Allan Folsom - The Hadrian Memorandum

He crossed the room and found her robe, then came back and put it over her as best he could. She didn’t seem to notice. He went to the closet, found a robe for himself, and pulled it on. Then he took a straight-backed chair, turned it around, and sat down close to her, watching her. He wanted to intercede, to help, but he knew it would do no good. Ten minutes passed. Nothing changed. He wanted to turn on a light but was afraid of how she might react.

Ten minutes more, then twenty. A car went by outside, its lights momentarily reflecting off the ceiling and letting him see her. She was still hunched in the chair, the robe over her, crying inconsolably.

“It all has to do with why you went out, doesn’t it?” he said. “What were you doing? What happened?”

There was no reply. Just tears and wrenching emotion.

“If you didn’t want me to know, you wouldn’t have come back.”

Still there was no response.

A few minutes more and the crying slowed and then stopped. “My purse,” she murmured softly. “It’s on the chair by the bed.”

“I can’t see what I’m doing. I need to turn on a light. Is that alright?”

“Yes.”

Marten got up, crossed to a lamp next to the bed, and switched it on. The room filled with a dim, warm glow. Then he found the purse.

“Open it,” she said. “There’s a zipper pocket just inside, near the top.”

“What’s in it?”

“You’ll see.”

Marten opened the purse and found the zipper, then pulled it open. Inside the pocket was a single item. A drugstore-type film processing envelope.

“This?”

“Yes.”

He opened it. Inside were several strips of processed 35 mm film. He looked at her, puzzled. Her eyes were red. What little makeup she wore had been streaked by rivulets of tears.

“In the bottom of the purse…” she said hesitantly, “is something I’ve… kept with me… ever since I… left the Agency. It was habit… The old… spymaster special. A 35 mm Minox camera. When… we… crossed… the city, the shops I… kept going into… I was… looking for a place that had… photo-developing service. I found one in the… Baixa district. One hour or less… just like… at home… Open till midnight… seven days a… week.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.” Deliberately she reached up and wiped her eyes with the palms of her hands. “Go into the… bathroom… turn on the light over the sink and… and hold the strips up to… it. Don’t look… for pictures. There are… none… Only… words.”

Marten entered the bathroom. The Glock was still on the marble ledge just above the Jacuzzi tub where he’d left it. He crossed to the sink and turned on the light above it, then opened the envelope and carefully held the first strip up to it. It was hard to see what had been photographed. It looked like the page of a document, but he couldn’t read it without some kind of magnification.

“It’s page one of three.” Anne stood in the doorway, the robe pulled around her. In the brighter light she was pale and seemed wholly spent.

“Come over here and sit down, please,” he said gently and touched the edge of the tub.

“ ‘Top Secret-XARAK Protocol’ is the first line.” She stayed in the doorway where she was. “The next follows beneath it. ‘Central Intelligence Agency, Washington, D.C. Subject: Memorandum of Understanding or MOU. For: President/CEO and General Counsel for AG Striker Oil and Energy Company; and for Chairman, President, and General Counsel for Hadrian Worldwide. From: Deputy Director, Central Intelligence Agency. Via: Director, National Clandestine Service. The General Counsel-CIA Office of General Counsel. Reference: NSCID-19470; EO-13318; CIA Operational Targeting Authority 1A.’

“It’s all there, Nicholas. Everything that happened in Equatorial Guinea since the plan for the Bioko field was orchestrated by the Agency. I’ll give you more. I memorized most of it as I photographed the pages. Memorization. I was trained in it. The way you memorized poems or the Gettysburg Address or the Preamble to the Constitution when you were in school.

“One,” she continued. “Based on direct, as well as implied, National Security tasking authorities stipulated in REFs, and in accordance with the Letter of Instruction (LOI) submitted separately from the Deputy Director of the CIA (DD/CIA), the General Counsel has prepared a Memorandum of Understanding (MOU) among the so-named trilateral participants in paragraph three. This MOU describes an ambitious plan to secure unimpeded drilling access and petroleum exploitation rights for the USA in the West African country of Equatorial Guinea. This initiative is part of a broader national imperative to achieve energy independence from other global sources of crude oil.

“Two: This document, upon affixation of signatures of the principals (named by position below) and courier-delivery to CIA Headquarters by Agency Security Officers, does constitute an active and legally binding accord for the two corporate entities under penalties heretofore separately specified by the Office of the Attorney General, the Internal Revenue Service, and other ancillary judicial instruments employable at the Agency’s discretion.” Anne stopped. “That’s just the first part. The rest is the same, all concise and neatly spelled out. Congressman Ryder will love it.”

Marten put the strips back into the envelope. “How did you get it?” He was incredulous.

“It’s why I needed an Internet connection and a large-screen TV. It was something I asked about at the hotel on our way here when I told you I had to pee. The hotel you were smart enough to go back to. The one where Conor White tracked me, because of my credit card, I’m sure. I knew they would be watching everything but it’s all I had.

“I couldn’t very well have photographed the screen on my BlackBerry, it’s too small. Nor could I download the document or make an electronic copy of it because they would know immediately that the site had been accessed and a copy had been made. Immediately they would attempt to trace the intruder. But by photographing it the old-fashioned way, bringing the pages up one by one, and clicking off each with the Minox, then, at the end, simply turning off the television, you see?” For a moment her voice drifted off and she seemed to forget what she was talking about; then she came back. “They would probably know the site had been accessed, but there would be no evidence it had been compromised and nowhere to look for the hacker.”

Marten was astounded. “That site has to be highly classified. How did you get into it? You would need a myriad of codes and passwords.”

“I was in the Agency for a long time, Nicholas. I know a few procedures. I also sit on Striker’s board of directors. Not long ago I sat on Hadrian’s board as well.”

“Hadrian’s?”

“Yes. I know both companies intimately. Codes, passwords. Some I had to work my way around, but in the end I had a basis for it all.”

“Since when do boards of directors have access to a company’s classified codes and passwords?”

Anne smiled faintly and ran a hand through her hair. “I told you before I had been married twice. I didn’t say to who. My first husband was Loyal Truex, founder and president of Hadrian. My second was Sy Wirth, chairman of Striker. We shared a lot of things for a lot of reasons. Like most couples do.”

“Jesus, Anne.” Marten felt the air go out of him.

“I knew when Erlanger warned me on the airstrip, and then with Franck and the other CIA people getting involved, there had to be more to it than just the photographs… So I looked for it… and… found it.” Suddenly the tears welled up again. “What I’ve done… is… betray the Agency, my country, my father, and myself. Striker Oil is… finished. Probably I am, too…”