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sea story not to tell. But what’s the big deal, Bart? Didn’t we do the right thing?”
“I think so,” the admiral replied. “But I guess people just like a story.”
“You know, I hope Ryan runs. I’ll vote for him. Pretty cool stuff, bagging the head of the KGB and–”
“Ron!”
“Skipper, I’m just repeating what they’re saying on TV, right? I have no personal knowledge of that at all.” Damn, Jonesy thought, what a sea story this one is. And it’s all true.
At the other end of the line the “Breaking News” graphic came up on Mancuso’s TV screen.
“YES, I AM Nikolay Gerasimov,” the face said on screens all over the world. There were at least twenty reporters clustered on the other side of the stone fence, and the hard part was hearing one of the shouted questions.
“Is it true that you were–”
“Are you–”
“Were you–”
“Is it true that–”
“Silence, please.” He held up his hand. It took fifteen seconds or so. “Yes, I was at one time the chairman of KGB. Your President Ryan induced me to defect, and I have lived in America ever since, along with my family.”
“How did he get you to defect?” a reporter shouted.
“You must understand that the intelligence business is, as you say, rough. Mr. Ryan plays the game well. At the time there was ongoing power struggle. CIA opposed my faction in favor of Andrey Il’ych Narmonov. So, he came to Moscow under cover of advisor to START talks. He claimed that he wanted to give me information to make the meeting happen, yes?” Gerasimov had decided that downgrading his English skills would make him seem more credible to the cameras and microphones. “Actually, you can say he trap me with accusation that I was going to create, how you say, treason? Not true, but effective, and so I decide to come to America with my family. I come by airplane. My family come by submarine.”
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“What? Submarine?”
“Yes, was submarine Dallas.” He paused and smiled rather grimly. “Why are you so hard on President Ryan? He serve his country well. A master spy,” Gerasimov said admiringly.
“WELL, THERE GOES that story.” Bob Holtzman muted his television and turned to his managing editor.
“Sorry, Bob.” The editor handed the copy back. It was to have run in three days. Holtzman had done a masterful job of assembling his information, and then taken the time to integrate it all into a cohesive and flattering picture of the man whose office was only five blocks from his own. It was about spin, that most favored of Washington words. Somebody had changed the spin, and that was that. Once the initial story went out, it was impossible even for an experienced journalist like Holtzman to change it, especially if his own paper didn’t support him.
“Bob,” the editor said with a measure of embarrassment, “your take on this is different than mine. What if this guy’s a cowboy? I mean, okay, getting the submarine was one thing, Cold War and all that, but tampering with internal Soviet politics–isn’t that close to an act of war?”
“That’s not what it was really about. He was trying to get an agent out, code name CARDINAL. Gerasimov and Aleksandrov were using that spy case to topple Narmonov and kill off the reforms he was trying to initiate.”
“Well, Ryan can say that all day if he wants. That’s not how it’s going to come across. ‘Master spy’? Just what we need to run the country, hmph?”
“Ryan isn’t like that, God damn it!” Holtzman swore. “He’s a straight shooter right out of–”
“Yeah, he shoots straight, all right. He’s killed at least three people. Killed, Bob! How the hell did Roger Durling ever get it into his head that this was the right guy to be Vice President. I mean, Ed Kealty isn’t much of a prize, but at least–”
“At least he knows how to manipulate us, Ben. He suckered that airhead on TV, and then he suckered the rest of us into following the story his way.”
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“Well…” Ben Saddler ran out of things to say at that point. “It’s factual, isn’t it?”
“That isn’t the same as ‘true,’ Ben, and you know it.”
“This is going to have to be looked into. Ryan looks like a guy who’s played fast and loose with everything he’s touched. Next, I want this Colombian story run down. Now, can you do it? Your contacts at the Agency are pretty good, but I have to tell you, I worry about your objectivity on this.”
“You don’t have a choice, Ben. If you want to keep up, it’s my story–course you can always just reword what the Times says,” Holtzman added, making his editor flush. Life could be tough in the media, too.
“Your story, Bob. Just make sure you deliver. Somebody broke the law, and Ryan’s the one who covered everything up and came out smelling like a rose. I want that story.” Saddler stood. “I have an editorial to write.”
DARYAEI COULD SCARCELY believe it. The timing could scarcely have been better. He was days away from his next goal, and his target was about to descend into the abyss entirely without his help. With his help, of course, the fall would be farther still.
“Is that what it appears to be?”
“It would seem so,” Badrayn replied. “I can do some quick research and be back to you in the morning.”
“Is it truly possible?” the Ayatollah persisted.
“Remember what I told you about lions and hyenas? For America it is a national sport. It is no trick. They don’t do such tricks. However, let me make sure. I have my methods.”
“Tomorrow morning, then.”
34
WWW.TERROR.ORG
HE HAD MUCH WORK TO do along those lines anyway. Back in his office, Badrayn activated his desktop computer. This had a high-speed modem and a dedicated fiber-optic telephone line that ran to an Iranian–UIR, now–embassy in Pakistan, and from there another line to London, where he could link into the World Wide Web without fear of a trace. What had once been a fairly simple exercise for police agencies–that’s what counterespionage and counterterrorism was, after all–was now virtually impossible. Literally millions of people could access all the information mankind had ever developed, and more quickly than one could walk to one’s car for a trip to the local library. Badrayn started by hitting press areas, major newspapers from the Times in Los Angeles to the Times in London, with Washington and New York in between. The major papers all presented much the same basic story–quicker on the Web than in the printed editions, in fact–though the initial editorial comment differed somewhat from one to another. The stories were vague on dates, and he had to remind himself that the mere repetition of the content didn’t guarantee accuracy, but it jelt real. He knew Ryan had been an intelligence officer, knew that the British, the Russians, and the Israelis respected him. Surely stories such as these would explain that respect. They also made him slightly uneasy, a fact which would have surprised his master. Ryan was potentially a more formidable adversary than Daryaei appreciated. He knew how to take decisive action in difficult circumstances, and such people were not to be underestimated.
It was just that Ryan was out of his element now, and that was plain from the news coverage. As he changed from one home page to another, a brand-new editorial came up. It called for a congressional inquiry into Ryan’s activities at CIA. A statement from the Colombian gov-
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eminent asked in clipped diplomatic terms for an explanation of the allegations–and that would start another firestorm. How would Ryan respond to the charges and the demands? An open question, Badrayn judged. He was an unknown quantity. That was disturbing. He printed up the more important articles and editorials for later use, and then went on with his real business.
There was a dedicated home page for conventions and trade shows in America. Probably for the use of travel agents, he thought. Well, that wasn’t far off. Then it was just a matter of selecting them by city. That told him the identity of the convention centers, typically large barnlike buildings. Each of those had a home page as well, to boast of their capabilities. Many showed diagrams and travel directions. All gave phone and fax numbers. These he collected as well until he had twenty-four, a few extra, just in case. One could not send one of his travelers to a ladies’ underwear show, for example–although … he chuckled to himself. Fashion and fabric shows –these would be for the winter season, though summer had not yet come even to Iran. Automobile shows. These, he saw, traced across America as the various car and truck manufacturers showed their wares like a traveling circus … so much the better.