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Nash was grateful that O’Brien had decided to show up. No one was willing to admit it, but Nash knew his colleagues were worried he was coming unhinged and didn’t trust him to keep his temper in check in front of the committee. They were right because they were only twenty minutes into the session and he was thoroughly disgusted. Of the nine senators in attendance only two of them could be considered pro-CIA. Six were firmly in the anti-CIA camp and only one of the six independents on the committee had shown up. That part was surprising. They didn’t want to sit through all the blustering and threats. The moderates would come in later and read the transcripts or get briefed by one of the committee staffers.
Unless one of the senators had some damaging information, nothing eventful was going to happen today. This was the game they played. The senators asked for the truth. Some of them wanted it and others didn’t, but they still asked. O’Brien and Nash would look up at them and lie to the same question asked nine different ways. This was the gray area that had shrunk to almost nothing before 9/11 and had since become huge. The military had tried Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, and now the Intelligence Committees had an Ask and Please Don’t Tell the Truth policy. At least until the press got ahold of something and then all hell broke loose. Then they were right back to the famous “I’m shocked, shocked to find that gambling is going on in here” scene in Casablanca.
“Mr. Nash, there are certain members of this committee who feel that you have been less than forthright with us in the past.”
Nash looked back at the senator from Vermont. The man was possibly the worst leaker on the entire committee. “Is that a question or a statement, sir?”
“Both.” The man flashed Nash a smile that looked like he wanted to eat him for dinner.
Nash would love nothing more than to tell them he had lied to them, and that they all knew he’d lied to them, and that he knew that they wanted him to lie, because he was keeping them safe, but that wasn’t how the game was played. He was in the business of deception and busting up terrorist networks and trying to save American lives. With that in mind, why in the world would he tell the truth to a committee of politicians who overwhelmingly had proven that they couldn’t keep a secret to save their lives? But he didn’t say that. Instead, he looked back respectfully at the senator and said, “Sir, if you have a more specific question, I would be more than happy to answer it.”
“What my esteemed colleague is too nice to say is that he thinks you are a liar.”
A minor uproar ensued as several of the committee members objected to the tone of the senator from Missouri. Nash turned and looked at Barbara Lonsdale. She was an attractive woman with deep brown eyes and a tiny little nose. She was always dressed in the latest designer clothes and took great pride in her appearance. At the moment, those beautiful eyes were locked on Nash and her perfectly lined lips were turned ever so slightly upward at the corners. She was obviously pleased that she had upset the decorum of the meeting.
When it had calmed down enough, Nash said, “Madam Senator, do you feel that I’m a liar?” Nash felt O’Brien nudge him under the table.
“I am a deliberate person, Mr. Nash, so I will choose my words carefully. I’m one of the members who feel that you have been less than forthright with this committee.”
“In other words, you think I’ve lied to you?”
“If that is the word you would like to use, I am fine with it.”
“Madam Senator, I can promise you that this story in the Washington Post is completely inaccurate. Why would the CIA launch an operation that is so clearly outside our mandate?”
“It is more than outside your mandate. It is illegal, and I promise both of you if I find out that either of you have lied to me, which I suspect you have, I will make sure you spend as much of your remaining days behind bars as possible.”
“Why are we indicting these men over one article written by a newspaper that has shown a consistent animosity toward the CIA? Can anyone answer that question?”
It was Senator Gayle Kendrick from Virginia. She and Lonsdale did not get along, even though they were in the same party. Kendrick was sma
rt enough to understand that one of the largest employers in her state was the CIA and its sister agencies in the National Security sphere. Kendrick also knew that when another attack occurred it would likely affect the people of her state more than those of Missouri.
“I have found in the past,” Lonsdale said, “that newspapers like the Post are usually the first to break stories like this.”
“I’m sorry, I know I haven’t served in the Senate as long as you, but I’m a little more suspicious of what I read in the newspapers.”
“I have found,” shot back Lonsdale in a very authoritative tone, “that the Post does not print articles unless sources have been checked.”
“And sources have a history of lying. If we’re to believe everything that is written in the Post, then I’d have to believe you’re currently dating a dozen or more of the most powerful men in Washington.”
It was Nash’s turn to kick O’Brien under the table. He leaned over and whispered, “This is going to be good.”
Kendrick was every bit as good-looking as Lonsdale and ten years younger, and she was also faithfully married, or at least appeared to be. It was obvious by the constipated look on Lonsdale’s face that Kendrick’s jab had hit home. Before anything further happened, though, Ralph Wassen, Lonsdale’s chief of staff, entered the room and slid around to whisper in his boss’s ear. After a brief exchange, Lonsdale stood and followed Wassen out of the room. Before Nash could think anything of it, the junior senator from Kentucky fired a question at him.
CHAPTER 33
LONSDALE and Wassen ducked back into her office in Dirksen using her private door so they could avoid the lobby and anyone who might be waiting for her. As they passed the senator’s administrative assistant, Wassen told him to hold all calls. Once inside her inner sanctum, Lonsdale kicked off her shoes and sat behind her desk. Wassen took off his jacket and pulled his tie loose. He folded his jacket once and laid it across the armrest of the long sofa. Returning to his boss’s desk, he held up his hands palms out, but before he could say anything further Lonsdale silenced him with a look. She opened a drawer and retrieved cigarettes, a lighter, and a fresh tablet of paper. She lit the cigarette, dropped the lighter, and grabbed a pen. In the middle of the page she wrote down Mitch Rapp’s name in caps.
“Slower this time,” she said. “This major…what’s his name?”
“Captain…Captain Leland. You met him when you were in Afghanistan last week.”
“Any reason I’d remember him?”
“No. He’s not handsome enough.”
“But you remember him?”
