That earned Cortez a grunt. Escobedo liked to be compared with a chief of state, better still one who had defied the yanquis so successfully for a generation. There would be a satisfied smile now on the handsome face, Félix knew without bothering to check for it. His answer was a lie for two reasons: Castro had never asked the question, and neither Félix nor anyone else on that island would ever have dared to deny him the information.
“So what have you learned?”
“Something is afoot,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice that was almost taunting. After all, he had to justify his salary. “The American government is putting together a new program designed to enhance their interdiction efforts. My sources have no specifics as yet, though what they have heard has come from multiple sources and is probably true. My other source will be able to confirm what information I receive from the first.” The lesson was lost on Escobedo, Félix knew. Recruiting two complementary sources on a single mission would have earned him a flowery commendation letter from any real intelligence service.
“What will the information cost us?”
Money. It is always money with him, Cortez told himself with a stifled sigh. No wonder he needed a professional with his security operations. Only a fool thinks that he can buy everything. On the other hand, there were times when money was helpful, and though he didn’t know it, Escobedo paid more money to his American hirelings and traitors than the entire Communist intelligence network.
“It is better to spend a great deal of money on one person at a high level than to squander it on a large number of minor functionaries. A quarter of a million dollars will do nicely to get the information which we require.” Cortez would be keeping most of that, of course. He had expenses of his own.
“That is all?” Escobedo asked incredulously. “I pay more than that to -”
“Because your people have never used the proper approach, jefe. Because you pay people on the basis of where they are, not what they know. You have never adopted a systematic approach to dealing with your enemies. With the proper information, you can utilize your funds much more efficiently. You can act strategically instead of tactically,” Cortez concluded by pushing the proper button.
“Yes! They must learn that we are a force to be reckoned with!”
Not for the first time, Félix thought that his main objective was to take the money and run… perhaps a house in Spain… or, perhaps, to supplant this egomaniacal buffoon. That was a thought… But not for now. Escobedo was an egomaniac, but he was also a shrewd one, capable of rapid action. One difference between this man and those who ran his former agency was that Escobedo wasn’t afraid to make a decision, and do it quickly. No bureaucracy here, no multiplicity of desks for messages to pass. For that he respected El Jefe. At least he knew how to make a decision. KGB had probably been that way once, maybe even the American intelligence organs. But no longer.
“One more week,” Ritter told the National Security Adviser.
“Nice to hear that things are moving,” the Admiral observed. “Then what?”
“Why don’t you tell me? Just to keep things clear,” the DDO suggested. He followed it with a reminder. “After all, the operation was your idea in the first place.”
“Well, I sold Director Jacobs on the idea,” Cutter replied with a smile at his own cleverness. “When we’re ready to proceed – and I mean ready to push the button – Jacobs will fly down there to meet with their Attorney General. The ambassador says that the Colombians will go along with almost anything. They’re even more desperate than we are and -”
“You didn’t -”
“No, Bob, the ambassador doesn’t know. Okay?” I’m not the idiot you take me for, his eyes told the CIA executive. “If Jacobs can sell the idea to them, we insert the teams ASAP. One change I want to make.”
“What’s that?”
“The air side of it. Your report says that practice tracking missions are already turning up targets.”
“Some,” Ritter admitted. “Two or three per week.”
“The wherewithal to handle them is already in place. Why not activate that part of the operation? I mean, it might actually help to identify the areas we want to send the insertion teams to, develop operational intelligence, that sort of thing.”
“I’d prefer to wait,” Ritter said cautiously.
“Why? If we can identify the most frequently used areas, it cuts down on the amount of moving around they’ll have to do. That’s your greatest operational risk, isn’t it? This is a way to develop information that enhances the entire operational concept.”
The problem with Cutter, Ritter told himself, was that the bastard knew just enough about operations to be dangerous. Worse, he had the power to enforce his will – and a memory of the Operations Directorate’s recent history. What was it he’d said a few months back? Your best operations in the last couple of years actually came out of Greer’s department… By which he meant Jack Ryan, James’s bright rising star – possibly the new DDI the way things looked. That was too bad. Ritter was genuinely fond of his counterpart at the head of the Intelligence Directorate, but less so of Greer’s ingratiating protégé. But it was nevertheless true that the Agency’s two best coups in recent years had begun in the “wrong” department, and it was time for Operations to reassert its primacy. Ritter wondered if Cutter was consciously using that as a prod to move him to action. Probably not, he decided. Cutter didn’t know enough about infighting yet. Not that he wouldn’t learn, of course.
“Going too early is a classic error in field operations,” the DDO offered lamely.
“But we’re not. Essentially we have two separate operations, don’t we?” Cutter asked. “The air part can operate independently of the in-country part. I admit it’ll be less effective, but it can still operate. Doesn’t this give us a chance to check out the less tricky side of the plan before we commit to the dangerous part? Doesn’t it give us something to take to the Colombians to show that we’re really serious?”
Too soon, the voice in Ritter’s head said urgently, but his face showed indecision.
“Look, do you want me to take it to the President?” Cutter asked.
“Where is he today – California?”
“Political trip. I would prefer not to bother him with this sort of thing, but -”
It was a curious situation, the DDO thought. He had underestimated Cutter, while the National Security Adviser seemed quite able to overestimate himself. “Okay, you win. EAGLE EYE starts day after tomorrow. It’ll take that long to get everyone up and running.”
“And SHOWBOAT?”
“One more week to prep the teams. Four days to get them to Panama and meet up with the air assets, check communications systems and all that.”
Cutter grinned as he reached for his coffee. It was time to smooth some ruffled feathers, he thought. “God, it’s nice to work with a real pro. Look on the bright side, Bob. We’ll have two full weeks to interrogate whatever turns up in the air net, and the insertion teams will have a much better idea of where they’re needed.”
You’ve already won, you son of a bitch. Do you have to rub it in? Ritter wanted to ask. He wondered what would have happened if he’d called Cutter’s cards. What would the President have said? Ritter’s position was a vulnerable one. He’d grumbled long and loud within the intelligence community that CIA hadn’t run a serious field operation in… fifteen years? It depended on what you meant by “serious,” didn’t it? Now he was being given the chance, and what had been a nice line to be spoken at the coffee sessions during high-level government conferences was now a gray chicken come home to roost. Field operations like this were dangerous. Dangerous to the participants. Dangerous to those who gave the orders. Dangerous to the governments that sponsored them. He’d told Cutter that often enough, but like many, the National Security Adviser was mesmerized by the glamour of field ops. It was known in the trade as the Mission: Impossible Syndrome. Even professionals could confuse a TV drama with reality, and, throughout government, people tended to hear only that which they wished to hear, and to ignore the unpleasant parts. But it was somewhat late for Ritter to give out his warnings. After all, he’d complained for years that such a mission was possible, and occasionally a desirable adjunct to international policy. And he’d said often enough that his directorate still knew how to do it. The fact that he’d had to recruit field operatives from the Army and Air Force had escaped notice. Time had been when the Agency had been able to use its own private air force and its own private army… and if this worked out, perhaps those times would come again. It was a capability the Agency and the country needed, Ritter thought. Here, perhaps, was his chance to make it all happen. If putting up with amateur power-vendors like Cutter was the price of getting it, then that was the price he’d have to pay.