with a hefty mortgage and two kids in college, he had never said no when called upon by his country.
To be honest, Rogers relished the challenge. Interacting with some of the world’s worst dictators and bad actors was exciting. They ran the gamut from despotic regimes to criminal cartels and terrorist organizations. Getting Americans safely back home to their families was more rewarding to him than any litigation he had ever prevailed in.
Though he went to some absolute shithole places and carried out some of the toughest, most tension-filled negotiations anyone had ever seen, he loved the job. And part of the reason he loved it so was that he was good at it. He hoped, for Scot Harvath’s sake, that his winning streak continued.
Since accepting the SPEHA position, Rogers had helped secure the release of more than twenty-two Americans held in such places as North Korea, Iran, Venezuela, Afghanistan, Chechnya, and Mexico. Harvath’s situation, though, was extremely difficult.
After the President had thanked everyone out on the floor, the principals adjourned to a secure conference room for the Harvath briefing.
Rogers knew the President was a detail guy who liked to ask questions, and he had prepared a detailed update.
“Mr. President,” he said. “Again, let me welcome you to the Hostage Fusion Recovery Cell. I know I speak for the entire team when I tell you what an honor it is to have you here. We have some of the best, brightest, and most patriotic people working in government here. Your recognition of their commitment to bringing American hostages home safely is much appreciated.”
“It’s the least I can do,” replied the President. “I know you all have been working around the clock. Why don’t you bring me up to speed.”
“Yes, sir,” Rogers stated. On his laptop, he activated a piece of video and projected it on the monitors around the room. “This is security footage from the day of the attack. It comes from the neighbor across the street from the safe house on Governors Island. We’ve sped it up, but here you see former Deputy Director of the CIA Lydia Ryan arriving, followed later by Scot Harvath and Lara Cordero. Later that day, a black Lincoln Town Car shows up. That’s where I’d like to start.”
Porter nodded, and the SPEHA continued. “The Town Car was carrying a lone male passenger. He has been identified as a Polish intelligence officer working out of their embassy here in D.C. His name is Artur Kopec, and apparently he had prior relationships with Lydia Ryan and Reed Carlton. As you can see, Kopec gets out of the car, goes into the cottage for about three hours, exits the cottage, and leaves via the Town Car.
“It has been explained to me by DCI McGee that Kopec is a known Russian asset. The Russians, though, are unaware that we possess this information. Therefore, CIA wants this knowledge, and the man’s identity, kept a secret.” Looking over at CIA Director McGee, he sought clarification. “Is all of that correct?”
“Yes,” replied McGee.
The President piped up with his first question. “Would it help if the rest of your team knew the man’s identity?”
Rogers thought about it for a moment. “We’re a clearinghouse for intel and analysis. That’s why we exist. Is it imperative anyone outside this room know who the man is? I can’t say, but the more information they have, the better they can do their jobs.”
Porter looked to his CIA Director. It was obviously an invitation to chime in. “Kopec is highly valuable. However, getting Harvath back is our top priority. If we have to burn Kopec in the process, we’re prepared to do that. He might, though, be able to help us.”
“How?”
“We’re working on it,” McGee responded. “All that matters is that we don’t want to burn him if we don’t have to.”
“But we’re confident that he’s the leak?” asked the President. “We’re certain he’s the one who revealed the location of the safe house and led the hit team there?”
“We’re one hundred percent confident that he provided the information,” Nicholas replied. “Whether he knew what was going to happen after providing the information is still being looked into.”
Porter glanced at his FBI Director. “Where is he now?”
Militante, who had no idea, shrugged. The President then turned to McGee, who gave a quick shake of his head as if to say, You don’t want to know.
It was Nicholas who stepped back in and ended the line of questioning. “Let’s just say we have eyes on him