The Devil's Footprint (4 page)

"It gets
worse.
 
The Syrians see the Iranian
playing the game and Uncle Sam sitting idly by doing nothing, and they set up a
raft of printing presses in the
Bekaa
Valley
.
 
Their quality is not as good but, hey,
they've got volume on their side and they go after the lower end of the
market."

"How much
are we talking about here?" said
Fitzduane.

"We say
in our briefings a billion dollars a month because a higher figure is hard to
swallow.
 
Actually, we estimate a
multiple of that — year after year for well over a decade.
 
We are getting close to talking real
money!
 
The situation has gotten so bad
that in parts of the world you have to sign each note and leave your address so
that they have a comeback if someone down the line complains.
 
So much for confidence in
the dollar.
 
No wonder it's worth
less every year."

Fitzduane
laughed.
 
"So where does Treasury
come into all this?"

"We are
talking economic terrorism here," said Warner, "we are talking
forgery on a scale so huge that Treasury, who will set the Secret Service on
you if you so much as photocopy a dollar bill,
do
diddly.
 
They are afraid if it gets out
the dollar will take a dive, so they say and do nothing.
 
Also, the Secret Service
are
not rally set up to invade foreign countries.
 
So we are going to end up changing our currency, but the guys we are up
against are bright, so they won't just fold their tents and steal away.
 
Goddamn it, they can now
certainly
afford the latest gear and we have been only too happy to
sell them it.
 
The
U.S.
has a
balance-of-trade problem.
 
We need
exports.
 
It's a hell of a thing.
 
But the bottom line is that the
United States
government is nearly its own worst enemy."

Fitzduane's
spread hands and the look on his face indicated acknowledgment of the validity
of at least some of what was being said, but also a mild impatience that the
question he had already asked twice had not been answered.

Warner
grinned.
 
"Okay," he said.
 
"Let's focus.
 
You want to know what we do and how we
operate.
 
We run an intelligence and
analysis group based upon a very large network of contacts.
 
There are many people who think like we do in
structures like the CIA and State.
 
The
structures may be ossified and gridlocked by policy, but individuals have not
lost their desire to do the right thing.
 
We have connections as far afield as
Afghanistan
and as near as down the
hall.
 
We link them together, make sense
of the pieces, and analyze the result.
 
Then we feed our reports to the right people.
 
Sometimes we get a result.
 
More often we get filed.
 
It's not easy."

"And you
also legislate?" said Fitzduane.

"Sure,"
said Warner.
 
"We work in Congress
and that's what Congress does.
 
And
within the legislative process we pursue our own agenda.
 
If we strengthen a program that can stem the
terrorist tide, that is what we do.
 
We
have some successes.
 
Mostly, it's a
whole lot of work for very little return.
 
The Founding Fathers did not set up this place to be efficient.
 
That is understandable, but today's threats
did not exist when they were around.
 
Nor
were they foreseen."

"It
sounds like a great deal of work for a modest return," said Fitzduane
carefully.
 
"It also sounds
exceedingly frustrating."

"Well,
Hugo," said Warner, "
now
you are getting to
the real meat.
 
There are some situations
where we cannot just sit on our hands like good citizens.
 
Sometimes the threat is so major and the
response so minimal that we have to take some action."

"So how
does that work?" said Fitzduane.

"We find
the right people and light the blue touch-paper," said Warner.
 
"It is not exactly subcontracting — more
a case of facilitating."
 
He looked
steadily at Fitzduane.
 
"Like right
now we have a situation in
Mexico
."

"No,"
said Fitzduane flatly.
 
"And this
being a political town, that is not — ‘no’ meaning I'm willing to
negotiate."
 
He smiled.
 
"Just so we understand each other."

"I think
you may change your mind," said Warner cheerfully, "when you have
heard a little more.
 
As far as
Mexico
is
concerned, you're already involved.
 
Drafted by circumstances, you might say."

Fitzduane
looked at Warner blankly and then shook his head firmly.
 
He had great respect for the subcommittee's
counterterrorism reports and he was looking forward to meeting the people who
did the work, but that was where it ended.

He could not
conceive of any reason why he would want to be involved with
Mexico
in any way except to visit
Acapulco
and work on his
suntan.
 
That notion did have some appeal
given the state of
Ireland
's
weather.
 
Even the snakes had fled
because they were sick of the rain.

"No,"
he repeated, "or as you say over here — "no way!"

Warner
grinned.
 
"You didn't say
‘positively,’" he said.
 
His belt
began to cheep.

He answered
the mobile and then looked at Fitzduane.
 
"Maury has stopped swinging from the chandelier and Patricio has
just passed through security.
 
Time to enlighten you, Hugo, about some dirty work south of the
border.
 
And then I know you will
do the right thing.
 
You may be Irish and
your grandmother Spanish, but where it counts you
are
a true-blue American."

"Lead on,
Ollie," said Fitzduane wearily.
 
But
his curiosity was aroused, and the Fitzduanes, as a family, were nothing if not
curious.

Over the
centuries it had killed more than a few of them.

*
         
*
         
*
         
*
         
*

For all the
talk of congressional perquisites, the
Farnsworth
Building
was a utilitarian structure.

Inside, once
you got past the entrance lobbies, it was little more than floor after floor of
wide, imposing corridors with rather poky office suites leading off them for
individual congressmen.
 
The splendid
marbled hallways had been given a higher priority than the humans who worked in
the building.

A major
corporation would have been embarrassed by the crowded conditions of most of
the offices.
 
Typically, a congressman
had a three-room suite with a tiny reception lobby and waiting area.
 
One room housed the congressman, the second
his chief of staff, and the third as many of his staff as could be squeezed
in.
 
If you were a staffer, it helped
greatly if you were small and thin.
 
Or even tall and thin.
 
The offices had high ceilings.

"Hugo,
the
U.S.
of A. is run by kids," said Warner as they ambled back to the office.
 
He glanced across at Fitzduane and
grinned.
 
"It confuses the shit out
of the other side, whoever they are these days.
 
God!
 
Bring back the Cold
War.
 
It was so beautifully simple."

Fitzduane
raised an eyebrow.

Warner needed
no further encouragement.
 
"The
workload in this place is ridiculous," he said happily.
 
"The average elected official spends
most of his time working on being reelected — on his image — and commuting to
and from his constituency.
 
Any surplus
time is spent taking his TV makeup off, bogged down in procedure, sitting in
meetings, and getting drunk and screwing around because he or she is working so
hard.
 
So he hasn't a snowball's chance
of actually reading the stuff he votes on, and certainly not in detail.

"Hell,
man, consider the numbers and the crazy way this place operates.
 
A single bill can run to thousands of
pages.
 
And the House rules are of a
scale of complexity that even Machiavelli would admire.
 
And they keep changing."

"So where
do the kids come in?" asked Fitzduane obligingly.

"Since
the elected have not the time to do the job they were voted in to do, the
staffers have to do it.
 
However, there
is a twist here too.
 
Members do not like
being accused of spending too much money on
themselves
,
so they have voted a peanut budget for staffers.

"That
means two things.
 
First, few people with
a useful body of experience can afford to stay here.
 
As they get older they acquire family
commitments, and this is an expensive town.
 
They leave and become lobbyists or head back to the boonies and live on
their war stories.
 
Second, staffs are
heavily padded out with teenage interns who work for honor and glory and an
entry on their CV.
 
They get paid
nothing.

"It's a
mighty peculiar system.
 
It means the
U.S.
legislature, if you get right down to it, is operated by a bunch of teenagers
working for free.
 
And since the
U.S.
is
the
superpower these days, it explains a
lot.
 
God bless
America
!"

"So what
about you and Lee and Maury?" said
Fitzduane.
 
"You're not exactly still in
diapers."

Warner halted
and faced Fitzduane.
 
"Well,
Hugo," he said lightly, "I guess we're kind of unusual."

Fitzduane was
getting used to Dan Warner's exuberance, but on this point he did not think the
deputy chief of staff was joking.
 
Loose cannon or the right stuff?
 
He had some thoughts on the matter, but it
was much too early to be sure.

*
         
*
         
*
         
*
         
*

It was
fortunate tat the Yaibo
team were
already in place.

Wakami's unit
had not come to
Washington
specifically for a killing, but they had been reconnoitering the city for
future incidents.
 
They had already
checked out many of the government facilities.

These had
included the
Farnsworth
Building
.
 
They had been in and out on several occasions
and had even visited offices near those of Congressman Wayne Sanders, where the
Task Force on Terrorism was located.

They had been
able to survey nearly the length and breadth of the capital without hindrance,
because they presented themselves not as tourists but as a lobbying group.
 
Since the Japanese were particularly
energetic at using the
U.S.
lobbying system to advance and protect Japanese interests — even when they were
quite contrary to American interests — three more Japanese lobbyists attracted
no attention at all.

Wakami had
even had business cards printed identifying them as ‘The Osaka Industries
United States Friendship Group,’ and these brought general access.

Senators,
congressmen, and their staffers were permanently on the lookout for money,
influence, and votes in roughly that order.
 
Everyone knew that Japanese businessmen had money, rice sacks full of
it, and that bought influence.

It all added
up to a warm welcome for Wakami-
san
and his people.
 
Wakami, who spoke
adequate English, had become quite good at making long speeches about mutual
friendship in Japanese and having Endo translate in halting English while
politicians, their eyes glazed over, stood smiling.
 
Photographs of such events were expected,
even encouraged.
 
Lining up a target
assassination list, complete with full-color illustrations, had never been
easier.