Page 157 of The Oligarch's Daughter

“Precisely.”

“But why? Why did the CIA do something so . . . evil?”

“To protect Phantom.”

“Phantom being . . . what?”

“Like I said, it’s the code name for an operation.”

“Which doeswhat? Black ops forwhatexactly?”

“For Christ’s sake, I don’t know.” Horgan’s knee spindled.

“So why is the FBI coming after me?”

Horgan shook his head. “What do they say you did wrong?”

A long pause. “They’re calling it theft of intelligence.”

“Did you?”

“Steal intelligence? No. I took a flash drive labeled ‘Phantom.’ From a Russian oligarch, Arkady Galkin.”

“And what’s on that flash drive?”

“It’s encrypted. So I don’t know. At first I thought it was Arkady Galkin’s kompromat on politicians or government officials he’d paid off. Like a Mafia ledger. But now I can only guess. Maybe it’s proof of a CIA black-ops unit. Maybe Galkin knows what’s going on at the CIA.”

Horgan lit another cigarette. “Look, way back in the day, when Harry Truman founded CIA, he was afraid he might be creating some kind of super Gestapo agency, so he laid down the law: no domestic spying. And then, twenty years later, in the Nixon administration, the Agency was caught spying on American citizens. Which resulted in a huge outcry, Senate hearings. CIA promised to stop.”

“Did it?”

Horgan smirked, shook his head, snorted. “A couple of years ago, it was revealed that CIA has been conducting what they call ‘bulk collection’ in America. Gaining access to millions of Americans’ private data, their emails and text messages and phone calls. So, no, it doesn’t stop, hasn’t stopped, won’t stop.”

Paul watched Horgan, nodded.

“You have no idea how rotten the CIA is, do you? Your whole generation, you don’t give a shit. When the Cold War ended, the U.S. and Russia could have been allies. You know that? But we tricked Gorbachev. We promised him that if he agreed to unify Germany, NATO wouldn’t expandone incheast. Then, a few years later, NATO starts adding members. Oh, sorry about that little promise we made! You believed us? You poor schmucks. You second-rate country, you. Then, a few years later, we have the corrupt, alcoholic Boris Yeltsin—reviled by his people—running for reelection against a real, live Russian nationalist communist who’s about to win, right? But we can’t have that! The return of communism? No way! So what do we do? Lots of cold, hard U.S. cash gets dispensed liberally in Moscow to pay off whoever needs to be paid off. Whoever needs to dip their beaks. You probably never heard that two of Yeltsin’s aides were arrested with shoeboxes full of hundred-dollar bills, did you?”

Paul shook his head.

“We did whatever it took, sloshed around whatever dirty money it took, to ensuredemocracywould live on in Russia. We swung the election. The vote was rigged. Maybe a little bit ironic, huh? Then we forced Yeltsin to choose a successor, and who might that be? The guy who became the czar and still rules Russia with an iron hand. Russia today wouldn’t be so fucked up if we hadn’t stuck our hand in and manipulated things the way we did. Thank the CIA for the fucked-up hand we now have.” He shook his head and, for a long moment, didn’t speak. Finally, he said, “Let me see it.”

“See what?”

“The memory stick. Where is it now?”

“In my possession.”

“Let me have a look.”

“It’s not with me,” Paul said.

“Back in your hotel room?”

Paul wished he had a hotel room. Maybe later. He was exhausted and needed a good night’s sleep.

“Why don’t you go get it? I may be able to figure something out about it.”

Paul shook his head slowly. “Can’t do that. It’s in a safe-deposit box,” he lied. In fact, it was in his backpack on the floor next to him. “Does anyone know I’m meeting with you?”