CLOAK & CORKSCREW: 36) THE TREATMENT
My Saturday Evening Post: A Novel of Intrigue & Lunacy
73.
The CIA’s Full Treatment commenced with a silver Lincoln Town Car pulling up to the Hay-Adams Hotel at 9 a.m. sharp.
Charles Mulberry, dressed in a suit and a crisp new white shirt and tie, alighted and found Brooke Holden of TZM waiting in the lobby, as appointed. The CIA officer knew what Holden looked like from checking Google images that morning.
Mulberry introduced himself. “Good morning, Mr. Holden. A real pleasure to meet you.”
Oddly, Holden recognized Mulberry’s face. But from where exactly? Then it hit him. Holden wordlessly shook hands, immediately amused by the song-and-dance put on for him.
In between them in the backseat: Copies of The New York Times and The Washington Post. Holden looked out the tinted windows. So this is what official Washington feels like. Then Holden whipped around to face Mulberry. “Have you ever met Josh Penner?”
Caught off guard, Mulberry shook his head.
“No?” Holden demanded.
Mulberry found his voice. “No.”
It was a kind of gotcha moment for Holden. He was tempted to call Mulberry a liar. Why, he had just looked at photos taken by Jeremy Katz that clearly showed Mulberry with Penner in United’s business-class lounge at Zurich airport. But Holden decided against confrontation. Let it all play out. Not everyone gets to visit CIA headquarters.
Uneasy now, Mulberry staved off impulses to count his teeth while Holden silently gazed out at scenic Washington, a drive that took them along the Potomac River, Virginia side, and glided them into the George Bush Center for Intelligence.
Mulberry phoned ahead, so that security officers manning the entry post would wave them through, the driver not even slowing until he swung left into the forecourt of the main building.
Tyler Dixon stood outside the glass doors, accompanied by CIA’s public affairs chief to personally welcome their guest.
“We are delighted you could join us today,” said Dixon. He handed Holden a Visitor’s badge and escorted him the Director’s private elevator—a nonstop ascension to the Seventh Floor.
That is where Deputy Director for Operations Chuck Livingston stood waiting. When the doors opened he greeted the TZM chief effusively, as if they were old college friends.
On cue, the CIA director appeared, big smile. He invited Holden into his office where a photographer hovered for a photo op. Then the director smiled again, and said, “Thank you for your cooperation, you are a great American.”
Holden nodded politely. What cooperation?
“Enjoy your briefing,” said the director, in lieu of goodbye.
Holden was ushered out of the director’s office and into an adjacent conference room. He sat on one side of the large rectangular conference table; Livingstone, Tyler and Mulberry facing him from the other.
Livingstone began by explaining his job as director of the national clandestine service, the covert side of the agency. He explained that it included a division called Foreign Research, of which his colleague, Tyler Dixon, was head. He nodded at Dixon, who pushed a document across the highly polished table toward Holden.
“It’s a confidentiality agreement,” said Dixon. “We’d like to brief you on how Foreign Research works, but we need your agreement to keep whatever we tell you secret.”
Holden did not touch the document, but folded his arms. “Gentlemen, I’m in the media business. It is my job to reveal the secrets of others.”
Dixon stirred.
Mulberry put his hand to his chin and began counting teeth from the outside of his mouth.
Livingstone smiled. “You wouldn’t want to publish what we tell you,” he said. “It isn’t showbiz gossip—no offense.”
“None taken.”
“We are going to provide context. But we do need your signature.”
“I already have my story, Chuck,” said Holden. ‘I’m just looking for confirmation.”
“And your story is…?”
“Josh Penner, working secretly for CIA.”
Livingstone exchanged glances with Dixon.
“Will you confirm this is true?” Hold pressed.
“Are you going to sign a confidentiality agreement?”
Holden shook his head. “No. I don’t need a briefing, and I’m only interested in context if you’re willing to tell me without restriction.”
“What is it you want us to confirm?” asked Dixon
“That Josh Penner works for you guys.”
“I can confirm,” said Dixon, choosing his words carefully, “that Josh Penner does not work for CIA.”
“Does a woman named Sophie Gunderson work for CIA?” asked Holden.
Livingstone’s jaw tightened. “We are not at liberty to identify our employees, even assuming such a person works for our agency. Aside from anything else, it is against the law.” The clandestine chief was quietly alarmed. While it was illegal for a government employee to identify Gunderson as a CIA officer, it was not illegal for a news organization to publish such. It would be the end of Gunderson’s career, fast-track or otherwise. “How did you come upon the name Gunderson?”
“You have your methods, we have ours,” replied Holden. “We don’t reveal our sources.”
“If you intend to expose Sophie Gunderson as an employee of our agency, there would be investigations. No stone would go unturned to uncover your source.” He paused. “I think we’re going down the wrong path here. There is no reason for acrimony between us.”
Holden shrugged. “I’m here, at your invitation, in my capacity as a publisher of information.”
“Mr. Holden,” said Livingstone, “we have a deep concern for the national security of our country. You’re interested in Josh Penner, correct?”
“Yes. Along with others he has been in contact with. Like Tom Richardson.”
Livingstone drew a breath, realizing his approach required a new turn. “With reference to Josh Penner, if I provide a briefing for you on deep background, which means you don’t attribute the information to me or this agency, are you prepared to bury any mention of Sophie Gunderson and Tom Richardson?”
Holden pointed at Dixon. “But he just said Penner doesn’t work for you?”
“Mr. Dixon is telling the truth. Josh Penner does not currently work for us.”
“But you’re saying he did?”
“I’m saying, I will brief you on Josh Penner, on deep background, no attribution, on the condition there is no mention of Gunderson or Richardson.”
“And I don’t have to sign that?” Holden shot his eyes at the confidentiality agreement.
“No. I’ll ask you to sign a simple agreement between us: We brief you, deep background, and in exchange you agree to leave Gunderson and Richardson out of anything you report.”
Holden studied the features of the three men studying him. “Just so I’m clear on this. I will be free to report what you tell me about Penner, so long as I don’t say it’s from you.”
“Correct. Our agreement will also prohibit you from identifying Sophie Gunderson to anyone. Or reporting Penner’s possible association with Richardson.”
Holden knew his audience. It was moved by Hollywood celebrity titillation, not the exposure of CIA spies. “That’ll work.”
Dixon wrote it up on a legal pad in language that satisfied both parties; a secretary typed it into a Memo of Understanding; Holden and Livingstone signed the document.
“We’ve had nothing more to do with Josh Penner since he was removed from an aircraft in Boston,” Livingstone began. “We in no way condone his behavior aboard that jet and we had nothing to do with his release from police custody.”
This puzzled Holden. “Then who did?”
Livingstone shrugged. “We don’t know and we don’t care. We washed our hands of Penner after that incident.”
“What about before you washed your hands of him?”
Livingston inhaled, a deep breath, and let it go. “On deep background, as agreed, I can confirm that Penner was once an access agent for this agency.”
“An access agent?”
“We used him as an access point to several foreign leaders of interest to us.”
“Which leaders?
“Fidel Castro and Hugo Chavez.”
“When you say used him, did he know he was being used?”
“Yes. He was a witting participant.”
“Did you pay him?”
“No. He did it out of patriotism.”
“So Penner isn’t really the left-wing liberal everyone believes?”
“He may well be,” said Livingstone. “We live in a diverse nation.”
“What exactly did he do?”
Livingstone turned to Dixon. “Tyler, brief Mr. Holden on how Foreign Research works.”
When Dixon was done, Holden sighed contentedly. But something still puzzled him. “If you’re done with Penner, why did he meet yesterday with someone who was obviously from the Venezuelan embassy, right here in Washington.”
“He’s in Washington?” said Mulberry.
“He was yesterday,” said Holden. “At the Willard.”
The FBI! Mulberry almost blurted it out loud.
“Penner is free to meet whoever he wishes,” said Livingstone. “But whoever he meets since we terminated our relationship with him has nothing whatsoever to do with CIA.”