Page 96 of Denied Access
The man seated across the table from Zeke leaned forward, his margarita still untouched.
This was a good sign.
Though the restaurant was one of the District’s hottest eateries,Zeke paid a sizable monthly tab to ensure that his table was always available. Tucked away in a dark corner far from the bar, restrooms, and exit, this space served as an office, entertainment venue, and, when necessary, confessional.
If his dinner guest felt he had to whisper, the man was about to deliver a doozy.
“Stansfield is the right guy, but this thing in Moscow caught everyone flat-footed. Nobody in the division has ever seen the Russians arrest an American spouse.”
Divisionwas short for the Near East Division, a CIA directorate responsible for several geographical regions across Europe and South Asia. Max Powers was the division chief and the man joining Zeke for cocktails, Jeremy Olson, was Max’s deputy.
Zeke paused with the martini halfway to his mouth before setting the drink back on the white linen tablecloth. “We’re friends, so I’m going to be blunt—what kind of shit-show operation are you guys running? You’re the Central Intelligence Agency. Nothing is supposed to catch you flat-footed. Here’s the deal: Stansfield has to go back in front of that Senate Select Committee before his nomination gets a full vote. If you want my boss’s help getting some of the Senate fence-sitters to find their courage, you’re gonna have to give me something. Something that shows your guy isn’t just rolling over for the Russians.”
“Come on, Zeke. You know I can’t—”
“Jeremy, stop. My boss and I both have clearances. You know that. Hell, I just finished my five-year poly. I would never ask you to divulge anything secret, especially here of all places. Just give me something to whisper into the ears of your two most problematic senators. Remember—this is all pro bono. You aren’t my client and I’m not your lobbyist. I’m just a patriot who wants to ensure that the right man gets to sit in the seventh floor’s corner office.”
Jeremy eyed him for a long moment, his fingers drumming out astaccato beat on the table. Zeke waited without speaking, allowing his argument and impassioned expression to do the work for him.
Everything he’d just communicated was true.
After a fashion.
“Here’s what I can say,” Jeremy said, his voice barely a whisper. “We have not rolled over for the Russians. Stansfield has hand-selected an interim chief of station, and she’s about to do something big. Hopefully Stansfield will be able to report the results of her operation to the committee in the SCIF prior to his open hearing, but if not, you can take this as gospel—the Russkies are about to get their asses handed to them by Moscow Station.”
Jeremy looked across the table expectantly.
Zeke sighed.
Loudly.
“I hear you, but this is you and me talking. In my business, your word is your currency. I can’t go back with whispers of something big only to have whatever it is you’re working on self-destruct on the launchpad again. Are you sure about this?”
“Positive,” Jeremy said. “It’s going to happen in the next twenty-four hours. You won’t hear about it on the news, but the classified cables from Moscow Station will bear me out. I’ll do what I can to get the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence a redacted version of the operational summary before Stansfield testifies. Barring that, I’ll see if there’s a morsel or two I can throw your way. This is big, Zeke. Maybe the biggest thing to come out of Russia in years.”
Zeke held Jeremy’s earnest gaze for a beat.
Then he slowly nodded.
“Okay,” Zeke said, holding up his hand, “Okay. I don’t need details. My boss has been working this town for fifteen years. He has a back pocket full of IOUs, and we’re prepared to cash them all in for Stansfield. Sorry to cut our cocktail hour short, but I need to start working the phones.”
“No apology necessary,” Jeremy said with a smile. “We’re grateful for your help.”
Zeke waved to the waiter to let him know they were done and then got to his feet.
He did need to start working the phones.
Just not the ones Jeremy expected.
CHAPTER 53
WASHINGTON, DC
ZEKEWilliams put his car in park and dashed into the convenience store.
The overcast skies had finally delivered on their threat, and rain was coming down in fat droplets. Nodding to the man behind the register, Zeke walked to the back of the establishment, where he pulled a six-pack of beer from the refrigerated display. After bundling the beer under his arm, he turned to the true purpose of his visit.
A wall-mounted pay phone.
