The Congo operation was long in the past – the country had even changed its name to Zaire – but the relationship had endured. Each man considered it more an alliance than a friendship, but mutual regard had sneaked in nonetheless. You tended to learn the true worth of someone over a quarter of a century.
In Kilmara's opinion, the CIA was much maligned. They were very far from perfect and they had their fair share of self-serving bureaucrats, but they had some very good people. Even more to the point, imperfect or not, they were necessary.
William Martin was not quite ready yet to get to the point. 'What is the U.S. doing wrong on counterterrorism, Shane?' he said. 'You've got more experience than most. I'd value your opinion.'
'You already know my opinions,' said Kilmara. 'Too many cooks and not enough terrorists. Closing down an airport when there is a bomb scare is not counterterrorism. Crucially, your political direction is weak and you don't approach the whole thing at the right cerebral level. You've got to know your enemy, really understand the fuckers!
Fundamentally, you don't think there is a real threat. The U.S. is too big and too strong. Even if there are hordes of bad guys running around doing their worst, you don't think they can do more than inflict the occasional pinprick.
'And you're wrong. There is all kinds of lethal junk floating around in the world these days, and it is only a matter of time before some of it falls into the wrong hands. Nuclear, chemical, biological. It is all available at the right price. That's the downside of the collapse of communism and the introduction of market economies. Everything has a price and the people I am worried about have money. Shit, they have even got credit cards.'
He smiled a little grimly. 'And they surely do have motivation.' He sipped some more brandy. 'The trick is to demotivate them – in advance. Carrot and stick, both applied with vigor and subtlety. You people don't do that. You wait until something happens and then pursue the perps to the ends of the earth – subject to the political exigencies. A big qualification. That just won't cut it. Someday they will do something and there won't be any earth left to pursue them around.'
He looked directly at the DDO. 'As I keep telling you, William, counterterrorism is a serious business. It isn't just jobs for the boys or for a bunch of jocks with guns. Every so often you have got to deploy those little gray cells and then do something! Capisce?'
William Martin nodded his head in acknowledgment. He knew Kilmara was right, but the reality of being ‘ The Superpower’ was that you moved with the subtlety and coordination of a herd of elephants.
Hell, the Pentagon actually had press quarters inside it and the CIA was knee-deep in congressional oversight committees. That did not make for preemptive surgical strikes. It did make for an undue focus on ass-covering and gave new meaning to the word leak. It also had a disturbing effect on priorities. In practical day-to-day terms, a genocidal war in Africa was of scant consequence. A negative article in the Washington Post was serious. And congressional hearings were a crisis.
Given the mandate of the CIA, that was almost exactly the reverse of the way things should be.
It was one hell of a bloody world. But you dealt with the world the way it was. Idealists had notions. Practical people just dealt with things the way they were. Which was just as well, because nothing ever really changed.
It was time to focus.
'Hugo Fitzduane,' said Martin. 'How exactly does he fit into your operation these days?'
'Hugo is his own man,' said Kilmara. 'But we work together very closely. He has a part-time commission in the Rangers and we train on his island. But mostly he does his own thing. His latest baby is this counterterrorist think tank. They're doing some very good analytical work. Governments don't have a monopoly on talent. Hell, you should know. The agency subscribes.'
Martin nodded. 'We're concerned about the company he's keeping and what it could lead to. We have enough internal political problems without you people being caught in the middle. A little friendly advice might be in order. Tell Hugo to go and play elsewhere.'
Kilmara laughed. 'William, you know Hugo. Say something like that and he'll get curious and then you'll never get rid of him. Appeal to his reason, on the other hand, and you are in with a chance. So tell me the problem and I'll see what I can do. Let's start with the Congressional Task Force on Terrorism.'
Martin snorted and then spoke with some anger. 'A bunch of congressional staffers have no business at all in getting involved with counterterrorism. That's the job of the CIA and other agencies. Congress should have nothing to do with it. These people even go out into the field, for Christ's sake. They have no right. They should stick on the Hill and do what they are paid to do.'
'As I understand it,' said Kilmara, 'the Congressional Task Force came into being because they identified some serious gaps in counterterrorism work and they consider their oversight role on seeing how a modest twenty-eight billion is spent on intelligence work justifies some examination. Further, they travel because how else are they going to now what is really going on?'
'All of that is true, but it's not the fucking point,' said Martin. 'The underlying fact is that counterterrorism belongs to the CIA abroad and the FBI here and we can't have a bunch of loose cannons screwing up what we're doing.'
'Even if they are right?' said Kilmara.
' Especially if they are right,' said Martin. 'And frequently they are. But the end result of showing up the Agency is that we get out credibility damaged and maybe our budget cut, and that does not help the security of the United States of America. And it certainly does not help the work that people like myself are trying to do on the inside. You have got to look at the bigger picture.'
Kilmara eyed his cigar, which had chosen to die when he was not paying attention. Cuban cigars did that. He applied a match to the tip and blew smoke while he thought.
Counterterrorism was very necessary, but the effectiveness of the designated agencies was not in proportion to the resources spent. An underlying problem was the counterterrorism had become an industry in its own right, and that meant jobs, money, power and influence, and not a few thriving little empires that had little to do with the ultimate objective.
The Congressional Task Force's problem was that with minimal resources they were showing what could be done. They were succeeding because they were dedicated and focused and the few people they had were of the highest caliber. And their very success was in danger of giving Congress as a whole some radical ideas about what could be done with less money and more of a sense of purpose.
No wonder the CIA, rocked with scandal recently and therefore particularly vulnerable, was upset.
Fitzduane, on a routine getting-to-know-you trip, had stepped right into a turf fight. And Martin had a point. There was a bigger picture. And almost certainly there was a trigger issue lurking around. He thought back over his recent discussions with Hugo. It was fairly clear what it must be.
Mexico.
'Let me float a thought,' said Kilmara. 'Tecuno. Governor Diego Quintana is your man.'
The Deputy Director of Operations, CIA, was refilling both of their glasses when Shane Kilmara spoke. Mentally he screamed a loud 'Holy shit!' but was pleased that otherwise he had not reacted. His hand was still rock steady.
He looked at Kilmara with his best WASP career CIA man's look. In control; urbane; confident; all-knowing. We talk to satellites. The NSA can break all codes. We know things that you don't.
'You are pouring our brandy on the floor,' said Kilmara kindly.
Martin looked down at his faithless hand. It was still rock steady. And it was.
The DDO looked at his cigar, but there was not enough left to use as a smoke screen. Besides, he had to share this can of worms with someone, and Kilmara was nothing if not trustworthy. And he just might have an idea. And the DDO had drunk just enough to be indiscreet.
'The Agency has been bankrolling the PRI, Mexico's ruling party, for years to keep them strong against communism. To repay the favor, we turn a blind eye at drugs and similar scams, and if some Mexican mover and shaker like Quintana wants to set himself up as a local warlord, that is fine by us. Just as long as he is against communism.'
'So Governor Quintana is your man,' said Kilmara.
