Mosaic (Breakthrough Book 5)

by Michael C. Grumley

On his computer monitor, Borger stared at a high-resolution satellite view of the Dugway installation, zoomed in on the building Clay and Caesare had gone into. The resolution was clear enough to now show Clay, Caesare, and both women standing outside, surrounded by dozens of armed soldiers. They comprised most if not all, Borger assumed, of the base’s available security––all positioned in a half circle with their guns drawn.

  From the overhead view, Borger could see Clay and the others with hands raised above their heads.

  “They’re outside the building, surrounded.”

  Miller spoke calmly. “You’re sure they have both women?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Okay.” Langford reached out and ended the call.

  Miller exhaled and glared back at Langford, who was also leaning back in his chair, pensively.

  “We knew it was a long shot.”

  “We did.”

  “And they almost made it.”

  Langford nodded.

  “I guess we have no choice now.”

  “Time to come clean.”

  “You sure got yourself a hell of a team there, Jim.”

  Langford smiled. “Yes. We do.”

  141

  It was known as the Rolls Royce of its industry. Called Gurkha, the company made some of the most exquisite cigars on the planet––hand-rolled with 18-year tobacco and enhanced with the premium and very rare Louis XIII Cognac. The cigars were known as His Majesty’s Reserve and sold for over $15,000 a box. Boxes of which only a hundred were produced each year and were personally allotted by the company’s own president, a man of extreme wealth, and deep connections.

  Even better than the cigars themselves, was the unique aroma they produced, with a delectable hint of chocolate within the smoke as it hung exquisitely in the air. Slowly drifting down, it was disturbed again by another slow exhale from the CIA Director’s lips.

  Deputy Ambrose opened the door and stepped in, smiling at Hayes who was sitting in his office chair. The man was wearing a deep look of satisfaction and relishing not only the delicious aroma but his moment of sweet and utter victory.

  “Anything yet?” Ambrose asked.

  Hayes shook his head, eyeing the lingering smoke swirl in front of him. “No. But it’s coming.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Without a doubt.”

  Without looking up, Hayes reached for a large photograph on his desk and flicked it forward. The aerial view of one of Dugway’s buildings captured dozens of figures standing outside.

  “Is this what I think it is?”

  “Yep.”

  Ambrose studied the figures closer. “Where did you get this?”

  The director grinned smugly.

  His phone suddenly buzzed and Hayes eyed it coolly, reaching out calmly and accepting the call.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Sir, I have a call from Defense Secretary Miller.”

  Hayes glanced at Ambrose. “Is that so?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And what is it about?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  Hayes feigned a frown. “Then ask him.”

  “Yes, sir. One moment.”

  The room fell silent for several seconds until his secretary’s voice returned. “He only says that it’s an urgent matter.”

  “An urgent matter,” Hayes repeated sarcastically, leaning his head back on the chair. “Sounds important.”

  When his secretary didn’t reply, the director grinned. “Count to thirty, then put him through.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ambrose, who had seated himself in front of the desk, sneered along with him. “You may be enjoying this a little too much.”

  “Impossible.”

  Hayes inhaled deeply and blew out another stream of smoke, watching the trails twist and swirl around each other. “What are you doing this weekend?”

  Ambrose appeared surprised by the question. “I’ll be here. Going through what Millican’s team weeds out. You?”

  “I don’t know yet. Something big. Maybe something…celebratory.”

  “I would hope so.”

  They were interrupted again by Hayes’ secretary. “Sir, I’m putting him through now.”

  Hayes swiveled his chair toward the phone. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Andy. It’s Merl Miller.”

  Hayes grinned mockingly. “First names. To what do I owe the pleasure, Merl.”

  He could almost hear Miller swallow his pride on the other end.

  “We have a…situation.”

  “Sounds serious. What sort of situation.”

  “Something tells me you already know.”

  “Merl,” Hayes replied. “The CIA has a lot of situations. I’m afraid I’ll need a little more than that.”

  Miller’s answer was short. “Dugway.”

  “Ah, Dugway,” he replied. “Let’s see, the last time we spoke, it was about your helicopter full of Navy SEALs, sitting on a tarmac in Salt Lake City.” Hayes' voice became serious. “Or…maybe this has to do with two of your men…captured inside my base. While trying to take what belongs to me.”

  Miller frowned at the phone in front of him. “They’re people, Hayes. Not property. It’s not the 1800s.”

  “No, it’s not,” he replied, dryly. “But they’re still mine.”

  “Yours.”

  “Yes,” Hayes said. “My property. This position, this post, has been entrusted to me. By the loyal and trusting citizens of this country. Trust that actually stands for something. A concept you don’t seem to understand. But to me, it’s responsibility, honor, a duty, that I’ve been given to uphold and protect. In the face of all enemies, foreign and domestic.”

  “We’re not your enemy, Hayes. You know that.”

  “Do I? Then why else would you try to sneak your men in to take something I was trying to protect? For the betterment of this country.”

  “The same way you snuck into our hospital? I think our definitions of betterment differ considerably.”

  Hayes shrugged and took another puff. “That may be the only thing we agree on.”

  Staring across the table at Langford, Miller sighed. “Hayes, we want our people. We’re prepared to negotiate.”

  “Negotiate? Negotiate with what? You broke into the CIA’s private systems, illegally, as a means of disguising a much deeper and more malicious offense. Does any of that sound like leverage to you?”

  There was a long pause from Miller, repulsed at the thought of having to bargain with the man. The bastard had kidnapped the women after killing two of his own. “What do you want, Hayes?”

  The director displayed a dark grin. “What do I want? Well, now that’s an interesting question. The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. A reference I trust someone your age can still remember.”

  There was no answer.

  “What I want,” Hayes breathed, “is to see you and Langford in jail.”

  Miller and Langford remained staring at each other, quietly.

  “Is that all?”

  “No,” Hayes replied, ignoring Miller’s sarcasm. “You will also turn over every last piece of information on your secrets. The plants, the ship, your IMIS computer system, everything!”

  “And in turn?”

  “In turn, your people get to live. Steve Caesare, Neely Lawton, the Wei girl, everyone…goes free. Everyone except John Clay.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  Langford leaned forward. “What do you want with Clay?”

  “Ah, Admiral Langford. I should have known you’d be on the call. And what I want with him is none of your business. But you have my word, he will be given back…eventually.”

  Langford was about to tell Hayes where to go when Miller’s hand stopped him.

  “We already have him,” Hayes declared. “And I can assure you he will not set foot outside my base until I decide.”
He picked up the photograph on his desk and looked at it again. “Assuming he doesn’t do anything stupid. Of course, we’ll have to come up with new terms if he does and ends up dead.”

  Miller stared at Langford for a long time. “Give us a minute to talk.”

  He reached out and put the call on hold. Miller then pushed another button on the phone’s display. “Borger, are you still there?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What do we have?”

  “More than enough. I’m texting some of them to you now.”

  142

  When Miller’s voice returned, Hayes was examining the tip of what was left of his cigar and still savoring the smell. Nothing could have been more satisfying than this moment.

  “You there?”

  “I am.”

  Miller sighed. “We’ll give you what you want, but we’re not handing over Clay.”

  “Oh, but you already have.”

  “If you want what we have, then he comes back with the others.”

  An amused Hayes took a deep breath and thought it over. Even without Miller and Langford coming clean about what they knew, he already had enough to bury them under a congressional investigation. And with Clay in his possession, he was sure he would get a lot more. Even if it took some forceful persuading. Not to mention what else Millican and his cyber team would turn up.

  Hayes eventually shook his head. “No. I think I’ll keep him.”

  “It’s not an option,” Miller retorted, causing the CIA director to almost laugh in response.

  “Is that right?”

  “We know what you want, Hayes. And we know why you want it. This isn’t about Langford, or me. If we face charges, then so be it. But the responsibility is ours. Not the others, and especially not Clay. If you really want to know everything, they have to be safe. From everyone, especially you. Let them walk, including Clay, and we have a deal.”

  “Then there’s no deal,” Hayes replied. “You keep whatever secrets you think you still have. They’ll all come out anyway. Until then, enjoy the time you have left to spend with your families. And your attorneys.”

  “Hayes,” Miller said hesitantly.

  The director reached for the phone. “Goodbye, Merl.”

  “Wait.”

  “I’ll give Clay your regards.”

  “WAIT!”

  Hayes’ finger stopped an inch from the button.

  “Maybe…there’s another option.”

  The CIA director glanced smugly at his deputy, Ambrose. “Such as?”

  Miller sighed. “Something else.”

  Hayes leaned back in his chair, listening.

  “This isn’t the way things used to be,” Miller’s voice trailed. “It’s not what the CIA used to be. Or its people. People like Bill Casey and Bob Gates. Both of whom I knew well. Men who understood the importance of doing what was right. Even over politics.”

  A petulant Hayes smirked. “The world has changed.”

  Secretary Miller stared over the table at Langford. “Maybe your priorities have. But not everyone’s. Not everyone is like you. Just like the rest of the government, the CIA is still filled with good people. Hardworking people, who joined out of a sense of duty. To protect our country, and to do the right thing. People of integrity and honesty.” Miller paused, thinking.

  “It’s the head of the snake that leads it astray. Not the body. In every department, every agency, it is the leaders who dictated the culture.”

  “Get to the point. Before I start tearing up.”

  “This is on you, Hayes. You alone. I know what the CIA used to be. When it was led by honorable men. Men of principle. And I remember the words etched into that marble wall in your lobby. Do you?”

  Hayes’ voice grew cold. “Enough. Either give me something else, or I hang up.”

  Miller looked at Langford, who sat listening closely, expressionless and unmoving. “Okay. Here is something else,” he said. “How about Benghazi?”

  “What?”

  “I said, how about Benghazi?”

  There was a pause before Hayes replied. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know what I’m talking about.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  Miller shrugged. “Then how about Cobalt?”

  Another pause.

  “What is Cobalt?”

  Miller smiled at his phone, sarcastically. “I suppose that’s a surprise to you. As is Operation Arab Spring, no doubt.”

  “Are you trying to scare me?”

  “Scare you? No,” Miller said. “Warn you? Yes.”

  In his office, the smug look on Hayes’ face had faded. It was replaced by a look of concern as he peered intently at Ambrose, who was doing the same to him.

  “Warn me of what, exactly?”

  “That I’m not the only one who’s going to need a lawyer.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Let’s just say,” Miller explained, “that the attack on your systems was not merely a diversion.”

  “It was a diversion. Which is how you got into Dugway.”

  “It also allowed us to get into Dugway.”

  Hayes’ dark eyes suddenly hardened. “Bullshit.”

  “What your own team is about to discover, if they haven’t already, is that a rather large data dump was stolen directly from your internal servers. One that includes every document and every email you have ever written. Or signed. Or were copied on. Every communiqué in the CIA with your name on it. Including hundreds of secreted projects whose details have still not been fully disclosed. Like Benghazi, Cobalt, and many others. Projects you either created or had a personal hand in executing. Tens of thousands of documents, all copied from your servers, while your cyber teams attempted to trace each of our connections down. You wouldn’t believe how much we got before you had no choice but to shut everything down in Dugway.”

  The color in Hayes’ face slowly began to drain. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Whether you believe me or not is not my problem. You’re going to find out soon enough that you’re not the only one with something valuable.”

  Miller’s voice had barely finished his sentence before the phone in Ambrose’s pocket chimed, and he immediately fished it out. Hayes muted the call while his deputy read a message on the small screen. When he finished, Ambrose looked at Hayes nervously.

  “It’s from Millican.”

  143

  It was not as much of a long shot as it might have seemed. Yes, getting through security and into Dugway was nerve-wracking, but the key had been overwhelming the CIA’s system with a massive attack from the DoD’s own cyber teams. Something that would take time to deal with and divert attention from what else was happening. An attack whose primary target was not the systems themselves, but in the end, something far more reliable––human egotism.

  But it was still a gamble. A gamble in finding the women and making it back to the surface alive. Then surrendering without being gunned down on the spot in cold blood. Human behavior and arrogance were reliable…yet only to a point.

  Standing in the hot sun, while surrounded by dozens of soldiers, it was Li Na who heard it first. Not just the distant thumping of rotor blades from the Boeing CH-47F Chinook helicopter. Even before that, there was something more. For Li Na, a buzz, or a feeling, preceded the sound long before the others heard anything or saw the chopper once it appeared on the horizon.

  A feeling that went beyond the mechanical, to something much more human. Something emotional, deep in the hearts of dozens of SEALs geared up and fully armed, coming to retrieve their fellow frogmen.

  144

  Thousands of miles away and several hours later, DeeAnn Draper was also standing in the hot sun, surrounded by complete seclusion.

  “It’s okay, Dulce. Just go slow.”

  The gorilla heard the translation emanate from DeeAnn Draper’s vest but continued studying the surface with large nervous eyes.

  Me scare.
<
br />   “You don’t have to be scared. It’s just water.”

  Dulce took another tentative step forward and suddenly panicked when her black foot slipped on a slick rock. The petite gorilla immediately backed herself up.

  “Easy. It’s okay.”

  DeeAnn’s vest was behind Dulce, resting on a fallen tree trunk. It had been positioned carefully, allowing its camera to capture both of them at the edge of a large pond. DeeAnn already stood in the water up to her waist.

  Dulce, who was perched precariously on a large boulder only feet from DeeAnn’s outstretched hands, crept forward again cautiously.

  Really, DeeAnn thought to herself. This from the little gorilla who climbs almost everything she’s not supposed to––the tents, the roof of the truck, the steering wheel, even trees barely tall enough to hold her.

  She couldn’t help but chuckle when Dulce lowered her head and studied the gentle ripples of water with fascination.

  Me swim.

  “Yes. You wanted to swim.” DeeAnn relaxed and folded her arms, happily waiting. She glanced at a log at the water’s edge to notice Dexter, the smaller capuchin monkey, still observing and not the least bit interested in joining.

  Behind Dexter, a lush green forest, thick with short trees and shrubs, surrounded the pond on three sides. The fourth faced a steep hill, rising over fifty feet before flattening––eventually climbing again to reach another plateau in the distance.

  To DeeAnn’s right was a small stream, trickling in through a gentle white turbulence, which fed the large watering hole she was standing in. A beautiful oasis, providing a much-needed break from the long hot days, as long as they didn’t drink from it.

  Waterborne pathogens were rampant in Africa, due primarily to unsafe water sources and unhygienic practices throughout much of the continent. And Ethiopia was no exception. One of the oldest in the world and named from the Greek words aitho and ops, the country’s name meant “burnt face,” as the ancient Greeks believed that the sun which fell on Ethiopia created its vast deserts and little water. Their original ancestors were evidently unaware that Ethiopia was home to one of the longest rivers in the world.