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“Good.” Getting down to business, Hayes turned to Kennedy and said, “I get the impression that whatever it is you have to tell me, it’s not good.”
“That’s correct, sir.”
Before Kennedy had a chance to elaborate, the door to their left flew open and the president’s chief of staff entered the room with a big cup of Starbucks coffee in one hand and a cell phone and stack of files precariously balanced in the other. “Sorry I’m late.”
Rapp leaned forward and shot his boss a questioning look. He mouthed the words, What the hell is she doing here?
Kennedy made a calming motion with her hand and ignored Rapp.
Kennedy’s cool attitude did nothing to still Rapp’s apprehension over Valerie Jones. She was a pushy and obnoxious political operative. If she were a man she would be referred to as a tough bastard or prick, but since she wore a skirt to work she was simply called a bitch. Rapp couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been at odds with the woman. Her first reaction at the onset of any potential crisis was to ask how it would affect the president’s poll numbers. It drove Rapp nuts that every issue had to be parsed, muddied and then spun.
Putting Rapp in a room with Jones was like one of those crazy chemistry experiments where you started pouring different things into a beaker knowing full well there would be an explosion, and ultimately a mess to clean up. With Jones now in attendance it was highly likely that Rapp’s mood would go from sour to downright shitty.
Before the meeting was over things would get ugly between the two, and Kennedy was counting on just that. For things to work out the way she hoped, everyone needed to play their role, and in the end, she was confident where the president would come down. Irene Kennedy had learned many things from her old boss, Thomas Stansfield. He had been fond of reminding her frequently that they were in the secret business; both collecting and keeping.
Common sense dictated that the less one talked the more likely it was one would learn secrets rather than give them away. He also liked to say the outcome of a meeting is often decided before a single word is spoken. It is decided by who is asked to attend. That was exactly what Kennedy had had in mind when she invited Jones.
The woman could adopt a passive attitude if she absolutely had to. If a foreign head of state was visiting the White House she might tone her act down, but that was about it. Valerie Jones was an obsessive-compulsive workaholic who lived and breathed politics. It was her life. She wanted to be involved in every decision, for in the arena of politics, anything the president attached his name to would ultimately affect his chances for reelection.
Nudging a small bust of President Eisenhower out of her way, the president’s chief of staff plopped her files down on the corner of his desk. Neither Rapp nor General Flood made an effort to get her a chair. In the P.C. world of D.C. politics both knew such a gesture could be misperceived, and they might get their balls chewed off. And besides, neither of them liked Jones enough to make the effort.
When the chief of staff was settled, the president looked at Kennedy and said, “Let’s hear it.”
The ever placid Kennedy cocked her head slightly and brushed a strand of her shoulder-length brown hair behind her ear. As had been the case all too often lately, she was the bearer of bad news. “Mr. President, General Flood informs me that you’ve been fully briefed on the failed hostage rescue in the Philippines.”
“Yes,” answered the president in a sour tone, “and needless to say I’m not happy about it.”
“I’d like to remind everyone,” interrupted the president’s chief of staff, “that I thought that entire operation was a bad idea from the start.”
Ignoring Jones, Kennedy held up one of the two red folders and said, “I think I can shed some light on what went wrong, sir.”
Hayes, his curiosity piqued, placed his forearms squarely on the desk and said, “I’m all ears.”
“In this file”—Kennedy held up her left hand—“I have a list of e-mail and telephone transcripts. You will remember that before launching the rescue operation we decided that for reasons of operational security our embassy in the Philippines would not be notified until the teams and the hostages were safely extracted.”
Jones had just finished taking a sip of coffee and began to shake her head vigorously. “Again, I’m on the record as saying that was a bad idea. We’re going to be smarting over that one for some time. This thing is a real mess. The press is getting more curious by the hour. The press office has already received three calls this morning, the Philippine government is demanding answers and our own State Department is furious.”
The president also chose to ignore Jones for the moment and stayed focused on Kennedy, saying, “I remember the issue was hotly contested.”
Without looking up, General Flood grumbled, “And you made it very clear, sir, that our embassy was not to be notified.”
The president was caught a little off guard by the general’s tone. The soldier was in an unusually foul mood, which was very out of character.
“Sir,” said Kennedy as she opened the file and handed the president the first page. “This is the transcript of an e-mail that was sent by Assistant Secretary of State Amanda Petry to Ambassador Cox. In it she clearly states the time and date the operation was to commence.” Kennedy gave the president a second to look over the text and then handed him another piece of paper. “This is Ambassador Cox’s reply asking for more specifics, and this is Amanda Petry’s reply that outlines the rescue operation in detail.” Kennedy handed him the third sheet.
The president looked over the documents in silence, and a frown slowly darkened his expression as each word hinted at what may have happened, and the twisted dark road where this might take him.
Patience not being one of her virtues, Jones got up from her chair and stood over the president’s shoulder. She began scanning the documents and trying to make sense of what Kennedy was up to.
Pulling his reading glasses down to the tip of his nose Hayes looked at the director of the CIA and said, “This is serious stuff.”
Before she could answer Jones said, “The State Department is going to be livid about this. Beatrice Berg is a living legend … are you out of your mind?” Jones was referring to the recently confirmed secretary of state, who was quite possibly the most respected person in Washington. She was currently in Greece leading a delegation that was trying to jump-start the Middle East peace talks.
Kennedy nodded and said, “Valerie, none of us are happy about this.”
“No,” said Jones in an icy tone. “I’m not talking about the operation. I’m talking about you spying on State. You can’t just go around intercepting State Department cables. I mean, are you insane?” Jones’s face twisted into a scowl as she tried to calculate the damage that would be done if this were leaked to the press.
“Ms. Jones,” General Flood gruffly replied. “It is routine business for the NSA to intercept embassy traffic. And beyond that I don’t think the State Department is in much of a position to complain about anything.”
