Shattered (Michael Bennett #14)(82)

The president says, “In my time at the CIA, I knew where the deadwood was located and that there were open cases involving possible Agency traitors that dragged on for years. But I couldn’t do anything about it, due to politics. The director serves at the pleasure of the president, and back then, the president didn’t have the nerve to do what had to be done, no matter how many times I briefed her. That stops now. Noa, you’re going to have my full authority to clean house at the Agency. I’m going to chop up all the deadwood into very small pieces that will never be found again.”

Noa says, “But Director Fenway—”

He snaps, “Acting Director Milton Fenway, if you please. No disrespect to your boss, but I’ve told him what I’ve planned and he’s on board. Don’t worry about him.”

She thinks she sees Liam give a slight nod to the president. Poor Acting Director Fenway. A few months ago, the president had nominated a smart hard-charger—Hannah Abrams, a former deputy director—who was known at the Agency as a top-notch street woman operating in what was called the “night soil circuit,” meaning she took every overseas assignment available, even the worst of the worst. Most in the Directorate of Operations are looking forward to Abrams taking command of the Agency, but her nomination is still being held up in the Senate for some obscure political reason.

Until that logjam is broken, Milton Fenway is the acting director, and he comes from the CIA’s Directorate of Science and Technology, meaning he is experienced in various aspects of those technical means of gathering intelligence—SIGINT and ELINT—but not HUMINT, human intelligence. The men and women who work undercover around the world, rightly or wrongly, think they are the tip of the spear for the Agency and have no respect for the man.

The president adds, “There are also safe houses for the Chinese and Russians located across the country. We know where most of them are located. We leave them alone because we don’t want to cause a stir or embarrass the Chinese or Russians, or because we don’t have the evidence to prosecute them. To hell with that. Those houses are going to be taken out, and the foreign agents within are going to disappear.”

Noa is silent for a few seconds.

What did the president just say?

“Disappear”?





Noa thinks that if she doesn’t get a good answer right now, she’s getting up and leaving.

“‘Disappear’?” she asks. “Sir?”

He smiles. “I don’t mean like the Argentine Army did back in their ‘Dirty War,’ tossing arrestees out of helicopters over the South Atlantic. No, ‘disappear’ to a facility where they won’t have access to the Constitution and American lawyers. They’re here illegally, they’re conducting war against the United States, and they will be treated accordingly.”

He shifts his attention to Liam, and Noa feels a sense of relief, that the force of the man’s personality—like the beam of a high-powered searchlight—is now pointed at someone else. She’s still processing what’s been assigned to her by the president.

Domestic work, she thinks. The legal and institutional handcuffs put on by Barrett’s predecessors and Congress have just been slipped off.

One hell of an opportunity.

Sure, she thinks, an opportunity to really hit hard at some bad actors out there, or an opportunity to be humiliated, arrested, and stripped of my pension if this turns into another Iran–Contra disaster.

Noa wants to make a difference in the world by being in the Agency, and the president has just given her a golden ticket to do so.

President Barrett is talking a good talk, but will that be enough once the bodies start piling up?

“There are terrorist cells, hackers, and bot farms controlled by the Iranians, Chinese, and Russians, and there are hackers-for-hire across the globe,” the president says. “They attack us day and night via cyberspace or in the real world. We don’t retaliate appropriately because we don’t want to escalate the situation, or because we’re not one hundred percent sure of a target, or because we don’t want to stoop to their level. That stops today. You’re going to get a team together of people from the intelligence and military communities. From there, overseas you’ll go. These farms, cells, and other structures…you know what Rome did to Carthage?”

“Yes, sir,” Liam says. “Once Rome finally conquered Carthage, they destroyed every building and salted the earth around the ruins so nothing would ever grow there again. And that’s exactly what happened.”

The president nods. “I want them gone. Gone so hard that whoever survives won’t go back to a computer keyboard or an AK-47 ever again.”

Liam says, “If I may, it sounds risky, sir.”

“Of course it’s risky,” he says. “Fortune favors the bold, correct? And it’s time for us to be bold. I’ll give you both twenty-four hours to pick your teams and then come back here tomorrow. We’ll go over your candidates, and then we’ll discuss logistics and support. And when it comes to support, you’ll have everything you need, with just one phone call or text. As commander in chief, I can get any branch of the military to assist you under any circumstances.”

The president leans back into the couch. “I’ve followed both of your careers over the years. You have the intelligence, toughness, experience, and…well, the perfect background and history of heartbreak to do what must be done. Any questions?”