The chief of the Office of Congressional Affairs, Eric Duchin, a galloping careerist, busybody, and gossip, arrived with a posse of his toadeaters, making their way between tables, stopping to greet fellow division chiefs amid great laughter and guffaws. Duchin stopped at Benford’s table, surrounded by his grinning acolytes, who were known as “the Duchebags” on the ops floors. Duchin had a Gumby-square head, thick snow-white hair, and a narrow face. Students at the Farm had nicknamed him Q-Tip.
“Simon,” he said, nodding.
“Eric,” said Benford. Silence. Gable fingered the skewer that his shrimp had been served on.
“I’m calling a meeting on Friday,” said Duchin, finally. “SSCI, the Senate Select Committee, wants CIA to provide courtesy briefings to the possible nominees for the Director’s job. Just a heads-up to prepare. The committee wants all nominees to be able to discuss current operations during closed hearings, including your Russian antics.”
Benford put down his fork, choosing to ignore the word “antics.” “Am I given to understand that operational briefings are to be provided to multiple individuals,
Duchin shrugged. “Your precious secrets will be safe with them,” he said. “I’ll send you their bio packets. All currently hold SI/TK (Special Intelligence/Talent Keyhole), top-secret clearances, including Special Access Program tickets. Besides, the Director wants it done this way. Greater transparency.” After Alex Larson’s drowning, an acting Director had been appointed, whom the obsequious Duchin was already calling “Director.”
Benford bristled. “Greater transparency? In an intelligence service?” he snapped. “Duchin, you are incapable of sentient thought. You are my natural enemy. Go away.”
Duchin shrugged. “Take it up with the Director,” he said. “He’s committed to a smooth transition. See you Friday.” The three sat silently at the table, thinking of a pair of electric-blue eyes alone in the Kremlin, flitting across the slack, beefy faces around the table, any one of whom would pull the trigger on her without hesitation. These nominees’ briefings necessarily would include, at the least, a mention of a CIA-run penetration of the SVR, and at worst, DIVA’s true name. Heresy.
“How does this work, the possible nominees for Director all being briefed, and all being interviewed by SSCI?” said Gable. “Whatever happened to POTUS picking his man—one person—and nominating him? What the fuck is this, a beauty pageant?”
“The Acting Director suggested it,” said Forsyth. “This way he can push forward different candidates, all of whom will dismantle Alex Larson’s policies, placate Congress, and keep the Agency focused on the environment instead of the kiloton yield of the uranium device the Nokos detonated underground two months ago.”
Benford shook himself, pushed his plate away, and looked at Forsyth. “What did you say before?”
“The Acting Director wanted it this way.”
“No, before that,” said Benford.
“That we vet our own directors before putting them forward.”
“Exactly,” said Benford. “And the Russians had Alex killed, and we’re looking for a mole.”
“Who’s gonna get a big-ass job in the exec branch,” said Gable.
“Which vacancy is the Director of this Agency. It’s clear now. The Kremlin’s candidate is for DCIA,” said Benford, pounding the table.
Forsyth looked at Benford over the top of his glasses. “You better be sure before you pull the fire alarm. Not even Putin could pull this off.”
“Maybe not,” said Benford, “but that Gorelikov mastermind could if what DIVA says about him is true.”
Gable stopped picking his teeth. “You saying one of the three nominees for DCIA is the mole? Could they swing that?” he asked.
“Maybe yes, maybe no,” said Benford. “But we can’t sit by and do nothing.”
“We have to brief them all before one’s confirmed.” Forsyth groaned.
“Too obvious,” said Benford. “Let us consider how to pour some blue dye down a pipe.”
Gable started picking his teeth again. “If you’re talking barium enema, I got a turkey baster in my office.”
BENFORD’S LEMON PASTA
Sauté anchovy fillets in olive oil with finely diced leeks until the fillets dissolve and the leeks soften. In a separate pan, toast bread crumbs with a little olive oil, garlic, and dried red chili flakes until the crumbs (
14
Expedient Amorality
