The Bin Laden Plot

“Because you’re sloppy. Your business associates thought they were clever, using point-to-point communications to defeat satellite intercepts, but we have assets covering those transmissions as well. You’re lucky the intercept was made by a black program under my cognizance and that the senior man in charge had more allegiance to me than to the Navy.”

It took a moment for Snyder to process Brenda’s statement — about a man who had more allegiance to her than the Navy. “You’re having another affair?”

“And you’re a saint?”

Snyder offered no response.

“I’ve put my reputation and career on the line for you, and you’re not even my favorite brother!”

Snyder remained silent, waiting for Brenda’s fury to run its course. But then he keyed on Brenda’s use of the past tense — had more allegiance — when referring to the man who helped her cover his tracks.

“This man who helped you conceal the information. Why did you refer to him in the past tense?”

Snyder’s question inflamed her. “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for you!” she said as she poked him in the chest, her face turning red. “If the wrong people discover what I’ve done, I’ll be in jail for the rest of my life!”

“What have you done?”

“I’ve cleaned up most of the loose ends.”

“How, exactly, have you taken care of these loose ends?”

“I have contacts. I didn’t get to where I am without forging alliances with powerful people. The problem has been taken care of. You just need to stay out of trouble from now on.”

“What about Larson? Have you taken care of him?”

“Who’s Larson?”

“He’s the man I hired to ship the equipment, although it’s probably not his real name. I don’t think he’s a man you want to mess with, though.”

Brenda considered the new information, concluding he shouldn’t be a problem. “I’ll trust that he’s the type of man whose silence you buy along with his services.”

Snyder nodded. “I got that impression.”

Brenda folded her arms across her chest, the color of her face slowly returning to normal.

“What now?” Snyder asked.

“There are data archives on a submarine and UUV that contain the intercepted data. Once those are destroyed, you’ll be in the clear.”

She chose not to explain how those files would be destroyed. The less her brother knew, the better.

24 LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

The morning mist had begun to lift as Harrison was waved through the main gate at Langley. As he approached the parking garage, his cell phone vibrated. It was Khalila.

“Heads up,” she said when Harrison answered. “We’ve been directed to attend a meeting in the director’s conference room at 8 a.m.”

“What’s the topic?”

“The meeting invite doesn’t say, but I’m sure it’s about the file on McNeil’s flash drive. When I stopped by Analysis this morning to check on the decryption status, the tech told me the file activated a trip wire of some sort when it was decrypted. He said McFarland got called back into the office last night.”

Harrison checked his watch: 7:55 a.m.

“I just pulled into the parking garage. I’ll meet you on the seventh floor.”

He joined Khalila as he stepped from the elevator, and the pair headed toward the director’s office. When they entered the adjoining conference room, Harrison immediately registered the tension in the air.

Christine was seated at the head of the table, flanked by Bryant and Rolow on one side and McFarland on the other. The DDA had her laptop computer open, with several thick folders stacked beside it. She looked exhausted, as if she’d been up all night.

No greetings or smiles were offered.

“Have a seat,” Christine said.

After they settled into their chairs, Bryant asked Khalila, “Where did you get this file?”

Khalila turned to Harrison, who answered, “From John McNeil’s widow. What is it?”

“It’s a video of the Abbottabad raid, during which Osama bin Laden was killed. A raid that both you and McNeil participated in. Apparently, you’ve been keeping secrets,” Bryant replied in an accusatory tone.

“As I should have,” Harrison countered. “I’m not allowed to share those details with anyone not read into the program.”

“It was a CIA-led operation,” Bryant replied with attitude. “A reasonable person would assume that the people around this table, aside from Khalila, are authorized access to that information.”

“Until thirty seconds ago, my participation in that operation wasn’t relevant. Now that it is, what would you like to know?”

There was a short silence as Harrison stared Bryant down.

McFarland replied instead. “We want to know how this highly classified and sensitive video was floating around in the public domain.”

“You’d have to ask John McNeil. He gave the flash drive containing the video to his wife the morning he was killed. He put it in an envelope with my name on it, then told his wife to give it to me if anything happened to him.”

“Was there anything else in the envelope?” McFarland asked.

“A note in McNeil’s handwriting, which said — 3rd floor desk. Find him.”

Bryant and Rolow exchanged looks, then Rolow spoke next.