Emerald Buddha

Chapter 14

Senator Arthur Whitfield looked up from his reading at the knock on his office door, scowling at the interruption. Dark rings lined his eyes, though as usual his full head of silver hair had been carefully styled to minimize the bald spot at the crown of his head. Behind him, oil paintings of Revolutionary War battles in golden frames adorned the walls, with the area opposite floor-to-ceiling bookshelves devoted to the War Between the States. He thumbed the sides of the hundreds of pages of the latest bill that was coming up for a vote and growled a command.

“Come in.”

The heavy cherry-wood door swung open and his aide, Alan Sedgewick, stepped in, an apologetic expression on his face.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir, but the gentlemen from the agency you asked to see are here.”

Whitfield nodded and checked the time. “Very well. Show them in.”

Collins and the deputy director of the CIA, Edward Cornett, entered. Sedgewick showed them to two burgundy leather chairs beside a polished mahogany oval table. Whitfield rounded his desk and took a seat opposite them.

Sedgewick made to leave, but Whitfield stopped him with a curt gesture. “Pull up a chair. I want your input on this,” Whitfield ordered.

Sedgewick did so, opting to sit near the door.

Whitfield addressed the newcomers. “What have you got for me? Tell me it’s good news. I’m beside myself with worry.”

Cornett shook his head grimly. “I’m afraid nothing definitive. We’ve deployed a team and will be commencing a search of the area. But the odds aren’t good of finding anything but confirmation that she didn’t make it. I’m sorry.”

Whitfield exhaled noisily and stared at the ceiling molding before addressing Cornett. “Why has it taken this long?”

“Unavoidable, Senator. Laos isn’t particularly friendly, what with the unexploded Vietnam conflict ordnance that’s still scattered around the country, and Myanmar… well, you of all people understand the situation there.”

“I want the details. How big a team, what methodology they’re using, how long you estimate it will take… the works.”

Cornett nodded. “As per your instructions, we’re going in soft. We’ve obtained the cooperation of a civilian group that is a guarantee to get the necessary permits, working under the pretense that they’re looking for a national treasure.”

“Why would Laos and Myanmar grant them that latitude?”

“For Laos, it would be an important historical find,” Collins said. “For Myanmar, we all know they’re destitute, so they’re motivated by self-interest. In both cases we’ve used some operational cash to lubricate the way.”

Whitfield grunted. Among other things, Whitfield sat on several intelligence agency oversight committees, and knew all too well that the CIA had any number of undisclosed income sources it could leverage to achieve its ends.

“We’ve arranged for one of our most seasoned hands to accompany them,” Cornett added, “and they’ll have access to a helicopter we chartered in Thailand to perform the search. Only we will know their true objective.”

“What’s your take on the timeline?” Whitfield asked.

“Three to four days. Weather permitting.”

“Why so long?”

“It’s not a small area, Senator. They need to be methodical.”

Whitfield sighed and looked over at Sedgewick. “Anything I left out?”

Sedgewick steepled his fingers and looked over them. “Why all the secrecy? Why not just ask Laos to do a search and rescue effort? I’m not sure I understand the need for subterfuge. The senator’s daughter went down in a private plane. I’d think that would be enough.”

All eyes swiveled to Cornett.

“The senator requested that we handle this subtly,” Cornett said. “There are fears that Christine’s absence could be used by hostile factions to exert leverage over him, or at least to capitalize on an unfortunate situation.”

“Assuming she’s alive,” Whitfield said.

“But the odds go down every day the plane’s not found,” Sedgewick fired back. At twenty-nine, having graduated at the top of his class at Harvard with a JD from Harvard Law, he was a rising star, and brilliant, if somewhat abrasive.

“I’ve balanced that against the other issues in play,” Whitfield said, “and frankly, the likelihood of her having survived a crash, given the terrain, the size of the plane, and all other known factors, is slim to none. After speaking to experts, I’ve resigned myself to that fact. But I want to be certain. It’s one thing to think you know, another to have confirmation.”

Sedgewick frowned slightly. “What other issues, sir?” he asked. “I can’t offer a valid opinion without all the facts.”

Whitfield eyed the two CIA men. “We’ve received some chatter from the Chinese end that implies that she fell in with the wrong crowd. She was dating a fellow over there who might, and I stress the word might, have been involved in… might have been up to no good.”

“I had no idea,” Sedgewick said, his voice low. “You mean something illegal? Smuggling? Drugs?”

“I don’t have all the information yet, but apparently he was an undesirable. That’s all we know.” Whitfield paused. “We believe he was also on the plane.”

“Then it might not have been accidental?”

“Anything’s possible. We don’t know. But it’s a working theory I have.” Whitfield stood, signaling the meeting was at an end. “Gentlemen, I will expect regular updates as this unfolds. And I appreciate your assistance in the matter. It’s obviously deeply troubling, and the sooner I have answers, the sooner I will be at peace.”

“We’ll do everything we can, Senator,” Cornett assured him. “This is a top priority.”

“I appreciate it, gentlemen. Give my warm regards to the director.”

“I will.”

Sedgewick showed the CIA men out and then headed back to the chamber. Whitfield was behind his desk, poring over the bill. He would normally have had one of his aides write a summary for him, but he wanted something to take his mind off Christine’s accident, and work was his favored diversion.

Sedgewick cleared his throat, and the senator fixed the younger man with a concerned stare. “Sir, don’t take offense, but is there something you haven’t told me about the Christine situation?”

“Why do you say that?” Whitfield deflected.

“Nothing. Just an impression.”

“I suggest you get your antennae tuned, Alan. You’re normally more on point than that.”

“Yes, sir. Again, I meant no disrespect.”

“None taken. This has been difficult for everyone involved. I know you don’t see the wisdom of conducting the search the way I am, but you’ll have to believe that I have valid reasons.”

“Yes, of course, sir.”

“I trust that puts the matter to bed?”

“Absolutely. Will there be anything else?”

“I’ll need the notes for the meeting tomorrow on my desk by eight forty-five.” Whitfield was chairing a Department of Defense oversight committee that was dealing with trillions that had gone missing from the DOD over the last decades. Tomorrow was the commencement of deliberations on whether there should be formal hearings on the matter. The morning before the 9-11 terrorist attack brought down the twin towers in New York, Donald Rumsfeld had announced that there were over two trillion dollars unaccounted for at the DOD. That investigation had ended abruptly the next morning when the section of the Pentagon that housed the staff researching the money trail had been killed by the plane strike. Following the attacks, the administration had been galvanized into action, and the missing money had been back-burnered as the country geared up for war.

But questions kept arising, and the press had grown more inquisitive as years had passed — and now the American public wanted answers.

Which made Whitfield’s job all the harder, because there were national security issues at play, as well as matters that might affect confidence in the country’s leadership.

Whitfield had a reputation as tough but fair, and was one of the few members of the Senate who was respected on both sides of the aisle. At some point, a presidential run wasn’t out of the question, so he needed to be balanced in his steerage of the committee, showing no undue favoritism to any of the parties involved.

Tomorrow morning, he would be in the hot seat.

A position he was more than familiar with, but which weighed heavily on him with the loss of his daughter.

He sighed again and glanced wistfully at a carafe brimming with eighteen-year-old Scotch on his bookshelf, and then lost himself in his work, the complex nuance of the bill commanding all his attention if he was to absorb it in time for the vote.