Andrew Britton - The Assassin

“I’ll look into it,” Harper said, surreptitiously wiping a drop of clear fluid from his nose. He pulled a wad of tissue from his pocket and blew into it sharply. “Damn cold… It’s been creeping up for days. They come like clockwork twice a year, always in March and September. I’ll have to start scheduling my vacations accordingly.”

Mired in thought, Kealey let that comment slide. Something had been gnawing at the base of his brain ever since they’d left the White House, but he didn’t know how the other man would respond. He needed to broach the subject carefully, but he also needed to get his point across.

“John, if the president had signed off on the embassy break-in, we could have pulled it off, right?”

“Absolutely.” Harper rammed his hands into the pockets of his Burberry as a swift, sudden wind swept the gravel footpath. “You know about ORACLE… That was all we needed. Well, that and a man with the skills to get inside. It would have worked.”

An uncomfortable silence ensued. ORACLE was the CIA code name for a long-term operation that had started back in 1983, shortly before the FBI and the National Security Agency embarked on a highly ambitious joint operation of their own, the construction of a tunnel below the new Soviet Embassy in Washington, D.C. The tunnel cost hundreds of millions of dollars to build and maintain, and although it was manned round the clock by NSA technicians with eavesdropping equipment, the project was only a modest success, garnering nothing more than low-grade intelligence. Years later, the Bureau would learn that the tunnel had been compromised shortly after its completion by the infamous Robert Hanssen, a Bureau agent who had spied for the GRU, the KGB’s military counterpart, from 1979 up until his arrest in 2001. Even at the height of the project’s output, the top minds at the Agency had recognized just how inefficient the tunnel actually was, and they began searching for ways to gain maximum output with minimal cost.

The result was ORACLE, an operation designed to gain embassy blueprints, access to secure computer systems, and the names of intelligence officers concealed within the diplomatic community. Embassies were a natural starting point, as they serve as jumping-off points for nearly every intelligence officer brought into a host country. Recruitment was the most difficult part, but once that was accomplished, it was a simple cash-for-information exchange. Defection was clearly not an option, as the disappearance of a member of the embassy staff would simply result in immediate changes in security. Ironically, the CIA was initiating measures already in use with both the KGB and the GRU. It was the latter agency that purchased from Hanssen the details of the tunnel — a multimillion-dollar project — for less than $30,000 in cash and diamonds.

Over the next two decades, ORACLE expanded exponentially, the Agency cultivating sources in embassies representing forty-eight countries, including Germany. As required by the Agency’s charter, all of the embassies were located overseas, but many agents — having served in the United States — were able to relay information regarding embassy security on domestic soil as well. Such was the case with the chancery, the German Embassy’s office building on the western edge of Georgetown. The CIA’s operations directorate had access to passwords, blueprints, and the specific security measures — both human and electronic — that served to protect the building from intruders. All they were lacking was authorization.

They crossed 7th, heading east, the dome of the Capitol Building shining in artificial white light, the waters of the reflecting pool lapping silver in the distance. They strolled silently for a while, their feet crunching on the gravel, until Kealey finally took the plunge.

“If somebody broke into the chancery tonight, John, what would it mean for you?”

Harper glanced over and frowned, but to the younger man, it looked more like concern than disapproval. “I think I’d probably be finished. They wouldn’t kick me out on my ass, not after what we pulled off last November, and not this close to the election, but my options would certainly be limited. They would squeeze me out by the end of the year.”

“Maybe not,” Kealey countered. “You have a lot of friends at State and Justice. If enough of them landed on your side, the president might-”

“Don’t kid yourself, Ryan. If I go against the president, I’m done at the Agency. It’s that simple.”

A short silence ensued, and Kealey feared that he might have pushed it too far. The DDO was only forty-two years old, and retirement was a long ways off. They approached a bench on the left, partially illuminated beneath a white sodium lamp. Harper took a seat unexpectedly, emitting a weary sigh in the process. Kealey joined him.

“I want to go in, John. I want to do it tonight, but I need your help. You know it needs to be done. I saw it on your face while Brenneman was searching for ways to say no.”

“That’s true,” Harper replied. “It does need to be done. Ruhmann might be able to give us Vanderveen, but it’s more than that. This meeting at the UN could be a coup for Brenneman, but that also makes it a prime target. They went after the prime minister first, and now Tabrizi. Tabrizi was a Sunni, but definitely a moderating factor. Nuri al-Maliki, on the other hand, was — and still is — the recognized leader of the United Iraqi Alliance, and the UIA counts for two-thirds of the National Assembly. If Vanderveen is going after that particular group, he’ll have the perfect opportunity in New York. It would totally destroy the Iraqi government, take away all credibility. The country would plunge into civil war.”

“With our troops caught in the middle,” Kealey muttered.

“Exactly.”

“This meeting on the sixteenth… Why did Brenneman keep it so close to the vest?”

“He’s afraid of leaks, I imagine. Like I said, this could be big for him. If the UIA throws its support behind him and his plan for bringing the troops home, it could have a dramatic effect on the polls. People are tired of the situation over there. They want rapid withdrawals, but that could easily destroy the little we’ve managed to accomplish over the past five years. Needless to say, Brenneman can’t make that kind of statement himself; it just doesn’t resonate. Hearing it from the leading members of Iraq’s National Assembly, on the other hand, might change some minds. After all, their support is the only way we can accomplish anything over there. It’s a risky play, and it’s late in the game, but it’s all he has if he wants another four years.”

Kealey looked down at the gravel, thinking about it. “If I’m going in, it has to be tonight. Once Brenneman makes that call to the German chancellor, we’re dead in the water.”

“It’s impossible, Ryan. Even with the access codes and the security layout, you’d need at least a week to set it up.”

“We don’t have a week.” Kealey paused, looking over the grass. The National Air and Space Museum could be seen in the near distance, the towering windows reflecting the night sky in shimmering shades of blue and black. “I’m not asking the president, John,” he continued quietly. “I’m asking you. I’ll be finished as well. I know that. They won’t give me a glowing send-off, either. I’m willing to pay the price, but I can’t make that decision for someone else, and I certainly can’t make it for you. If you want me to look for another way, that’s the way it’ll be.”

Harper nodded silently to himself, and his chin drifted down to his chest. Kealey briefly wondered if he was dozing off, but then his head rose. “I’ve known you for eight years, Ryan. I think you forget that sometimes.”