The God's Eye View by Barry Eisler Page A

heroism. He’d been in a Humvee when a mortar round had struck the area. If there was a hero involved, it had been the director, not him. He wondered sometimes if the McQueens of the world, who had probably never even handled a rifle, much less served, really meant it when they laid it on about the glory of soldiers, or if it was just another DC con job. He supposed it didn’t matter either way.
    He set his attaché case on the floor, opened it, and took out a bug detector. He turned it on and quickly swept the office. It was clean.
    “I recommend we power down our phones, Senator. And place them in my attaché case, which is soundproofed and jams all electronic signals.”
    McQueen eased himself into his enormous leather chair and touched an imaginary imperfection in his gray bouffant. “Are you serious?”
    The guy’s ignorance was breathtaking. Did he think that because he was on the Homeland Security Committee and the Intelligence Committee, he was somehow immune to surveillance? Did he not understand that his positions in fact made him a target? But knowing all this would be clarified in just a moment, Remar simply said, “Do I look like I’m joking?”
    McQueen chuckled. “Well, you’re the national security expert. Whatever you say.” He turned off his mobile and handed it to Remar. Remar powered off his own, and placed both in the attaché. Then he took out an acoustic noise generator and set it on McQueen’s desk.
    McQueen eyed it suspiciously. “And that is . . . ?”
    “Speech protection system. Just being extra careful. And Senator, if I could trouble you to disconnect the power cord from your desk phone and from your computer.”
    “Come on, Remar, this is ridiculous.”
    “Senator, I assure you that when you’ve received my briefing you will thank me copiously for taking precautions.”
    McQueen rolled his eyes and smiled. He shut off the surge protector to the desk phone and computer, and ostentatiously checked his watch. Then he pointed to the watch and said, his tone mock-serious, “Oh, do you need me to take this off, too?”
    McQueen was peeved that someone was telling him what to do in his own office, and had to show he wasn’t cowed in response. Remar was accustomed to the juvenile bullshit, of course, but still found it vaguely pathetic.
    “You know what they say,” Remar said, taking a seat and closing the attaché. “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.”
    “Sure, and just because they’re out to get you doesn’t mean you’re not being paranoid. Come on, Remar. I’ve seen more than my share of NSA razzle-dazzle. Bow down to the high priests of info security. You should save it for the youngsters in these corridors. I’ve been to the show too many times to be impressed by it.”
    Remar nodded as though in understanding, then shifted into character. “Senator, I won’t deny there’s some theater involved in what we do. How could there not be, in this town? But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because we have evidence the Chinese have put together a sensitive dossier on you, which we believe they intend to use in an attempt to influence your votes.”
    McQueen’s eyes widened and he looked genuinely surprised. “What?”
    Remar did nothing to reveal his satisfaction with the stimulus/response effect. The director had taught him that with a certain class of national security fetishist, attributing something bad to the Chinese, or Russians, or Iranians was the equivalent of blaming domestic crimes on angry black men. Prepping people to believe something was the hard part. Once the framework was established, they became eager to fill in the details themselves, and could be counted on to do so even if those details made little sense.
    Remar leaned forward and lowered his voice. “It seems the Chinese have managed to track your cell phone and correlate its movements with that of a second cell phone—a prepaid model purchased for