But Noa sees things differently. Working in the Agency means both competing in the field and dealing with the bureaucratic infighting that comes with every large organization, but she feels like President Barrett is the proverbial bull in a china shop, asking her to come along for the ride.
A thrill for sure, but to what end? she thinks.
“Sir,” she says—thinking if she’s going to commit career suicide, why not do it in style?—“don’t you think the respective intelligence committees in Congress are going to raise hell over your finding?”
His smile seems to be made of steel. “The Intelligence Authorization Act allows the president to proceed without official notification to Congress if I inform them in a ‘timely manner.’ That’s up for me to define, isn’t it? ‘Timely manner’？”
Next to her Liam bestirs himself and says, “Absolutely, sir.”
Damn Army vet, she thinks.
Barrett seems happy that Liam has spoken and says, “The time of nations and organized terrorist groups fighting other nations in the open is long gone. Now they conceal themselves, depending on our adherence to the rule of law and due process not to respond. Our enemies are activists, now more than ever. We have to be activists in return. Now I want to tell you why I selected you, what I expect of you, and why I decided to brief the two of you together.”
He stares at Noa, and she feels uneasy. The president has never married, has borne himself like a “warrior monk,” similar to famed Marine general James Mattis. He’s totally dedicated to the United States and its defense, yet he has that “thing” that some former presidents had, including JFK, Johnson, and Clinton. When one is in their presence, one takes notice.
Noa also takes notice of an edge to the president’s look, like he is sizing her up, and she isn’t sure if it’s her experience or appearance he is evaluating.
The president says, “In my time at the CIA, I knew where the deadwood was located and that there were open cases involving possible Agency traitors that dragged on for years. But I couldn’t do anything about it, due to politics. The director serves at the pleasure of the president, and back then, the president didn’t have the nerve to do what had to be done, no matter how many times I briefed her. That stops now. Noa, you’re going to have my full authority to clean house at the Agency. I’m going to chop up all the deadwood into very small pieces that will never be found again.”
Noa says, “But Director Fenway—”
He snaps, “Acting Director Milton Fenway, if you please. No disrespect to your boss, but I’ve told him what I’ve planned and he’s on board. Don’t worry about him.”
She thinks she sees Liam give a slight nod to the president. Poor Acting Director Fenway. A few months ago, the president had nominated a smart hard-charger—Hannah Abrams, a former deputy director—who was known at the Agency as a top-notch street woman operating in what was called the “night soil circuit,” meaning she took every overseas assignment available, even the worst of the worst. Most in the Directorate of Operations are looking forward to Abrams taking command of the Agency, but her nomination is still being held up in the Senate for some obscure political reason.
Until that logjam is broken, Milton Fenway is the acting director, and he comes from the CIA’s Directorate of Science and Technology, meaning he is experienced in various aspects of those technical means of gathering intelligence—SIGINT and ELINT—but not HUMINT, human intelligence. The men and women who work undercover around the world, rightly or wrongly, think they are the tip of the spear for the Agency and have no respect for the man.
The president adds, “There are also safe houses for the Chinese and Russians located across the country. We know where most of them are located. We leave them alone because we don’t want to cause a stir or embarrass the Chinese or Russians, or because we don’t have the evidence to prosecute them. To hell with that. Those houses are going to be taken out, and the foreign agents within are going to disappear.”
Noa is silent for a few seconds.
What did the president just say?
“Disappear”？
Noa thinks that if she doesn’t get a good answer right now, she’s getting up and leaving.
“‘Disappear’？” she asks. “Sir?”
He smiles. “I don’t mean like the Argentine Army did back in their ‘Dirty War,’ tossing arrestees out of helicopters over the South Atlantic. No, ‘disappear’ to a facility where they won’t have access to the Constitution and American lawyers. They’re here illegally, they’re conducting war against the United States, and they will be treated accordingly.”