Need You Now

55

B arber’s mind was on anything but charity, but he was stuck hosting a table for ten at a black-tie gala for yet another organization that had conferred “philanthropist of the year” honors on his wife and his checkbook. Vanessa lived for these events, and it annoyed her to no end when he checked his BlackBerry in the middle of one of her stories. But he might well blow his brains out if, yet again, he had to hear about Todd, “the world’s most fabiola-amazing decorator,” who had raced across Midtown, loaded up Vanessa’s Range Rover, and rescued $11,000 worth of ice sculptures that had been mistakenly delivered to the Waldorf instead of the Pierre.

Barber froze. Finally, the message he’d been waiting for: “Mr. W. will take your call now.” It was from the office of the national security advisor. He rose quickly, angry for many reasons, not the least of which was the fact that an intellectual inferior like Brett Woods had the power to make him jump.

“Excuse me, everyone,” he said to his table guests, loud enough to be heard over a twenty-piece band that was playing Gershwin.

Vanessa shot him a death ray. She hadn’t even gotten to the part where a sudden stop on Fifth Avenue had broken a swan’s neck, but “clever Todd” had just told everyone it was a stuffed turkey.

“My apologies, but this may take a while,” said Barber.

“The White House calling again, Joe?” his tennis buddy asked with a smile.

Barber forced a little laughter. “No, those days are over.”

“Please hurry back,” his wife said flatly.

Barber walked quickly through the ballroom, weaving between banquet tables, avoiding eye contact with anyone who might grab him by the sleeve and corner him for a networking opportunity. He exited to the hotel’s mezzanine level, at the end of a long row of carved oak doors, leaving the buzz of the band and the crowd behind him. A staff member directed him down the hall to a vacant room, where he could make a call in private. It was a cozy, windowless business suite with a conference table, a fireplace, and a brass chandelier. He tipped her a twenty, closed the door, and dialed Brett Woods.

“I’ve been trying to reach you for three hours,” said Barber. “Did they not tell you it was urgent?”

“I was in a meeting with Clark,” he said, meaning the CIA director. “More trouble with Operation BAQ. The collateral damage is much broader than we thought.”

The innocent investors were collateral damage. “I thought all of Cushman’s investors had been accounted for.”

“Different kind of collateral damage. It seems that our intelligence on the terrorist connections of some of our targets was faulty.”

“Meaning what?”

“A number of the ‘suspected’ terrorist funders that were pulled into the Ponzi scheme had nothing to do with terrorism.”

Barber leaned against the marble mantel, not quite believing his ears. “The whole justification for Operation Bankrupt al-Qaeda was that these investors were financing terrorism. Are you telling me that we targeted a bunch of rich Arabs with no terrorist connections?”

“To some extent, yes.”

“Damn it! I should never have listened to you in the first place. I conceived this as a Treasury operation-but, noooo , you had to bring in the CIA. Thanks to your stroke of genius, we have a rogue CIA agent named Mongoose putting the screws to us. And now, to top it all off, you’re telling me that the CIA didn’t even have the intelligence right.”

“I didn’t say none of the investors had links to terrorism. But it now appears that many were, well, like I said: collateral damage.”

“You assured me that the CIA had nailed down the terrorist-financing connection. I would never have given the green light otherwise.”

“That’s bullshit, Joe. Now that we got bin Laden, everybody wants to forget how desperate the administration was to strike a deathblow against al-Qaeda.”

“I wasn’t desperate. I wanted to get this right.”

“You knew this was an ambiguous situation. That’s the reason I recommended that we go to the CIA instead of the Justice Department. Justice couldn’t simply freeze their accounts under the Patriot Act-we suspected they were terrorist financers, but we couldn’t prove it.”

Barber took a seat at the conference table, nearly collapsing into the leather chair. “The fallout from this will be unbelievable.”

“Only if it gets out,” said Woods.

“That’s why my call was so urgent. Mandretti is on his deathbed. He summoned his son because he has something to tell him.”

“He might just want to say good-bye.”

“Or he wants to be at peace before he dies. My guess is that his son will come out of the meeting believing the same BS that his father believes-that the government forced him to confess.”

“Is Mandretti’s son with him now?”

“They’re in the hospital room together, but my sources tell me that Mandretti is not conscious.”

“What are the chances that he will regain consciousness?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t want to take the risk.”

Woods did not respond, and Barber sensed the need to address his apparent reservations. “Don’t get sanctimonious on me, Brett. We’re talking about a little acceleration for a terminally ill man who has a matter of hours to live. A man who, by the way, is clearly talking out of school about his role in Operation BAQ.”

“What are you proposing?”

“I’ve already sent Mongoose.”

“What do you mean you sent him? You can’t send a rogue agent to do anything.”

“I had no choice. If he thinks we’re taking out Mandretti without his involvement, he’ll smell a rat. I’m living under a standing threat from Mongoose: If I double-cross him, the decrypted version of my memorandum outlining Operation BAQ will go viral over the Internet.”

“You said taking Evan Hunt’s computer would eliminate that threat.”

“I said reduce, not eliminate.”

“A civilian casualty is a high price to pay for threat reduction.”

“Nobody expected a ninety-eight-pound weakling to fight to the death over his computer.”

Woods was silent, but an aura of acquiescence came over the phone. “Where is Mongoose now?”

“In Boston, one block away from the hospital,” said Barber. “Got him there by helicopter but had to put him on hold. I need you to pull a few strings to get him inside the room.”

“What’s the plan?”

“Mandretti is receiving a variety of potent medications intravenously. Mongoose will simply make an adjustment to the IV, and Mandretti won’t be talking.”

Woods considered it. “You said the son is there. Can you trust Mongoose to confine his mission to the old man?”

Barber didn’t respond right away. “That’s impossible for me to answer.”

“I want to know what you think.”

“Here’s what I think,” said Barber. “If Mandretti wakes up and talks to his son, I can guarantee you that Mongoose won’t confine his mission to the old man. Mongoose wants his money.”

Woods seemed to appreciate the conundrum. “All right. Let me make a phone call.”

“Call me right back.”

“Yeah,” said Woods. “Give me five minutes.”