The Switch, page 27
“That can’t be legal.”
“It is now, good buddy. We detained him for a month. Statute doesn’t say how long we can keep you. Could be longer.”
“And what happened to Padilla?”
“He’s in solitary in supermax prison in Colorado, ADX Florence, for twenty-one more years.”
“So he’s a terrorist. What does that have to do with me?”
“You,” Earle said through a yawn, “are in legal limbo.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Gosh, it could be a couple more weeks, a month, maybe longer, before you see a judge. Or a lawyer. Depends on how long it takes you to realize it’s time to hand over that laptop. To start cooperating with us. The time for games is over.” Earle gave another one of his sad smiles. Tanner saw teeth stained, probably by chewing tobacco. “We’re at what you’d call an impasse.”
“You ever see the movie Midnight Express?” Tanner asked.
“No, but I heard about it plenty.”
Tanner remembered the movie about an American college student who tries to smuggle drugs out of Turkey and is thrown in prison, where he’s tortured sadistically. It must have been lousy for the Turkish tourism business. He felt sort of like that college student.
“Isn’t that the one where the hero gets into a nasty fight with his guard and ends up spitting out the guard’s tongue?”
Tanner nodded.
“Won’t be anything like that here, I promise. Just between you and me and . . . the table, I think they did torture Mr. Jose Padilla. But those were tough times for the country. Compared to him, you’re being treated like a king.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much what I’d call it. Treated like a king.”
“The problem is, Michael, that you’ve broken the law, and a damned serious law it is. The Espionage Act. Whether you know it or not, it’s against the law to possess classified information without the proper authorization.”
“I don’t possess it. It’s not my laptop, it’s . . .” He thought a moment. “Someone else’s.”
“Whose?”
Tanner shook his head. They didn’t know the laptop belonged to a US senator. That was a fact he might be able to use as leverage. Something to hold on to, at least for now.
And then it came to him, like two puzzle pieces clicking perfectly together. They didn’t know it was Senator Susan Robbins’s laptop because they weren’t working with the senator’s chief of staff, Will Abbott.
They don’t know about him. “I’d feel a lot more talkative,” Tanner said, “if I was back home, in my own house.”
Earle crossed his arms, gave a crooked smile. He wasn’t buying. “Check out 18 USC 793. About the ‘willful retention of information relating to the national defense.’” He made little scare quotes, two fingers on each hand twitching in the air. “Whoever has unauthorized possession of information relating to the national defense and blah blah blah. That’s you, pal. You also knowingly passed classified information to a reporter.”
Tanner shook his head but didn’t argue.
“Maybe we should talk about your friend Lanford Roth.”
“Landon.”
“I always screw that up. Landon. We know he had documents on a whaddayacallit, a mini-thumb-drive thingo. Meaning you made a copy of those top secret documents and gave them to a reporter. To the news media. So please don’t feed me this line about You didn’t know what you have and you didn’t even look at it. You knew you had top secret national security documents, and clearly you read through them enough to decide to notify the press.” He shrugged. “I mean, you see where I’m coming from, right? And then there you are, playing Let’s Make a Deal with someone from the Russian GRU over flapjacks and coffee. You beginning to see why we might be concerned?”
“I didn’t know that guy was a Russian until—”
“I know, I know, I know. We heard it all. But it’s not going to look good to a grand jury, I don’t think.”
“I wasn’t even arrested or charged!” Tanner said.
“We’re back to that? There’s no shortage of lawyers in the national security division of the DOJ. We’ll get you arrested when the time is right.”
“Are we in a police state now? Is that what’s happened?”
“Lucky for you we’re not a police agency or we’d get you for killing a man. On Mayfield Street in Boston, right?”
Tanner smiled furiously. “Yeah, the man you sent to kill me.”
Earle looked as if Tanner had slapped him suddenly. “Aw, now, come on.”
“You sent that guy to kill me.”
“No, sir, we did not. Most certainly did not. What you’re suggesting is an affront. We are a highly professional operation with a headcount of sixty-five thousand and about that many contract employees. You think we’re going to outsource to some Boston hit man? With a goddamned police record? You don’t seriously think we’d hire some third-rate mobster, now, do you?”
Tanner just looked at him. He had a point. Maybe it wasn’t the NSA that had tried to have him killed.
“I mean, hell. That’s crazy. I got people on staff that’d do this. We send somebody to take you out, you’ll be out.” He folded his arms, sat back again. “No, sirree, if we sent somebody to kill you, we’d be meeting at a cemetery and you wouldn’t be doing much talking.”
“And Lanny Roth?”
Tanner waited for the inevitable denial and was surprised when Earle offered, after a few seconds, “The reporter.”
“His murder set up to look like a suicide,” Tanner said. “Pills and booze all around him when he died. Probably in his bloodstream too.”
Earle looked thoughtful, maybe even a little distraught. “Yeah, that sounds like something the Theta team would do.” He said it matter-of-factly, but not approvingly. Almost as if he were processing it. “Which is not a confirmation of anything. It’s a hypothetical surmise about a hypothetical entity.”
“Theta?”
“Never mind. Can’t change the past. Let’s talk about your future.”
“I demand to see a lawyer immediately.”
“Sure. All in good time. You got a problem with this? Welcome to life after 9/11.”
“I’ll tell you something else,” Tanner said. “I’m supposed to e-mail a buddy of mine every day by two o’clock in the afternoon. If he doesn’t get any e-mails from me after four days, he’s going to start e-mailing documents to a list of people. Including The New York Times.”
“Ye olde dead-man switch. Right? Clever. But I’m calling your bluff.” Earle smiled delightedly, a kid playing a game. “We’re keeping a pretty close watch on a whole lot of people you know. Including people you forgot you knew. You’ve got a lot of friends, I’ll give you that.”
Tanner shrugged as if it didn’t make a difference whether Earle believed him or not. Unfortunately, Earle had called it right.
“So that’s where we are, Michael. Without that laptop, there’s really nothing I can do to help.”
“Are you at least going to give me one phone call?” Tanner said.
“You want a phone call? I’ll give you one phone call, ’cause I like your coffee.” Earle looked up and spoke to the wall. “Please bring in a landline for my friend here.” Turning back to Tanner, he said, “Mobile phone signals are jammed in here, sorry.”
The door opened about a minute later, and a large bulky black touch-tone phone on a cord was brought in by one of the bullet-headed guards. He placed it on the table in front of Tanner. Its wire ran across the floor of the cell and into the hallway. Then the guard left, closing the heavy-sounding door behind him.
Tanner looked at the phone, picked it up, heard the dial tone, then replaced the handset in its cradle. Calling Jamie North was pointless; the lawyer had made it clear he would never represent Tanner. Call The New York Times or the Associated Press or something? His call would be ignored. He wanted to call Sarah, wanted to talk to her, hear her voice. But he knew there was one call that could get him out of here.
Earle saw Tanner looking at the phone. “You want a phone number, we’ll get it for you in a jiffy. No shortage of computers here. You remember when they used to give out those big thick phone books? Man, those days are gone, huh?”
“Yeah, I need a phone number,” Tanner said.
“What’s that?”
“There’s a guy I know in Washington, went to school with a friend of mine.” He spoke mostly to himself. “What’s his name? . . . I met him a few times . . . He’s the chief of staff to Senator Roberts—Robbins, that’s it. Chief of staff to Senator Robbins. I don’t remember his name, but I bet he could sort this out. Just connect me to the senator’s office.”
68
This is Senator Robbins’s office.”
“William Abbott, please.”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“Michael Tanner.”
Will Abbott picked up the line instantly. “Mr. Tanner—”
Tanner cut him off. “Yes, I don’t know if you remember me, but we met through Seth, in Boston—?”
“Tanner—”
“Hold on. I need your help. I’m being held at, uh . . .”
Tanner looked at Earle, who said, “The new federal detention facility right outside Waldorf.”
“At the new federal detention facility outside Waldorf, Maryland. By the National Security Agency. Now, I’m sure you’d like me to cooperate with them. But before I do, I was hoping you might be able to talk sense into our friends here. Thanks.”
He handed the phone back to Earle. “I think he wants to talk to you.”
• • •
“Is this Deputy Director Lash?” Will said. “Yes, this is Will Abbott. I’m the chief of staff to Senator— Right. Will Abbott.” Will stood up and, stretching the phone’s curly cord, he walked over to his office door and pushed it closed.
“Well,” he continued, “I don’t know what the hell your agency thinks it’s doing, but this isn’t some . . . Abdul Mohammed you’ve got locked up. This is a respected Boston businessman, a well-known member of my boss’s . . . support community. I mean, there have been articles written about this guy. Right. Michael Tanner. He’s at your detention complex near Waldorf.”
Will was trying not to sound panicked, which he was.
NSA had grabbed Tanner! Did they have the senator’s laptop too? Had Tanner told them whose laptop he’d accidentally picked up? If so, they already knew where the leak had come from. And her career was over. As was his. All Tanner had to do was answer their first question.
Tanner, who was obviously calling from a monitored line and knew it, had figured it out. He knew that Will was desperate not only to get the boss’s computer back but to keep secret whose computer it was. And to keep that compromising information secret from the NSA in particular.
So Tanner was making an unmistakable, implicit threat. If you don’t get me out of detention by the NSA, I will tell them whose computer I ended up with. And you sure as hell don’t want that.
No, Will sure as hell didn’t want that.
“This is very much an oversight matter,” Will said crisply. “You’re holding an American citizen in detention for what exactly? We find this highly troubling.”
He listened for a minute and then broke in: “And now your agency is asking for another ten billion dollars in black-box allocations? Well, the senator is going to have to take a very careful look at that. Especially if you persist in holding a noncharged US citizen in a prison cell. Do we need to get the entire committee involved in this?”
Will listened a bit longer. “Okay,” he said. “I’m glad I’m getting through to you.”
• • •
“Yes, sir, absolutely. The very next thing I do.” Earle put down the phone.
He swiveled around in his chair, which emitted a moan. “Well, Michael, I sure underestimated you. You obviously have some kinda juice in this town. I don’t know who you know, but you sure pushed the magic button. That was the deputy director. My boss. And you, my friend, you are free to go.”
Earle shook his head with what looked like disbelief.
69
Mr. Tanner,” Will said.
Michael Tanner emerged from the side entrance to the federal detention facility, a hulking brick windowless structure the size of a city block, built on the site of an abandoned strip mall. Tanner looked around uncertainly. The man looked wearier since Will had last seen him in Boston. He had obviously been through a lot.
Well, so had Will.
He offered his hand, and Tanner shook.
“Good to see you again,” Will said.
“Glad we could do business.”
“Me too.” Will gestured with a hand. “My car is right outside.”
The NSA had offered to convey Michael Tanner to Washington National Airport. But Tanner had apparently decided that the less time spent in the company of the NSA, the better. He’d get a ride with Will.
Will unlocked the car doors, and when Tanner got into Will’s Audi—technically Jen’s, but she never used it; she almost always took the Metro—his knees touched the dashboard. He was a much taller man than Will. He pulled back on the seat-adjustment lever to slide the seat back. Then he shut his door.
Once they’d pulled away from the curb, Will said, “Did you tell them whose laptop you have?”
“Of course not. You were my secret weapon. I wasn’t going to give it away.”
“Secret weapon? How do you figure?”
“It was a simple calculation.”
“Oh yeah?”
“The same calculation you’re making too. See, I had a lot of time to think. And I figured something out.”
“Like what?”
“The NSA doesn’t know whose laptop is missing. And you really don’t want them to know.”
“Why not?”
“Because then they’d learn that your boss had classified information on an unsecured laptop. And that’s probably a major no-no.”
“Huh,” Will said.
“I know I’m just a coffee guy, but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to keep classified information on a regular old computer. And I’m thinking, if the NSA ever found her laptop, your boss, the senator, would be in deep doo-doo.”
“Huh.”
“You don’t want them to find the laptop. And I’m happy to be rid of it.”
“And where is it?”
“In a safe place in Boston.”
“Then we’re going to Boston.”
“We?”
“Part of the deal. You’ll notice I’ve put my trust in you that you’re going to keep your end of the bargain and give me that laptop back without any more games.”
“Then again,” Tanner said, “you did try to have me killed.”
Will stiffened, felt his body go alert: a physical sensation. He looked at the road, compressed his lips while he considered how to reply. He glanced to his right and was surprised to find Tanner smiling.
“At first I thought it was the NSA that sent the guy,” Tanner said. “But it wasn’t. By process of elimination, I figured it out. It was you.”
Will let out a breath, shook his head. “He wasn’t going to kill you or anything like that,” he said. “He was only going to put a scare into you.”
“The guy was a goddamned hit man,” Tanner said.
There was a long pause. “You think I’m some kind of ogre, because you don’t know me. I get that. What makes it so strange for me is that I know you—”
“Except you don’t.”
“I’m not even talking about the file we put together, the bio stuff. I look at you, and yeah, I know you. You’re the high school star, the scholar-athlete, the center of the high school universe. Guys like you, we used to call you the barbarians. The warrior class. You could get anything you wanted, any girl you wanted.”
“Yeah, right,” Tanner said.
“Everyone always sucked up to you, even the teachers. Everyone wanted to get on your good side. Whereas I didn’t have a side. I was the kid you never looked at twice. I mean, Dad was dead by the time I was fourteen. Mom worked as a receptionist for a dentist—she sold houses on the side to keep us afloat—but there was a lot of coupon clipping going on. Maybe I had the wrong brand of sneakers. Or my clothes didn’t fit the way they were supposed to. Or maybe I’m just making excuses. I was the guy who ran for class treasurer in college and got his ass handed to him. But you know what? It took me a while, but I found a place.”
“Good,” Tanner said. “I’m glad.”
Will looked uneasy, as if he’d talked too much. Then, crisply, he said: “I suggest we take the Acela back to Boston.” That was the relatively high-speed train between Washington and Boston.
“Isn’t flying faster?”
“I have a problem with flying.”
“Well, I don’t mind the Acela,” Tanner said.
A moment of silence passed while Will turned onto Route 301 heading north to DC. Tanner was looking at something on the right of the road. Then he turned back to him and said, “So how’d you convince them?”
Will smiled. “I speak with the authority of a powerful US senator. The higher-ups listen. They get it. Isn’t that why you called me?”
“Partly.”
“As long as we’re clear.”
“I’m clear. I give you the laptop and we never have to see each other again.” Tanner said it in a not unfriendly way, though.
“You also have agreed not to talk about whose laptop it is and what’s on it. In return I ensure the NSA leaves you alone.”
“Okay. As agreed.”
“From now on you’re protected. But no more passing documents on to reporters. You go back to your life. And don’t look back. Don’t turn into a pillar of salt.”
“Got it. So why are you so desperate to get this laptop back?”
