granted an interview in all his years at the Agency. But as senior as
he was now, he occasionally had to undertake another sort of
appearance, one that he equally detested. He had to testify before the
House and Senate Select Committees on Intelligence on a series of
matters involving the Agency.
In these “enlightened” times, CIA personnel gave more than one thousand
substantive reports to Congress in a year’s time. So much for covert
operations. Thornhill was able to get through these briefings only by
focusing on how easily he could manipulate the idiots who were supposed
to be overseeing his agency. With their smug looks, they posed to him
questions formulated by their very diligent staffs, who were more
knowledgeable about most intelligence matters than the elected
officials they served.
At least the hearing would be in camera, no public or press allowed. To
Thornhill the First Amendment’s rights to an unfettered press had been
the biggest mistake the Founding Fathers ever made. You had to be damn
careful around the scribes; they looked for every advantage, any chance
to put words in your mouth, trip you up, make the Agency look bad. It
deeply hurt Thornhill that no one seemed to really trust them. Of
course they lied about things; that was their job.
In Thornhill’s mind the CIA was clearly the Hill’s favorite whipping
boy. The members loved to look tough in facing down the super-secret
organization. That really played well back home:
FARMER-TURNED-CONGRESSMAN STARES DOWN SPOOKS. By now Thornhill could
write the headlines himself.
However, today’s hearing actually promised to be positive because the
Agency had scored some serious PR points lately in the most recent
Middle East peace talks. Indeed, largely through Thornhill’s
behind-the-scenes work, the Agency had overall fashioned a more benign,
upstanding image, an image he would seek to bolster today.
Thornhill snapped his briefcase shut and put his pipe in his pocket.
Off to lie to a bunch of liars, and we both know it and we both win, he
thought. Only in America.
CHAPTER 17
“SENATOR,” BuCHANAN SAID, SHAKING HANDS with the tall, elegant-looking
gentleman. Senator Harvey Milstead was a proven leader with high
morals and strong political instincts who offered thoughtful insight on
the issues. A true statesman. That was the public perception. The
reality was that Milstead was a womanizer of the first order and was
addicted to painkillers for a chronically bad back, medications that
sometimes left him incoherent. He also had a worsening drinking
problem. It was years since he had sponsored any meaningful
legislation of his own, although in his prime he had helped enact laws
from which every American now benefited. These days when he spoke, it
was in gobbledygook that no one ever bothered to check up on because he
said it with such authority. Besides, the press loved the charming guy
with such genteel manners, and he held a very powerful leadership
position. He also fed the media machine with a flow of appropriately
timed juicy leaks, and he was quotable to a fault. They loved him,
Buchanan knew. How could they not?
There were five hundred and thirty-five members of Congress-a hundred
senators plus the representatives in the House. Well over
three-quarters of them, Buchanan estimated perhaps a little generously,
were decent, hardworking, genuinely caring men and women who believed
strongly in what they were doing both in Washington and for the people.
Buchanan termed them, collectively, the “Believers.” Buchanan stayed
away from the Believers. Touching those folk would only have earned
him a quick trip to prison.
The rest of the Washington leadership were like Harvey Milstead.
Most were not drunks or womanizers or shells of their former selves,
but, for various reasons, they were ripe for manipulation, easy targets
for the lures Buchanan was tossing overboard.
There were two such groups that Buchanan had successfully recruited
over the years. Forget Republicans and Democrats. The parties
Buchanan was interested in were the members of the venerable “Townies,”
and the group Buchanan had labeled, only somewhat tongue-in-cheek, the
“Zombies.”
The Townies knew the system better than anyone. They were the system.
Washington was their town, hence the nickname. They had all been here