Alex Berenson - The Midnight House

“We should never have agreed to the paper trail.”

“There’s something I don’t understand,” Wells said. “The video with bin Zari and Tafiq. Wouldn’t it be less valuable without bin Zari to authenticate it?”

“I get why you’d think that. But follow the chain. Don’t you think the ISI would do anything to keep that video secret?”

Now Wells saw. “We made a deal with Tafiq. Keep the video secret in return for access to the Paki nuke depots. Benazir Bhutto was murdered, and we know who’s behind it, and we haven’t told anyone.”

“I believe the term is realpolitik . We make the tape public, Pakistan goes crazy. Total anarchy. Sure, the ISI is dirty. They killed Bhutto, they fund terrorism. They’re despicable. But we can manage them. Those nukes are all the Pakis have. Without them, Pakistan’s got nothing on Bangladesh. They don’t have oil, and we’ve had about enough fighting in Muslim countries for a while. All we want is to keep an eye on those nukes. The rest of Pakistan can rot.”

“Justice for Bhutto.”

“Good one, John.” Murphy’s grin revealed the flecks of dip between his teeth. “And Tafiq, he knows, the video comes out, the Pakis string him up. He tries for exile, who’s going to take him? Not the French. Not the Arabs. Not even the Russians. He’ll be stuck someplace like Somalia. He wants to make sure the tape stays in a vault somewhere. What’s he going to do? Tell us he was misquoted, he wants to see bin Zari to talk it over? He knows it’s real.”

“And he assumes bin Zari’s still alive. Somewhere in custody.”

“Correct. Everybody wins.”

Wells was silent. The pieces fit together now. The mystery solved. Yet ash filled his mouth. There would be no justice here, not for Benazir Bhutto, not for Jawaruddin bin Zari or Mohammed Fariz. Maybe not even for the members of 673 who had died at Steve Callar’s hand.

“You know all this for sure, or are you guessing?”

“Only the principals know for sure. But I saw the video, and I know about the nukes. The connection’s there. The greatest good for the greatest number.”

Murphy sounded cheerful now. He’d received a great gift, the chance to confess his sins without facing punishment. Without even chanting a dozen Hail Marys. The chance to rub Wells’s face in the reality of power politics at the highest level.

“Now I’ve told you everything. Time for your side of the bargain. And please don’t say it’s some government hit squad. I wouldn’t know whether to piss myself or slap you across the face.”

“One last question. You said the principals know. Who would that include? ”

“I would think all the obvious names. The President, the Vice President. The head of NSC and the SecDef. Whitby for sure. Duto, probably.”

“Duto? ”

“I’m guessing, but this kind of deal, don’t you think they ask the DCI for his opinion?”

Duto’s fingerprints were everywhere now, Wells thought. Only one thread left to unravel. Had Duto known about the dead prisoners all along? Had he set Wells and Shafer on the trail knowing even before they started what they would find?

“Did you tell Duto what happened to bin Zari and Mohammed?” Wells said.

“Of course not. The squad and Whitby were the only ones who knew.”

“Could he have found out some other way?”

“You’ll have to ask him yourself.”

“I’ll do that.”

“So,” Murphy said. “A deal’s a deal.”

“It’s Steve Callar.”

“That’s impossible.”

“He already confessed.”

“But he was in Phoenix—”

Wells explained.

WHEN HE WAS DONE, Murphy nodded. “I see it,” he said. “Callar wore down. We got rough, and she couldn’t take it. We all knew she was depressed. Karp asked Terreri to send her home, but Terreri wouldn’t. He was stubborn, said we needed a doctor, and unless she requested a transfer he wouldn’t give it. And then at the end, finding the bodies sent her over. She told us we were all murderers, just like the Nazis, that she was going to report us. Terreri told her to go right ahead, betray us. She spent most of the last two months in her room. She kept telling us how she’d failed, how all of us had failed. Terreri would have sent her home by then, but the tour was practically done. Yeah, I see it.”

“But you couldn’t care less.”

“She knew what she was getting into. No one’s fault but her own that she freaked out. She comes home, offs herself, the coward’s way out. Then her whack-job husband decides he deserves revenge. On us. Like we’re responsible for her mental problems. I never laid a finger on her, never even raised my voice to her. You want me to feel sorry for her? I don’t think so.”

“That’s one way to look at it.”

“There’s another? Lemme guess. Poor little Rachel felt more deeply than the rest of us. Oh, the humanity.” Murphy stood. “The bad guys in this are Jawaruddin bin Zari and Steve Callar.” He walked down the driveway. “It’s time for me to go home.”

“Don’t you want to know where Callar is?”

Murphy gave him a mocking salute. “I leave him to you. I trust you’ll do the right thing. You always do.”

WELLS STAYED CALM on the surface roads, but when he reached the Beltway he pushed his foot to the floor and the WRX rocketed through the Virginia night. A childish escape, but it was all he had. For the first time in months, Springsteen filled his ears: “ And there’s a darkness in this town that’s got us, too. ” “Independence Day.” The song’s hero was getting ready to move away, leave his life behind. Wells wondered if he had the strength to do the same.

Back in room 112, he found Callar and Shafer watching HBO, an early-season episode of The Sopranos . Callar’s cheek had bled through all the towels and most of two pillowcases, but he looked oddly comfortable as he grinned at Wells.

“Come outside with me,” Wells said to Shafer.

They sat in the WRX as Wells recounted what Murphy had told him.

“We make it official, he’ll be in custody the rest of his life,” Shafer said. “We’ll call him a material witness. An enemy combatant. He’ll never get a trial. We’ll never let that video come out.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

“Then that’s how it’s going to be. If the President makes that choice and signs those orders and Callar’s lawyers can’t get a judge to look at the case.”

“There’s another way.”

“No. Ellis, you’re the one who told me we needed to get the answers.”

“That was before I knew what they were. We go back in there and give him his one bullet. He’ll do it. I know he will. It’s all he’s been talking about.”

“No.”

“It’ll be easier. For him and for us.”

Wells gripped the steering wheel tight. “Easy is what got us here. We’re following the law this time.”

“And when the law fails?”

“I’d rather see the law fail than put my own judgment ahead of it. It ends here.”

“At the Budget Motor Inn.”

“That’s right.”

Wells stepped out of the car, walked into the room. Callar looked up from the television. “I want to see my wife.”

“Not tonight,” Wells said. “Tonight we’re taking you in.”

Wells wasn’t expecting a happy ending, and he didn’t get one.

To be sure that Whitby wouldn’t be able to make Callar disappear, Wells and Shafer brought him directly to Langley from the motel. In the days that followed, the FBI and Justice insisted that Callar had to be formally charged so the murder cases could be closed. The CIA and Defense argued that a trial, or even an indictment, would cause a media frenzy that would bust open the deal that the United States had cut with the ISI. Anyway, Callar wasn’t contesting his guilt, so a trial would be pointless.