Castilla eyed both men briefly, but he kept his attention focused on Hanson. The head of the CIA was the tougher and more formidable of the pair — despite the fact that he looked more like a bantam-weight mild- mannered college professor from the 1950s, complete with the obligatory bow tie, than he did a fire-breathing advocate of clandestine action and special operations.
Although his counterpart, the FBI's Bob Zeller, was a decent man, he was way out of his depth in Washington's sea of swirling political intrigue. Tall and broad-shouldered, Zeller looked good on television, but he should never have been moved up from his post as the senior U.S. attorney in Atlanta. Not even on a temporary basis while the White House staff looked for a permanent replacement. At least the ex-Navy linebacker and longtime federal prosecutor knew his own weaknesses. He mostly kept his mouth shut in meetings and usually wound up backing whoever he thought carried the most clout.
Hanson was a completely different case. If anything, the Agency veteran was too adept at playing power politics. During his long tenure as chief of the CIA's Operations Directorate, he had built a firm base of support among the members of the House and Senate intelligence committees. A great many influential congressmen and senators believed that David Hanson walked on water. That gave him a lot of maneuvering room, even room to buck the president who had just promoted him to run the whole CIA.
Castilla tapped the Threat Assessment with one blunt forefinger. “I see a whole lot of speculation in this document. What I do not see are hard facts.” He read one sentence aloud. “'Communications intercepts of a nonspecific but significant nature indicate that radical elements among the demonstrators at Santa Fe may be planning violent action — either against the Teller Institute or against the president himself.'”
He took off his reading glasses and looked up. “Care to put that in plain English, David?”
“We're picking up increased charter, both over the Internet and in monitored phone conversations. A number of troubling phrases crop up again and again, all in reference to the planned rally. There's constant talk about 'the big event' or 'the action at Teller,'” the CIA chief said. “My people have heard it overseas. So has the NSA. And the FBI is picking up the same undercurrents here at home. Correct, Bob?”
Zeller nodded gravely.
“That's what has your analysts in such a lather?” Castilla shook his head, plainly unimpressed. “People e- mailing each other about a political protest?” He snorted. “Good God, any rally that might draw thirty or forty thousand people all the way out to Santa Fe is a pretty damned big event! New Mexico is my home turf and I doubt half that many ever showed up for any speech I ever made.”
“When members of the Sierra Club or the Wilderness Federation talk that way, I don't worry,” Hanson told him softly. “But even the simplest words can have very different meanings when they are used by certain dangerous groups and individuals. Deadly meanings.”
“You're talking about these so-called 'radical elements'?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And just who are these dangerous folks?”
“Most are allied in one way or another with the Lazarus Movement, Mr. President,” Hanson said carefully.
Castilla frowned. “This is an old, old song of yours, David.”
The other man shrugged. “I'm aware of that, sir. But the truth doesn't become any less true just because it's unpalatable. When viewed as a whole, our recent intelligence on the Lazarus Movement is extremely alarming. The Movement is metastasizing and what was once a relatively peaceful political and environmental alliance is rapidly altering itself into something far more secretive, dangerous, and deadly.” He looked across the table at the president. “I know you've seen the relevant surveillance and communications intercept reports. And our analysis of them.”
Castilla nodded slowly. The FBI, CIA, and other federal intelligence agencies kept tabs on a host of groups and individuals. With the rise of global terrorism and the spread of chemical, biological, and nuclear weapons technology, no one in Washington wanted to take any more chances on being blindsided by a previously unrecognized enemy.
“Then let me speak bluntly, sir,” Hanson went on. “Our judgment is that the Lazarus Movement has now decided to attain its objectives through violence and terrorism. Its rhetoric is increasingly vicious, paranoid, and full of hatred aimed at those whom it considers enemies.” The CIA chief slid another piece of paper across the pine table. “This is just one example.”
Castilla put his glasses back on and read it in silence. His mouth curved down in disgust. The sheet was a glossy printout of a page from a Movement Web site, complete with grotesque thumbnail photos of mangled and mutilated corpses. The banner headline across the top screamed: iwockms BUTCHKRED AT KUSASA. The text between the pictures blamed the massacre of an entire village in Zimbabwe on either corporate-funded “death squads” or “mercenaries armed bv the U.S. government.” It claimed the killings were part of a secret plan to destroy the Lazarus Movement's efforts to revitalize organic African farming — lest they threaten the American monopoly on genetically modified crops and pesticides. The page ended by calling for the destruction of those who would “destroy the Earth and all who love her.”
The president dropped it back on the table. “What a load of horseshit.”
“True.” Hanson retrieved the printout and slid it back into his briefcase. “It is, however, highly effective horseshit — at least for its target audience.”
“Have you sent a team into Zimbabwe to find out what really happened at this Kusasa place?” Castilla asked.
The director of the CIA shook his head. 'That would be extremely difficult, Mr. President. Without permission from the government there, which is hostile to us, we'll have to go in covertly. Even then, I doubt we'll find much. Zimbabwe is a total basket case. Those villagers could have been murdered by anyone — all the way from government troops on down to rampaging bandits.'
“Hell,” Castilla muttered. “And if our people get caught snooping there without permission, everyone will assume we were involved in this massacre and that we're only trying to cover our tracks.”
“That is the problem, sir,” Hanson agreed quietly. “But whatever really took place at Kusasa, one thing is quite clear: The leadership of the Lazarus Movement is using this incident to radicalize its followers, to prepare them for more direct and violent action against our allies and us.”
“Damn, I hate to see this happening,” Castilla grow led. 1 le leaned forward in his chair. “Don't forget, I knew many of the men and women who founded Lazarus. They were respected environmental activists, scientists, writers… even a couple of politicians. They wanted to save the Earth, to bring it back to life. I disagreed with most of their agenda, but they were good people. Honorable people.”
“And where are they now, sir?” the head of the CIA asked quietly. “There were nine original founders of the Lazarus Movement. Six of them are dead, either from natural causes or in suspiciously convenient accidents. The other three have vanished without a trace.” He looked carefully at Castilla. “Including Jinjiro Nomura.”
“Yes,” the president said flatly.
He glanced at one of the photographs clustered on a corner of his desk. Taken during his first term as governor of New Mexico, it showed him exchanging bows with a shorter and older Japanese man, Jinjiro Nomura. Nomura had been a prominent member of the Diet, Japan's parliament. Their friendship, founded on a shared taste for single-malt Scotch and straight talk, had survived Nomura's retirement from politics and his turn toward more strident environmental advocacy.
Twelve months ago, Jinjiro Nomura had disappeared while traveling to a Lazarus-sponsored rally in Thailand. His son, Hideo, the chairman and chief executive officer of Nomura PharmaTech, had begged for American help in finding his father. And Castilla had reacted quickly. For weeks a special task force of CIA field officers had combed the streets and back alleys of Bangkok. The president had even pressed the NSA's ultra-secret spy satellites into service in the hunt for his old friend. But nothing had ever turned up. No ransom demand. No dead body. Nothing. The last of the original founders of the Lazarus Movement had vanished without a trace.
The photo stayed on Castilla's desk as a reminder of the limits of his power.
Castilla sighed and turned his gaze back to the two somber men seated in front of him. “Okay, you've made your point. The leaders I knew and trusted either are dead or have dropped off the face of the earth.”
“Precisely, Mr. President.”
“Which brings us again to the issue of just who is running the Lazarus Movement no\” Castilla said grimly. “Let's cut to the chase here, David. After Jinjiro disappeared, 1 approved your special interagency task force on the
