Andrew Britton: The Assassin

“I agree,” Harper said. “And there’s something else: the Babylon has gates that are manned by the Iraqi Police Service. It would have been almost impossible to get something past them without a great deal of planning.”

“Or their help,” Brenneman muttered.

“That, too,” Harper conceded. “We’ll be looking into that, sir, but it might be difficult, since they’ll be the ones tasked with the investigation.”

“That’s true.” Ford fired her subordinate a disapproving glance. “We do need to be careful about whom we trust in the IPS, but I wouldn’t recommend trying to cut them out of the loop. That will set a negative tone at a very sensitive time, especially if al-Maliki doesn’t survive the assassination attempt.”

And you’re advising the president on things that don’t concern you, Harper thought. Ford was an outside appointee; most of her career had been spent serving the constituents of Michigan’s 3rd Congressional District. After four terms in the House, she had turned her attention to Harvard’s Kennedy School of Government, where she’d served as dean prior to accepting the president’s nomination earlier in the year. In Harper’s opinion, she still had a lot to learn about her new position, particularly the limits of her questionable expertise.

It looked like Brenneman caught it, too. He glanced sideways at his deputy DCI, the message clear in his stern expression, but she missed it entirely as a noise intruded. Ford snatched her cell phone off the table and flipped it open impatiently. “What is it?” She listened intently, then turned to the president. “Sir, this is urgent. May I…?”

He nodded abruptly. Ford jumped to her feet and walked into the adjacent Cabinet Room, closing the door behind her somewhat harder than necessary. Brenneman shot his subordinate a bemused glance. Harper worked to keep his face impassive, but suspected the president knew exactly what he was thinking.

His suspicions were confirmed an instant later. “Something on your mind, John?”

Harper shook his head in the negative. Leaning forward to pour himself some coffee, he idly wondered why he harbored such an intense, transparent dislike for Rachel Ford. It wasn’t that he found her lacking in intellect; her education, beginning with Sarah Lawrence and culminating in a JD from Harvard Law, could hardly be found wanting. The fact that she was technically his superior didn’t bother him, either; Jonathan held no reservations when it came to working for a woman. After all, he had done so often enough in the past, and it had never been a problem before. In short, he didn’t know how the animosity, which was decidedly mutual, had come about.

The president was leafing through a briefing folder. “Seventeen American casualties? Is that right?”

The DDO cleared his throat and said, “Actually, sir, that report is several hours old. The latest numbers in from the embassy confirm nineteen dead. Five more are critically injured.”

Brenneman’s dark brown eyes grew darker still, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he tossed the folder onto the table and appraised his visitor for a long moment. Finally, he said, “She brought up a good point, you know.”

Harper was momentarily caught off-guard. “Al-Maliki,” Brenneman reminded him. “What was he doing outside the zone?”

The other man considered his response for a moment, wondering if the president’s main concern lay with the American loss of life or the attempted assassination of the Iraqi prime minister. “Sir, when was the last time you were in Baghdad?”

“Six months ago, I think. I went to address the troops and to take a look at the new embassy.”

“What were the roads like?”

“God awful, and that’s probably generous on my part. Of course, it’s a straight shot from the airport to the zone, so at least the travel time wasn’t too bad.”

“A straight shot for you, sir. Moving around Baghdad is different for everyone else, even senior Iraqi officials.”

A slight frown appeared on the president’s face. “How so?”

“Well, first they have to fill out a form that states where they’re going and why. Then they have to request vehicles and bodyguards. All of this has to be done the day before a scheduled movement. It’s very inconvenient, especially when, even after all of that, you still get stopped at three different checkpoints on your way in and out. Most of the top guys look for ways to avoid it.”

“Like avoiding the zone entirely.”

“Exactly. Only problem is, once you’re outside, you’re fair game.”

Brenneman nodded slowly, a little piqued at Harper’s description. Iraq had topped his foreign policy agenda for the past four years; he didn’t care to hear the place described as a war zone, though, in fact, it could hardly be described as anything else. “Okay, next question. How did they know he would be there?”

“It’s all speculation at this point. I’m guessing we’ll have to wait until they come up with a list of casualties. Then we’ll focus on who’s missing, such as bodyguards and hotel employees. We’ll also take a look at building security… Like I said, sir, the gates were manned by the IPS. That might be a good place to start.”

Brenneman sighed heavily and ran a hand through his silver brown hair. “It doesn’t sound like we have much to work with.”

“I know,” Harper agreed. “But we’re just getting started, sir.”

“Fair enough. What kind of fallout can we expect from this?”

The DDO mulled over the question for a moment. “It’s been unusually quiet over the past several months, but this could definitely serve as a catalyst. We’ll probably see increased insurgent activity in the major cities, particularly Baghdad and Fallujah. Of course, some of that depends on what happens with the prime minister.”

Brenneman got to his feet and moved to the windows, looking over the South Lawn for a long moment. “This couldn’t come at a worse time,” he finally murmured. “Even if he makes it through. It’s hard to justify troop withdrawals when we can’t guarantee the safety of the senior leadership.”

He suddenly seemed to come back to reality. “What kind of assets do you have over there?”

Harper ran through the list in his head. “Exley, sir. He’s one of our guys in the embassy, used to be army intelligence. He’s connected in all the right places. Keith Moore is chief of station. Jenna Thompson’s the head tech officer-”

“What about Kealey?”

The question seemed to hang in the air for a long time. “He’s in the area. A little farther to the west,” Harper replied cautiously. “But I don’t know if he’s…”

“Available?” The president turned from the window to stare at his subordinate. “Is that what you were going to say?”

Harper frowned but didn’t respond.

“Is he up to speed in the Middle East?”

“As much as anyone.”

“You may not be aware of this, John, but I took an interest after what happened last year. I know he asked to come back in an official capacity. I also know that his request was initially rejected by Director Andrews, and that you intervened and signed the waiver when he wouldn’t talk to the in-house counselors.”

The president paused and shot the DDO a curious glance. “Why did you do that, by the way? I never had the chance to ask you.”

Harper was uncomfortable with the question, and it showed. “Kealey’s a good man, sir. He’s been through a lot, but he’s not the type to respond to any kind of counseling. It wouldn’t have helped. As for bringing him back inside… Well, let’s just say I couldn’t turn him down. Not after what happened.”

Brenneman considered this for a long moment, finally turning back to his guest. “John, I need to know if this goes any deeper. The press will be all over me if I don’t stick to the timetable, but I can’t start pulling soldiers out with the knowledge that I’ll have to send them back in six months. More to the point, someone has to be held accountable for this. I need someone who can move fast and get results. If Ryan’s already over there, so much the better.”