Close Quarters

THIRTY-FIVE

Senator Benson ordered his driver to take him to CIA headquarters. There was something urgent he had to do; something that would be the first step on laying a trail to divert attention away from himself if things got screwed up.

He had taken some serious risks by sending out the information from the list he’d seen in Sewell’s office. But that had been unavoidable. Putting a crimp in the Watchman mission had required drastic measures and calling in outside influences was the only way he could think of that would achieve the objective at short notice. He didn’t see it as disloyal or even treacherous betraying Travis to the Russians, and neither did he give much thought to the danger the State Department employee might run. He knew well how these things went: there would undoubtedly be some protracted discussions and a deal of posturing from both sides to satisfy national pride. But a compromise would eventually be reached and Travis would be on his way home soon enough, a shop-soiled but undoubted hero in the eyes of the State Department and his loving family.

As for Portman, Benson wasn’t remotely interested. Contractors, or mercenaries as they used to be tagged, knew the risks they ran when they took up their sordid trade; weeping tears over them when they met their inevitable fate could be best left to soft-hearted liberals and men like Callahan.

Thoughts of the CIA officer revisited a niggle of concern lingering in the back of his mind. He was acutely aware that this whole business could come back to bite him if he didn’t take great care. If anything went wrong and the man with Russian connections didn’t get the job done, someone, somewhere — and he was betting on Callahan — would set the tracker dogs sniffing along the audit trail of anyone who had come remotely close to the mission. Although he was certain that he would remain above any suspicion, given his record and position in the Intelligence Community and Washington generally, it paid not to ignore the possibility of fate playing a deceitful hand.

Which was why, to avoid that possibility, he had decided to lay a false trail before it got that far. He could have simply sat back and allowed Two-One to arrange the payment to Lindsay Citera’s bank account and for a phone call to encourage her fate to be sealed. Who was more likely to sell highly sensitive information than a young, impressionable but naïve trainee with a dysfunctional family and money problems?

But sitting back would be cheating. Where was the fun in not being in on the kill, if not specifically, then helping set it up?

On arrival at Langley he made his way through security to the Operations Centre, where he was greeted by Jason Sewell. The assistant director seemed puzzled by the request for the meeting until Benson casually mentioned the forthcoming Select Committee budget discussions.

‘I need more beef on current operations, Jason,’ Benson said easily. ‘If they think things are quiet, they’ll assume you don’t need resources — which means they’ll cut you back even further and give it to Homeland Security instead. I’m sure you wouldn’t wish for that to happen.’

Sewell pulled a face. After many years of being in the senior echelons of the intelligence world, he knew all about the workings of these committees, and how there were some who were looking for any excuse to cut back on clandestine activities spending compared to other forms of intelligence gathering and security. If he had any thoughts about Benson’s role in such areas, he hid it well. ‘Of course, Senator. I can give you a rundown of what we’ve got on, certainly. But it’s pretty much already on paper for them to see.’

‘I know. And I sympathize, I really do. But don’t you have some manpower issues I can feed them?’

‘Such as?’

‘Well, take this current Watchman situation. You told me Callahan had to pull a new recruit off the Clandestine Trainee Program to act as Watchman’s communications support. That surely speaks of a lack of experienced personnel in key positions, doesn’t it — of overstretch?’

Sewell lifted an eyebrow. ‘Well, that particular person is not without some experience, it’s true … but we could always do with more facilities. We’re being asked to do more, with more targets to watch, so that’s affecting our demands on current personnel. And with experienced operatives being attracted to the private market, and natural wastage through retirement and ill-health, it’s an uphill struggle, I won’t deny.’

‘Good. Numbers are important, without a doubt. But it’s the people situation that swings votes, Jason. Committees are swayed by the usual buzzwords of inclusivity and equality, and the bringing on of fresh talent across the board. Give them a sense that their budget-stripping is going to cut the feet out from under a new generation of, shall we say, gender-specific personnel, and they shy away from that potential fragmentation grenade.’

‘I see. So what do you want from me?’

‘As a percentage of intake, how many women have you got currently in training?’

‘Right now?’ Sewell had to think. ‘I’d say with the current batch, probably thirty per cent. Why?’

‘Because nobody, not even the bean counters in government, wants to be seen as responsible for killing the aspirations of young American women in the service of this great country. Especially not those prepared to engage in the dangerous fields of work like the Clandestine Service. It’s even tougher with ethnic recruits, too; interfere with that and it’s a vote-killer — but don’t quote me on that.’

Sewell nodded. ‘I see your point. So how can I help?’

‘Let me have a chat with one or two of your trainees, find out what their aims and aspirations are. I think it’s time to put some of these points before the right people, to flesh out the fact that these young patriots entering the service are not simply functionaries and bean counters but are actively involved in the war against terrorism and the protection of this country. What do you think?’

‘Of course. I agree one hundred per cent. Tell me where you’d like to start.’

‘Well, how about one of the live operations. Let’s begin with the young woman working on the Watchman assignment, shall we? What was her name again — Linda?’

‘Uh — Lindsay. Lindsay Citera. I don’t see why not.’ He picked up his phone. ‘I’ll get someone to take you downstairs.’