The Director: A Novel (50 page)

“Try me.”

“You won’t do it because you can’t. You’re fired. I am removing you as CIA director, for cause, effective immediately.”

“What do you mean, ‘for cause’?”

Hoffman had a new look in his eye, a hard glint of cruelty combined with the light of mischief.

“I hoped that it would not come to this,” Hoffman said. “But I am firing you as CIA director because of evidence that you have engaged in sexual harassment of one of your employees.”

“What are you talking about?” said Weber, but in that instant he was startled by a recollection from just a dozen hours before.

“It is not pretty,” said Hoffman, flicking a switch that turned on a video monitor on the wall. “Not pretty at all, what some men will do.”

The video image showed Weber with his arm wrapped around a young woman in a black sheath who was walking unsteadily down the hallway. A second image showed Weber kissing the same woman at the doorway to an apartment. From the angle of the image, it must have been taken by a camera hidden high on the opposite wall. The video continued as the two of them entered Weber’s apartment and closed the door.

“There’s audio, too. Would you like to hear it?”

“No.” Weber put his hands over his ears. Hoffman pushed a button, and the feed was audible, a woman’s loud voice.

“You’ve been flirting with me for weeks. And then we get drunk, and we go up to your apartment. I take off my panties, thinking that’s what you want, and then you pretend that it’s all a big nothing.”

“Maybe we should just forget the dinner here. Go out and have a burger somewhere.”

“Fuck the dinner and fuck you, Weber.”

“She will make a powerful witness, Dr. Weiss. You were her hero. You helped her to discover the truth about James Morris. And then you callously took advantage of her as a subordinate.”

“How could she do that?” Weber muttered, more to himself than to Hoffman.

“She might well ask the same of you, sir. How could you? But here is the simple fact: I expect that Dr. Weiss will file a formal complaint of sexual harassment against you this morning, and we have corroborating video and audio evidence that supports her charge, as you can see. So as director of National Intelligence, it is my obligation to demand your resignation.”

Weber was bowed. He rose from his chair and headed toward the door, stooped-shouldered, seemingly defeated. He was shaking his head, muttering to himself.

“I think the curtain is coming down, old boy,” said Hoffman grimly. “If you try to attend your little Special Activities Review meeting tomorrow, you will be barred. As a former director, you don’t have access. Sorry.”

Weber turned on him. A spark seemed to come back into his eyes.

“You’re a bad magician,” said Weber.

Hoffman blinked. That was his only show of emotion, but he was stung by the comment.

“I beg your pardon.”

“Remember what you told me about magic, Cyril? It was my second week on the job. You said professional magicians know that a trick always has three parts: what people see; what they remember; and what they tell others. I think maybe you have forgotten your own advice. In this case, the three don’t fit.”

“Bosh! You are an amateur, if I may be frank. I warned you that you had no idea what you were getting involved in here, but you persisted. You were repeatedly warned, even by Dr. Weiss. Review the record, sir. But you were blind. You are the opposite of a magician. You are a vain and arrogant man, I am sorry to say it, but there it is, the truth.”

“How long was she working with you?” asked Weber.

“But Dr. Weiss was always working with me, and with her country. She is a career intelligence officer. There was never a moment in which she was not loyal to the president.”

Weber studied him. “One of us misjudged her.”

“
Ipse dixit.
You yourself said it. By the way, I did not tell you on my sailboat that I have any unauthorized investments with any Chinese company. And I never said that James Morris was a fall guy, or expendable, or anything of the sort. Any such claim is a lie.”

“She told you that? Or did you install a microphone?”

“She is a patriot,” said Hoffman. “Now get out of here. You are fired. They are already cleaning out your desk at the agency.”

“Have you considered the possibility that I have one more card?” asked Weber.

“Considered, and rejected. You are busted. Good luck with your supposed ‘card,’ whatever that may be.”

“We’ll find out tomorrow.”

Weber tipped his head toward Hoffman and left the office. Fong, his security chief, was waiting in the anteroom. So was Oscar, the driver. They rode to Langley in silence. When Weber got to the seventh floor, the entrance to his office was barred. Marie and Diana were in tears.

Weber embraced his two secretaries, which only made them weep more copiously. When they had calmed down, Weber had told them not to worry, that he had done nothing wrong. He asked them if he could use the conference room to make a few phone calls. He called two people. One was the deputy director of the FBI in charge of the National Security Branch. The other was Ruth Savin. He asked her to contact Ariel Weiss, urgently.

Weber waited for the public announcement that he had been fired, and the gruesome television footage that would accompany it. But through that night and into the next morning, the lid stayed on, and Weber suspected he knew why.

41

WASHINGTON

The meeting of the
Special Activities Review Committee the next day was delayed for some minutes by procedural issues. Ruth Savin and Earl Beasley were sitting in their seats, but Cyril Hoffman argued via his video link from Liberty Crossing that the committee couldn’t hold a session because the required quorum wasn’t present. The chairman, Timothy O’Keefe, wasn’t returning phone calls. Savin excused herself to consult some records in the general counsel’s office.

When Savin returned, she said that the meeting could indeed take place. The administrative rules required that a majority of the five members be present. The tinny sound of Hoffman’s voice came through on the speaker of the video monitor.

“But there are only two of you! How can you have a meeting?”

“Three,” said Savin. “O’Keefe is on his way from the White House.”

“No, he’s not,” said Hoffman.

“I just talked with him,” said the general counsel. “He’ll be here in ten minutes.”

Hoffman’s screen went dark.

Timothy O’Keefe arrived looking more than usually flustered. He greeted Savin and Beasley and took his seat at the head of the table and asked where Hoffman was. When informed that Hoffman was boycotting the meeting, O’Keefe got on the phone and ordered him to plug in, by the secure VTC line. In another minute, Hoffman’s face was visible once again on the screen. His demeanor, usually so calm, was marred by a slight tic at the corner of his mouth.

O’Keefe rattled a coffee cup with his spoon to call for order and begin the meeting.

“The president has asked me to thank the members for attending. We have one piece of business only today. The general counsel will make her report.”

O’Keefe nodded to Ruth Savin.

“I wish to report that at the written request of former director Graham Weber, the committee conducted a review of certain unauthorized actions by the director of National Intelligence in contacting a senior intelligence officer of the Russian federation named M. V. Serdukov. In the course of that investigation, the committee obtained a written statement from the FBI’s National Security Branch describing the DNI’s unauthorized activity in flying to France. We have been informed by French civil-aviation authorities that the tail number of his plane was N85VM.”

On the monitor, Hoffman’s face was growing more agitated. He coughed, stood up, walked away from the camera and then returned with a tissue, which he used to wipe his brow.

“That trip to France was approved by the White House,” interjected Hoffman on the video monitor.

“No, it wasn’t,” said O’Keefe.

Savin looked to O’Keefe, who nodded. She continued.

“The committee received corroborating testimony this morning from a witness who said she spoke personally with DNI Hoffman about his planned trip to meet with the Russian official concerning James Morris. This witness met with me this morning for an hour and reviewed details of the DNI’s activities, including classified documents that she gave him for delivery to the Russian official, at DNI Hoffman’s insistence.”

“Impossible,” said Hoffman on the monitor. “Ariel Weiss would never do that. She intends to submit evidence charging Graham Weber, not me.”

“I think you are mistaken,” said Savin. “Dr. Weiss is down the hall, meeting with my lawyers. I can send you a copy of her affidavit as soon as it’s finished.”

“Perfidious,” said Hoffman quietly.

“We have confirmed that the documents Dr. Weiss prepared were marked for transmittal to you. Office of Security personnel at the Information Operations Center have reviewed the paperwork that Dr. Weiss provided them before your unauthorized trip to France.”

“Weiss is a liar. She’s in love with Weber. He tried to seduce her.”

“That’s out of line, Director Hoffman.”

“Shut up, Ruth,” said Hoffman. He moved to turn off the camera.

O’Keefe’s firm voice intervened.

“Sit down, Cyril. The FBI is outside your office now. Be quiet and listen.”

O’Keefe turned to Savin. She continued once more.

“I should caution you, Director Hoffman, that Dr. Weiss has told us the audio and video surveillance material was created under duress. She says you were monitoring her visit to Mr. Weber’s apartment, and that you threatened to fire her if she didn’t perform the actions recorded on tape. That incident is part of the criminal investigation that my attorneys have begun.”

“Are you all mad?” said Hoffman. “I have files that implicate every one of you.”

Savin looked at O’Keefe, who nodded once again for her to speak.

“I warn you, Director Hoffman, that such threats will only raise further questions about your misuse of office. I should also remind you that these VTC exchanges are being recorded.”

Hoffman looked at them all, dumbfounded.

“They’ve won,” he said.

“Who has?” asked O’Keefe.

“The ‘enemy,’ for lack of a more precise term. The people who want to give away the nation’s secrets and bring down the house. The naïve innocents. Morris, Weber, all of you.”

“We’re not enemies of the United States, Cyril. You are mistaken.”

“I am serving my country. Politicians are transitory but the nation’s interests are permanent. We cannot escape the responsibility of leadership, dear friends. If you think that’s possible, then you are the mistaken ones, grievously so. You are summer soldiers.”

“Cyril, I would suggest that you retain a lawyer,” said O’Keefe.

Hoffman rose once again. The monitor showed his large form moving toward the camera.

“Don’t turn off the camera,” said O’Keefe. “That’s an order.”

“I don’t care,” said Hoffman.

The monitor crinkled with static and then went dark. But the audio microphone was still working and the speakers carried a voice that spoke, oddly, with a combination of menace and good cheer.

“I’ll be back,” said Hoffman. “Of that you can be assured.”

O’Keefe looked at the two others at the table and nodded, really in deference, to another person, unseen.

“Can we please conclude this meeting, so we can all get back to real work?” said O’Keefe.

“Don’t bet against the billionaire. Didn’t I say that?” said Beasley, with a croupier’s smile.

“At the request of the president,” O’Keefe continued, “I am seeking a motion to dissolve this committee, effective immediately. Its mandate for deception and special activities will be reviewed by the National Security Council, but its authority is suspended pending completion of that review. Do I hear a motion?”

Savin responded.

“I move that we dissolve the Special Activities Review Committee, and transfer to other, existing committees, such legitimate business as the committee may have.”

“Do I hear a second?” asked O’Keefe.

“Second,” said Beasley.

“All in favor?” asked O’Keefe.

“Aye,” said Beasley, Savin and O’Keefe together.

“The motion is adopted, and the committee is hereby dissolved.”

“Now, where is Mr. Weber?” asked O’Keefe.

“Outside,” said Savin. “He’s waiting in the deputy director’s office.”

“Bring him in,” said the national security adviser.

Weber walked into the room, looking as if he hadn’t slept in a week.

“You need a vacation, brother,” said Beasley.

“Sit down,” said O’Keefe.

Weber took the empty chair next to the national security adviser.

“The president has asked me to tell you that he has chosen to ignore DNI Hoffman’s order that you be fired. The White House received a letter this morning from Dr. Ariel Weiss, saying that the evidence against you presented by the director of National Intelligence was fabricated.”

Weber closed his eyes, just for a moment, and then opened them again. “What does that mean?” he asked.

“It means that you are CIA director.” O’Keefe extended his hand. “You remain the proprietor of the ghost hotel.”

Graham Weber didn’t want to be in the office the rest of that day. He didn’t want to be anywhere, really. He thought of calling Ariel Weiss at the general counsel’s office, where she was still closeted with the lawyers, to ask her why she had done it, or to apologize, or to thank her. He wasn’t sure which, and he doubted she would answer, at least not until some time had passed. As he thought back over the events at his apartment that night, he realized she had assured him in her oblique way that Hoffman’s extortion gambit would fail because she would disavow it. “It won’t work,” she had said. She might have been living a triple life, but she had a single and admirable purpose.

James Morris broadcast a video message from Caracas. He was accompanied by Ramona Kyle, the founder of Too Many Secrets, the civil liberties group that had renamed itself “Open World.” Off camera were members of an international emergency assistance team that had been formed to help defend Morris and argue his case in the media. In that group, unseen by the reporters, was a handsome man with a slight East European accent who called himself Roger, and a starchy Yankee liberal, dressed in an old gray flannel suit and a striped rep tie, named Arthur Peabody. Peabody later gave interviews to selected reporters, on deep background, in which he disclosed that he was a former CIA officer and revealed new details about the conspiratorial activities of the agency to maintain what he called “the post-imperial order of 1945.”