The God's Eye View

CHAPTER 22

Anders was in his office at eight o’clock the following morning when he got a call from the Secret Service about an explosion near the White House. He called Remar and told him to have the appropriate units begin scouring recent cell phone activity in the area. Then he called Barbara Stirr, a reliable CNN Pentagon correspondent he regularly used to launder talking points into what people digested as news.

“Barbara,” he said. “General Anders here.”

“General, is this about the explosion? I’m on my way right now. Anything you’d like to share with me on background?”

Anders smiled. He couldn’t remember the last time a reporter had even attempted to ask for something on the record. The understanding was as clear as it was unspoken: You give me the access; I’ll give you the anonymous news reports.

“Nothing formal right now, Barbara, but I can tell you this. Cell phone activity in the area over the last twenty-four hours indicates a jihadist connection.”

“My God. Another ISIS splinter group?”

It was amazing, and gratifying, the longevity of the talking points he fed the press. “Possibly. Or an affiliate, yes.”

“And you were able to identify them by their cell phones?”

That was his opening. “Not as precisely as we’d like. You have to remember, Barbara, people are able to purchase and use cell phones with a great deal of anonymity in this country. By contrast, look at what the government of Pakistan is doing to crack down on terrorism — requiring that everyone who uses a cell phone has registered a fingerprint as a way of denying the terrorists the ability to communicate clandestinely.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Yes, look it up. Very effective program. Well, we do what we can, even with one arm tied behind our back.”

“Anything else you can share?”

“Not at present. But things are moving quickly. I may have more later today.”

“Thank you, sir. And thank you for what you’re doing to keep our country safe.”

He ended the call and turned on CNN, where there was a story about a drone strike in Pakistan — stock footage of a Reaper Unmanned Aerial Vehicle accompanied by a voiceover so neutral it made a weather report sound urgent by comparison. Two minutes later, the drone story was interrupted by a live report — Barbara Stirr, on the street, smoke billowing from the wreckage behind her, sirens wailing in the background and military helicopters circling noisily overhead, the chyron proclaiming dramatically Explosion Near the White House. Anders watched as Stirr got into character, a few area residents doing their bit as extras by standing around with their hands pressed over their mouths in telegenic shock and grief.

“This is Barbara Stirr, CNN Pentagon correspondent, at the scene of an explosion just blocks from the White House. We don’t have reports of casualties yet, though as you can see paramedics are on hand and it’s hard to imagine no one was injured by such a huge blast at morning rush hour. In fact, you can’t help but wonder whether whoever was behind this didn’t time the attack to coincide with rush hour, and administration officials do believe this was the work of ISIS or an affiliated terror group.”

Anders nodded in appreciation of her slight deviation from script — the point about rush hour was nicely done. In fact, he should have thought of it himself.

The sounds of nearby sirens got louder, then stopped, and the camera swung around to track an Asian woman in a paramedic’s uniform racing toward the scene. “Excuse me,” Stirr called out. “I’m Barbara Stirr, with CNN — can you tell us whether there are casualties?”

The paramedic glanced at Stirr and didn’t even break stride, but for an instant her expression was so pristinely disgusted at the question that Anders couldn’t help but wince. Stirr’s recovery was impressive. She turned to the camera and said, “The paramedics are understandably busy. It looks bad. We’ll all keep hoping for the best and reporting whatever we learn. Barbara Stirr, Pentagon correspondent, CNN.”

Remar came in. He closed the door behind him and strode to Anders’s desk. “Who the hell told Stirr ISIS was behind this?”

Anders leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach. “She said ISIS or an affiliated group.”

“That’s not a difference, Ted. Where’s she getting that?”

“It’s the expected speculation. She could have gotten it anywhere. She could have made it up herself.”

Remar nodded, looking unpersuaded. Anders trusted Remar, of course, trusted him as much as he trusted anyone. But he also sensed there were things Remar… might not understand. And that he therefore didn’t need to know.

“The president is convening the National Security Council,” Remar said after a moment. “Situation Room. One hour.”

“Anything from the mobile phone analysis?”

“Yes. Three units in the area, all on watch lists.”

Anders sensed Remar was hoping for some reaction. He saw no need to oblige him. “What else?”

“Several suspicious calls. A mosque in the area. And it looks like one of the units was used to call a prepaid unit attached to the bomb as a detonator. Significant electronic trail to follow. Some pretty sloppy jihadists, I’d say. It’s almost like they want to get caught.”

“Maybe it’s just their way of letting us know it’s them. Some of these groups aren’t exactly publicity shy, Mike.”

“On the other hand, the attack was fairly sophisticated. It looks like they attached the device to the bottom of a food service delivery truck, tracked it via GPS, and detonated when it was maximally close to the White House.”

“You see? Anything other than a direct hit, it would take a nuke to damage the White House. It’s the publicity they’re after.”

Remar didn’t respond. Anders waited, not comfortable with the man’s newfound reticence. Ordinarily he could tell what Remar was thinking. Not today.

After a moment, he gave up and said, “I need to get to the White House. Brief me on any further developments en route.”

Remar nodded, then said, “Ted.”

Anders raised his eyebrows.

“Those phones… they’re the same ones associated with that ‘letter bomb’ Delgado intercepted from FedEx.”

Anders didn’t blink. “Is that a problem?”

“I told you, those units are on several watch lists. They’re affiliated with Ergenekon. Up until now, a DEA narcotics thing, not terrorism, but still.”

Anders said nothing, not liking where Remar seemed to want to take this.

“So even if this is a coincidence, it’s a bad coincidence. We don’t need anyone looking into our relationship with those guys. Into what we use them for.”

“Nobody knows about that relationship except you and me.”

“How much do I really know? What are you not telling me?”

So that’s what was bothering him. Well, no one liked not knowing. Anders looked at his hands while he picked at a cuticle.

After a moment, Remar started to move toward the door, then turned back. “There has to be a limit, Ted.”

“Of course there does.”

“But do you know where it is?”

The intercom buzzed.

“That’s going to be Manus,” Anders said. “Give me a minute with him. And make sure I’m prepped with a set of razzle-dazzle slides on everything we’ve got regarding these jihadist mobile phones. Today is our show, not the Pentagon’s.”

Remar brought in the big man and then left, eyeing him warily before closing the door on his way out.

“Marvin,” Anders said, and gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Please. Have a seat. I’m afraid I have only a minute — a meeting at the White House.”

Manus sat.

Anders waited a moment, but Manus offered nothing. First Remar, now Manus. Maybe there was something in the air today that was making everyone taciturn. Finally, Anders said, “Well? How did your loft-building go with Ms. Gallagher and her son?”

“It was fine.”

Anders’s instinct was to draw the man out by waiting for more, but he didn’t have time. Worse, he doubted it would work. So he simply said, “And? What are your impressions about her state of mind?”

“I think she’s okay.”

The response was anodyne to the point of being useless. Anders said, “Based on…?”

“She invited me to stay for dinner. Pizza and wine. We talked for a while after the boy went to bed. She seemed happy to me.”

I’ll bet she did, after the washing machine, Anders thought. And then realized: He’s not going to tell you about that.

The realization was so astonishing it required confirmation. Anders said, “You just talked? Anything else?”

“I saw her interacting with her son. He helped me build the loft, which made the job take longer. So I was there for a while.”

Not only was Manus holding back about the details of his evening, and not only was he offering Gallagher at least a qualified clean bill of health, he was doing what he could to give his diagnosis greater credence by emphasizing the extent of his interaction and observation.

All at once, Anders realized he’d been wrong about Manus. The man was capable of feeling.

And right now, he was feeling infatuated.

Maybe Anders should have foreseen the possibility. After all, there was something… womanly about Gallagher. Her body, certainly, and her demeanor. But it had never occurred to him that she, or anyone else, could be interested in Manus, whose chief effect on people seemed to be to make them nervous, if not outright afraid.

It didn’t matter. The man was obviously compromised. Not fatally. But enough so that he had to be pulled off Gallagher — figuratively and literally — and assigned to something else.

“Well,” Anders said, standing. “That’s helpful information, Marvin, and I’m glad to hear it. As I mentioned, Gallagher is doing important work for us and it’s a relief to know she’s as reliable as I had hoped. If she needs further monitoring, I may turn to you again. In the meantime, I’d like you to steer clear of her. We wouldn’t want to take any unnecessary risks with your cover. Thank you, as always.”

Manus nodded and left immediately, perhaps relieved Anders hadn’t pressed him more closely for details.

Yes, the man was clearly smitten. Best to keep him as far as possible from Gallagher until the Hamilton situation was resolved. Of course, the woman would still need to be monitored. She might even need to be… neutralized, if the fever of her suspicions grew any hotter. Of course, if it came to that, Manus would now be completely unsuitable to handle the thing itself.

Well, there was always Delgado. He almost felt sorry for Gallagher when he imagined how Delgado would go about it. On the other hand, there was never any danger of Delgado falling for a subject. He loved his work too much for that.