“You’re coming with me to dump the body?” asked a surprised Coleman.
“Yeah, I know the perfect place.”
DIRECTOR STANSFIELD’S HELICOPTER FLEW UP The POTOMAC, ITS
BRIGHT spotlight shining off the dark water below. It banked to the east, passing over the Lincoln Memorial, and continued up the Mall. The strobe light fluttering near the
White House alerted the pilot to his exact landing area on the South Lawn. The small chopper came in and set down gently on the grass. Stansfield opened the door and got out, bending at the waist as he walked clear of the blades. Two Secret Service agents approached and escorted him through the Rose Garden and into the West Wing of the
White House, where they were greeted by one of Stu Garret’s aides. Stansfield started for the stairs that would take him to the Situation Room and the aide said, “Excuse me, sir. I
was told to bring you to the Oval Office.” With a look of surprise Stansfield asked, “Why?”
“I don’t know, sir. I was only told to take you to the Oval Office.”
Stansfield followed the aide down the hallway and into the empty Presidential office.
The aide left and Stansfield stood awkwardly in the middle of the room shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
As the minutes mounted, so did his blood pressure. He looked at a Secret Service agent standing watch at the door and asked, “Where is the President?”
“He’s attending a state dinner, sir.” Stansfield looked down at the floor and then back at the agent. For the first time in a long while he thought he might lose his temper. The complete lack of professionalism by the Stevens administration was wearing on him.
Instead of yelling, he turned and walked over to the President’s desk.
Picking up the phone, he told the operator to get him the National Security Desk.
Several seconds later, there was a click on the line and a voice said, “National Security
Desk, Major Maxwell speaking, please identify yourself.”
261
“CIA director Stansfield. Have the members of the National Security Council been told that I’ve called an emergency meeting?”
“No, sir.”
“Why?”
“I was told to wait until you arrived, sir.”
“By whom?”
“Chief of Staff Garret, sir.” Stansfield’s voice stayed even, but gained a slight edge.
“Major, is Chief of Staff Garret in the national security chain of command?”
“No, sir.”
“Listen to me carefully.
We have a level four national security crisis on our hands. I am giving you a direct order to send out an alert immediately! I want the NSA, the SOD, the SOS, and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs here within the next ten minutes! Am I understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Stansfield hung up the phone and dialed the number for the CIA’s
Operations Center. Charlie Dobbs answered and Stansfield asked him for an update. “The divers found a boat sunk at the spot where the beacon was last marked. They also found a bag on board with Arthur’s clothes and watch …. It looks like a diversion.”
“Anything else?” Stansfield looked up from the desk as Garret strutted into the room wearing a tuxedo. Before Dobbs could answer, Stansfield said, “I have to go, Charlie. I’ll call you back.”
Stansfield hung up the phone and watched Garret approach in his black tuxedo.
Garret pulled a cigarette out of his mouth and said, “This better be good, Tom. This is the first time the President has had a chance to relax in over two weeks.”
“Where is Mike Nance?”
“He’s at home. What’s so important?” Stansfield was almost distracted by the anger he felt for Garret but forced himself to stay focused on the crisis. “A high-level CIA official has been kidnapped.”
“How high?” asked Garret as smoke billowed from his nostrils. “I’ll tell you as soon as you get the President down in the Situation Room where he should be!”
Stansfield’s frustration was becoming evident. “Hey, take it easy, Tom.
262
You can’t expect us to drop everything we’re doing every time you call over here.”
Stansfield shook his head and walked toward the door.
“This is not a game, Mr. Garret. I expect to see the President down in the Situation
