A Hostile State Read online

  He knew Broderick from some past contact, and had little regard for the man. He was too ambitious and cared nothing for the people below him. He had both hands firmly on the State Department ladder and in all likelihood would take over the top spot there one day. Callahan wasn’t impressed. Here in the world of secret intelligence and security, ambition was fine but also a little suspect when it might lead to some people making rash decisions.

  The main chair at the table was occupied by Jason Sewell. He welcomed Broderick with a quick, no-nonsense nod but avoided looking at anyone else. That alone, Callahan worried, was telling if you knew the signs. Not everyone was welcome as a friend here and you had best beware the wolf in smart clothing if they had any kind of agenda.

  Among the more familiar faces were James Cardew, Jackson, Fred Groll, Craig Breakman, Gina Patel and, squeezing in alongside Broderick with a sun-burst smile that threatened to light up the area around him and him only, Carly Ledhoffen.

  ‘I’ll keep this brief,’ Sewell said, knuckling the table to still conversation. ‘The last time we met was to discuss the development of what appeared to be an attack on one of our contractors, code-named Watchman, on assignment in Lebanon. I won’t go into more detail on that right now.’ He glanced around at the newcomers, adding, ‘I’ll be circulating a summary record later to confirm the background. As of minutes ago a decision has been made that significantly changes our attitude of response to the attack.’ He paused, and Callahan recognized by the set of Sewell’s face that he was far from happy. Whatever the decision was, it had plainly been made without his input and didn’t bode well for somebody.

  Callahan waited for Sewell to continue. The man was usually unflappable, out-and-out in his loyalty to the CIA, more old-school than new, and had made no bones about the fact that protecting their own – even contractors – should be embedded in the organization’s culture. If you were attached to the CIA team and prepared to put your life on the line for it and the country, you got the same level of care and effort as everyone else.

  Sewell inclined his head sideways towards the man from the State Department. ‘Deputy Assistant Secretary Broderick has kindly come along to advise on the direction we’re taking on the Watchman situation.’ He stopped there and waved a hand to cede the floor without further ado.

  Broderick looked surprised by the abrupt hand-over, but recovered quickly.

  ‘Thank you, James. As you all know, the situation vis-a-vis our relationship with Moscow is a little changeable at this time. The White House and State Department are doing all we can to stabilize the co-operation between us and get over the occasional bumps along the way.’ He showed his teeth in what was supposed to be a grin but it lacked humour. ‘It’s been made a little more difficult with China’s growing role on the world stage and its military surge. But we have to address the most obvious threats first. I don’t need to tell you about Moscow’s current developments in the Middle East – especially Syria and Iran – and their influence elsewhere, namely Latin America and their focus on gaining traction in Venezuela’s oil-producing sector. Their increasing investment programme in the African continent is accelerating, too, so we need to ensure that we keep a level head when talking to our counterparts in the Kremlin. Make no mistake, that does not mean we’re prepared to roll over in any way.’ He tapped the table with a hefty forefinger to emphasize the point. ‘Not one bit. President Putin admires strength and takes advantage wherever he can when opponents show any sign of weakness. We cannot and will not allow that to happen.’

  There was a ‘but’ coming. Callahan could hear it like a runaway truck in a shopping mall. Jesus, where is this going?

  ‘In short,’ Broderick continued, ‘while we recognize the alleged threat made to the operative known as Watchman, we also have to temper our instinctive reactions to it by not going around making wild accusations which cannot be substantiated. We cannot allow one man – a sub-contractor, no less, not one of our own – to drag us into taking any kind of reckless action that could have unforeseen consequences down the line.’

  ‘Alleged?’ Callahan couldn’t help it; the word was out before he could haul it back. But it was too late and too instinctive. ‘What does that mean?’

  Broderick looked at him with a cold, fish-eyed expression that probably worked well with State Department juniors who knew their place, but Callahan was too riled to care.

  ‘I don’t think I caught your name or position, Mr—?’

  ‘It’s Callahan, Mr Deputy.’ He was damned if he was going to dignify the man with a ‘sir’. ‘Brian Callahan. I’m a CSO here in Langley.’

  Broderick looked puzzled by the acronym until Carly Ledhoffen leaned across and explained in a stage whisper, ‘Clandestine Service Officer, sir. He’s Watchman’s controller.’ She smiled at Callahan and shrugged, eyes wide in a ‘What else could I do?’ expression.

  ‘Thank you, Callahan, for your question. Let me be perfectly clear on this matter. This “incident” should not have happened. It comes at a difficult time and our involvement in this particular Lebanon mission should be shut down immediately. The fact is, we cannot allow further US incursions in clearing up this man’s mess to get in the way of ongoing discussions.’

  ‘But we need to get him out of there!’ Callahan protested. ‘This was a real and active threat against one of our people on a sanctioned mission to retrieve vital information. There was no “alleged” about it. Snipers do not simply go out and look for a random person to take out for the hell of it. These men had his photo in their possession and knew who they were looking for. Furthermore, I don’t see how us calling it like it is in any way endangers our foreign policy. The sniper was Russian and he attacked a US citizen—’

  ‘You only have your man’s report on that,’ Broderick broke in. ‘How do we know he wasn’t mistaken?’

  ‘Well, in my experience,’ said Craig Breakman from Special Activities, ‘men wounded in combat don’t usually adopt a language that is not their own. Just saying.’

  Callahan looked to Sewell for help, but his boss avoided meeting his eye. It was instantly clear to Callahan that Sewell had received his orders on the subject and was in no position to counter them.

  ‘Well, Callahan,’ Broderick said coolly, ‘your comments are clear and understood. However, we do not require you to worry about US foreign policy, nor are you mandated to do so. We have many highly effective people around DC to do that for us. And just for the sake of record let me remind you that your man knew the risks when he took the job, did he not?’

  ‘He’s a professional, yes—’

  ‘Good. The fact is he’s a hired gun. No more, no less. I assume he works for the private sector as well as the CIA?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Then he chose his line of work and has to understand that we’re under no obligation to help him if he got careless and picked up some attention in whatever else he’s been involved in. We cannot endanger the current US negotiating position with Moscow to get him out of whatever jam he’s gotten himself into.’

  Callahan took a deep breath and said as calmly as he could, ‘He’s anything but a hired gun.’ He sensed some warning looks from others at the table for pursuing this, not least Sewell, and knew he was pushing his luck. He ignored them. It was too late for that. Fuck ’em. He continued, ‘Watchman has performed several dangerous assignments on our behalf in many situations where we could not send accredited staff operatives. He even saved the life of a State Department employee – a colleague of yours, incidentally – by pulling him out of a lockup in Ukraine at great personal risk to himself.’

  Broderick wasn’t listening. He shook his head in a dismissive manner. ‘Be that as it may, the decision has been taken at the very top, Callahan.’ In case there was any doubt as to what he meant, he raised a single finger in the air. ‘And I mean, the top.’ He stared balefully at Callahan. ‘If you feel unable to accept that decision I suggest you need to consider your next comments very ca
refully.’

  The silence that followed such a clear threat was total, punctuated only by the shuffling of feet as others got ready to vacate their chairs. Some were no doubt keen to move away from any potential collateral damage heading in Callahan’s direction. Most had their heads down, whether from passivity or embarrassment Callahan couldn’t tell.

  Then George Jackson from the Defence Intelligence Agency spoke up. ‘Notwithstanding all that,’ he said carefully, ‘and I’m sure those at the top have given it careful thought, but has this decision been run past the various committees of the National Intelligence Community? I ask that because the asset on the ground in this case was ours and there are serious ramifications we all have to consider here, namely that your proposal suggests leaving the contractor Watchman – an American citizen, as Mr Callahan has reminded us – out in the cold. That’s pretty damned outrageous in my view, and threatens the safe conduct and conclusion of any future assignments where we have to employ contractors rather than our own field officers.’

  There were mutters of agreement around the table. In response Broderick gave a smile that barely moved the skin around his mouth. ‘Thank you for your input, Mr Jackson. I’ll be sure to pass your comments upstairs.’ His eyes swept the room like twin barrels of a gun. ‘However, in case anyone else here shares your doubts, I can assure you that all the necessary approvals and oversight procedures have been carefully dealt with.’ He looked at Jackson and said, ‘In addition, to correct a point you made, I understand this man is not solely a US citizen but has dual nationality status with Britain. So I suggest we let them look after him. We have more than enough to do.’

  Jackson looked as if he was about to respond, but clamped his mouth shut and glanced at Callahan with a look of apology.

  ‘Shut down all communications with this man, Callahan,’ Broderick ordered bluntly. ‘As of now he’s on his own.’

  Callahan said nothing. He got to his feet and walked to the door. There was nothing left to say. He was grateful for the support from Jackson and Breakman but was too angry to speak let alone excuse himself. It was no good appealing to Sewell, who remained in his seat, eyes fixed on the table. The assistant director looked stunned and Callahan figured the orders really had come from on high, and that all the possible arguments had been put forward and knocked back.

  It made him wonder, though, about the eventual effects when this decision became known in the wider intelligence community, as it surely would. Passing off responsibility for someone you employed, no matter how tangentially, never reflected well on an organization, especially one which valued loyalty and service as highly as did the CIA.

  Broderick looked surprised by his move and barked, ‘Where are you going?’

  Callahan paused, his hand on the door. ‘I’m going to give Watchman his final orders, Mr Deputy, as you requested. Just so he doesn’t become an embarrassment to the State Department or the White House. And I’ll make sure to tell him that he’d better get on with saving his own ass because it looks like we no longer have the moral guts to do it for him in case we upset those friendly folks over in the Kremlin.’

  The door closed behind him leaving a roomful of stunned people and a heavy silence.

  EIGHTEEN

  Callahan strode back to his office in a mood of white hot anger. Broderick and his kind were doing nothing less than throwing Portman to the dogs, all in the name of political expediency. Was this the new mantra – don’t anyone rock the boat even if we allow a good man to go down in the process? If so it was cowardly and counter-productive. When other contractors got wind of it, the likelihood was that it would frighten away good operatives; nobody wanted to work for an employer who was prepared to leave them hanging when things got tough.

  He put his head in the main outer office where Lindsay was sitting at a monitor assisting another comms operator. He caught her eye and gestured for her to follow him when she was free.

  While he was waiting he checked his messages and found two. One was from Vale, advising him that the plan was for Portman and Hunt to be flown out of Lebanon to a location in Cyprus, precise details to follow.

  The second message was from Portman himself, consisting of a three-word locator signalling his position. He almost smiled at the brevity and felt even worse for the position they’d both been forced into. This wasn’t how professionals should be treated.

  ‘Close the door,’ he said softly, when Lindsay appeared minutes later. He sat down and gestured for her to do the same.

  ‘Is everything all right, sir?’ she asked, a tiny frown forming.

  He realized she knew his moods better than most people and could tell when things were piling up. Right now he guessed he must look like a pot about to simmer over. A lot had been happening in the background as far as Portman was concerned, and he had to think of the best way of bringing Lindsay up to date on the situation.

  ‘Portman’s on his way out of Lebanon,’ he said. ‘London’s coordinating that with their operative on the ground, a woman named Hunt.’ Rather than us, he felt like saying, but decided against it. There was no need to bring Lindsay in on his conflict with the State Department. That would be a mismatch made in hell.

  ‘How do we get involved, sir?’

  ‘We don’t, not yet. If there’s a change of plan for any reason they will keep on top of it.’ And fingers crossed on that, he thought. Changes of plan were common to all intelligence assignments, usually governed by forces outside the operative’s control. As he’d learned very early on in his career, having a plan B was essential because plan A was always open to going wrong.

  ‘As of this moment I want you to be ready to drop what you’re doing and focus on supporting them where necessary. For now all we can do is provide an oversight role, but we must be ready to step in if we can find a way of doing so without any fanfare echoing further than this room. You understand?’

  ‘Sir. That doesn’t sound good.’

  ‘It’s not good, it’s anything but good.’ He breathed deep and scowled for a moment as if coming to a momentous decision. Then he said, ‘This is for your ears only, Lindsay. As of the meeting a few minutes ago Watchman is on his own. That means we don’t speak to him, we don’t support him, we don’t send back-up and we don’t do anything to rock the political boat vis-à-vis our current relations with Moscow. By “our” I mean the State Department and the White House.’

  She looked stunned. ‘But that’s … I don’t understand.’

  ‘You will in time. As of now we use absolute care when communicating with Portman, we do not disseminate copies of comms records and we use exclusive-restricted channels only. You don’t mention having any connections with Portman or use the Watchman code name and be very careful who you speak to.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Good. You wanted to speak to me yesterday. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop right then. What was it about?’

  ‘That’s all right, sir. It wasn’t important. I think I was concerned for Portman, that’s all. As you’ve said before, he’s part of the team.’

  ‘And rightly so. Because of that it’s even more important that we be honest with each other. What was worrying you?’

  Put so directly there was no way out. She had intended forgetting all about Carly Ledhoffen’s odd approach in the cafeteria and brushing it off as the woman’s attempt at spreading her circle of contacts among the lower orders. She still hadn’t figured out why, nor what Ledhoffen thought she could gain by it; but then, she had never understood people of Ledhoffen’s kind of ambition and the tortuous extents to which they would go to achieve their goals. Now she was wondering if there had been an odd convergence of events that led to this moment, and realized she had better come clean about it.

  First she described the feeling that someone had been in her workspace, and included an apology for her carelessness at leaving the code word out for anyone to see.

  ‘Do you think your computer was accessed?’ Callahan asked when she fin
ished. It was an instinctive question given their situation.

  ‘It wasn’t. I checked with security. The last access codes used were mine earlier in the day. In any case, there’s nothing on there that could be useful. It was more a feeling of things having been moved. It’s never happened before. I hope I was imagining it.’

  ‘Could it have been the janitors?’

  ‘I thought about that but I don’t think so. They’re short-staffed at the moment and are focussing on the most-used areas where there’s a concentration of traffic and waste. I haven’t used my space much over the last week or so while I’ve been helping out with the other comms operators.’

  Callahan chewed his lip, then said. ‘What else?’

  She related her conversation with Carly Ledhoffen and how unusual it had seemed, and how Ledhoffen had never even spoken to her before. ‘I’m sorry,’ she concluded. ‘I didn’t want to seem like I was telling tales.’

  To her surprise, Callahan looked almost nonplussed. ‘I understand. Did she mention who this asset might be?’

  ‘No. She didn’t use a name. What I don’t understand is why she should have approached me. Is there any way she would know I’ve been Portman’s comms support?’

  ‘It’s possible. I would always prefer anything conducted in this section stays here, but that’s not in my control. Because of potential overlap some details of mission reports have to be disseminated to other sections and agencies.’ She knew he was probably referring to the NSA, Air Force Intelligence, Army Intel, Naval Intel, FBI, DEA and a lot of others in between the bricks and mortar of the US Intelligence community. In this instance a physical threat against a contractor on CIA business automatically called for a warning to be sent out to others in the field to watch their backs and tighten up their personal security.

  Then something occurred to her. ‘Would that include the Support Directorate?’