Termination Orders(27)

“What—” said Lamb, trying to keep his voice steady. “What do you want?”

They were in Nickerson’s office. Nickerson had pulled the drapes shut for a claustrophobic effect and left his standing lamp as the only light source. It cast enormous dark shadows on the walls. It looked, he observed with pleasure, like an interrogation room.

“Barry . . .” said Nickerson. “Barry, Barry, Barry. What kind of man do you suppose I am? I hope you see this for what it is. I hope you realize that this is me helping you.”

“Helping me?” said Lamb. He was sweating. And Nickerson loved to watch them sweat. He loved that special blend of shame and fear they got when they sat in that chair. He wondered if Lamb would cry.

“Why, Barry, this is your second chance. Your new lease on life.”

“What are you talking about? Oh, Jesus . . .” Lamb rubbed his temples.

“Think about it. If these pictures were in someone else’s possession . . . How many people do you know who would not immediately turn them over to the press? No, Barry, this is good news. This is your wake-up call. This is when you are confronted by your folly, Senator Lamb, and given the chance to turn things around.”

“Do you mean—”

“That I’m not going public with this? Of course not! Give me more credit than that, Lamb. I do not destroy a man’s life lightly.”

Lamb let out a sigh of relief, but his anxiety did not leave his face, and he still glanced nervously at the photographs every few seconds.

“Of course,” said Nickerson, “courtesy does go both ways, does it not?”

“What d-do you m-mean?” Lamb stammered. He was beyond the deer-in-the-headlights stage now. He fidgeted nervously with his hands.

“I mean, I need a stalwart ally on the Intelligence Committee. I believe we are going astray in the push for greater oversight.”

“Ah,” said Lamb, as it dawned on him. “So this is the price of your friendship?”

“It’s crass to talk about price. What we face here is a gentlemen’s agreement. A mutually beneficial relationship.”

“It’s blackmail. That’s what this is.” Lamb’s fists were balled up white.

Nickerson’s expression grew cold and flat, but he said nothing.

“I see what you are now, Nickerson. Jesus Christ, and to think you’ve actually got a reputation as a—Listen. I won’t be bullied, Nickerson. Do what you will. I’m not folding.”

Nickerson nodded. “I suppose I have to respect your integrity. Say, what do you think will make a bigger splash, Lamb—sending these to a reputable newspaper or going tabloid?”

Lamb stood up to face him. “You wouldn’t!”

“I suppose we could always split the difference and do both. What do you think?”

“Nickerson . . .” he said, pleading.

“Or maybe we trickle them out online,” Nickerson continued, ignoring him. “Make a game of how long we can keep this in the news cycle.”

“Please don’t do this,” said Lamb.

“Or,” said Nickerson, “you have a change of heart in the next three days and come out officially against Intelligence oversight.”

“I can’t just—”

“You can, Senator Lamb, and if you have any love for your career or your marriage, you will.”

Lamb just stood there, speechless and forlorn. The phone rang.

“You can go now,” said Nickerson. “I’ll be expecting news of your change of heart.”





CHAPTER 12


Dan Morgan walked out onto the tarmac, the sun shining on his face, as the plane Fastia had arranged awaited him, door open and engines running. They had made all the arrangements with a man in Afghanistan, and Morgan had called Jenny and told her the CIA wanted to keep him around for a few more days. He told her he wouldn’t have his cell phone for security reasons but that he would call her when he could. He didn’t like lying to her, and the thought of breaking his promise made him sick. But he had to do this, and he had to keep it a secret, even from her. He couldn’t let the CIA find out about it, and they had their ways. For all he knew, they were tapping his home phone.

“Cobra!” someone shouted from behind him. Alarmed, he turned around and saw Eric Plante jogging to catch up with him. That didn’t take long, he thought.

“What are you doing here, Plante?” Morgan asked. “You could have just called if you needed me for anything else.”

“Come off it, Cobra. I know you’re going to Afghanistan.”

“Afghanistan?” said Morgan, laughing incredulously. “I’m going home.”