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“Mr. Rapp, what if this person is innocent?” asked the chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee.
“I only know of one instance where that has happened, and I was not involved in it. The person was never tortured in the sense that most people would define torture; however, I will freely admit that this person was subjected to environmental stress that is designed to get people to break. It is not something that is remotely pleasant, but this person was released without any physical harm.”
“What about mental harm?” Lonsdale asked.
Rapp nodded. “That is a very good point. I have no doubt that the person suffered mental trauma. We have done our best to try and compensate this person and offer him medical assistance. Again, I am not proud of it, I was not involved in it, but I admit to you that a mistake was made. One mistake among hundreds of interrogations.”
“I don’t find your words reassuring, Mr. Rapp.”
He turned to face the senior senator from Vermont. “This is an ugly business, Madam Senator. These religious fanatics want to do us great harm, and it is my job to try and stop them. That is why I launched this risky operation. We have two men in our possession, both senior Taliban members with heavy ties to al-Qaeda. Men who have the blood of thousands of innocent people on their hands, and I am not allowed to talk to them. One of those men, Mohammad al-Haq, acknowledged the existence of the third cell without us even laying a hand on him.”
“That,” said Lonsdale, “was because you were threatening to hand him over to the butcher of Mazar-i-Sharif…General whatever his name is.”
“That’s right,” Rapp said without shame. “That’s how you get these guys to talk. Mohammad al-Haq is not an American citizen. He is a terrorist.”
Lonsdale said, in a surprisingly even tone, “Mr. Rapp, you would be well advised to remember that this committee, as well as several federal judges, have already weighed in on this issue. This country is bound by the Geneva Conventions. We must afford all prisoners of war the protection mandated by law.”
“And the terrorists who intentionally target civilians?” Rapp asked. “Who holds their feet to the fire and makes sure they follow the Geneva Conventions?” Rapp looked at the right side of the bench and added, “We all know the answer to that. They did not sign the Geneva Conventions and never will. They in fact go out of their way to break almost every rule the Geneva Conventions set forth, yet in our infinite wisdom we have decided to afford them the protections of a document that they spit on.”
“Mr. Rapp,” Lonsdale said, in an almost tired voice, “we are a nation of laws.”
“Yes, we are,” Rapp said respectfully. “An open democracy. A government of the people, by the people.” He took a step closer to the bench and lowered his voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, I don’t want to do this,” he said in almost pleading tone, “but you are leaving me with no other choice. I’ve been doing this for close to twenty years, and tension between the CIA and Capitol Hill has never been this bad. We have forgotten who our true enemy is. It is not us.” Rapp pointed back and forth among the various members. “Secretary of State England said it earlier. We are on the same team. I remember after nine-eleven, when the pain of that day was still fresh, many of you came to me and asked if we were doing enough to make these terrorists talk after they were captured. You didn’t think we were being aggressive enough, and then Abu Ghraib hit and we went right back to fighting each other.”
Rapp paused for a brief moment and then directed his words directly at Lonsdale. “Madam Chairman, it is my sincere belief that we are going to be attacked in the near future. I know for a fact that at least one of the two men I tried to question last week has information that could help us to stop this attack.” He looked from one end of the table to the other and said, “I am begging each and every one of you, think of the ramifications. Think of how the American people will react when they find out that this committee and its members were more concerned with protecting the debatable rights of a couple of bigoted, sadistic terrorists than they were in protecting their own citizens, who each and every one of you has sworn to protect and defend.”
“If this country is attacked,” said Lonsdale, “then you and the CIA will be to blame. Not this committee.”
Rapp’s anger was barely in check. He’d set aside all of his disdain for these men and women, and their ever-shifting set of principles, in hopes that they could find a middle road. He was giving them an opportunity to save themselves, and Lonsdale could not see fit to get off her pedestal and take the necessary course, the course that would protect the country. His every fiber wanted to let loose on the self-serving chairman, but Kennedy’s voice kept him in check. Her words admonishing him that they would need these people, especially after the bombs went off. The president had assured them that the CIA would not be blamed should an attack take place. He had guaranteed them that he would place the blame firmly at the feet of a group of elitist senators and rabid congressmen who had for years harassed and hamstrung the CIA.
Knowing that the president would be there as a backstop, Rapp allowed the slightest hint of a grin to form on his lips, and then he said, “If you really believe that, Madam Chairman, I propose we convene for lunch, and when we come back for the afternoon session, we open it to the public. Let’s get the press in here.” Rapp turned around and motioned toward the gallery. “Fill the place up. I’ll admit everything in front of the cameras. You can tear me apart,” Rapp said triumphantly. “Your constituents will love it. I’ll state my case for the use of extreme measures, you can all call me a barbarian if you’d like, and if this terrorist cell that you believe doesn’t exist never materializes, you will be able to make great political hay out o
f the entire matter. If you push hard enough, you will surely get me removed from service and probably prosecuted.”
Rapp paused and let a moment pass before he put forth the uncomfortable alternative. “But, if I’m right and this cell does manage to reach D.C…. and the bombs start going off…every last one of you is going to have to face the wrath of your constituents.” Rapp looked up and down the long bench. Most of the senators were as solemn as they’d been all morning. Rapp was reminded again of Kennedy’s words. How she had cautioned him to resist his instinct to tell them off. This was supposed to be about bringing them into the fold. Not deepening the divide. In a slightly conspiratorial tone he said, “There is another route we can take, however.”
No one spoke at first and then Senator Valdez asked, “What would that be?”
“You can quietly refer this entire matter back to the Intelligence Committee, where things can be handled in a more discreet manner.” Rapp gave them a moment to weigh their options and then said, “So, what is it going to be? An open session this afternoon, or back to the Intelligence Committee?”
Lonsdale looked as if she might take her gavel and throw it at Rapp’s head. She started moving her perfectly lined lips toward the microphone and was just about to let loose when both the vice chair and Kent Lamb, the esteemed chairman of the Appropriations Committee, reached out and grabbed her. After a tense fifteen-second conference, Lonsdale made it to her microphone and said, “Mr. Rapp, you are excused. The committee will now meet in private to discuss the issues before us and then break for lunch. We will reconvene at two this afternoon.”
“I will stay in the building, and make myself available should any of you want to discuss this matter in private.” Rapp gave a grimacing Lonsdale a nod and then left.
CHAPTER 60
NASH waited as long as he could for Rapp to emerge from the committee room, but he’d run out of time. His administrative assistant had come through as she almost always did and informed him that his wife was scheduled to meet with the dean at 11:45. Nash left word with Kennedy to have Rapp call him as soon as he got out and then he left to race across town. Sidwell was only five miles from Capitol Hill, but Nash knew it would take at least fifteen minutes to get there, and that was if he hit all the lights and traffic wasn’t too bad. As he pulled out of the Dirksen parking lot, he was relieved to find the street empty. Nash’s hopes that he would make it to the meeting on time were dashed a few blocks later as he reached a jam-packed Columbus Circle. With his options extremely limited, he nosed his way onto Massachusetts Avenue and headed northwest.
A cab cut him off a block later and he laid on his horn with everything he had. The cabby flipped him off. Nash looked through his windshield and for a split second imagined how satisfying it would be to run the guy off the road and whip him with his own antenna. He quickly banished the idea and turned his mind to his son. He could spend the next fifteen minutes getting angry about it and carefully plotting out the confrontation, but in the end this was about Rory. He and his wife would have to sort their problems out later.
The traffic was a mess at Thomas Circle, and for a minute Nash was tempted to take to the side streets, but he’d made this trip enough to know that could be a risky move. As he was nearing Dupont Circle his phone rang. The readout told him it was a private call.
“Hello.”
“Irene said you wanted to talk to me.” It was Rapp.
“Yeah,” Nash said, “How’d the rest of the hearing go?”
“Well enough. I’ll fill you in later. What’s up?”
