by Brad Taylor
They started collecting the necessary gear, then Brett arrived, saying, “Why’d you call us back? He’s looking for surveillance, but that doesn’t mean we need to hide. Static surveillance is impossible to detect—especially in a hotel we’re staying in. It’s only natural to see the same people over and over again, and eventually, he’ll let down his guard.”
Knuckles and Veep left, headed to the ninth floor, and I pointed to our computer, saying, “He ain’t coming back. And we’re out of options.”
Jennifer turned around and said, “Creed just sent a second transcript. This one is in English.”
* Stop the joking. We need to meet sooner than later.
* Yes! I am. We need to meet in Europe, not Turkey. I can’t get to Turkey in the time I need.
* So you’re tracking me?
* Well, I need protection now. I have people hunting me, like you warned me about in Monaco, but they aren’t Americans.
* I never told you I was in Syria. All I said was I have WMD intelligence. Does the agency want to pay for that information or not?
What in the world? It took a few seconds for the words to sink in, but when they did I felt an unbridled rage. Jennifer realized the import of the transcript at the same time I did.
She said, “That bastard is working with the CIA.”
42
I shook my head at the screen and said, “Sir, no Oversight Council on this one. I want to brace him one-on-one.”
Kurt said, “Pike, I can’t turn you loose on a CIA operations officer. Come on. You don’t even know if it’s him. Shit, you don’t even know if it’s the CIA. He could have been talking to a German or a Russian.”
As soon as I’d realized what Creed had sent, I’d ordered everyone out of the room and dialed up the Taskforce, demanding to see Kurt Hale immediately on our VPN. I’d expected the pushback, but I could also tell he realized how pissed off I was if the subterfuge from the CIA was real.
I said, “Sir, he talked about a meeting in Turkey—where that asshat Periwinkle was pulled from—and he’s speaking English.”
“Maybe he’s speaking English because it’s the only common language they both have. Maybe the Syrian doesn’t speak German, and the other guy doesn’t speak Arabic.”
Exasperated, I said, “Did you read the transcript? He said he was warned in Monaco. Remember when he disappeared and we didn’t know why? That’s why. And the only person outside of the Taskforce who knew we were about to interdict was the CIA case officer Periwinkle. It’s him. Not Germans or Russians. It’s Periwinkle, and that asshole knew who the Syrian was from day one.”
Kurt pursed his lips, and I could tell he believed me. But that didn’t mean I’d won. He said, “I still can’t authorize this without the Council. Kerry Bostwick is a good man. He wouldn’t sanction what Periwinkle did—if it’s true. I need his concurrence to roll up his guy. This was the first joint CIA/Taskforce operation, and you want it to end with a unilateral Taskforce hit on the CIA? Look where I’m at here.”
“Sir, I understand that, but remember Standish? Remember what that asshole did? Kerry may be a good man, but we have no idea how rotten this is. You brief the Council—you brief Kerry—and it’s going to get back to Periwinkle. He’s going to start building a cover story. And we’re going to miss the terrorists.”
“Pike, you’re talking about an Omega operation against a United States citizen. Not only that, but a clandestine officer in the CIA.”
“Come on, sir. You officers make things a hell of a lot more complicated than they need to be. I’m not talking about kidnapping his ass and waterboarding him. I just want to brace him. Use Johnny’s team. We’ll stay here. Just send them in and scare the shit out of him in an office visit.”
“Johnny’s been pulled out. He’s no longer in Europe.”
Crap.
“Carly, too?”
“No. She’s in Paris. I’ve got her on something else.”
“Okay, well, I can be back in Monaco in an hour. The Rock Star bird is standing by. Give me Carly and I’ll do it with my team.”
“What, exactly, does ‘do it’ mean?”
“The Syrian is in contact with the terrorists, and he’s disappeared. Periwinkle is in contact with the Syrian, and that guy wants a meet—in his words ‘sooner rather than later.’ Let me rip Periwinkle a new asshole, and we’ll set up a meeting, rolling up the Syrian.”
“Why do you need Carly?”
“Because that asshole trusts her. She’s in his tribe. She’ll be the calm before the storm. He’ll have his guard down if it’s her.”
Kurt rubbed his chin, and I felt the tide turning in my favor. I knew better than to push it, though. It had to be his decision.
He said, “If your plan works out, I’ll have to brief Omega anyway. You can’t unilaterally set up a meeting with the Syrian and take him down.”
“I get that, but if my plan actually works, it’ll sell itself. And I know you’re worried about hiding this first phase, but blame my ass. Tell ’em I unilaterally did it. When the smoke clears, nobody is going to question it.”
“I’m not going to sell you down the river. I’m the commander. But it does beg the question. Why aren’t you unilaterally doing it anyway? Like you did in Lesotho last year?”
He was talking about a mission where I’d used a little subterfuge to accomplish our objective, doing what was right even without his permission. But that was precisely the point—it was the right thing to do, and it hadn’t altered our outcome. I’d even tacitly hinted that I was going to do it anyway—and I’m sure he knew it at the time. The question was a little offensive.
I said, “Come on, sir. I’d never do anything to put you or the Taskforce in jeopardy. Lesotho was a mission inside a mission. It wasn’t this. I know where the line is drawn.”
He laughed and said, “Yeah, sure. Okay. I’ll get Carly moving, but it’s just an office meeting. Right?”
I grinned and said, “Sure. But it’s going to be the roughest office meeting that asshole has ever seen.”
43
Dr. Chin Mae-jung felt the unease rise as they left the central portion of Pyongyang, heading north. He’d had a spike of fear as they’d approached the gigantic presidential palace complex, bristling with wire and armed men, and then had relaxed as it faded in the rearview mirror. Now, as they left the elite neighborhoods and government buildings behind, he began to grow more concerned. Not that there was anything he could do about it, and the driver wasn’t talking.
He’d been summoned to a long black Mercedes that looked to have been built four decades ago, the driver simply telling him to get in. Within the world of North Korea, that created instant compliance. Having no idea who the car belonged to, but fearing it represented the regime, there was no way he was going to disobey. Simply not clapping loudly enough at the Supreme Leader’s proclamations could be a death sentence. Refusing to enter a car would mean death by instruments that weren’t instantaneous.
Eventually, they reached a more rural area, passing through a gate manned by the ubiquitous armed soldiers who were everywhere. They raised the drop bar, refusing to even look inside the car for fear of repercussions, the appearance of the Mercedes itself granting instant access.
So he’d made the right choice. It was most definitely the regime.
In the distance he could see a sprawling, four-story granite structure built in a plain, utilitarian style. One befitting its communist heritage. Behind that building, he could see what looked like a prison, a squat, ugly one-story cement structure with bars on the windows. They passed a sign, and his heart almost stopped beating.
STATE SECURITY DEPARTMENT GENERAL HEADQUARTERS.
It was the infamous SSD, the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea’s chief security and intelligence agency—meaning the Supreme Leader’s personal praetorian guard. The single most impo
rtant agency tasked with enforcing the monolithic ideological system of the Kim regime. At first, he believed he was dead, or worse, going to a gulag for some unknown obscene transgression. Then he realized that made no sense. As a scientist in the research bureau, he already fell under the General Staff Operations Bureau, and thus would have simply been arrested by them. There was no need for the vaunted SSD, as he worked in a compound that had plenty of security all on its own.
The Mercedes pulled to the steps in front of the building, and he saw the two men who had witnessed the very first live test of what they now called Red Mercury. The ones who had made him remove his protective gear to prove it had become inert. They now had on military uniforms, both colonels.
The driver said nothing, simply turning around and looking at him. Chin exited the sedan, then stood hesitantly, waiting on a command.
The first man said, “Dr. Chin, good to see you again. Have no fear.”
Chin advanced up the stairs, and he said, “I’m Colonel Lee Dae-jung. This is Colonel Park In-young.” Chin was off-kilter from the niceties. They’d not introduced themselves at all when he was about to die. Now they acted like they were old friends. He pushed his glasses on his face and nodded rapidly.
Colonel Park opened the door to the building, and Colonel Lee said, “Come. We have operations involving your invention, and a man wants to meet you about them.”
They entered a sterile hallway, wide enough to drive a tractor down, the floor polished to a high gleam. Colonel Lee said, “Don’t do anything other than answer the questions you’re asked. Don’t offer anything.”
Chin nodded, and they stopped at a door flanked with flags. Colonel Park knocked, and Chin heard, “Come in.”
The door swung open, and he saw General Kim Won-hong, the minister of state security. One of the most powerful men in the DPRK. Gruff, without any pleasantries, Kim said, “Is this him?”
Park said, “Yes, sir.”
Kim pointed at a cluster of metal chairs and said, “Take a seat.”
They did, and Kim said, “These two tell me that your invention does what you reported. It kills on command, and then becomes inert. I wanted to hear it from you.”
Chin nodded and said, “I tested it myself.”
“How?”
Chin glanced at the two colonels, then said, “I conducted a live-tissue test, first proving lethality, then, after the period for safety had passed, I introduced more live tissue. The new tissue lived.”
Kim smiled and said, “I know who the first test was conducted on. What ‘live tissue’ did you use for the second? A dog?”
“No, sir. I did the test on myself.”
Kim was mildly surprised. He said, “You did it? I’m impressed with the dedication. If we only had more like you.”
Chin nodded, not saying that his “dedication” came from the barrel of a gun. General Kim turned to the other officers, his interest in Chin gone.
“So, we know it works, and you have sent the second batch?”
“Yes, sir. It’s in Switzerland waiting for pickup.”
“Where? Is it secure?”
“Completely. The Swiss are nothing if not tight-lipped about privacy. The only ones who have access are our men.”
“And the Syrian? He is accomplishing what we need?”
“Yes, sir. He said the pass went fine, but there is still the issue of him lying about the phone.”
“Do you think there is a breach? We need that attack to occur before we do our own.”
“I don’t know. We never recovered the phone, and there was the matter of the Russians. He claims he asked them to retrieve the phone, but at this point, it’s just a claim. It’s not optimal. I know we’re clean, but I don’t know about him. We paid him a visit, and it seems to have scared him. He’s left Zurich.”
“How can you say we’re clean? He met us, did he not? He knows where the device came from, does he not?”
Colonel Park fidgeted, not liking the turn in the conversation. “Well, yes, sir, but that was unavoidable.”
“So if he talks, either to the Russians or anyone else, they will make the connection, which will completely destroy our attack. We want them to be blamed, not us.”
Park said, “Sir, interdicting him might be messy. It might compromise our own status in Switzerland, which will eliminate our ability to execute our own plan. We’re watching him. He can’t do anything without us knowing.”
“I don’t think that’s good enough. We might end up watching him get captured by a hostile power. You think removing him is messy, think about trying to silence him after he’s in someone else’s hands.”
Park nodded, subdued. Kim continued, “The member states of the Conference on Disarmament convene in one week, and I don’t have to tell you what they’ll be discussing. More resolutions against the DPRK. The Syrians’ attack must occur before then.”
Kim thought for a moment, weighing his decision, then said, “Where is he now?”
“He’s in Lucerne, at a cheap hotel. We have the ghost team on him. He thinks he’s broken contact, but we’ve already wired his room. We know his every move.”
“Kill him. I don’t want him captured or questioned. Just eliminated.”
Knowing that anything less than compliance could be viewed as insubordination, Park simply nodded.
Kim said, “I expect the same dedication Dr. Chin has shown, is that understood? Anything less than success, and you two will be live-tissue samples for the next round of tests.”
44
David Periwinkle sat underneath a table umbrella on the south end of a small square called Place d’Armes, hidden behind a crowd of shoppers milling about at a farmers market. It was the best vantage point he could find. Even though someone could enter the square from multiple directions, then disappear into the market, they’d have to continue east to the pizza restaurant, crossing open ground, and he’d see them.
He had two more days on his forced assignment in Monaco, and as far as he could tell, it was going nowhere—mainly because he’d protected their target. But there were worse places to spend some temporary duty.
Yesterday, he’d received a call from Carly—the CIA case officer acting as the liaison for those SOCOM Neanderthals—asking for a meeting. He’d thought about blowing her off, because he knew the meeting was going to produce nothing, but he remembered she was fairly cute. Maybe there was something more to be gained.
As the chief of the CIA side of this worthless joint endeavor, she technically worked for him, and it wouldn’t be the first time such a situation had turned in his favor. After all, it wasn’t like she was going to get a lot of credit working on the Syrian case, and he could leverage his position as a bargaining chip, ostensibly to help her career.
It was worth a try.
He’d arrived thirty minutes early, casing the meeting site, then taking a seat with a view to the entrance. He was sure it wasn’t necessary, but old habits die hard.
Seven minutes before the meeting time, he saw her, wearing sunglasses and a yellow sundress, her tanned legs running down to her bare, sandaled feet. The sight energized his imagination.
She took a seat at a stool next to a table of produce, not proceeding into the restaurant. She glanced around, but she wasn’t looking for him. She was looking for someone else. And then she stood. He could tell she was hesitant about something, clutching a purse, making him think she might have a weapon and was looking for a threat.
He leaned forward.
A tall man with shaggy black hair and a two-day growth of beard approached, his T-shirt tight enough to showcase the rope of his muscles. She knew him, but seemed scared. He hugged her, then kissed her cheek.
What the hell?
* * *
—
Carly took a seat on a stool just to the edge of the farmers market, knowing that P
eriwinkle was probably lurking about somewhere, but more concerned with whom she was bringing to the meeting. She brushed her hair with her hand, an unconscious gesture to ensure she was presentable. She’d told herself she was just blending in by dressing as a tourist, but if she were honest, she’d chosen the sundress because it was flattering.
She waited, and then saw him in the crowd, half a head taller than everyone else. She stood, feeling an uncharacteristic hesitation, like a child caught for shoplifting and forced to apologize to a store owner. She felt a tinge of shame she knew wasn’t fair.
From the day she’d VW’d selection, she’d spoken to him only once, on the phone. She hadn’t seen him face-to-face, and she knew how much Taskforce selection meant to him. How much he’d put on the line for her, only to have her quit.
He stalked through the crowd, and she saw he was still a magnet. Women young and old surreptitiously glanced at him as he passed, drawn to him. If the gender roles had been reversed, they would have catcalled.
She waited, wondering if he would treat this as the CIA operation it was—all business—or acknowledge their previous relationship. Truthfully, she wondered why that asshole Pike had sent him. Surely there was someone else on the team who could do the operation. But she knew why. That asshole Pike was getting closure. Ensuring she was accepted. It didn’t make this meeting any easier.
He broke through the shoppers, glanced around, caught her eye, and his face split into a radiant smile. Before she knew it, he had his arms around her, kissing her cheek.
“Hey, you’re a damn heartbreaker in that dress. Not sure how you’re going to run in those sandals, though.”
She laughed, genuinely relieved, and said, “Just a meeting. We won’t be running, and I certainly don’t want to look like a G-man on any surveillance cameras.”
Knuckles passed her a manila envelope and said, “Here’s the photo and transcript.”
She took it and said, “We have about five minutes. The meeting site is across the square, in a back booth at that pizza joint.”