CLOAK & CORKSCREW: 37) GETTING A GRIP

My Saturday Evening Post: A Novel of Intrigue & Lunacy

74.

Jenny Jones and her boss, the Special Agent-in-Charge of the FBI’s Washington field office, arrived almost simultaneously at Josh Penner’s Willard suite.

The movie star conveyed what he had been told by Jose Hernandez:  Woodward’s visit to Caracas had been approved.

Had Penner phoned Woodward with the news yet?

“You’re calling this, not me,” said Penner.

“Good,” said Jones.  “Don’t do anything yet.  We’re going to need guidance from headquarters.”

75.

Pen in hand, Jack Woodward sat over a paper tablet at his State Department desk mulling over options.

Travel to Caracas, show up at the presidential palace, demand a meeting with Chavez.

Disappear completely.  Costa Rica?

Do nothing.

Woodward remembered some sage advice he had had been given by a seasoned diplomat.  When in doubt, do nothing.

Wait and watch.  As for surveillance, perhaps paranoia was getting the better of him.  Short-term solution:  Xanax, a prescriptive anti-anxiety medication he used as a jet-lag remedy when traversing numerous time zones.

The fast-acting drug cut in, and Woodward already felt better when his cell phone chimed.  He drew a breath and answered.

“It’s me,” said Josh Penner.  Headquarters had reacted swiftly.  “I have great news!”

“Oh?”

“Our trip is on.”

“What?”

“We’re going to Caracas next week.  Happy?”

Woodward remained silent a few moments.  “Yes.  What about logistics?”

“I’ll book everything,” said Penner.  “I assume you’re planning to reimburse me.  The government’s paying, right?”

“Of course,” Woodward lied.

“Oh, and my friend asked a simple favor.”

“Go on,” said Woodward, with some trepidation.

“He said, and I quote, bring everything you can.”

“What does he mean by that?”

“He didn’t say,” said Penner.  “I assume he meant everything you need to bolster your case.”

“My case?”

“For a back-channel, right?”

“Oh, yeah.  Right.”

“I’ll contact you with flight arrangements.  I’m looking at Monday, okay?”

“Yes fine.”  Woodward disconnected and brooded.  He knew exactly what Hernandez meant.  Bring classified documents.   Woodward’s first inclination was to ignore the instruction.  Hernandez is trying to coopt my plan.  But the more he thought about it, the more sense it made for Woodward to do a show-and-tell:  a demonstration of how he could be so much more effective as a deep mole in D.C. than as a flash-in-the-pan trophy in Caracas.

And so Woodward set to work trying to identify the most sensitive, and the most current, assessments of Venezuela, along with recent cables from the U.S. Ambassador in Caracas.

He hit pay dirt when he found a week-old cable detailing the Venezuelan president’s health concerns specific enough for DISIP to uncover who among the dictator’s medical staff provided confidential information to the Americans.

For the first time since first meeting Jose Hernandez, Woodward felt he had a grip on his situation.