THREE
The Oval Office The White House 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W. Washington, D.C. 1055 20 April 2007
“It took you two long enough to get here,” President Clendennen greeted Attorney General Stanley Crenshaw and FBI Director Mark Schmidt as they walked into the Oval Office.
“Mr. President,” Crenshaw said, “we quite literally dropped what we were doing when we got Douglas’s call saying you wanted to see us right away.”
“And what exactly was it that you quite literally dropped when Douglas called?”
“A discussion of the latest development in El Paso.”
“Let me get this straight,” Clendennen said. “Schmidt, there has been a development in El Paso that you were discussing with Crenshaw?”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Weren’t you listening when I told you I wanted to hear immediately of anything that happened?”
“Mr. President, I work for Attorney General Crenshaw,” Schmidt said, uncomfortably.
“You work for me, goddamn it!” the President said, furiously.
“Mr. President, I’m responsible,” Crenshaw said. “I told Director Schmidt to make me-”
“Well,” the President interrupted, “what
“It’s this, Mr. President,” Crenshaw said, and handed him a sheet of paper.
The President took it and read it:
Transfer Instructions
At 0830 21 April put your guest and no more than two U.S. Marshals aboard an El Paso police helicopter at El Paso International.
File a local aircraft test flight plan and take off no later than 0845.
At 0900 contact Ciudad Juarez International with the message “Necessary to make a precautionary landing.”
Your aircraft will be met on landing, and the exchange of your guest for ours will be accomplished at that time.
Your aircraft will then be free to return to the United States.
“What the hell is this?” the President asked. “Where did it come from?”
“According to SAC Johnson, Mr. President, it was handed to one of the FBI agents on stakeout in the El Paso post office,” Schmidt said.
“Which suggests to me that the FBI agent didn’t succeed in being inconspicuous,” the President said. “Who handed it to him?”
“May I see that, Mr. President?” Clemens McCarthy asked.
The President handed him the letter.
“Try to keep it from going under the desk, McCarthy,” the President said, and then turned his attention to Schmidt. “I’m waiting.”
“A boy, Mr. President. A boy, twelve years old, Latino, handed it to one of the FBI agents. He said that a man gave him five dollars and told him to hand that-it was in an envelope addressed ‘To the FBI’-to him. I mean, he indicated to whom the boy was to hand the envelope.”
“And that man? Do we know who he is? Is it too much to hope that he was detained for questioning?”
“By the time they started looking for him, Mr. President,” Schmidt said, “the man had gone.”
“A regular James Bond, huh?” the President said with a snort, and then asked, “Do either of you have any idea what’s going on here?”
“I don’t understand the question, Mr. President,” Crenshaw said.
“That doesn’t surprise me at all,” the President said.
“Schmidt and I were discussing how to deal with the exchange when you called.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“We were thinking of sending FBI agents-instead of Marshals-on the helicopter for the exchange.”
“Jesus H. Christ!” the President exploded. “Let me tell you what would happen if you sent FBI agents on that helicopter. They would land at that airport and be greeted by, say, a dozen Mexicans, all armed to the teeth, who would relieve them of this fucking Mexican murderer and then wave bye-bye. They would not get Colonel Ferris, who is probably five hundred miles from Ciudad Juarez. I know what they think of your intelligence, but I’m surprised they think I’m also that stupid.”
Neither Crenshaw nor Schmidt replied.
“What we are going to do, gentlemen, is go along with President Martinez, that ungrateful sonofabitch. He wants Abrego turned over to this Mexican cop-what’s his name, McCarthy. .?”
“Pena, Mr. President,” McCarthy furnished. “Juan Carlos Pena, chief of the Policia Federal for Oaxaca State.”
“. . for interrogation, which means to be turned loose,” the President picked up. “So we’re going to do just that. We’re going to take this goddamn murderer to the Oaxaca State Prison and exchange him for Ferris. He’ll be taken there, gentlemen, not by U.S. Marshals, not by the FBI, but by as many of those super Green Berets-what do they call them, McCarthy?”
“The Delta Force, Mr. President?” McCarthy asked, his confusion evident in his voice.
“No, goddammit! I said
“Gray Fox, Mr. President?” Attorney General Crenshaw asked, and his confusion was equally evident in his voice.
“Right,” the President said. “
“General McNab is in Afghanistan, Mr. President,” McCarthy said.
“Then get his deputy, that Irishman, what’s his name? McCool? Something like that.”
“O’Toole, Mr. President. Major General Terrence O’Toole,” McCarthy said.
“Well, get Major General Terrence
FOUR
Office of the Director Central Intelligence Agency McLean, Virginia 1110 20 April 2007
“An unexpected pleasure, Madam Secretary,” DCI A. Franklin Lammelle said. “If I had known you were coming, there would have been a brass band.”
“Can we dispense with the clever repartee, Frank?” Natalie Cohen replied. “I’m really in no mood for it.”
“I tend to hide behind clever repartee when I have problems,” Lammelle said. “What’s yours?”
“Recording devices turned off?”
He nodded. “I usually turn them on only when the enemy is at the gates,” he replied, then realized that might qualify as clever repartee, and added, “Sorry.”
She nodded, accepting the apology.
“I just came from the Oval Office,” she said. “With the unnerving suspicion that there may be something to President Clendennen’s conspiracy theory.”
