Paul’s apartment. But why was he lying? Once again, he thought about the fact that General Breed had been Paul’s last patient and that maybe Hopper was lying because there were national security issues involved.
Then another thought occurred to him. When he searched Paul’s desk he’d been looking for file containing a will or a bill Paul had received from a lawyer. He hadn’t come across an address book in Paul’s desk, but then he hadn’t really been looking for one. DeMarco didn’t have a paper address book; he kept addresses on his computer at home and all the important phone numbers were in his cell phone. But maybe Paul was like his mother. His mom kept the addresses and phone numbers of her friends in a little black notebook, and she kept the notebook in a drawer in the kitchen near the phone.
He should take one last look in Paul’s place, try to find an address book stashed in away in a drawer, and see if the book contained the name of a lawyer. No way in hell was he going to go through the hassle of dealing with the state to settle Paul’s estate if he didn’t have to. Then he thought about Hopper’s warning-or maybe it had been a legal directive-for him to stay out of Paul’s place. And then he thought, Fuck Hopper. He wanted to get this bullshit with Paul’s estate settled and go play golf.
19
Charles Bradford watched through his office window as an Asian man wearing a stained gray fedora slowly pruned a rhododendron. He wondered what it would be like to have a job like that, a simple job, a job with no real responsibility, a job where other people worried about protecting the country.
“So all you know is that she worked for the Department of Defense,” Bradford said.
“Yes, sir,” Levy said. He paused and added, “I’m sorry I let you down, but she was a young woman. There was no reason to think-”
“Do you think she might have really worked at Fort Meade, John?”
“It’s possible. She had a badge to get on base, for the commissary like she said.”
Bradford didn’t say anything for a moment, as he mulled over what Levy had told him. “Fort Meade. Could someone have heard you that night, John?”
“Heard us? Do you mean could someone have intercepted our radio transmissions during the operation?”
“Yes.”
“That’s possible, of course, but it doesn’t matter. We were using encrypted com gear and we never mentioned any names.”
“Encrypted com gear,” Bradford repeated. “John, what’s the one organization in this country that might be able to listen in on an encrypted transmission?”
Levy was silent for a moment. “The NSA,” he said.
“Yes, the National Security Agency. And where are they headquartered, John?”
“Fort Meade.”
“The NSA helps design encrypted communications systems used by the military. And if they develop an encrypted system, you know damn good and well they know a way to break the encryption. They have to be able to do that in case the enemy gets their hands on our gear.”
Levy shook his head. “No, sir, I don’t buy it. The radios we used have a Type I encryption system with a 256 -bit encryption key. It would take the NSA a million of hours of computer time to break the code, assuming they could ever break it.”
“Do you know that for a fact, John? Even I don’t know the latest advancements in NSA encryption technology. What I do know is that they’re always light-years ahead of the people using the radios.”
Levy nodded his head. He knew Bradford could be right.
Neither man said anything for a moment, then Bradford said, “I think I’m going to have someone poke around a bit over at the NSA.”
“Sir, that could be a mistake. Right now the only thing anyone knows is Witherspoon was driving a stolen ambulance and two soldiers from Fort Myer were reassigned to Afghanistan. And if the NSA had heard something, wouldn’t they have told somebody? Wouldn’t they have alerted someone here at the Pentagon, or maybe even the White House?”
Bradford laughed. “That’s the last thing they’d do, because then they’d have to admit they were conducting an illegal eavesdropping operation. But they might initiate their own investigation.”
Bradford looked out at the Asian pruning the rhody again. Now the gardener was just standing, head cocked, studying the bush, like a painter assessing a work in progress. Bradford supposed that bush-trimming was an art in its way, and again he envied the man his task.
He turned back to Levy. “John, let’s consider the worst case scenario. Let’s assume someone-the NSA, whoever-knows Witherspoon and those two other soldiers were involved in Russo’s death. Let’s even take it a step further. Let’s assume they know Russo was meeting with Hansen. Is there anything you said that night that would have told them why Russo and Hansen were meeting?”
“No, sir. Absolutely not.”
“And Russo didn’t leave anything behind that says why he and Hansen were meeting?”
“No, sir. Hopper searched Russo’s house after the operation and I had searched it before, as soon as we knew that… that General Breed had talked to Russo.”
Bradford could tell Levy was still very much bothered by Martin’s death.
“And as for the reporter,” Levy said, “the Post has repeatedly stated that they have no idea what Hansen was working on prior to his disappearance.”
“I agree,” Bradford said.
“And there’s no way to prove the two soldiers we shipped out were involved in the operation. There’s no evidence that they were at the memorial and, with Hopper handling the case, no evidence will ever be found.”
Bradford was silent for a moment. “John, our biggest liability at this point is those two soldiers talking.”
“They won’t, sir. I know those men. They won’t ever discuss what happened that night.”
“I’m not sure we can afford to take the risk.”
Levy didn’t say anything for a moment, then he looked directly into Bradford’s eyes. “Sir, I am not going to do anything to harm those soldiers.”
There was no doubt Levy meant what he said. Killing Martin Breed on his deathbed was one thing, and even eliminating Witherspoon, a man who would most likely have spent the rest of his days as a vegetable, was different from killing two loyal soldiers who had only followed orders. At least that’s the way Levy would see it. When things settled down a bit, he needed to talk with Levy some more about the sacrifices that men in their positions were sometimes required to make. But not now.
“I’m not asking you to harm them,” Bradford said. “All I’m saying is that you need to make sure those men understand the importance of not talking to anyone, and if anyone tries to talk to them, they need to let you know immediately. Can you get word to them where they’re stationed now?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. For now, just keep tabs on everything. Keep in touch with Hopper at the Bureau and tell Colonel Gilmore to call you if he gets any more inquiries about the sentinels. And I’ll do a little quiet probing over at the NSA.”
“And if we find out the NSA did hear us that night?” Levy asked.
“Then I’ll deal with it,” Bradford said.
Bradford had to participate in a teleconference with his NATO commanders in two minutes, but he continued to sit at his desk. He didn’t tolerate people being late to his meetings and, consequently, he didn’t like it when he was late. But he needed to do something about the NSA, and right away.
As he’d told Levy, he needed to know if the agency had any knowledge of the Russo op. He didn’t, however, want it known that anyone at the Pentagon was interested-and he really didn’t want it known that he was interested. He thought about this problem for a moment before he came up with the perfect answer: Aziz. Yes, the Aziz fiasco would provide the cover he needed.
He picked up the phone, punched in a number, and said, “This is General Bradford. Tell him it’s not urgent,
