The Perfect Teacher Read online

  And he possessed a poker face that put professional gamblers to shame. Gave nothing away. Ever.

  Wyrick really enjoyed his visits with this honest to goodness CIA throwback. Always interesting.

  Wyrick smiled across the table at Broley looking down at three stacks of paper the elder stats man laid out a few minutes earlier. The meeting started precisely on time at 10:30 am. Broley's young protégé sat two chairs to his left. She didn't say a word during the meeting. Just watched and took notes.

  "We went over this last time Caff." Wyrick shook his head ever so slightly as he spoke. "And I'm pretty sure we covered it extensively during our meeting two months ago."

  Broley brought the round-rimmed reader glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. "Yes, but your answers provided only partial elements of the necessary details. There is still a significant portion of the report lacking vital information."

  "Vital?"

  "Vital. Necessary. We need those elements, those details to be able to file a complete report." Broley ended the statement with the briefest fake smile. The very edge of his lips turned up for a whole half a second. Wyrick wondered how many times Broley put Seibel through all this over the years.

  "And I think I told you last time that this whole process would be a lot easier if you would provide me your report, or a draft version, and I can review and add the aforementioned necessary details." Wyrick eased back in his chair and dropped his chin slightly.

  Broley shook his head and turned to his young auditor partner who also shook her head. "Despite your many objections Mr. Wyrick, I have to re-state my belief you undoubtedly spoke to Seibel before his departure and he advised you to take this tack, this approach to our work."

  "I have no doubt Seibel asked for copies of your reports before they were filed. Any good project manager would do the same." Wyrick replied.

  Broley raised his eyebrows at that. "Ah, and that is where you two appear to be cut from the same cloth. No one else in the agency asks for copies of the reports. No one else seems to work so hard to withhold or obfuscate vital information."

  "There you go again with the 'vital' talk. I simply don't see how the questions you're asking are related to vital details." Wyrick raised his hands a little. Arms spread, palms up. "I've supplied all of the necessary elements per OIG standards. Dates, locations, subject history and background; hell you have the credit card receipts. Your generally accepted government accounting principals and practices are all covered."

  Broley raised his head then lowered it. Obviously stretching his neck. He sucked in his lips and exhaled. It was all very practiced. "Again, and maybe for the last time Mr. Wyrick, this process, this report is not personal." He reached out his hands and set them on two of the stacks of paper on the table. "This operation report, like every audit we produce, is done per established OIG policies. The procedures we adhere to are well established. They're decades old. And the only thing that makes our reports useful is details. And maybe even a little bit of truth."

  There we go. Wyrick loved it. This was the heart and soul of Broley and his life's work - the truth.

  "No such thing. Doesn't exist." Wyrick nodded. He took over a Special Activities Division role left vacant when Seibel was forced to skedaddle under cover of night years ago. The bureaucracy required to get anything done around here was something Seibel kept from Wyrick all those years he worked as an independent contractor for the old spymaster. "You know full well that human truth is what we make of it." Wyrick's turn to place his hands on the stacks next to Broley's wrinkled and age-speckled hands. "You'll never find the truth in these piles of paper or in your final reports. The truth only exists for a moment, in that moment. Truth changes every second, every day. What was true when we walked into this room 10 minutes ago is no longer the case. The world spins on its axis and time folds the truths of the past into an unknown future."

  "Again with the Seibel talk. Like you're reading from a script he left you."

  "Veritas. La verdad. The truth." Wyrick looked up at the ceiling as he whispered. "And Seibel's been gone almost four years now. At some point you are going to have to let all that go." How many times did Seibel have to sit here and go over this endless berating of minutia with Broley?

  Broley smiled and nodded. He turned to his protégé and sighed. "We tried. But Mr. Wyrick, like the living legend in exile before him, refuses to play by the rules. We are left with missing pieces, an incomplete puzzle once again."

  His young attentive protégé raised her eyebrows and wrote a few more scribbled words on the pad of paper on the table in front of her. And then for the first time Wyrick could recall, she spoke. "Actually, the only truth in this world is accurately recorded actions. Truth is what is done and retained, not what is said."

  Wyrick's turn to raise his eyebrows. "What we do, not what we say." Wyrick pursed his lips and nodded his head. "I like it."

  The three of them shared a smile. Broley brought his reader glasses back down from his nose to rest on his chest. "Thanks Abbie."

  Chapter 4

  Pricks get put in charge all the time. Tom Brewer, the CIA career guy at the helm of the newly formed Bin Laden Issue Station was a classic prick. Classic.

  Wyrick felt the need to wipe his hand off on his pant leg after shaking Brewer's outstretched hand the first time they met two years ago. Didn't hide it very well either. He'd avoided shaking that hand ever since. Far too many inside the CIA are holier than thou types who believe their view to be the only one that matters. Brewer was one of them.

  The Bin Laden Issue Station was established as a multi-disciplinary consortium of the CIA, FBI, NSA and Defense Intelligence. To date, the station hadn't learned much more on its own than how to spell Osama Bin Laden and al Qaeda. What they did know was primarily based on information shared by Jamal Al-Fadl, an al Qaeda defector who walked into the US Embassy in Eritrea in the spring of 1996. The dude evidently stole $110,000 from Bin Laden and needed somewhere to hide from his master. The US received him with open arms and an open checkbook.

  Over the ensuing two years, Al-Fadl told his CIA minders plenty of interesting tidbits about the mysterious Bin Laden and his devious plans. He detailed hints of many more terrorist attacks like the embassy bombings in Kenya and Tanzania. Al-Fadl claimed that more than 50 countries had al Qaeda cells activated. And this was two years ago when he ran away from OBL.

  If any of Al-Fadl's stories were true, the good guys were years behind al Qaeda. The loose network of Islamic fundamentalist terror cells painted by Al-Fadl's tales was scary stuff. The guy trickled out information as long as his minders paid his bills and looked the other way when he indulged in his many vices. And of course, there was the very real concern that Al-Fadl was making most of his stories up to keep the money flowing.

  Sitting in a low-lit briefing room listening to Brewer give his report to 20 or so assembled counter-intelligence and counter-terrorism experts, Wyrick snickered silently. The guy's "prickness" was on full display. Wyrick imagined Brewer had a little Al-Fadl sitting in his shirt pocket whispering the words he then recited to others. He was talking like he and his elite team had it all figured out, like they knew where Bin Laden was right now.

  And that, by the way, was exactly what the room wanted to know. Where is Osama Bin Laden, right now, right this minute? Teams and processes and paperwork and briefings and de-briefings were working on overdrive in the days after the two embassy bombings. A retaliatory response was in the immediate offing. It had one of those BS names projects emanating from DC often get. Operation Infinite Reach.

  Cool. Great.

  "The latest field reports from Afghanistan place OBL in Kandahar and at the training facility pictured here." Brewer stated as he pointed at the projector screen.

  "So which is it? Kandahar or the training camp?" It was a high-ranking member of NSA.

  "Both."

  "So we are hitting both?"

  "No, plans are for only striking the training facility at this ti
me." Brewer nodded.

  "And we are just hoping Bin Laden will be there." A statement. Not a question.

  "Correct." Brewer answered. "We are working with the best available information, satellite imagery and distilled field data."

  Others in the room either looked at each other or the image projected on the screen. A rep from FBI broke the awkward silence. "And the pharmaceutical plant in Khartoum, we are confident in this choice because why?"

  Brewer advanced the presentation to an aerial image of the facility in question. "Confidence is high. Very latest intelligence, including several dirt samples from around the facility with trace amounts of weapons grade chemicals, confirms our theories."

  "I guess that is what we have to work with." FBI said. "Dirt samples."

  Brewer cleared his throat. "It is. Updates from the field and local resources are being received daily, hourly. We are confident we will see results with strikes on both targets."

  It took all of Wyrick's strength not to crack up, to hold back a smile. Operation Infinite Reach was going to involve dozens of Tomahawk missiles fired from US Navy ships and submarines in the Red Sea and Persian Gulf. They would undoubtedly cause significant damage and most likely bring about loss of life. Maybe even kill a few al Qaeda terrorists. Maybe.

  Wyrick just happened to be one of a few folks in the country who knew how much a Tomahawk cruise missile costs. He asked a CentCom contact a while back and was surprised to get a direct answer. "Just over $750,000 each."

  So, quick math on Operation Infinite Reach and its use of 100 cruise missiles meant a sweet little $75 million. And that's without any ancillary costs, including human resources, fuel, logistics, satellites, you name it. That pushed the cost for this exercise in retribution to more than $100 million.

  A cheap price to pay if it was successful. A complete waste when it misses OBL.

  It was the message more than the results. 'We will strike them where they lay, where they live'. Wyrick knew it to be what it is, a colossal joke. Huge waste of time and money.

  The only message a bunch of Tomahawk missiles would send was "we are fighting the last war." Terror cells in Afghanistan and Libya and Germany and New York City aren't afraid of missiles. You have to send this new brand of killers a completely different memo. You need to put a gun to their head and pull the trigger and then do it again and again to other heads. Take the other team's players off the board through any means possible. That is the only way to win.

  Wyrick knew this strategy well and he knew the type who could carry it out, again and again and again. He needed this briefing to wrap up so he could get out of here and travel to an off the books meeting in rural Virginia. Wheels were turning.

  Seibel and Fuchs and Preacher would be there.

  Chapter 5

  "This is really out of my hands. I'm not able to control the situation at all."

  Not the words Wyrick wanted to hear. Especially since they were spoken by the deputy director of the Central Intelligence Agency. Number two in charge.

  "I understand the need for independent review of the agency," Wyrick responded after a few vacant seconds. "But Broley is digging into things he hasn't messed with before. And he's not letting up. Four meetings during the last month all on the same cases."

  "He is indeed digging. More than many of us can recall." The deputy director smiled and shook his head. Both signs of resignation on this topic. Wyrick wasn't going to get any action.

  Broley and his incessant audits were not the reason for this meeting; Wyrick just thought he'd give it a try.

  "Isn't he near retirement?"

  "There's talk of that. But no one is willing to push the subject. Guy is basically untouchable." Number two replied.

  Wyrick let that be it while the deputy director leafed through several sheets of paper in the folder Wyrick handed him when they sat down a few minutes earlier. Wyrick took advantage of the silence and gazed around the office. They were seated at a conference table over to the side of the large office. The deputy director's desk was on the other side of the room.

  After taking in the photos, plaques and artwork on the walls, Wyrick turned back to the man seated across from him. Totally unremarkable. Nothing about the man drew you to him and that was likely his secret weapon. He'd served time in covert ops fieldwork overseas. He'd been based at four embassies in 15 years before being brought back to Langley over a decade ago. He'd been groomed for leadership. Smart guy.

  "Just so you are aware," Wyrick broke the silence.

  Number two at CIA, flipped another page and looked up. "Yes."

  "The three cases Broley is looking into all involve one particular operative."

  This got a reaction. The deputy director closed the folder he'd been working through and set it down on the table. "Uh-huh. And now I know why you're really here. The contents of this docket don't really seem all that..."

  "What?"

  "Wyrick. Nothing 'Wyrick' here. Just like your predecessor, you don't ask for or take meetings unless they are truly necessary. The stuff in here doesn't rise to that level."

  "I think there is some pretty good material in there. Downright dangerous." Wyrick motioned to the folder. His smile said something else.

  "No, it is good, but not something you'd ask for a meeting to discuss. You'd just handle it." The deputy director leaned back in his chair. "So, I'm guessing we are about to talk about the subject no one talks about?"

  "Yep." Wyrick nodded.

  "Can't say I'm thrilled." CIA number two shook his head and looked at the ceiling.

  "Me neither. I, like my predecessor, work diligently to limit any discussion of the topic to strictly need to know."

  Both men shook their heads.

  "Broley is working three cases?"

  "That I'm aware of."

  "You know the cases, the operations? Don't get me wrong, I know they are all yours, but some of them exist outside of any official capacity."

  Wyrick nodded. "The three Broley brought to me all involve the same operative. I know the operations well. All very unofficial. Black ops. Blacker than black. Total denial of existence level stuff."

  "Crap." The CIA's deputy director leaned back further and looked up at the ceiling again. "Man, how did others deal with things like this? You briefed me on all this with just the slimmest of details when I assumed number two a couple years back, but this is the first time we're talking about it, correct?"

  "That is correct." Wyrick confirmed.

  Number two spun his chair away from the table. He got up and took a couple of steps to stretch his back. He turned back to Wyrick. "You're what, four years into this gig? Any of these cases, items, projects, whatever, involving this operative ever come up? Besides that crazy thing at the Capitol, that is."

  The deputy CIA director didn't need to mention any details. The attempted assassination of the president by a US representative during a speech to both houses of Congress was still a fairly recent event.

  "Preacher." CIA number turned away and looked out the window before saying the word. After letting the name hang in the air for ten seconds or so, he sighed. "I know the rules. Not safe to say the name. But I'll say it. Thank God that guy was there that night."

  Wyrick smiled. "Yep. And the world will never and should never learn about the other times we've been lucky to have him working for us."

  "And that's why you're here. No one should learn the details of projects involving... Preacher." The guy was definitely not comfortable saying the name. "Broley is now looking into three such operations?"

  "Correct. He doesn't even know what he's got in his hands. From what I can tell, he's never looked into cases involving this particular operative." Wyrick leaned forward to gather the folder and notebook on the table. He'd done his job here.

  The deputy director turned back to Wyrick. "What do you think might happen if he keeps digging?"

  Wyrick was direct. No hesitation. "Something bad. People's lives may be put in danger."


  "You don't mean-"

  "I do mean. There is no grey area here; no blurred lines. This is black and white. There are rules that can't be broken. And this is one of Seibel's golden ones. Preacher is off limits. The old man could be dead ten, twenty years and the unlucky person who decides to bring Preacher out into the open will undoubtedly get a visit from Seibel's ghost."

  "That guy. His spirit will haunt this place forever."

  "Some people get things done in ways that others find uncomfortable. Seibel got a lot of things done around here and made a lot of people very uncomfortable. But he was very effective."

  "He made a lot of people very dead, too."

  "Yep. The ones we want dead."

  Number two just shook his head. "You know that a very important golden rule around here is operations never interferes with Office of Inspector General activities. Never."

  "I'm aware." Wyrick took that as his best opportunity to leave. He got up from the table with the folder and notebook held under his arm. "I guess some golden rules are made to be broken. But others carry more severe consequences." Wyrick headed for the door. Right before he opened it, the deputy director asked him a question few are willing to venture.

  "Do you know where he is right now?"

  "Who?"

  A couple of beats passed. A swallow in the guy's throat could be heard across the room. "Preacher."

  Wyrick didn't turn back from the door. His right hand on the handle. When he spoke his voice was low, quiet. His head was down as he spoke into the door.

  "Tom, I like you. You are a good man and truly dedicated to your job and your country. I hope you are around here for a long time because you know why we are here; you get it. I'll only say this to you one time. Don't ever ask me that question again. Everyone you know and love and everything you've worked for can be taken away in a moment."