two days earlier, and he expected his workload would not slack off at any time in the near future, all due to the killing of Iranian general Rajavi.
He knew that the intelligence for this week’s attack had come in at the last second from the UAE, and he’d already sent his thanks to the local SIA office at the Emirati embassy on Hiroshimastrasse.
But still, the Quds Force cell leader was on the loose in the city, and all indicators were that he was not finished with his mayhem.
McCormick had other worries, too; office politics on a large scale. But he pushed these out of his mind and decided to call to his executive secretary to get his German counterpart at BfV on the line to see if there were any updates in the search for Haz Mirza.
But before he could do this, she leaned into his office. “Sir. DDO Hanley is on the line for you.”
“Thanks, Brenda.” McCormick sighed. Office politics. He’d been dreading this call. He’d found out earlier in the morning that the ambo was livid because he’d learned Hanley was in town, and Berlin station had been keeping this info quiet around the embassy.
The fact was, McCormick had no idea how Sedgwick found out about Hanley’s trip to Berlin, but he knew this fact wouldn’t get him off the hook with Hanley, and since he hadn’t, in fact, notified Sedgwick of Hanley’s visit, he’d be getting an earful from the ambo, too.
The call was put through, and the chief of Berlin station prepared for his first of two difficult conversations of the day.
“Good morning, Deputy Director.”
Hanley wasn’t one for chitchat in the best of times, this the CIA station chief already knew, but he was still unprepared for the berating to come. “Fuck, McCormick! You told the ambo I was here!”
McCormick said, “I absolutely did no such thing, sir. We’ve done everything in our power to keep this close to our vests.”
“Oh, so it wasn’t on purpose. It was a fuckup. Is that the defense you’re going with?”
“I don’t know how he found out. I called a meeting with senior staff an hour ago, and they assure me that—”
“Someone in your station either did it out of malice or out of incompetence. No other possibility exists.”
“But—”
“Shut up, Kevin. Shut up and just listen.”
McCormick had known Hanley for nearly two decades. He’d never heard him this angry, and he assumed it had more to do with the beating he’d taken from the president’s top man in Europe than anything else.
Hanley was worried about losing his job, and right now, McCormick could relate. “Yes, sir,” he said, sheepishly.
“Simple question, I want a yes or no answer. Would you like to have a career tomorrow morning?”
“Yes. Yes, I would. Very much so, in fact.”
“Then I need you to do something for me, and I don’t want any pushback.”
McCormick had been handed a lifeline, and he lunged at it. “Anything you ask, sir.”
“What I need is for you to get me an invitation to Sedgwick’s party tonight.”
“His party? I was unaware of—”
“Some art opening bullshit thing at the ambo’s residence.”
McCormick thought a moment. “That’s right. I did hear something about that.” Relief washed over him. “Shouldn’t be any problem at all. I wasn’t invited; I’m Berlin station, and Sedgwick hates us. But you’re the DDO. I can reach out to one of the galleries providing the artwork and get you an invite.”
“Good.”
So happy he was to be let off the hook, McCormick said, “Is there anything else I can—”
“Yes, there is. I am going to send you two passports. I need identification made for these men. They are my personal security detail. I will be attending the event with them tonight.”
“Certainly. With security badges they will be let in to any event at the ambo’s residence as long as they’re with you and you have an invitation.” McCormick was even more ebullient now. “I’ll run them down to personnel and get—”
“No.”
“No?”
“They are not CIA personnel.”
It was quiet a moment. “Your bodyguards aren’t employed by us?”
“Long story. I need your art department to prepare these. And I need you to oversee it personally, and I need this to stay between you, me, and whoever in art that you trust.” “The art department” was a nickname given to the forgers kept on staff at a station. Hanley was telling McCormick, without saying it outright, that the two people coming along with him to the ambassador’s party would be using falsified CIA badges. And