Edward Stuart took his seat opposite the desk. Davidoff was a polite man, standing when Stuart arrived. Polite prosecutors worried Stuart.
“We finally got confirmation on your clients’ identity,” Davidoff said in a voice that might have feigned surprise, but instead was fully businesslike. “It turns out that they’re both Colombian citizens with nearly a dozen arrests between them. I thought you said that they came from Costa Rica.”
Stuart temporized: “Why did identification take so long?”
“I don’t know. That factor doesn’t really matter anyway. I’ve asked for an early trial date.”
“What about the consideration the Coast Guard offered my client?”
“That statement was made after his confession – and in any case, we are not using the confession because we don’t need it.”
“Because it was obtained through flagrantly -”
“That’s crap and you know it. Regardless, it will not play in this case. Far as I’m concerned, the confession does not exist, okay? Ed, your clients committed mass murder and they’re going to pay for that. They’re going to pay in full.”
Stuart leaned forward. “I can give you information -”
“I don’t care what information they have,” Davidoff said. “This is a murder case.”
“This isn’t the way things are done,” Stuart objected.
“Maybe that’s part of the problem. We’re sending a message with this case.”
“You’re going to try to execute my clients just to send a message.” It was not a question.
“I know we disagree on the deterrent value of capital punishment.”
“I’m willing to trade a confession to murder and all their information for life.”
“No deal.”
“Are you really that sure you’ll win the case?”
“You know what our evidence is,” Davidoff replied. Disclosure laws required the prosecution to allow the defense team to examine everything they had. The same rule was not applied in reverse. It was a structural means of ensuring a fair trial to the defendants, though it was not universally approved of by police and prosecutors. It was, however, a rule, and Davidoff always played by the rules. That, Stuart knew, was one of the things that made him so dangerous. He had never once lost a case or an appeal on procedural grounds. Davidoff was a brilliant legal technician.
“If we kill these two people, we’ve sunk to the same level that we say they live at.”
“Ed, we live in a democracy. The people ultimately decide what the laws should be, and the people approve of capital punishment.”
“I will do everything I can to prevent that.”
“I would be disappointed in you if you didn’t.”
Christ, but you’ll be a great senator. So evenhanded, so tolerant of those who disagree with you on principle. No wonder the papers love you.
“So that’s the story on Eastern Europe for this week,” Judge Moore observed. “Sounds to me like things are quieting down.”
“Yes, sir,” Ryan replied. “It does look that way for the present.”
The Director of Central Intelligence nodded and changed subjects. “You were in to see James last night?”
“Yes, sir. His spirits are still pretty good, but he knows.” Ryan hated giving these progress reports. It wasn’t as though he were a physician.
“I’m going over tonight,” Ritter said. “Anything he needs, anything I can take over?”
“Just work. He still wants to work.”
“Anything he wants, he gets,” Moore said. Ritter stirred slightly at that, Ryan saw. “Dr. Ryan, you are doing quite well. If I were to suggest to the President that you might be ready to become the next DDI – look, I know how you feel about James; remember that I’ve worked with him longer than you have, all right? – and -”
“Sir, Admiral Greer isn’t dead,” Jack objected. He’d almost said yet, and cursed himself for even having thought that word.
“He’s not going to make it, Jack,” Moore said gently. “I’m sorry about that. He’s my friend, too. But our business here is to serve our country. That is more important than personalities, even James. What’s more, James is a pro, and he would be disappointed in your attitude.”
Ryan managed not to flinch at the rebuke. But it wounded him, all the more so because the Judge was correct. Jack took a deep breath and nodded agreement.
“James told me last week that he wants you to succeed him. I think you might be ready. What do you think?”
“Judge, I think I am fitted technically, but I lack the political sophistication needed for the office.”
“There’s only one way to learn that part of the job – and, hell, politics aren’t supposed to have much place in the Intelligence Directorate.” Moore smiled to punctuate the irony of that statement. “The President likes you, and The Hill likes you. As of now you’re acting Deputy Director (Intelligence). The slot won’t be officially filled until after the election, but as of now the job is yours on a provisional basis. If James recovers, well and good. The additional seasoning you get from working under him won’t hurt. But even if he recovers, it will soon be time for him to leave. We are all replaceable, and James thinks you’re ready. So do I.”
Ryan didn’t know what to say. Still short of forty, he now had one of the premiere intelligence posts in the world. As a practical matter, he’d had it for several months – even for several years, some might say – but now it was official, and somehow that made it different. People would now come to him for opinions and judgments. That had been going on for a long time, but he’d always had someone to fall back on. Now he would not. He’d present his information to Judge Moore and await final judgment, but from this moment the responsibility for being right was his. Before, he’d presented opinions and options to his superiors. Beginning now, he’d present policy decisions directly to the ultimate decision-makers. The increase in responsibility, though subtle, was vast.
“Need-to-know still applies,” Ritter pointed out.
“Of course,” Ryan said.
“I’ll tell Nancy and your department heads,” Moore said. “James ginned up a letter I’ll read. Here’s your copy.”
Ryan stood to take it.
“I believe you have work to do, Dr. Ryan,” Moore said.
“Yes, sir.” Jack turned and left the room. He knew that he should have felt elated, but instead felt trapped. He thought he knew why.
“Too soon, Arthur,” Ritter said after Jack had left.
“I know what you’re saying, Bob, but we can’t have Intelligence go adrift just because you don’t want him in on SHOWBOAT. We’ll keep him out of that, at least isolated from what Operations is doing. He’ll have to get in on the information that we’re developing. For Christ’s sake, his knowledge of finance will be useful to us. He just doesn’t have to know how the information gets to us. Besides, if the President says ‘go’ on this, and he gets approval from The Hill, we’re home free.”
“So when do you go to The Hill?”
“I have four of them coming here tomorrow afternoon. We’re invoking the special- and hazardous-operations rule.”
SAHO was an informal codicil of the oversight rules. While Congress had the right under law to oversee all intelligence operations, in a case two years earlier, a leak from one of the select committees had caused the death of a CIA station chief and a high-ranking defector. Instead of going public, Judge Moore had approached the members of both committees and gotten written agreement that in special cases the chairman and co-chairman of each committee would alone be given access to the necessary information. It was then their responsibility to decide if it should be shared with the committees as a whole. Since members of both political parties were present, it had been hoped that political posturing could be avoided. In fact, Judge Moore had created a subtle trap for all of them. Whoever tried to decide that information had to be disseminated ran the risk of being labeled as having a political agenda. Moreover, the higher selectivity of the four SAHO-cleared members had already created an atmosphere of privilege that mitigated directly against spreading the information out. So long as the operation was not politically sensitive, it was a virtual guarantee that Congress would not interfere. The remarkable thing was that Moore had managed to get the committees to agree to this. But bringing the widow and children of the dead station chief to the executive hearings hadn’t hurt one bit. It was one thing to carp abstractly about the majesty of law, quite another to have to face the results of a mistake – the more so if one of them was a ten-year-old girl without a father. Political theater was not solely the domain of elected officials.
“And the Presidential Finding?” Ritter asked.
“Already done. ‘It is determined that drug-smuggling operations are a clear and present danger to U.S. national security. The President authorizes the judicious use of military force in accord with established operational guidelines to protect our citizens,’ et cetera.”