Saturday
The three of us crammed into the front seat of Luke’s pickup and threw Grizzly’s crutches into the bed. Grizzly’s forehead puckered; he looked like he wanted to say something. Luke was about to turn over the engine but unexpectedly stopped as if he’d received a telepathic message. He opened the driver’s side door and jumped down.
“Don’t touch anything,” he said.
We watched as he walked slowly around the pickup, peeked underneath the body, then opened the hood and peered in. Apparently satisfied nothing was wrong, he returned to the cab and hoisted himself up. Then he turned off the GPS. Grizzly’s forehead smoothed out.
“Was that really necessary?” I asked.
Luke and Grizzly exchanged glances. “It was.”
“I don’t like this,” I said.
“Join the club.” Luke keyed the engine and we pulled out.
“Why’d we leave the bar?”
“Because I didn’t want anyone to hear me,” Grizzly said.
“And that’s because…”
“Look. This may be my last assignment, but I’m still in the navy. We’re not supposed to have opinions that—uh—well, we’re not supposed to have opinions at all.”
“What kind of opinions?”
“You asked me who did I trust, and I told you no one.”
“So?”
“Luke,” Grizzly said. “Turn on the radio.”
As soon as the Stones belted out “Brown Sugar” on the classic rock station, he spoke. “Ellie…DOD is a fucking wormhole. The left hand never knows—or trusts—what the right hand is doing.”
“But you’re part of it.”
His tone was patient, not irritated. “You know that picture of the galaxy with zillions of stars and the arrow that says ‘You are here’?”
I nodded.
“Well that’s what it’s like to work in Defense. I mean, think about it. The country has seventeen intelligence agencies, and most of them are connected to DOD. Then, a couple of years ago, the Pentagon says the military needs its own team of spies to get human intelligence. There was no debate in Congress. No public announcement or explanation. But a few months later there’s something called the Defense Clandestine Service.”
“Number eighteen?”
He nodded.
I was feeling the buzz from the alcohol and the carbs. “You’re pretty cynical. Maybe even paranoid.”
“A career in military intelligence does that.” He pulled out a cigarette and matches from a crumpled pack. “Fucking oxymoron.” He rolled down the window, struck a match, and touched the flame to the cigarette. He took a long drag and blew it out. “But you know something? It doesn’t make a coon’s bit of difference what I think. Or you. Or our friend Luke over there.”
“How come?”
“Because we live in the Deep State.”
“Okay.” I hesitated. “What is the Deep State?”
“It’s the government behind the one on either end of Pennsylvania Avenue. A state within a state.”
“Now you’re a conspiracy theorist?”
“No. I’m a realist.”
“That’s nothing new. Eisenhower warned us about the military-industrial complex sixty years ago.”
“But this one has new, more powerful members. Everyone is focused on national security, so we’re talking not only the Pentagon, but State, Homeland Security, the CIA, and Justice. Even Treasury. As well as major corporations with the same agenda.”
“And Congress?”
“Nope. All they do is rubber-stamp what the Deep State does. But here’s the thing. Everything the state does is secret. Classified. It’s a surveillance state run amok. And, more and more, it’s run by the private sector. Banks, Wall Street, and your buddies at Delcroft, for example.”
“What do you mean?”
“Weapons suppliers. Private contractors, digital types like the old Blackwater crowd, ethical and nonethical hackers. They all work with the government now. Closer than ever.”
I thought of Dolan.
“About seventy percent of America’s intelligence budget goes to the private sector. To root out terrorism and protect the country.”
“That much?”
He tried to smile, but it looked like a scowl. “Yeah. Which, in practice, means that the CEO of Delcroft advises the president on technology and national security probably as often as the Joint Chiefs. Add to that the fact that most retired admirals and generals end up on the boards of companies like Delcroft. In fact, most big corporations have their own intel operations today. And they share information. On a scale that would shock even Edward Snowden.” He took another drag. “Did you know that the government is starting to protect companies like Delcroft and Google and AT&T from privacy lawsuits in return for their data?”
I shook my head. “What about the subpoenas and things they need to get at that data?”
Grizzly’s laugh was hollow. “Gone with the wind.”
“But doesn’t it take a long time to find specific data and transmit it?”
“If you think a fraction of a second is a long time.” He paused. “Look, I love my country. I lost my fucking leg because of it. But I don’t recognize it anymore.”
Luke cut in. “So, you’re saying they could be looking into Ellie right now?”
“You bet they are. Delcroft, the FBI, probably this new DCS too.” He crossed his arms. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
I slumped against the back of the seat in the pickup.