“It comes from a good source. It's another one we guard closely.”
“Wouldn't it be nice if… how would we find out if the deal is struck?”
“I don't know, Mr. President.”
“I could ram something like that right down his throat. I'm getting tired of this trade impasse, and I'm tired of being lied to. Find a way to do it.”
“We'll try, Mr. President.”
“Thanks for coming in.” The President didn't rise or extend his hand. Ryan stood and left.
“What do you think?” Fowler asked as he scanned over the report.
“It confirms what Talbot says about Narmonov's vulnerability… but worse.”
“I agree. Ryan looks harried.”
“He shouldn't be playing both sides of the street.”
“Hmph?” the President grunted without looking up.
“I have a preliminary report from the investigation Justice has been running. It looks as though he is playing around, as we suspected, and there is a kid involved. She's the widow of an Air Force guy who died in a training accident. Ryan has spent a lot of money to take care of the family, and his wife doesn't know.”
“I don't need that sort of scandal, not another womanizer on top of Charlie's affairs.” Good thing they haven't found out about us, he didn't have to say. That was, in any case, a different matter. Alden had been a married man. Ryan still was. Fowler was not. That made it different. “How sure are you of this? You said a preliminary report?”
“That's right.”
“Firm it up and let me know what you find out.”
Liz nodded and went on. This thing with the Soviet military… scary.'
“Very scary,” Fowler agreed. “We'll talk about it over lunch.”
“And that is the halfway point,” Fromm said. “Might I ask a favor?”
“What favor is that?” Ghosn asked, hoping that it was not to go back to Germany for time with his wife. That might be sticky.
“I have not had a drink in two months.”
Ibrahim smiled. “You understand that I am not permitted such things.”
“But do the same rules apply to me?” The German smiled. “I am an infidel, after all.”
Ghosn laughed heartily. “Quite true. I'll talk to Gunther about it.”
“Thank you.”
“Tomorrow, we begin on the plutonium.”
“It will take so long?”
“Yes, that and the explosive blocks. We are precisely on schedule.”
“That is good to know.” January 12 was the day.
“Who do we have good in the KGB?” Ryan asked himself back in his office. The big problem with SPINNAKER 's report was that much, maybe most, of the KGB was loyal to Narmonov. The part that might not be was the Second Chief Directorate, which concerned itself with the country's internal security. The First Chief — a/k/a Foreign — Directorate definitely was, especially with Golovko in his position as First Deputy Chairman to keep an eye on things. That man was a pro, and reasonably non-political. Ryan had a wild thought that a direct call might — no, he'd have to set up a meet… but where?
No, that was too dangerous.
“You want me?” It was Goodley, sticking his head through Jack's door. Ryan waved him in.
“Want a promotion?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that at the direction of the President of the United States you are in on something that I think you're not ready for.” Jack handed him the SPINNAKER report. “Read.”
“Why me, and why did you say—”
“I also said you did a nice job predicting the breakup of the Pact. It was better than anything we did in-house, by the way.”
“You mind if I say that you're a strange guy to work with?”
“How do you mean that?” Jack asked.
“You don't like my attitude, but you commend my work.”
Ryan leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “Ben, believe it or not, I am not always right. I make mistakes. I've made some whoppers even, but I am smart enough to know that, and because I'm that smart, I look for people with opposing views to backstop me. That's a good habit to get into. I learned it from Admiral Greer. If you learn anything from your time here, Dr. Goodley, learn that. We can't afford fuckups here. They happen anyway, but we still can't afford them. That paper you did at Kennedy was better than what I did. It's theoretically possible that you might again one day be right when I am wrong. Fair enough?”
“Yes, sir,” Goodley replied quietly, surprised at the statement. Of course he'd be right when Ryan was wrong. That's why he was here.
“Read.”
“Mind if I smoke?”
Jack's eyes opened. “You a smoker?”
“I quit a couple of years ago, but since I've been here…”
“Try to break that habit, but before you do, give me one.”
They both lit up and puffed away in silence, Goodley reading over the report, Ryan watching his eyes. The Presidential Fellow looked up.
“Damn.”
“Good first reaction. Now, what do you think?”
“It's plausible.”
Ryan shook his head. “That's what I just told the President an hour ago. I'm not sure, but I had to take it to him.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I want to play on this a little. The DI's Russian people will chew on it for a couple of days. I want you and me to do our own analysis, but I want a different spin on it.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning that you think it's plausible, and I have my doubts. Therefore, you will look for reasons it might not be true, and I'll look for reasons that it is.” Jack paused. “The Intelligence Directorate will play this conventionally. They're too organized down there. I don't want that.”
“But you want me to—”
“I want you to exercise that brain. I think you're smart, Ben. I want you to prove it. That's an order, by the way.”
Goodley considered that. He wasn't accustomed to getting or taking orders. “I don't know that I can do that.”
“Why not?”
“It's contrary to my views. It's not the way I see this, it's…”
“Your beef with me and a lot of people here is the corporate mind of CIA, right? Part of that is correct, we do have a corporate mind, and there are drawbacks to that. It's also true that your way of thinking has its own pitfalls. If you can prove to me that you are no more a prisoner of your views than I try to be of mine, then you have a future here. Objectivity isn't easy. You have to exercise it.”
It was a very clever challenge, Goodley thought. He wondered next if he'd perhaps misjudged the DDCI.
“Will Russell cooperate?”
“Yes, Ismael, he will,” Bock said, sipping at a beer. He'd gotten a case of a good German export brew for Fromm, and kept a few for himself. “He thinks we'll be setting off a large conventional bomb to eliminate television coverage of the game.”
“Clever, but not actually intelligent,” Qati observed. He wanted a beer himself, but could not ask. Besides, he told himself, it would probably upset his stomach, and he'd actually enjoyed three consecutive days of relative health.
