The agents raced up to the Lyman, which was still rolling madly, the fishing rod and reel sliding on the deck. There is nothing as ominous as an empty boat drifting on the water, mute testimony of a soul reclaimed by the sea. As a frantic Bennett radioed the Coast Guard, then called the security-duty office at Headquarters, Scott at full speed started a grid search downwind for any sign of the DCIA, who they knew did not wear a life jacket. They had been out of visual sight of the Lyman for approximately nineteen minutes, and there was no other boat within a mile of them. The foul weather had even driven the oyster boat into harbor. What followed was the usual two days of Coast Guard daylight searches by helicopters and crash boats, concentrating on the lower bay, based on the estimated time of the accident and the prevailing ebb tide. Alex Larson’s body was finally found on the third day, facedown on a sandbar off Race Hog Point on Pone Island, about fifty miles south of Kent Island. The FBI investigated the incident with the Coast Guard, and both concluded that the DCIA had drowned as a result of the boating accident.
When official news of the accident was released, President Putin, against the advice of Anton Gorelikov, called the US president to express his sympathy at the loss of a dedicated professional, a committed public servant, and a man of honor. The Slavic mordancy in Putin’s comments was lost on POTUS, who already was considering candidates to fill the DCIA position. As Gorelikov had presciently predicted, VADM Rowland was on the president’s short list of DCIA nominees. All that toadying to POTUS’s vanity had paid off. She was an outsider, a brainy woman, and someone who believed in diplomatic solutions with coalition partners, rather than resorting to armed conflict at the drop of a hat. He looked to Admiral Rowland to continue the reforms within CIA in diversity, promotion quotas, and, frankly, fewer dirty tricks that only antagonized foreign governments.
At Langley, relevant branches in the Operations Directorate tasked Russian and counterterrorist sources to determine whether there were any known plots to harm the Director. Not even DIVA had heard anything in the Kremlin, and she sent her condolences via a Moscow Station officer to Benford, who was inconsolable.
Simon confided to Forsyth that he suspected the Russians had engineered the boating accident, which was nothing less than a political assassination ordered by Putin. Benford summoned Hearsey to ask him about short-range drones that could be fitted with an explosive payload, or aerosolized biological compounds, or even with a single 2.75-inch rocket. Maybe an infiltrated operator could fly a drone close enough to catch Putin outside during a fishing or hunting trip and avenge the DCIA. Hearsey looked at the floor without saying anything until Forsyth told Benford to stop hallucinating and to concentrate on their more immediate problem: vetting the White House’s three nominee candidates for DCIA, a triumvirate of progressive Washington insiders, none of whom was well-disposed to the Agency.
“Maybe we should reconsider those drones,” said Hearsey, walking out the door.
Three combat swimmers from Spetsnaz
STRIPED BASS
Sauté fish fillets in butter and oil until golden. Set aside. In a saucepan, sauté whole peeled tomatoes, anchovies, chopped garlic, chopped cilantro, capers, a splash of balsamic vinegar, and thinly sliced potatoes until potatoes are soft and sauce is thickened. Serve fish on a bed of sauce.
12
Merit to the Fatherland
