Extreme Measures

CHAPTER 47

RALPH Wassen entered the expansive office and eyeballed the dejected look on his boss’s face. He had just passed Wade Kline in the hallway and guessed correctly that Lonsdale’s consternation was due to the handsome boy wonder from the Justice Department. Never one to beat around the bush he blurted out, “You want to sleep with him, don’t you?”

“Excuse me?” Lonsdale said, genuinely stunned.

“Don’t act so shocked.”

“Ah…” she stammered.

“I knew it.”

She smiled, “It may have crossed my mind.”

“I’m going to win so much money.”

Lonsdale grabbed his arm. “What?”

“We started an office pool,” he said in an exaggerated nonchalant way.

“You’re full of shit.”

“Of course I am.” Wassen turned and went to the bar. As he started to pour himself a scotch on the rocks, he asked, “Well… why don’t you?”

Lonsdale plopped down on the silk Empire sofa and kicked off her pumps. “You know why?”

“No, I don’t.”

“For starters… he’s a little young.”

“That hasn’t stopped you before.”

“This one is different.”

“How?” Wassen asked as he collapsed into one of the parlor chairs.

“He owes me his job.”

“Who cares? People do it in this town all the time.”

“He’s married.”

“That hardly matters these days.”

“I thought you were supposed to look out for my best interests?” she asked with a curious eye.

“I am. It’s just that I think you’re in a bit of a funk lately.”

“A funk?”

“You know… a little bitchy.” He took a sip of his drink.

“So I should sleep my way out of it?”

“Basically. No one is going to hold it against you. At least not your base. The jackals might take a swipe at you, but then again it might help your image. The two of you make a striking couple.”

“I’m old enough to be his mother.”

“Technically, yes, but you don’t look twenty years his senior.”

“Thank you.” She smiled.

“At least not with your clothes on,” he added quickly.

“You are terrible,” Lonsdale said with a scowl.

“Teasing,” Wassen announced as he held up his drink. “You know my motto… You only live once. So, start living. Sleep with him, get it out of your system, and drop all this nonsense with Rapp and Nash.”

Lonsdale was startled. “Where in the hell did that come from?”

“Everybody in the office is talking about it.”

“About Rapp?”

“No, that you need to get laid.”

“Cut the crap for a minute. Why in the world do you think I should let the CIA off the hook?”

“I don’t know,” Wassen shrugged, “because maybe they’re doing the right thing?”

Lonsdale sat there for a long moment and stared at her longtime advisor. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am, and I don’t know why you’ve decided to make this your cause. There’s plenty of things to get upset about in this town.”

Lonsdale set her drink down. She was used to Wassen’s pranks, but this was different. Without the slightest hint of humor she asked, “You’re not playing devil’s advocate, are you?”

“No, I’m one hundred percent serious.”

“Well, I think you’re wrong.”

“Have you ever looked at the polls on this issue?”

“Yeah… over ninety percent of the country is against torture.”

“And over seventy percent of the country thinks child molesters should be castrated.”

“The number is not that high.”

“It is if you phrase the question properly.”

“You can do that with any poll,” Lonsdale said dismissively.

Wassen pointed at her and said, “And that’s how they get the ninety-percent-against-torture number. They ask the question in a vacuum. Yes or no, are against torture?” He frowned. “I mean… who the hell is pro-torture?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Did you ever read A Time to Kill by Grisham?”

“Yes.”

“Remember… the little girl got raped by the two rednecks and the dad ends up killing them? Would you convict the father or set him free? And stop being a politician for a second. When you were reading the book, did you want the father to be convicted or set free?”

“Set free, of course. But that has nothing to do with…”

“It has everything to do with what is going on!” Wassen said forcefully.

“Are you drunk?”

“I wish.” He took a big gulp. “Ask yourself something. Why is Rapp willing to go before your committee?”

“Because he has no choice.”

“B.S. You know he could spend months screwing with you on this.”

“So?”

“So he’s chosen not to.” He watched his boss shake her head in disagreement and sat forward. “Let me help you understand something. Terrorists are like pedophiles.”

“Excuse me? When the hell did you become a right-wing whack job?”

He shook her off and pressed on. “You ask a hundred people if they’re for torture… you’re only going to get a handful who say yes. You ask a hundred people if they think pedophiles should be castrated… same thing.” Wassen drained his drink, grabbed his boss’s empty glass, and walked over to the bar, saying, “Now you show them a picture of little five-year-old Suzy Jones, and you tell them how she was plucked from her bed in the middle of the night, dragged to some musty basement, and repeatedly raped by this hairy disgusting forty-five-year-old guy who’s already been convicted twice for sexual assault on a minor.” Wassen tossed a few more cubes into each glass. “You tell them how the government has spent hundreds of thousands of dollars trying to rehabilitate this scumbag. You explain to them that the recidivism rate for pedophiles is less than five percent, and then you ask them if they think the piece of human refuse should have his balls cut off.” Wassen put a few ounces of booze into each drink and walked back to the seating area.

As he handed Lonsdale the drink he said, “The numbers flip-flop. Ninety percent say cut his balls off.” He sat in his own chair and put his feet up on the coffee table.

“Your argument makes no sense. People are disgusted by torture.”

“You’re confusing the crime with the punishment. None of those people I just talked about want to actually see the pedophile turned into a eunuch. But that doesn’t mean they don’t want someone else to take care of it.”

“But these men have yet to be convicted. It is completely wrong for one man to carry out a punishment for a man who has not had his day in court. That is what makes our country so special.” Lonsdale shook her head and added, “Your argument doesn’t stand up.”

“You’re assuming that Rapp was trying to punish this man.” He took a sip and said, “I don’t think that is the case. I think he was trying to get him to talk.”

“This is nonsense. We are a nation of laws.”

Wassen help up his hand and said, “Let me finish, before you go into one of those Jeffersonian speeches you senators are so fond of giving. You ask the people if they are pro-torture, and ninety plus percent say no. You then ask them what the CIA should do if they catch a senior al-Qaeda member who has carried out attacks in Afghanistan and Iraq that have killed thousands. You then tell them that the CIA has solid information an attack is looming and this man has information that could help stop it. You then ask them if they are okay with slapping this guy around and making him think he’s about to drown and all of the sudden seventy percent of them are pro-torture.

“Now” – Wassen wagged a finger at his boss – “I can get that number to over ninety percent if you give the people a third option.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t tell me what’s going on. Just take care of it. I don’t need to know everything my government does.”

“So the options are torture, don’t torture, or stick your head in the sand.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s reality, Babs.”

She shook her head vigorously. “It’s intellectual laziness.”

“Maybe… maybe not.”

“You are not serious?”

Wassen didn’t respond right away. Knowing his boss as well as he did, he knew she was close to shutting him out. He chose his words carefully and then said, “You are a beautiful, intelligent woman, Barbara. People love you. You’re half celebrity, half politician, and you always do well during these hearings. You come off great on TV, but I want to caution you.”

She rolled her eyes in a here-we-go fashion. “Let’s hear it.”

“Mitch Rapp is a good-looking, rugged man. He’s the type of guy Americans hope is out there keeping them safe at night.”

“He’s a thug.”

Wassen shook his head vigorously. “He is many things, and I don’t pretend to know the man’s heart, but he’s no common criminal. Do not underestimate him, or Irene Kennedy, or Mike Nash. These are not stupid people, and despite your personal bias, they are very likeable.” Wassen watched her stand and move to put her shoes on. He had lost her.

“People are sick of this war on terror, Ralph, and when I expose these guys and their illegal ways the American people are not going to be happy.”

Wassen nursed his drink for a long moment and said, “Don’t be so sure of yourself, Barbara.”