assassinations had started, she’d been working some horrible hours and her time with her son had suffered. She violated a half dozen traffic laws on her way to the Hoover Building and had still managed to put on her makeup. She appeared in Skip McMahon’s office less than thirty minutes after Tommy had awakened her, feeling better than one would have expected. “Good morning, Skip.”
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“Good morning, Irene. How are you doing?”
“Pretty good. I finally got more than a couple hours of sleep last night.”
“Good, because we’ve got a full day ahead of us. I just got out of a meeting with
Harvey Wilcox and Madeline Nanny. They have solid surveillance set up on ten of the fourteen suspects and are hoping to have the last four taken care of by this evening. How are you and your people coming along?”
“Good. As of ten P.M. last night we had visual and phone surveillance initiated on all forty-five suspects.” Kennedy took a sip of coffee.
McMahon tapped his foot under the desk and looked at Kennedy, waiting for the good doctor to crack a smile and tell him she was joking.
Kennedy gave no response, and McMahon realized she wasn’t kidding.
McMahon wondered how in the hell the CIA could initiate surveillance on forty-five people in less than thirty-six hours. He was sure that, however they did it, civil rights were being trampled left and right.
The investigative side of McMahon wanted desperately to know how it was done, and the law-abiding Federal- agent side wanted to be kept in the dark. After a brief internal struggle the investigative side won.
“Irene, I have a hard time believing that you have the manpower to watch forty-five people around the clock.”
“We don’t.”
“Then how in the hell are you keeping an eye on all of these people?”
“It’s not about manpower, Skip. It’s technology.”
“What do you mean ‘technology’?” Kennedy grinned. “I’d like to tell you, but it’s probably best if you don’t know. Just trust me that we can, and that we’ll pass whatever we learn on to you as quickly as possible.”
McMahon leaned back in his chair and frustratedly accepted Kennedy’s answer, understanding that it was probably best that he didn’t know.
“I was thinking about your SEAL theory last night. The more I mull it over, the more intrigued I am. If these guys are as smart as we think they are, they would have tried to do something along the way to throw us off their trail.” Kennedy set her coffee cup on the edge of the desk and stood. “I’m glad you brought that up. I need to call General Heaney and ask him about something. Would you dial his office and put it on speaker?” While
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McMahon dialed the number, Kennedy continued, “I was reviewing those personnel files last night and came across something a little unusual.” One of the general’s aides answered, and a moment later Heaney was on the line. “Good morning, Skip. What can I
do for you?”
“General, I’ve got you on speakerphone. Irene is here with me and she has a question for you.” McMahon looked at Kennedy. “Good morning, General. Did you get a chance to look at the file I left on your desk last night?”
“Yes, I read it over first thing this morning.”
“Did you know Commander Coleman?”
“Yes, I did. He was top-notch.”
“I noticed last night that out of all the files I reviewed, Coleman was the only SEAL
who had been granted an early discharge. Is that uncommon?” The general hesitated for a minute. “It is not a common practice, but the brass has been known to make exceptions.”
“Do you know why he was granted an early discharge?” Again, the general paused.
This time for a long enough period that Kennedy knew she had touched on something more than routine.
General Heaney cleared his throat and asked, “Irene, are you familiar with Operation
Snatch Back?”
“Yes, I helped put the pretermission intel together.” For a long period no one talked.
McMahon had no idea what was being discussed, but by the tone of Heaney’s and
Kennedy’s voices he could tell now was not the time to ask. “Did you receive a post mission briefing?”
Heaney asked. “Not a formal one. I only heard rumors.”
“Coleman was the commander of the SEAL team we sent in.”
“His discharge was granted about a month after the mission?”
“Yes.”
“Did he crack up?”
“No … not really.”
