September 18, 1947
Donovan's first official day at the CIA began with orientation in a windowless conference room with thirty other new officers.
The briefing covered organizational structure, security protocols, administrative procedures. Professional. Competent. Exactly what you'd expect from America's premier intelligence agency.
What struck Donovan was the faces.
Three rows ahead: a former Packard executive who'd been mentioned in Rick's production sabotage documentation. Now assigned to Office of National Estimates.
Two rows back: an OSS officer Donovan remembered from procurement—someone who'd signed off on equipment transfers through Meridian Holdings. Now in Directorate of Intelligence.
At the front, conducting orientation: a colonel who'd been at the 1944 summit. Donovan had seen him on the estate grounds, one of the military representatives. Now he was Deputy Director of Administration.
Prometheus Protocol hadn't infiltrated the CIA. Prometheus Protocol was the CIA.
Or at least, a significant portion of it. Not everyone in this room was corrupt. Many were probably genuine patriots who wanted to serve their country. But the network was here, embedded, in positions of power.
After orientation, Donovan was taken to the Directorate of Plans—the CIA's covert operations division. His supervisor was a man named Allen Dulles, who'd run OSS operations in Switzerland during the war.
"Donovan, good to have you. Hartley speaks highly of your work." Dulles pulled out a map of Asia. "You're assigned to Korea desk. Tell me what you know about the situation there."
"Korea was divided at the 38th parallel in 1945. Soviet occupation in the north, American in the south. Both sides are preparing for eventual conflict."
"Preparing or creating conditions for conflict?"
Donovan hesitated. Was this a test? "Creating, sir?"
"Correct. The Soviets are arming North Korea, training their military, establishing a communist government. We're doing the same in the south—military aid, advisors, political support. Both sides claim the entire peninsula. War is inevitable."
"When?"
"Hard to say. Could be next year, could be three years from now. Depends on how aggressive the North becomes and how well we position the South to respond." Dulles pointed to the map. "Your job is to monitor North Korean military capabilities, Soviet involvement, and opportunities for us to... influence events."
"Influence how?"
"Border incidents. Intelligence operations. Supporting South Korean forces. The usual tools of statecraft." Dulles looked at him directly. "Let me be clear, Donovan. We're not trying to start a war. But we're also not trying to prevent one. A conflict in Korea serves American interests—demonstrates resolve to the Soviets, justifies military presence in Asia, maintains defense spending at elevated levels."
"So we want the war to happen."
"We want to be prepared when it happens. And if our preparations make it more likely—" Dulles shrugged. "That's the nature of great power competition."
Donovan thought about the 1944 recording. Phase 2. Korea. 1950-1952. This was it. The plan being implemented in real time.
"I understand, sir."
"Good. Your first assignment is to review intelligence on North Korean troop movements near the parallel. Write an assessment of whether they're planning an attack or just posturing. I need it by Friday."
Donovan spent the rest of the day in a small office reviewing classified reports. North Korean military buildups. Soviet advisors. Border skirmishes. Political provocations from both sides.
The intelligence was ambiguous—you could read it as North Korea preparing to attack, or as defensive measures against perceived South Korean aggression. The assessment Donovan wrote would influence how Washington responded. Aggressive interpretation might lead to more military aid to South Korea, higher tensions, greater likelihood of conflict.
Conservative interpretation might reduce tensions, possibly prevent war.
Donovan knew what Dulles wanted. What Hartley wanted. What Prometheus Protocol's plan required.
He wrote an aggressive assessment. North Korean military buildup indicated offensive intentions. Recommend increased military aid to South Korea and enhanced intelligence collection on invasion planning.
When he submitted it Friday afternoon, Dulles smiled. "Good work, Donovan. This is exactly the kind of analysis we need. Clear-eyed, realistic, actionable."
"Thank you, sir."
"You're going to do well here. Hartley was right about you."
After Dulles left, Donovan sat in his office staring at the file.
He'd just written an intelligence assessment designed to increase the likelihood of war. Just like the 1944 summit had discussed. Just like Prometheus Protocol had planned.
And he'd done it willingly. Professionally. Without protest.
October 12, 1947
Three months into his CIA career, Donovan had settled into a routine. Morning intelligence briefings. Writing assessments. Attending planning meetings for Korea operations. Professional work for a professional agency conducting professional operations.
Professional work that was engineering a war.
That night, in his small apartment in Georgetown, Donovan pulled out a notebook he'd bought at a stationery store. Plain, unremarkable. He wrote on the first page:
CIA DOCUMENTATION PROJECTOctober 12, 1947 - PresentPurpose: Record true nature of operations for future accountability
Then he began writing everything he'd learned in three months:
Organizational chart showing Prometheus Protocol network members
Korea desk operations designed to increase tensions
Intelligence assessments written to support military intervention
Conversations with Dulles and Hartley discussing "managing" the conflict
Budget allocations for covert operations in Asia
Donovan wrote for two hours, documenting everything in careful detail. Names, dates, specific conversations, operational plans.
When he finished, he sealed the notebook in an envelope and addressed it to a lawyer he'd never met—a solo practitioner in Philadelphia who advertised in the Yellow Pages. Enclosed a check for $500 and instructions:
Hold this envelope in your safe. Do not open unless you receive notification of my death or unless I fail to check in annually for three consecutive years. Upon either condition, deliver to the Washington Post, New York Times, and Congressional Select Committee on Intelligence Oversight.
The next day, he mailed it.
That weekend, Donovan opened a safety deposit box at a bank in Baltimore. Another city, another institution with no connection to his life or work.
He began creating a system:
Write documentation in notebooks
Seal and date each notebook when full
Store in the safety deposit box
Create a dead man's switch through the lawyer
Update annually with new material
It would take years. Decades, probably. But Donovan was making a long-term plan.
He couldn't stop Prometheus Protocol from inside. The Congressional hearings had proven that exposure in the moment didn't work. Power protected itself too effectively.
But maybe accumulating evidence over time would work. Building an archive so comprehensive that it couldn't be dismissed or explained away. Documentation spanning years, showing patterns that couldn't be attributed to coincidence or misunderstanding.
And releasing it later—when he was old, retired, beyond retaliation. Or dead, when the truth couldn't hurt him anymore.
Donovan thought about Morrison. About the 1944 recording. About Rick's three years gathering evidence that ultimately didn't matter.
They'd tried to expose the conspiracy at its peak, during wartime, when power was most concentrated and most defensive.
Maybe the trick was to wait. Document everything, release nothing until the moment was right. When power had diffused enough that truth could actually penetrate.
It might take thirty years. Forty. Maybe Donovan's entire career.
But what else was he going to do? Quit and face investigation? Work for Prometheus Protocol without resistance?
At least this way, he was fighting back. Even if the fight wouldn't pay off in his lifetime.