The God's Eye View

CHAPTER 10

Remar sat in the waiting area outside Senator McQueen’s office in the Hart Senate Office Building. He’d been told to arrive at two o’clock and it was now a quarter past. Remar suspected the man was keeping him waiting on purpose. If you wanted to understand the mentality of most Washington insiders, all you had to do was put yourself in the mind of an insecure teenager, at which point it all began to make sense. Even the director liked to play these little power games from time to time. Remar had little patience for it. He considered himself a straight shooter and preferred to deal with people like himself. He smiled, thinking not for the first time that, given his preferences, he was definitely living in the wrong city.

He thought about the audit the director had ordered him to carry out on God’s Eye. He hadn’t found any way Perkins could have had access, which was the main thing. But he’d discovered something else, as well. The most sensitive uses to which the program had been put had been walled off. What remained… well, if the worst were to happen, if the program were to be revealed, it would all pose less of a problem for Remar than it would for the director, who had conceived God’s Eye in the first place as part of his “collect it all” mantra.

The thought made him feel guilty, and he half-consciously rubbed the plasticized scar tissue below the eye patch. He’d been the director’s man ever since waking in agony while being tended by a forward surgical team, unable to see through the dressing covering his face, the director himself, then a colonel, holding his hand through his own bandages and telling him he was all right, he was going to be all right.

And he had been all right, eventually, after a half-dozen reconstructive surgeries, extensive rehabilitation, and a yearlong addiction to painkillers that would have led to a formal reprimand had the director not intervened to have the problem expunged from his record. He’d told the director Manus was like a dog, but he hadn’t meant it as an insult. He admired that kind of loyalty, valued it. And, when it came to the director, shared it. He owed his life to the director, his career, his position. He didn’t approve of all the director’s decisions, and if it were up to him, things would be run differently. But it wasn’t up to him, that wasn’t how fate had played out, and what he owed the director, he sometimes just had to borrow against his own conscience.

So it didn’t matter that his audit had revealed a possible… divergence in their potential exposure, and therefore in their interests. And besides, any divergence was only theoretical anyway. Because Perkins didn’t have the access. He couldn’t.

At just past two thirty, two frightfully young and bright-eyed staffers emerged from the inner sanctum and closed the door behind them. Yes, I get it, Remar thought. You were keeping me waiting just for a conversation with a couple of interns.

A few minutes later, a secretary ushered him in. McQueen stood from behind his massive desk and hurried around to shake Remar’s hand, his jowls bouncing. “General Remar! So good to see you. Thanks for coming and apologies for keeping you waiting.”

“Senator,” Remar said, wanting to get the whole thing over with as quickly as possible. The man’s hand was moist, and Remar resisted the urge to wipe his palm on his trousers after they shook.

“Please,” McQueen said, circling back behind his desk as though afraid he might shrivel if too long away from it. “Have a seat. What can I do for a genuine war hero?”

Remar didn’t mind the bullshit, but he hated when these idiots felt compelled to attach it to some notion of his heroism. He’d been in a Humvee when a mortar round had struck the area. If there was a hero involved, it had been the director, not him. He wondered sometimes if the McQueens of the world, who had probably never even handled a rifle, much less served, really meant it when they laid it on about the glory of soldiers, or if it was just another DC con job. He supposed it didn’t matter either way.

He set his attaché case on the floor, opened it, and took out a bug detector. He turned it on and quickly swept the office. It was clean.

“I recommend we power down our phones, Senator. And place them in my attaché case, which is soundproofed and jams all electronic signals.”

McQueen eased himself into his enormous leather chair and touched an imaginary imperfection in his gray bouffant. “Are you serious?”

The guy’s ignorance was breathtaking. Did he think that because he was on the Homeland Security Committee and the Intelligence Committee, he was somehow immune to surveillance? Did he not understand that his positions in fact made him a target? But knowing all this would be clarified in just a moment, Remar simply said, “Do I look like I’m joking?”

McQueen chuckled. “Well, you’re the national security expert. Whatever you say.” He turned off his mobile and handed it to Remar. Remar powered off his own, and placed both in the attaché. Then he took out an acoustic noise generator and set it on McQueen’s desk.

McQueen eyed it suspiciously. “And that is…?”

“Speech protection system. Just being extra careful. And Senator, if I could trouble you to disconnect the power cord from your desk phone and from your computer.”

“Come on, Remar, this is ridiculous.”

“Senator, I assure you that when you’ve received my briefing you will thank me copiously for taking precautions.”

McQueen rolled his eyes and smiled. He shut off the surge protector to the desk phone and computer, and ostentatiously checked his watch. Then he pointed to the watch and said, his tone mock-serious, “Oh, do you need me to take this off, too?”

McQueen was peeved that someone was telling him what to do in his own office, and had to show he wasn’t cowed in response. Remar was accustomed to the juvenile bullshit, of course, but still found it vaguely pathetic.

“You know what they say,” Remar said, taking a seat and closing the attaché. “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.”

“Sure, and just because they’re out to get you doesn’t mean you’re not being paranoid. Come on, Remar. I’ve seen more than my share of NSA razzle-dazzle. Bow down to the high priests of info security. You should save it for the youngsters in these corridors. I’ve been to the show too many times to be impressed by it.”

Remar nodded as though in understanding, then shifted into character. “Senator, I won’t deny there’s some theater involved in what we do. How could there not be, in this town? But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because we have evidence the Chinese have put together a sensitive dossier on you, which we believe they intend to use in an attempt to influence your votes.”

McQueen’s eyes widened and he looked genuinely surprised. “What?”

Remar did nothing to reveal his satisfaction with the stimulus/response effect. The director had taught him that with a certain class of national security fetishist, attributing something bad to the Chinese, or Russians, or Iranians was the equivalent of blaming domestic crimes on angry black men. Prepping people to believe something was the hard part. Once the framework was established, they became eager to fill in the details themselves, and could be counted on to do so even if those details made little sense.

Remar leaned forward and lowered his voice. “It seems the Chinese have managed to track your cell phone and correlate its movements with that of a second cell phone — a prepaid model purchased for cash in a Walmart two years ago. They have further tracked the movements of both phones to an apartment here on Capitol Hill. The lease on this apartment is being paid by a dummy corporation set up by your personal attorney. And the inhabitant of this apartment is a young woman named Natalia Robart, the movements of whose own cell phone have been correlated to yours on numerous business trips you’ve taken, on none of which has your wife’s cell phone indicated your wife was present.”

McQueen had gradually paled as Remar briefed him, and his mouth was now agape. Remar waited while it all sank in.

“I don’t… I don’t see how…” McQueen stammered, and then was silent, shaking his head, apparently unable to find words.

“Obviously, this is all just metadata. But also obviously, it’s more than enough to cause a scandal — and that’s assuming the Chinese haven’t penetrated Ms. Robart’s apartment and installed hidden cameras. That is something we could discreetly rule out, if you’d like.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand…”

“Let me assure you, Senator, this information is being held in the strictest confidence and in the tightest circle possible at NSA. None of us wants to see you hurt.”

“Yes, but… Jesus Christ, how is this even possible?”

Remar permitted himself a sympathetic smile. “Do you still feel I’m being paranoid?”

McQueen looked as though he’d been gut-punched. “Christ, no. Is there anything that can be done?”

“In fact, there is. The system we’ve uncovered seems to be automated. We’ve tracked its uploads to a dedicated server, which we’ve covertly penetrated. We’re in a position now where we should be able to permanently destroy the data on that server.”

“Well, that’s great news!”

“Yes. We’re holding off to first confirm there isn’t a backup server. If there is, we want to trace back to it and destroy it simultaneously. If we act too quickly, we could tip off the Chinese and lose the chance to wipe out the problematic records completely.”

All at once, McQueen’s shocked expression transmuted into a more canny one. He leaned back in his chair and looked Remar up and down as though evaluating him. Then he nodded and smiled.

“All right, Remar. What’s your game?”

“Game, Senator?”

“Why are you really telling me all this? What do you want from me?”

Remar realized the man had figured out the situation was less scary than he’d first thought. He’d seen that it was a business transaction, not a random threat, and therefore that presumably there was no reason the parties couldn’t arrive at a mutually acceptable price.

Remar effected a puzzled look. “I don’t want anything from you, Senator. Well, I’d like you to be more careful, but of course in the end that’s up to you.”

McQueen’s smile broadened. “Oh, really? There’s no quid pro quo here?”

Remar shrugged. “No, but if there were, I’d say you’ve already delivered through all your support of the intelligence community. So if anything, this is a thank-you, not a quid pro quo.”

They were quiet for a moment. McQueen looked confused. Could it really be that simple — his friends paying off a debt by protecting him?

“All right, then,” McQueen said, his tone cautious. “You’ll just… keep me posted on your efforts against that Chinese server?”

Remar retrieved the attaché from the floor. “Of course. We’re making every effort, and I’m cautiously optimistic we’ll be able to contain it.”

McQueen nodded, as though afraid to speak.

Remar stood and placed the attaché on the desk. “Well, I’ve taken enough of your time today, Senator. Please do be more careful about the phones — we downplay it to the public, but the metadata really does reveal a lot. As the saying goes, ‘We kill people based on metadata.’”

McQueen nodded again. “Yes, I can see that.”

“Oh, and one other thing. You know that journalist who’s been kidnapped in Syria?”

“Hamilton? Of course.”

“Yes, Hamilton. There’s a pretty decent chance we can get him out. But it’s going to have to be done quietly and will require a little patience. Naturally, the president wants to send in Delta or whoever and make political hay out of a rescue.”

McQueen cocked his head. “The president wants to send in the military?”

“Unfortunately, yes. He thinks it’s a guaranteed political win — either Hamilton gets rescued, or Hamilton gets killed while Spec Ops mows down a bunch of jihadists and the president gets to crow about how he’ll never negotiate with terrorists. We’ve told him the right way to get Hamilton out is something low-key that won’t offer him a big political payoff. You can imagine how that advice is going over.”

“Yes, I can.”

“Anyway. I know you and every other responsible person affiliated with the intelligence community wants the same thing we do — to get that young man out of there alive. Now, I don’t have to tell you, your national security credentials are unimpeachable. People listen to you. Even the president listens to you, despite himself. So when the networks bring you on to talk about Hamilton, it would be great if you could speak up about the virtues of patience and stealth, and the vices of hot-headed military showboating that’s more likely to get Hamilton killed than anything else. Can we count on you for that, Senator?”

McQueen came to his feet and all but saluted. “You know you can, General. I’m glad you asked and I’m pleased to help.”

It was fascinating, how people could be so reluctant to recognize blackmail, how eager they could be to convince themselves it was something else, even something fundamentally mutually cooperative. And sometimes it seemed the more powerful the individual, the greater the capacity for self-deception.

He shook the senator’s hand again and left. Out in the corridor, he wiped his palm on his trousers. There was a time, he knew, when the kind of thing he had just done would have horrified him. He tried, but couldn’t remember when that had been.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was that they had bought themselves some time.

And owned another senator.