The Hadrian Memorandum - Allan Folsom [200]
They entered a large, wood-paneled library at the back of the house. The president closed the door, then went to a small bar and poured them each three solid fingers of Scotch. He handed a glass to Marten and they both sat down in worn leather chairs in front of a crackling fire that lessened the chill and dampness caused by the summer rain.
Marten took a sip of the Scotch and then looked to the president. “You’re on edge, and I don’t blame you.”
“Yes, and I apologize.” President Harris took a drink, then let his eyes find Marten’s. “This has all gotten to me in a way it probably shouldn’t have but did anyway. I should be thanking you, both as a close friend and as president, for what you did and had to go through. And I do thank you. But Raisa’s death, how she was killed, made it deeply personal, maybe even more so than my concern for you. I set you up with her, I know. I apologize to you both. One day we’ll get properly drunk and I’ll tell you about her. But there’s more to it than my own feelings. I’m going to tell you something you probably don’t want to hear, but I sit in a chair that you don’t, nor does anyone else, the attorney general and Congressman Ryder included.”
The president got up and crossed the room to stare out at the damp, forested land surrounding them, as if just being in its presence gave him a moment of peace away from the overwhelming weight of the presidency. He watched for a few seconds more and then turned back to Marten. “At the risk of sounding parochial or corny—that comes with the job, too.” He smiled warmly. “It’s my responsibility and sworn oath to protect the people and the Constitution of United States of America to the best of my ability and at the same time, and to one degree or another, keep a clear eye on what else is going on in the world. That said, what the deputy director authorized in the memorandum, I would very likely have done myself, but with, God help me, God help us all, a much softer touch. Having that much oil under our control is a guarantee we can’t be blackmailed over petroleum for decades even as we work toward finding other sources of energy. It’s insurance against something going catastrophically wrong, like having our entire oil supply shut down overnight by some cabal or unforeseen circumstance. The deputy director learned about the Bioko field and that the leases were owned by an American company and recognized how strategically important it was for us to control it. That the company and its partner were having legal problems in Iraq was beside the point. There was a very unstable political climate and it was his job to see that the oil was protected. He did it the way he thought it should be done, by supporting the side most likely to prevail that held the leases without overtly involving the United States government.”
The president came back to his chair, picked up his glass, and sat down.
“As you know, the position of the director of the Central Intelligence Agency is a political appointment. The deputy director’s chair is a career position, and the person occupying it is the one who in fact runs the Agency. He or she is where they are because they’ve worked their way up through the ranks and know how things work and where the all the skeletons are, and the skeletons behind them. I can tell the director what I want done and he can pass it on to the deputy director, but that directive doesn’t stop that person from covertly doing what they think is right or see fit. The trouble is, I can