First Team

over the screen, sorting out contractions and typos.

“I think the electorate would be thrilled at your work ethic,” said the president behind her.

Corrine felt her face flush. “You surprised me, Mr. President,” she said, turning around from her computer.

“I have that effect on people,” he said, peeking at the computer screen. “Addressed to me?”

“I haven’t finished it yet.”

“How was Cuba? Warm?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Our guest?”

“Interesting, but not very talkative,” said Corrine. “I already told you the decision should be deferred while they’re pursuing his present information.”

“E-mail is not the same as a personal report.”

“I’m working on my report now.” She folded her arms in front of her breasts, feeling almost as if the president had barged into her bathroom as she came from the shower.

“I understand the CIA director and the deputy director of operations are on my agenda for the morning.” McCarthy raised his eyebrows just enough to suggest a wink as he continued. “What is it they’re going to complain about?”

“They got to you already?”

The president reached for the seat near her desk. He pulled it over and sat down, pulling the pant legs of his gray suit back ever so slightly and exposing his snakeskin boots. “Now just remember, dear, the shoe leather is snake. My legs will hurt if you start to fib.”

Corrine had heard the line a million times. “It’ll all be in my memo.”

“Horse’s mouth is always better, not to mention quicker,” said McCarthy. “And I am by no means suggesting that you’re a horse.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

Corrine told him what she had found — an operation with no checks in place and, it seemed to her, ample opportunity for running amuck.

“They’re completely outside any oversight,” said Corrine. “The fact that they’ve used a structure intended for something else is, at the very least, a serious red flag.”

“You’re sure it was intended for something else.”

“I’ve seen the minutes.”

“And they would be accurate.” The president let just the hint of amusement enter into his skepticism; he knew the past administration extremely well. “They don’t have to report to anyone?”

“Just the DDO.”

“The person I appoint,” said the president. He was drawing an important distinction — the NSC directive did not state that the DDO was in charge of Special Demands.

“Slott’s been with the Agency for years; his loyalties aren’t to you,” said Corrine. “I don’t think he has any perspective at all.”

McCarthy propped the side of his face against his hand, as relaxed as if he were discussing how they dealt with critters on his Georgia farm. “The problem is that they don’t have intelligence findings before proceeding?”

“The problem is they don’t have anything. Decisions are being made by the officer in the field and a Special Forces colonel who has enough firepower at his fingertips to start a world war. Slott is a rubber stamp at best. This is exactly what led to catastrophe in the sixties. It took decades to recover from that. Some say they still haven’t.”

“Well now, they’ve told me what’s going on,” said the president. “Shouldn’t I trust them?”

“There’s no way for us to know for sure what they’re doing,” she explained. “The NSC isn’t involved, there’s no paperwork, no procedures, the director doesn’t have to be notified, they don’t have to report to the congressional committees — we have to completely trust the people involved.”

“And you don’t?”

“I don’t trust anyone. First rule.” Corrine shook her head. “The operation in Iran is a perfect example. What happens if they’re captured? Or worse, if they find a dirty bomb on that ship and blow it up? Not to mention that, in my opinion, they’re going off on a wild-goose chase.”

McCarthy sat back up. “How’s that?”

“It’s obviously meant to throw them off the trail. The Iranian government took over the Islamic organization months ago. Our guest told them that to throw them off. He’s probably hoping we’ll give the Iranians trouble.”

“And how do you know?”

“I’ve done a little research. Where do you think I’ve been the past few days?”

“That didn’t occur to them?”

“Probably, but they won’t admit it. They get a hot lead, and they pursue it. That’s how they operate.”

McCarthy put his hand to his chin, rubbing the nubby whiskers of his five o’clock shadow.

“If they really want to find out where the waste is going,” Corrine told him, “we should track it from Buzuluk.”

“They said they tried,” said the President.

“As far as I could find out, they only used satellites and detectors; they weren’t actually there. Big difference seeing the bear than hearing about it,” she added, using one of his phrases.

McCarthy rose from the chair without saying anything. He walked over to her desk, reaching around her to the computer.

“Here,” he said, pointing to the screen. “Insert your recommendation here.”

“Which recommendation?”

“The one that recommends that the person in charge of Special Demands be outside the CIA and Special Forces command structure, as permitted by the authorizing directive and executive order. And the law.”

“Uh—”

“To be more specific, that the president’s counsel be that person.”

“But—”

“Then a little lower, down here, plot out your recommendation for following the operation. I think that might be the first thing you do, assuming you’re right about the ship.”

“But I can’t do that.”

“Can’t do what, dear?”

“I can’t get involved in this.”

“Whyever not? You have experience working with the Intelligence Committee. You obviously aren’t intimidated by the CIA boys. And I’d bet even those hard-assed Special Operations people’ll be eating out of your hand in short order.”

“But I’m a lawyer. I’m your lawyer.”

“I hope you’re not bringing up the matter of your job description again.” McCarthy straightened, a self- satisfied grin on his face.

“I am.”

“I’m beginning to believe you are angling for a raise, Miss Alston.”

“You set me up, didn’t you?”

“How’s that?” asked the president.

“You want to exercise more control over them, but you didn’t want to make it look like it was your idea. So you’re using me. You sent me — you used me.”

“Nevuh would I use a woman.”

“How much did you know about Special Demands before you called me in? Or this operation?”

“I didn’t know everything you’ve told me,” said McCarthy.

“That sounds like an answer a lawyer would give,” she said.

“Touche, Counselor. Touche.”