Covert Warriors

FIVE

The Situation Room The White House 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W. Washington, D.C. 1105 14 April 2007

Supervisory Secret Service Agent Robert J. Mulligan, who in addition to being appointed chief of the Secret Service Presidential Protection Team now also seemed to be functioning as President Clendennen’s personal assistant, had telephoned Vice President Charles W. Montvale, Secretary of State Natalie Cohen, Secretary of Defense Frederick K. Beiderman, Director of National Intelligence Truman Ellsworth, CIA Director A. Franklin Lammelle, Attorney General Stanley Crenshaw, and FBI Director Mark Schmidt summoning them all to a 10:45 A.M. meeting with the President in the Situation Room.

In each case he had insisted-politely but with a certain arrogance-on speaking personally with those being summoned rather than leave word of their summons with anyone else.

They all chose to arrive early, which caused a not-so-minor traffic jam in the White House driveways and in the area where the White House vehicles were parked. The Vice President, the secretary of State, and the secretary of Defense traveled in limousines, all of them preceded and trailed by GMC Yukons carrying their protection details. The others did not have limousines. Everyone but Director of National Intelligence Ellsworth-who rode in his personal car, a Jaguar Vanden Plas-traveled by Yukon, with each preceded and trailed by Yukons carrying their protection details.

By 10:40, all the dignitaries had arrived in the underground Situation Room. The President was not there, nor was the usual coffeemaker and trays of pastry.

Vice President Montvale told one of the Secret Service agents guarding the door to “see what’s happened to the coffee,” and the agent hurried from the door.

The coffee and pastry had not arrived when Special Agent Mulligan appeared at the door and announced, “The President of the United States.”

Everyone rose as Joshua Ezekiel Clendennen entered the room and marched to the head of the table, trailed by Clemens McCarthy, a crew-cut man who looked younger than his forty-two years, and who had been named presidential press secretary following the resignation of John David Parker.

Usually the President said, “Please take your seats” before sitting down. Today he unceremoniously sat down and said, “Well, let’s get started. I’ve got a lot on my plate today.”

After an awkward moment, the Vice President sat down and the others followed suit.

“Lammelle,” Clendennen said, “I didn’t find what I was looking for in my daily, quote unquote, intelligence briefing.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. President. What were you looking for, sir?”

“The last developments in this mess in Mexico, Lammelle.”

“There have been no developments in the last twenty-four hours, Mr. President,” the director of National Intelligence replied.

“Specifically, I wanted to know if we have the bodies.”

“Mr. President,” Secretary of State Cohen put in, “I spoke with Ambassador McCann just before I left to come here. He told me he expects the remains to be released to us sometime today.”

“And then what?” the President asked.

“Then we’ll send a plane to return them to the United States,” Cohen said.

“No,” the President said as Clemens McCarthy stood and stepped toward him. “What we’re going to do, Madam Secretary, is. .”

He interrupted himself when McCarthy leaned over and whispered at length into his ear.

The President nodded, then went on: “McCarthy pointed out that we were about to miss a nice photo opportunity. So what you’re going to do, Madam Secretary, is get on the phone to the ambassador and tell him to go to the airport-what’s it called, Clemens?”

“General Juan N. Alvarez International Airport, Mr. President.”

“Clemens always has details like that at his fingertips,” the President said. “What you’re going to do, Madam Secretary, is call the ambassador and tell him to get over to General Juan N. Alvarez International Airport right now. Tell him that a press plane will be coming there. Tell him to set up some sort of appropriate ceremony with the most senior Mexicans he can get together for the loading of the bodies onto the airplane. .”

“Mr. President,” Secretary of Defense Beiderman said, “in situations like this, the protocol is to have the bodies in body bags, on stretchers, with an American flag covering them. That’s not a very nice picture.”

“Jesus Christ!” the President said. “You tell the ambassador, Madam Secretary, to make sure that the bodies are in caskets, nice caskets. .”

Clemens McCarthy whispered in the President’s ear again. And again the President nodded.

“And tell him,” the President ordered, “to take his Marine embassy guards with him, dressed in their dress uniforms, to carry the bodies, in their caskets, onto the airplane.”

“You said a ‘photo op,’ Mr. President,” Secretary Cohen said. “Do you want the ambassador to try to arrange for that?”

“I also said, Madam Secretary, if you were listening, that a press plane will be going down there. Clemens arranged it. On it will be crews from Wolf News and a couple of the unimportant ones. And Andy McClarren, who, as Clemens said he would, was unable to turn down a chance to have tear-filled eyes on display for his many millions of viewers.”

“And does Mr. McCarthy have plans for the plane landing at San Antonio?” Secretary of Defense Beiderman asked.

“San Antonio?” the President asked.

“Yes, sir. All three men are from Texas. It is intended to bury Warrant Officer Salazar in the national cemetery there. Plans for the DEA agents have not been finalized.”

“Mr. McCarthy had made all the necessary arrangements with the press for the landing of the plane at Andrews Air Force Base,” the President said. “And for their interment at Arlington the day after tomorrow.”

“Mr. President, I spoke with General Naylor about this. Mrs. Salazar wishes to have her husband buried in San Antonio.”

“Well, call General Naylor and tell him I said for him to tell her that her husband is going to be buried in Arlington. All three are going to be buried in Arlington. And you’re all going to be there. There will be a photo op. I will make remarks.”

“Mr. President,” Beiderman said, “I don’t know what the families of the DEA agents wish with regard to their interment-”

“I just told you, Mr. Secretary, where they are going to be buried.”

“-and I’m not sure that either of the DEA agents is eligible for interment at Arlington. I’m not even sure they’re both veterans. And, as you know, sir, they’re running out of space at Arlington.”

Clendennen looked at Attorney General Crenshaw.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr. Attorney General, but don’t I, as Commander in Chief, have the authority to say who is eligible for interment at Arlington?”

“You have that authority, Mr. President,” Crenshaw said.

“Subject closed,” the President said.

He turned to the DCI.

“Lammelle, I asked you what seems like a long time ago about what new developments there are.”

“Mr. President,” Lammelle replied, “may I defer to the FBI?”

The President’s face showed that he didn’t like this answer, but he turned to FBI Director Mark Schmidt and asked, “Well?”

Schmidt handed him a large manila envelope. The President opened it, withdrew its contents, then asked, “What am I looking at?”

“Photocopies of a UPS Next Day envelope and its contents, which were delivered early this morning to General McNab at Fort Bragg.”

“The address on here says ‘Sergeant Terry O’Toole,’ ” the President said.

“Major General Terrence O’Toole is General McNab’s deputy, sir,” Schmidt said. “In the belief that another message would be sent to General McNab, possibly using an address that would not attract attention but would nevertheless reach General McNab-the first message from these people was addressed to Lieutenant Colonel McNab-the FBI instituted a nationwide surveillance of both FedEx and UPS overnight packages. We found that one last night in El Paso.”

If Schmidt expected a compliment for the FBI’s success, he was to be disappointed.

“The FBI found this last night?” the President asked. “Then why am I getting it-why am I getting copies of it and not the original-now? Why wasn’t I informed of this last night? Why didn’t I have the whole damn thing a lot sooner than now?”

“Once we located the envelope, we notified General McNab and then put it back in the UPS delivery process.”

“And then?”

“General McNab notified General Naylor of the package’s arrival, and then turned it over to the FBI liaison officer at SPECOPSCOM. He notified FBI headquarters and we sent a plane to pick it up. As we speak, Mr. President, our forensic people at Quantico are examining it to see what can be learned. I ordered that a photocopy of everything be sent to me.”

“What your people in El Paso should have done is sent it directly to you. The less General McNab has to do with this, the better.”

“Sir, it was addressed to General McNab.”

The President slammed the envelope on his desk. “No. It was addressed to Sergeant Terry O’Toole. And if you had done that, I would be looking at it a lot sooner than just now. And I’ll tell you what I have learned from this, without the help of your forensic experts: These people want to swap Colonel Ferris for”-he paused and dropped his eyes to the message-“for Felix Abrego. Who the hell is he?”

“He’s a Mexican national, Mr. President,” FBI Director Schmidt said, “serving a sentence of life without the possibility of parole at Florence ADMAX in Colorado.”

“What did he do?”

“DEA agents intercepted a movement of drugs near El Paso-in the United States, near El Paso-during which this fellow shot and killed three agents. The DEA believes he is one of the leaders of one of the major drug cartels.”

“I would suggest it’s a moot point, Mr. President,” Attorney General Crenshaw said.

“What?”

“The United States has a long-standing policy of not negotiating in situations like this, Mr. President.”

“Policies change, Mr. Attorney General. Lammelle, has the CIA got anything to add?”

“Sir, both the DEA people in Acapulco and my man there feel there is something odd about the murders and kidnapping. The relationship between the DEA and the Sinaloa drug cartel, which controls that area, is-for lack of a better word-amicable. Their compliance with the orders of the ambassador to cooperate with the Mexican authorities has meant that the cartel almost certainly has not felt threatened by the DEA in the area, or by the Special Forces. There is no reason for them to draw attention to themselves by doing something like this.”

“Except, of course, that they want this fellow Abrego back.”

“Mr. President, they could have kidnapped Colonel Ferris in Mexico City.”

“Get to your point, Lammelle,” the President said impatiently.

“Raw intelligence data, Mr. President, as I’m sure you know, is intelligence that has not been analyzed as to the source, and the reliability of that source. In short, it’s unreliable.”

“You do have a point, right?” the President asked.

“This does not mean that raw intelligence data is not accurate, Mr. President, just that we can’t determine whether it is or not.”

“Why do I suspect, Lammelle, that you’re going to tell me that you have some raw intelligence data, the accuracy of which you can’t determine?”

“My raw data suggests the possibility, Mr. President, that Putin-the Russians-are behind what happened in Acapulco.”

“What possible interest could Putin have in Whatsisname. . Felix Abrego?”

“My raw data suggests his interest is in Colonel Dmitri Berezovsky, Lieutenant Colonel Svetlana Alekseeva, and Lieutenant Colonel Castillo.”

“Ah-ha! Well, I can understand that. Nobody likes traitors.”

“Mr. President, I must object to your characterization of Colonel Castillo as a traitor,” Secretary Natalie Cohen said.

“That’s right,” the President said with a thin smile. “He’s a hero, isn’t he? A well-paid hero. The Vice President and Mr. Lammelle didn’t waste very much time before handing him a check for a hundred twenty-five million of taxpayers’ dollars, did they?”

“Mr. President,” Vice President Montvale said, “that reward for the delivery of a Tupelov was authorized by both your predecessor and by Senator Johns of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence.”

The President ignored him.

“In your opinion, Mr. Ellsworth,” the President said, “presuming that Mr. Lammelle’s raw and unconfirmed intelligence that Mr. Putin’s wholly understandable interest in getting his hands on his two traitors is true, how is that going to affect our efforts to get Colonel Ferris back?”

“I have no idea,” Ellsworth replied. “It seems to me that we’re going to have to wait until we see what the Mexicans come up with. The ball, so to speak, is in their court.”

“No, the ball is in our court,” the President said. “They want to talk. So we’ll talk.”

“Mr. President,” Attorney General Crenshaw said, “you’re not thinking of entering into negotiations involving exchanging this fellow Abrego, are you?”

“Of course not,” the President said. “I wouldn’t think of violating long-standing policy. But one thought I’ve had running through my mind since I-finally-got a look at their message is that this fellow is a convicted murderer, not a terrorist. And I seem to recall that our policy speaks of not negotiating with terrorists. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

The attorney general thought for a split second, then said, “I believe you’re correct, Mr. President, but-”

“I also believe that it is within my power to show compassion. For example, if Senor Abrego were discovered to have developed a terminal illness, who could fault me for returning him to his native Mexico to live out what little remains of his life? He would then become the Mexicans’ problem. And if that somehow resulted in Colonel Ferris’s being released. .”

Crenshaw glanced out the windows as he composed his reply.

“Well?” the President said.

“If you did that, Mr. President, it would have the same effect. We have fifty people like Abrego in our prisons. Once these drug cartels get the message that all they have to do to get any of them released is to kidnap-”

“We will deal with that when and if it comes up,” the President said. “You don’t object to this to the point where you’re considering offering your resignation, are you, Mr. Attorney General?”

Crenshaw’s face tightened. It was a long moment before he replied, “Not at this time, Mr. President.”

“Good. It’s nice to see I have at least one loyal member of my Cabinet. I think the FBI would be the best agency to establish contact with these people, whoever they are. Do you agree?”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“Now, since Mr. Lammelle has brought up the possibility that this has something to do with these Russian traitors, it might be useful to know where they are. Anyone know? There are Interpol warrants out for them, I believe. In addition to being traitors, they’re accused of stealing large amounts of money from their government.”

“Those Interpol warrants have been withdrawn, Mr. President,” FBI Director Schmidt said. “I believe it was part of the armistice agreement Colonel Castillo made with Putin. The Russian embassy sent me a document stating that not only had a full investigation of those charges against Colonel Berezovsky and Lieutenant Colonel Alekseeva cleared them entirely, but also they had been granted permission to leave Russia, and were ‘no longer persons of any interest to the Russian Federation.’”

“‘The armistice agreement Colonel Castillo made with Putin’?” the President parroted. “I thought it was illegal for an American citizen to do something like that. Could he be prosecuted for doing so?”

Vice President Montvale said, “The, quote unquote, armistice was between Castillo and Putin, Mr. President, not between the respective governments. I don’t think it was even committed to paper.”

“It sounds as if my Vice President approves of this ‘armistice.’”

“I do,” Montvale said simply.

“As do I, Mr. President,” Natalie Cohen said.

“It would appear to some people that Colonel Castillo may be angling for your job, Madam Secretary. How do you feel about that?”

“I feel that’s preposterous, Mr. President.”

“Speaking of the colonel and the traitors, where are they?” the President asked. When no one immediately replied, he went on, “There has been no contact with him?”

“No official contact, Mr. President,” Lammelle said. “But Colonel Castillo and I are friends.”

“You don’t say?”

“He was recently in Cozumel, Mexico. I don’t know if he’s still there.”

“What was he doing there? Were the traitors with him?”

“I don’t know about the Russians,” Lammelle said, “but he mentioned that Mr. Parker was there. And Roscoe Danton.”

The President, whose face showed he didn’t like that, looked as if he was going to say something, but changed his mind, and then said, “Birds of a feather, they say, flock together.”

No one replied.

“Well, let me spell things out. I intend, with the cooperation of the Mexican government, to see that Colonel Ferris is released. I will do whatever I think is necessary to accomplish that, and I will not tolerate any interference from anyone, and I don’t want any assistance from Castillo or his Merry Band of Outlaws.

“Furthermore, Secretary Beiderman, I want you to personally inform General Naylor that he is not even to contemplate any military action of any kind whatsoever with regard to Colonel Ferris. And tell him I personally told you to make sure General McNab is aware of this order.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Beiderman said.

“That’s it. I’ll see you all at the interment in Arlington. McCarthy will furnish the details, just as soon as he’s set them up.”

He suddenly stood and, with McCarthy and Mulligan following him, marched out of the Situation Room.

The Vice President turned to the attorney general.

“Don’t look so unhappy, Stan,” Montvale said. “He gave you the option of resigning.”

The attorney general looked at the Vice President for a moment and then gave him the finger.

“He does tend to bring out the worst in people, doesn’t he?” Secretary of State Cohen said to no one in particular.