t they already planning on issuing licences?’ asked Teller.

‘Correct.’ Benson nodded. ‘But they don’t take effect until later this year. We need it to happen now.’

‘So what do we do? We can’t put pressure on the Department of Energy; that would be stating our interest too openly.’

‘Maybe so. But if the situation in Eastern Europe is seen to worsen, that might work in our favour. We just have to be in a position to do something about it.’ Benson got to his feet. ‘It doesn’t mean we have to be overt; a few well-placed suggestions to the right people should do it. Let the momentum gather from there.’

Cassler smiled. ‘Excellent idea. There will be many who will want to be seen as the instigators in helping out those unfortunates caught up in fuel shortages.’

Benson didn’t need to say anything more. His tactic had worked. These men were better at chewing over the fine details than he was. Right now he needed to check on some things with Langley. He moved towards the door. ‘You’ll have to excuse me, gentlemen, but I have some business to attend to.’

‘Of course,’ Chapin said. ‘We meet again in twelve hours.’

Once outside, Benson made a call. He was still feeling sour at Teller’s crass stupidity; by his thoughtless comment he’d put them all in an invidious position. As far as Conkley should have been aware, the Dupont Circle Group was one of several independent think-tanks in the Washington arena and, as such, had no conflicts of interest with situations coming under their radar. Teller’s remark had now blown that notion right out of the water, exposing himself and the others as nothing more than a clique of heavy investors on the international markets with an eye to the main chance. And Conkley had instantly picked up on it.

Benson didn’t want to take any unnecessary action, but neither was he prepared to sit back and allow matters to get out of hand. If Conkley decided to talk about what he’d heard, they would all be finished. In this town you didn’t have to show absolute proof of wrongdoing to become a focus for damaging and ruinous attention from the press or enemies in the corridors of power; the accusation was often enough to last a lifetime.

The very idea filled Benson with horror. He had too much of a stake in this, both financially and with his position in government, and the thought of losing both was too terrifying to contemplate.

‘Two-One. Go ahead.’ The voice was, as usual, brisk and devoid of emotion.

‘I need you to monitor Walter Conkley. He’s on the White House staff list. Who he meets, who he talks to over the next three days. Conversations, phone calls, emails — the lot.’

‘No problem. How deep?’

‘Deep as you can. Stick a bug up his ass if you have to; I want to know everything. And if he so much as smiles in the direction of anyone in security, call me immediately.’