would never admit it, but he’d always considered the deputy director of Operations a potential adversary and someone not to be taken lightly.
“The last thing we need is a Cold War cowboy running Langley,” Wilson said with real vigor. “That’s why I’m pushing you. You know the place, you’ve come up through the ranks, and you already have the respect of the front- line troops. All I need to know is, can you handle Stansfield?”
Cooke definitely knew the place. He’d worked there for almost thirty years. He’d come up on the administration side of things and knew how to run a tight ship. As for the respect of the front-line troops, that was a bit of a stretch, but he definitely had the respect of the majority of the employees working out of the Langley campus. As far as handling Thomas Stansfield, that was a tricky question. He wasn’t sure anyone could actually handle the man. His contacts ran deep, and his ability to see three moves ahead of his enemies had always made him a formidable foe. The Russians actually respected him, which spoke volumes. Stansfield saw angles and opportunity where others saw chaos, danger, and a problem not worth tackling. But Cooke had a few surprises of his own.
He took a gulp of scotch and decided to go all in. “I can handle Thomas. It won’t be easy, but I can do it.”
“Handling and reining him in are two different things. I need you to get the man under control. I need you to promise me you’ll get him playing by the rules. I’ve been warning the president for some time that Stansfield is a ticking bomb. Sooner or later, one of his little operations is going to blow up in our faces and he’s going to embarrass the crap out of the president. We’ll end up with committee hearings that’ll drag on for years. It’s hard enough getting elected president, but it’s tough as all hell to get reelected and even more so when you’re being dogged by a scandal.”
Cooke nodded. He’d seen it happen before. “I understand.”
“So we can count on you?”
Cooke wasn’t sure, but he’d figure something out. “You can count on me.”
“Good.” Wilson raised his glass and tapped it against Cooke’s. “I’ll tell the president you’re our man.”
Cooke took a sip and thought to himself,
“There’s something we want you to look into first,” Wilson said.
The glass hadn’t left his lips yet and Cooke thought,
“This crap that went down in Paris last night.”
“Yes,” Cooke said, hiding his surprise at the new direction of the conversation.
“The president is pissed. He spoke directly to the Israeli prime minister this morning and they are denying any involvement.”
“They always do. That’s how it works.”
“Yeah . . . well, this time it’s different. There are certain things I’m not at liberty to discuss, but believe me when I tell you the president believes Mossad didn’t have a hand in it.”
Cooke’s face showed no emotion.
“I wish I could say more, but I can’t. You’re just going to have to trust me on this. Can you do that?”
Cooke wasn’t sure, but he wanted to see where this was headed. “I trust you, Franklin.”
“Good.” Wilson took his cue and leaned it against the wall. “Here’s where things are going to get a little dicey.” Not quite sure how to take the next step, he decided to simply spit it out. “I think Thomas Stansfield is involved.”
“Do you have any proof?”
“Nothing concrete. Just some things I’ve picked up. The point is he’s been running afoul of congressional oversight for years, and now I think he’s really stepped in it.”
“Thomas Stansfield is not to be taken lightly. If you want me to get him under control you’re going to have to give me more.”
“I will, but I need you to do something first,” Wilson said, sidestepping the request. “You remember a foul son of a bitch named Stan Hurley?”
Cooke certainly did, but he played it cool. “I know of him.”
“I thought you would. The bastard supposedly retired, but guys like Hurley don’t retire, they keep screwing with stuff in the shadows until the day they die.”
Offering no reaction one way or the other, Cooke simply said, “We have a lot of retired operatives. Not all of them remain as active as Mr. Hurley.”
“So you’re familiar with what he’s been up to?”
“I hear rumors, but they’re just rumors.”
“Well,” Wilson said, nodding his head vigorously, “you can believe at least half of them. The man is a certified paranoid schizophrenic and a sadist.”
“He was very effective back in the day. At least that’s what they say.”
“The operative phrase being ‘back in the day.’ It’s a new world now. No more of this Check Point Charlie, Berlin espionage where we need our own ruthless son of a bitch to go up against the Russians’ ruthless son of a bitch. The world is changing, Paul. Satellites and information are tearing down walls. What we need is intelligence and diplomacy. Hearts and minds are the keys. The president wants someone he can trust at Langley. Someone who is not only going to get Stansfield under control but will make sure goons like Stan Hurley are really retired. Can you do that for us?”
Cooke relished the challenge. Mustering up every bit of confidence he had and then some, he said, “I’m your man.”
