The Bin Laden Plot

26 WASHINGTON, D.C.

Christine’s Lincoln Navigator approached the White House, coasting to a stop beneath the West Wing’s north portico, offering protection from dark gray clouds that threatened to open in a downpour at any moment. After emerging from the SUV, she left her protective agents behind and entered the West Wing, on her way to an impromptu meeting with the president.

She was a few minutes early and decided to stop by the corner office occupied by Kevin Hardison, the president’s chief of staff and Christine’s White House nemesis during her three years as the president’s national security advisor.

While she was serving as NSA, Hardison had been a thorn in her side. She and Hardison had frequently found themselves supporting opposite positions on critical issues, and it hadn’t helped that she was a member of the opposite political party from the president and the rest of his staff and cabinet. Nevertheless, she had won more than her fair share of those debates, swaying the president to her side, much to Hardison’s chagrin, and the animosity between them had steadily grown over the years.

Hardison looked up from his computer when Christine appeared in his doorway.

“Afternoon, Christine,” he said in a surprisingly pleasant tone as he rose from his desk. “I see you’re here for a meeting with the president. Anything I can help you with?”

For the time being, Christine had decided to keep the Osama bin Laden issue between her and the president and had requested a private meeting. Hardison had no doubt noticed his exclusion.

“Nothing at the moment,” she replied. “But thanks for offering.”

“Not a problem,” he said as he approached. “I’ll walk you to the Oval Office.”

Hardison’s offer caught Christine by surprise. Since her transition to CIA director, Hardison’s demeanor had turned surprisingly cordial. The hostility toward her when she was on the president’s staff had been nothing personal, apparently.

As they strode down the seventy-foot-long hallway, side by side, Christine decided to probe where she stood with him — whether their previous adversarial relationship had truly been put behind them.

She began by inquiring about her replacement on the president’s staff. “How’s Thom Parham doing?”

Hardison wasted no time getting a barb in. “He’s top-notch, as opposed to the previous NSA.”

Christine wasn’t fazed by the comment. It was Hardison’s way of saying good morning.

He returned the query. “How are things going in Langley?”

“Quite well, especially since I no longer have to deal with an overbearing, type A chief of staff.”

Hardison offered no reply, but Christine noticed a small grin on his face.

“So,” Christine said, “you miss me, don’t you?”

Without breaking stride, Hardison replied, “Like a bad rash.”

After a few more steps down the hallway, he added, “Yeah, I miss you. Working with you was much more entertaining, I’ll admit. Parham is far too reasonable for my taste.”

Christine offered a smile of her own. It felt like she had never left the president’s staff.

When they reached the Oval Office, Hardison said, “Don’t be a stranger,” before heading back to his office.

Christine knocked on the Oval Office door and, after an acknowledgment, entered to find the president seated behind his desk, framed by tall colonnade windows overlooking the South Lawn and Rose Garden. The president stood and greeted her as she entered, motioning toward the two couches atop the oval carpet. It felt odd being treated as a guest instead of a White House staffer.

It felt even odder briefing the president on such a sensitive issue from a sofa instead of a chair before his desk, as she’d done countless times over the last three years.

“If it’s okay with you, Mr. President, I’d prefer to brief you at your desk.”

He smiled. “Of course. Like old times.”

He returned to his seat, while Christine took the middle chair facing his desk.

“So, all settled in at Langley?”

“Mostly. And as I mentioned during our last meeting, things are quite a bit more interesting across the river. There’s still a lot to learn, but I’m getting the swing of things.”

“That’s good to hear,” the president replied. “So, why the urgent meeting today?”

“An issue has come to my attention that you might be able to shed light on. A very sensitive issue.”

Her words piqued the president’s interest. “What might that be?”

Christine decided to skip the details on how they had obtained McNeil’s flash drive, and got straight to the point.

“We’ve obtained a previously unknown video of the Abbottabad raid where we killed Osama bin Laden. The video is unusual in that it reveals a second man on the third floor of the house, who was taken prisoner. Until yesterday, we had no record of this individual surviving the raid — we don’t know who he is because he had a hood over his head — and we were also unaware he had been taken prisoner, apparently by JSOC.”

“That’s interesting,” the president said. “But why is this an urgent matter? The Abbottabad raid was over a decade ago.”

Christine summed up the issue succinctly. “Two men on the third floor. One man dead. One man prisoner. Which one was bin Laden?”

The president’s eyes widened in understanding. “I thought we verified bin Laden was dead by both visual and DNA analysis.”

“The visual identification wasn’t one hundred percent positive due to the extensive damage caused by two bullet wounds in the man’s face. Regarding the DNA analysis, if bin Laden was captured instead of killed, the DNA match could easily have been faked to convince the world he was dead.”

The president considered the scenario Christine had painted, then replied, “It certainly sounds plausible. If we actually captured bin Laden, there would have been many reasons to keep that a secret.”

“That’s why I’m here, Mr. President. Can you shed light on this matter?”

The president didn’t immediately reply, eyeing Christine carefully instead. Finally, he answered, “You mean, am I aware that Osama bin Laden is alive, and if so, am I willing to reveal that knowledge to an individual from the opposite party of my administration?”

Christine was taken aback by the president’s directness. While she was his NSA, there had been several discussions about former political appointees using sensitive information as weapons against a subsequent administration of the opposite political party. Regarding herself, until this moment, the fact that she was a member of the opposite party from the president had never been an issue, at least not with him. She had relied on his backing and confidence in her numerous times over the years. Now, however, the president himself had brought it up.

“You’re concerned about my political affiliation after all these years?”

“I’m not,” the president said as he leaned back in his chair. “I’m just properly phrasing your question.”

Christine realized the president had made an important point. If bin Laden had been captured alive, there were many good reasons to create the subterfuge that he’d been killed. There were also reasons to maintain that deception. If she pursued this matter, where would the trail lead, and whose careers and lives would be put at risk?

She was momentarily at a loss for words, searching for a way to express the question she desperately wanted to ask. She decided to be direct.

“Was Osama bin Laden captured alive?”

An uneasy silence followed, magnified by the room’s bombproof windows, insulating them from the sound outside. The dark skies over Washington had opened up, bringing the Rose Garden outside the Oval Office to life; the red, pink, and white flowers bobbed up and down as fat drops of rain splattered on their petals. But there was no sound in the room, not even from the rain pelting the Oval Office windows, the patter attenuated by the windows’ triple-paned design.

Finally, the president responded, “Not that I’m aware of.”

Christine tried to gauge the honesty of the president’s response, something she had never had to do during her three years as his national security advisor.

The president seemed to sense Christine’s concern. He leaned forward. “I’m telling you the truth, Christine. Nothing of this sort was mentioned by the previous administration — nothing about bin Laden at all. If Osama was captured alive — and is still alive — then it’s a secret being kept from me as well. However, when it comes to the inner secrets of government bureaucracy, nothing would surprise me.”

He pressed a button on his phone, and his secretary answered.

“Have the chief of staff see me right away,” the president said.

Hardison arrived a moment later, and the president gestured to a chair beside Christine.

The president explained the issue, then gave Hardison his instructions. “Search the classified files turned over by the previous administrations, all the way back to bin Laden’s death. Also contact your previous counterparts over the years and see what they know.”

Turning back to Christine, he said, “We’ll look into it on our end. As for you, follow the trail wherever it leads, but keep it quiet.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

The meeting ended, and Christine rose and excused herself. As she departed the Oval Office, she noticed the president and Hardison exchanging concerned looks.