John Weisman - Direct Action

Tom’s curt tone reflected his mood. “I was just starting to make some headway, damnit.”

“They don’t care about headway,” Wyman growled. He glanced around the office with the look of a drill sergeant making a white-glove inspection, then he refocused on Tom. “Look, the seventh floor 24is running scared these days. There are more CYA leaks coming out of Langley than I’ve ever seen-and I’d be very surprised if a lot of them weren’t sanctioned from the top as a way of putting some blue sky between CIA and the administration on these Iraq screwups. As much as I dislike admitting it, politics plays a part in what we do. Sometimes we just have to back off-delay taking action until we can find another way of achieving our goals without making waves.”

“You’re sounding like one of them, Tony.” Tom wasn’t willing to accept that kind of rationalization-even from someone like Wyman. “Goddamnit, this is too important. I’m onto something big here. Immense.”

“I understand. I know the stakes, Tom. More than that-it’s personal. These sons of bitches killed Jim McGee and I want their heads on pikes as much as you do. But we’re up against a six-hundred-pound gorilla here and its name is bureaucracy. Langley insists on total control, and right now they’re yanking at our leash and saying, ‘Sit; stay.’ Don’t forget-we’re contractors.”

“We’re operators, and they’re idiots.” Tom clenched his fists. “Look at how Langley dealt with MJ’s stuff.”

“When has incompetence ever stopped anyone at Langley from becoming a division chief-or DCI, for that matter?”

“Jeezus, Tony-”

“Look, I’m more pissed than you are.” Wyman’s palm slapped the desk. “It’s absurd: I was told point-blank there is no Tariq Ben Said.”

“But-”

“Oh, they admit there’s a bomber out there. But they insist that by laying low and setting out traplines, the system will find him before he can do any damage.”

Wyman caught the incredulous look on Tom’s face and cut him off before he could speak. “Don’t ask me which system and what traplines, Tom, because I have no more idea what the hell they’re talking about than you do. Worse, they take a harder line on Imad Mugniyah. It wasn’t Mugniyah. Not in Gaza; and not in the surveillance photographs Shahram took on rue Lambert. The official line is that Mugniyah is somewhere in Lebanon, running Hezbollah’s operations against the Israelis and surveilling the American embassy. He is not involved with al-Qa’ida. And he is not partnered with Tariq Ben Said, because there is no Tariq Ben Said. Full stop.”

“Why is Langley so unwilling to see what’s going on?”

“Like I said, politics.” Tony Wyman shook his head. “Headquarters rejects your premise because it contradicts everything they’ve been telling the president for almost three years now. Accepting the Ben Said-slash- Imad Mugniyah-slash-Arafat-slash-Tehran-slash-al-Qa’ida alliance would mean a direct link between Arafat, UBL, and Tehran.”

“So? The president himself has talked about the UBL-Tehran link.”

“Ah,” Wyman said, “but the Romanoffs at Langley have consistently argued that with the exception of Ansar al-Islam, no such link exists. Worse, tying Mugniyah and Ben Said to Gaza would indicate Arafat’s involved-Arafat would be connected to UBL, the Seppah, and Imad Mugniyah. C’mon, Tom-the CIA for years has its money on Arafat and Arafat’s Palestinian National Authority. CIA spent hundreds of millions helping the PA create a security apparatus-it was even called the Tenet Plan. CIA spent millions teaching Palestinian security people tradecraft. And what have the Ps done with all that education and all that money? They’ve become better terrorists is what they’ve done with it. How the hell can Tenet admit he was so wrong for so long and still not resign? He can’t-and so, he and his crowd stick their heads in the sand, leak positive stories to their friends in the media, and tell the White House and the oversight committees everything’s great, and they’re making real progress on America’s global war on terror, and in a mere five years, the clandestine service will be better than ever.”

“It’s all horse puckey.”

“Of course it is. The DO’s in a heap of trouble.” Wyman’s eyes flashed. “Christ, Tom, Ali Atwa, Mugniyah’s number two on the TWA 847 hijacking, is wandering around Beirut these days, under real name, and free as a bird. And what has CIA done about it? CIA has done nothing. What has Colin Powell’s State Department done? They’ve done nothing.” Wyman paused. “I took a snatch plan to Langley three weeks ago and they turned me down cold. ‘State will never agree. The Syrians might get upset.’ The Syrians ? The frigging Syrians are getting paid to ship foreign fighters into Iraq. We should have bombed Damascus the same night we did Baghdad.” Wyman played with the monocle hanging around his neck. “Christ, how I wish Casey were still alive.”

“You’re not the only one.” Tom scratched his chin. “Isn’t there any way-”

“I spoke to the goddamn ADDO 25himself on this. He assured me the materials you sent forward were brought to the highest levels.”

“So they could be round-filed.”

“We have a problem here, Tom. We’re dealing with a dysfunctional organism. The WMD groups in Iraq are incapable of handling their jobs and yet they’re getting performance bonuses. The chief in Riyadh doesn’t speak Arabic, there are no Saudi recruitments, and he got a performance bonus, too. We hired Jim McGee because Langley hadn’t recruited a single PA officer in years-but TA got station performance bonuses. A system that pays people bonuses to reward them for failing is entirely broke. But it’s the only system we’ve got right now. Until someone gets rid of Tenet, nothing’s going to change.”

Tom curled his lower lip. “Thanks, Tony, I needed that.”

Wyman’s eyes narrowed and his tone grew frosty. “Sarcasm isn’t going to help. Bottom line, Tom: Langley insists on handling things their way.”

“Which is?”

“To hunker down, stay quiet, and hope all the problems will go away. They won’t pay us to uncover Ben Said. And you know as well as I do that these ops are both complicated and costly, and without Langley’s funding…” He looked at the younger man apologetically. “We’re not the government, Tom. There are limits to what we can do unless someone’s willing to pay.”

“This sucks.”

“Agreed. But unless we can find ourselves a wedge…”

Tom crossed his arms. “What about the bombs? The detonators? Ben Said’s new explosives? If that isn’t a call to action, I don’t know what is.”

“Action?” Wyman snorted derisively. “The system, Tom, detests action. Trying to get the system to react is like trying to turn a supertanker around.”

“What do they want? Another World Trade Center?”

“I think it would take about that much.”

Tony was right, of course. Between organizational timidity, political correctness, risk aversion, and lack of strong leadership on the operational level, it was virtually impossible to defeat the jihad Islamists were waging against America and the West. The USG was spending buckets o’ cash to-as the State Department’s public diplomacy panjandrums kept saying-“win the hearts and minds” of all those hundreds of millions of Muslims living under various forms of dictatorship. “You can’t act without listening to the Arab Street,” State kept insisting. What crap. Bill Casey said it best: “When you’ve got ’em by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow.”

Tom said, “The Israelis seemed worried enough when I laid it out for them. Maybe they can convince Langley we’re on the right track.”