The Bin Laden Plot

“Finally” — Christine turned to McFarland — “I suppose we have the ability to infiltrate the JSOC data archives?”

McFarland smiled. “Depends on who’s asking…”

“Tunnel into the JSOC files. Find every bit of information on the Abbottabad raid and the prisoner they took custody of.”

“You got it,” McFarland replied.

26 WASHINGTON, D.C.

Christine’s Lincoln Navigator approached the White House, coasting to a stop beneath the West Wing’s north portico, offering protection from dark gray clouds that threatened to open in a downpour at any moment. After emerging from the SUV, she left her protective agents behind and entered the West Wing, on her way to an impromptu meeting with the president.

She was a few minutes early and decided to stop by the corner office occupied by Kevin Hardison, the president’s chief of staff and Christine’s White House nemesis during her three years as the president’s national security advisor.

While she was serving as NSA, Hardison had been a thorn in her side. She and Hardison had frequently found themselves supporting opposite positions on critical issues, and it hadn’t helped that she was a member of the opposite political party from the president and the rest of his staff and cabinet. Nevertheless, she had won more than her fair share of those debates, swaying the president to her side, much to Hardison’s chagrin, and the animosity between them had steadily grown over the years.

Hardison looked up from his computer when Christine appeared in his doorway.

“Afternoon, Christine,” he said in a surprisingly pleasant tone as he rose from his desk. “I see you’re here for a meeting with the president. Anything I can help you with?”

For the time being, Christine had decided to keep the Osama bin Laden issue between her and the president and had requested a private meeting. Hardison had no doubt noticed his exclusion.

“Nothing at the moment,” she replied. “But thanks for offering.”

“Not a problem,” he said as he approached. “I’ll walk you to the Oval Office.”

Hardison’s offer caught Christine by surprise. Since her transition to CIA director, Hardison’s demeanor had turned surprisingly cordial. The hostility toward her when she was on the president’s staff had been nothing personal, apparently.

As they strode down the seventy-foot-long hallway, side by side, Christine decided to probe where she stood with him — whether their previous adversarial relationship had truly been put behind them.

She began by inquiring about her replacement on the president’s staff. “How’s Thom Parham doing?”

Hardison wasted no time getting a barb in. “He’s top-notch, as opposed to the previous NSA.”

Christine wasn’t fazed by the comment. It was Hardison’s way of saying good morning.

He returned the query. “How are things going in Langley?”

“Quite well, especially since I no longer have to deal with an overbearing, type A chief of staff.”

Hardison offered no reply, but Christine noticed a small grin on his face.

“So,” Christine said, “you miss me, don’t you?”

Without breaking stride, Hardison replied, “Like a bad rash.”

After a few more steps down the hallway, he added, “Yeah, I miss you. Working with you was much more entertaining, I’ll admit. Parham is far too reasonable for my taste.”

Christine offered a smile of her own. It felt like she had never left the president’s staff.

When they reached the Oval Office, Hardison said, “Don’t be a stranger,” before heading back to his office.

Christine knocked on the Oval Office door and, after an acknowledgment, entered to find the president seated behind his desk, framed by tall colonnade windows overlooking the South Lawn and Rose Garden. The president stood and greeted her as she entered, motioning toward the two couches atop the oval carpet. It felt odd being treated as a guest instead of a White House staffer.

It felt even odder briefing the president on such a sensitive issue from a sofa instead of a chair before his desk, as she’d done countless times over the last three years.

“If it’s okay with you, Mr. President, I’d prefer to brief you at your desk.”

He smiled. “Of course. Like old times.”

He returned to his seat, while Christine took the middle chair facing his desk.

“So, all settled in at Langley?”

“Mostly. And as I mentioned during our last meeting, things are quite a bit more interesting across the river. There’s still a lot to learn, but I’m getting the swing of things.”

“That’s good to hear,” the president replied. “So, why the urgent meeting today?”

“An issue has come to my attention that you might be able to shed light on. A very sensitive issue.”

Her words piqued the president’s interest. “What might that be?”

Christine decided to skip the details on how they had obtained McNeil’s flash drive, and got straight to the point.