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| The George Residence |
4 October 1993
I
arrived at Clair George's house, around the corner from my own, shortly before our guests from
the Federal Bureau of Investigation were due to arrive.
The Howard case belonged to the FBI, not the CIA; more specifically, it belonged to the Bureau's Albuquerque, New Mexico field office.
At
10 a.m. sharp, the doorbell rang.
Enter
Nicholas W, a Section Chief from FCI (Foreign Counter Intelligence).
With him, Allyson
G, a Supervisory Special Agent.
Both were from Headquarters in DC.
Nicholas and Allyson proffered calling cards and displayed
much deference to the former CIA spymaster, who opened the meeting.
"I
met Eringer around the time I retired from government," Clair explained. "He moved into my
neighborhood and we became close personal friends."
I
conveyed to them the offer made to me by National Press Books to handle Edward Lee
Howard's book.
Nick
exchanged glances with Allyson, and then spoke.
"We already know people who have met Howard and reported to us bits
and pieces of what he's said. I'm not
sure how much more we're going to get by giving you questions to ask
him..."
"Wait
a second." Clair put
up his hand. "This isn't about
asking Howard questions. It's about trying to capture him."
"Oh." This stumped Nick. "We hadn't even thought of that."
"A
unique opportunity has presented itself," I said. "This situation is
Howard-initiated. He is seeking a
publisher. Howard's literary agent will
vouch for the fact that National Press Books is the ideal publisher for his
book. By an odd quirk of fate, National
Press would put me in charge of
Howard's book as his editor. Over time,
I could gain Howard's trust. And I could
lure him into a trap."
Nick
warmed up to this. "Howard could
certainly use a friend," he said.
"But this isn't a Bureau decision.
This is the domain of the U.S. Attorney out in New Mexico. He's the one who has to prosecute this
case. So he's the one who has to decide
whether or not to use these kinds of tactics, how it's going to play out in
court, a pretty complex thing."
"The
U.S. Marshals have something called the Curved
Frisbee Doctrine," I said.
"Which means, if we can lure Howard to an international corridor without
violating his human rights, the courts won't object."
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| Edwin Wilson |
(The reason I could be such a smart-ass was because Clair had already introduced me to his friend Howard Safir, former chief of the U.S. Marshal Service, and Safir had told me about the Curved Frisbee Doctrine, a phrase he'd coined himself after masterminding the international
apprehension, known as an extraordinary
rendition, of CIA renegade Edwin Wilson in the Dominican Republic.)
"It's
nice of you to offer to do this," said Nick, "take trips, incur
expenses..."
"No,"
I said. "This operation would be on
your nickel. I'm not planning to pursue
this opportunity unless you folks sign on, cover my expenses, and hire me as a contract
agent."
"What's
your deadline on this?" asked Supervisory Special Agent Allyson G, who had
been filling legal pages with hand-scribbled notes.
I
shrugged. "I don't have one, but
you can be sure this opportunity won't last forever."
"We'll
pass it to the U.S. Attorney in New Mexico," said Allyson. "It'll be up to him."
Clair saw Nick and Allyson to their car and returned with a look of utter astonishment on
his face.
"Typical feebies," he said, both amused and bemused. "They only think in terms of collecting more incriminating information on
Howard. As if they didn't have
enough! I can't believe it didn't occur
to them before they got here that we’re talking about catching Howard." He
shook his head. "That's government
today. No imagination, no
creativity." He paused. "It'll sound too complicated, too
dangerous. Anyone with any clout in
government is just a few years away from a pension. They never want to risk that."
Meantime,
Edward Howard phoned Joel Joseph from Moscow and pressed him for a commitment
to his book.
In
turn, Alan Sultan called me. "I know
how these things work," said Sultan.
"If we're going to sign him, we've got to keep up the
momentum. Otherwise another publisher
will come along and we'll lose him."
I
relayed this update to Allyson G.
"It's heating up," I said.
"Can we get an answer?"
"They
seem pretty interested," said the Supervisory Special Agent. "Others have come forward in the past
with plans to trap this guy, mostly from inside the Bureau, but nothing as
interesting as this. However, we still
have to get the Justice Department on board."
It
should have tipped me off there and then what it's like to work for a U.S.
government agency:
You spend your life
getting smacked around like the silver ball inside a pinball machine.
Hit this base, bang!
Whacked over to another post, boing!
Boomeranged someplace else, ba-da-bing!
Until, after a good battering, tired and worn out, you drop into
a black hole.
