moment, Lewis wished the CIA had had the common decency to send over an attractive female spokesperson to deliver the prepared statement like some of the more astute agencies did. At least a well-attired and groomed woman provided a pleasing distraction from the dull, arduous task of patiently listening to drivel while one waited one's turn to verbally rip the witness to pieces. But, Lewis lamented, no such luck today, as he watched the geek from the CIA drone on, and on, and on.
Like most prepared statements, this one was being delivered with a zeal that matched the ceiling fans' slow and tedious rotations. It was cluttered with redundancies, stuffed with embellishments, and liberally sprinkled with caveats. The prepared statement, in short, was ninety percent grade A, government-inspected horseshit. Still, Ed Lewis listened intently, for he knew that there was no such thing as pure horseshit.
Somewhere hidden in the horde of words the witness was issuing was an idea, a grain of truth, a real and cognitive thought. It was the task of Ed Lewis, and the other members of the House Committee on Intelligence, to capture those few precious thoughts and truths as they whizzed by and beat them to death during the questioning that would follow.
The likelihood of that happening this day, however, was quite remote, and the witness knew that. At least his bosses did, which is why only a relatively low-ranking administrative assistant had been sent to deal with the congressional committee. With the summer recess about to begin, Lewis, by pushing for hearings on-the crisis in Mexico, was fighting the annual drive to finish up or postpone all business that might force the congressmen and their staffs to prolong their stays in D.C. Opposition from every quarter, including an occasional plaintive whimper from his own staff, had threatened to postpone the hearings until the Congress met again in October.
It was only through threats and a few well-chosen comments to the press that Lewis had been able to convince his fellow congressmen on the committee to hold preliminary hearings on the failure of the nation's intelligence community to predict and accurately track recent events in Mexico. In an election year, when the race was close, the last thing an incumbent could do was appear to be negligent in his duties, especially when they were connected to the crisis du jour.
Lulled into inattention by the lackluster delivery of the prepared statement, the assembled congressmen took a few seconds to realize that the CIA man had finished. There was a momentary shifting in seats and reshuffling of papers as people throughout the chamber stirred themselves back into a state of mental awareness. When the chairman of the committee finally roused himself to speak, his voice and comments betrayed his lack of interest and focus. Even his questions were rather perfunctory.
The witness, sitting across from the committee members, stared at them through his large, round, horn- rimmed glasses. With his hands folded on the table, he responded to each of the chairman's questions with stock answers that were as uninformative and evasive as they were predictable.
In some cases, Lewis had great difficulty relating what was given as a response to the question that had been asked. Still, no one seemed to mind. A function was being performed. Like cogs, and wheels, and gears of a great machine, the congressional hearing was grinding on as scheduled.
When the floor was turned over to Lewis to ask his questions, he paused before proceeding. Looking over at his colleagues, and then at the witness, he considered his approach for a moment. On one hand, he could follow suit, asking mundane questions that avoided controversy, thereby ensuring that the hearing would end on time and in a nice, neat, tidy manner. Or he could, as his instincts told him to, go for the throat. By choosing the latter, he would be assured some media coverage, incur the wrath of his fellow committee members who wanted to end this session, and, possibly, just maybe, put some people in the intelligence community on notice that their poor performance in Mexico to date would not escape punishment.
Had Lewis chosen the easy out, he would have surprised both friends and foes. A former officer in the National Guard, he had participated as a battalion executive officer in the Persian Gulf war and had experienced, firsthand, the price of poor intelligence. The people who had paid the price for those failures had been his friends and the soldiers who had entrusted their lives into his care. To allow the intelligence community to do whatever it wanted, without regard to consequences, would be, to Lewis, a betrayal of those he had left behind.
He could not, therefore, do otherwise. Of all his congressional duties, Lewis considered the time spent working as a member of the House Intelligence Committee as being the most important and, potentially, as having the greatest impact. He could not, and would not, fluff off the witness simply for the sake of convening on time. Like a samurai warrior about to do battle with an opponent, Lewis held the papers in front of him in both hands like a weapon, leaned forward, and stared the witness in the eyes.
Stressing the word Mister as a way of reminding everyone present that the witness was without a title, an important distinction in Washington, Lewis began his questioning. 'I've read the report submitted by your agency, Mister Napier, with great interest. Are you familiar with its contents?'
The CIA rep leaned forward to the microphone. 'Yes, Congressman Lewis, I wrote it.'
There was a hint of pride in Napier's response, which bothered Lewis.
Everyone knew Napier had written the report. Napier's comment, as far as Lewis was concerned, was nothing more than a stab at publicly receiving credit for simply doing the mundane job he was being paid to do.
After glancing at the report, then at Napier for a few seconds, creating a pause for effect, Lewis grunted, 'Uh-huh.' Looking back down at the report for a few more seconds, Lewis gave the impression he was considering his next question, even though he already knew what it and the following questions would be. 'This report is quite informative, Mr.
Napier. In it, you describe CIA operations in Mexico, providing dates, details, facts, and figures galore. Were someone to read this in isolation, he, or she, could not help but get the impression that we had the means in place to monitor trends and developments in Mexico that could pose a threat to the United States. And yet, the events of June 28 through June 30 of this year do not bear this out. Comparatively speaking, the people at Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, were wide awake and alert. How, sir, do you explain the discrepancy between the means available, as delineated in your report, and the poor results, as demonstrated by recent events?'
Napier was prepared for the question. A smirk lit his face as he leaned back in his seat before answering, unaware that he was being set up.
'Well, Congressman Lewis, as a member of the House Committee on Intelligence, you are well aware of the many requirements placed on the intelligence community of the United States. You are also aware, I am sure, of the budget with which we are expected to execute the multitude of tasks necessary to fulfill those requirements. There is, and again, I am sure you are aware, a discrepancy between many requirements and too few funds. We, therefore, have to make hard choices, prioritizing our efforts based on what we perceive to be the greatest need at any given time.'
'Who, Mr. Napier, makes those choices?'
Napier responded with a tone that emphasized his confidence, and a wave of his hand. 'The director, of course, based on recommendations from subject-matter experts and area specialists.'
Lewis cut in. 'Such as yourself?'
Cocking his head back, Napier responded, with pride, 'Yes sir, like me.'
'Do you, Mr. Napier, provide much input to the director concerning affairs in Mexico?'
'Yes, Congressman, of course. Central America, and Mexico in particular, is my responsibility. Just about everything concerning Mexico comes across my desk for my review, screening, and reworking before going to the director, or higher.'
Like a skilled hunter, Lewis continued to close, preparing to snare Napier as his prey, while turning Napier's own arrogance against him.
'Then, I assume, Mr. Napier, that you also advise the director on what requirements should be pursued and how best to allocate funds and resources to meet those requirements?'
'Yes, Congressman, of course. The director, responsible for many areas, normally goes along with our recommendations.'
For a moment, Lewis had to suppress the urge to lash out at the pompous bureaucrat seated before him. Instead, in a rather nonchalant manner, Lewis struck. 'Then, Mr. Napier, you accept responsibility for the CIA's failure to understand the threat to the Mexican government and the Agency's inability to predict the military coup that brought it down at the end of June.'
Lewis's statement struck Napier like a bullet. Sitting upright, his face flushed, Napier stared blankly at Lewis before answering. His response was quick and reactive. 'I said nothing of the sort. There was no failure on our part.
