“But that’s—”
“Just turn, Dear,” she said gently.
He followed a sign that said, Cape Cod Rod and Gun Club.
Morgan appraised his wife, who kept her face casual, but he could see a twinkle in her eye.
“No questions, just park,” she said. “You have your Walther?”
“Of course,” he replied. He literally never left home without it. In the past, Jenny had given him some grief about carrying a gun when they went out. But since she’d found out about his real job—and faced a few of its dangers herself—she had not complained again.
This, however, was a whole other level.
While Morgan parked, Jenny reached into her bag and pulled out a something he recognized as a gun case.
She spun the combination with a practiced hand and pulled out something else he recognized: a Smith and Wesson Bodyguard .380. It was a small gun, easy to hide and good for close fighting.
He approved of the weapon, but what was it doing in his wife’s hands?
Now she was laughing. “It’s for me. I thought I should have something in case…”
Jenny didn’t need to finish that. More than once, his intelligence work had put Jenny in danger. Or rather, he had put Jenny in danger.
“Alex helped me pick it out,” Jenny said, with some pride—as if she and their daughter had gone shopping for a party dress.
Maybe if they had been a normal family, Morgan would have been upset, or concerned, or uncomfortable. But after everything their family had been through he was just…relieved. Jenny would be safer now, better equipped to handle whatever came.
And the image of the two women in his life clucking over pistols made him smile.
“I guess we’re here so I can teach you how to shoot, or at least make a start,” Morgan said.
“That would be great. And I packed some extra rounds for your Walther,” Jenny said.
At the desk, Jenny showed a certificate from a gun safety course and they were headed toward the back.
A few minutes later they were standing in one of the firing lanes (because, of course, Jenny had reserved one) and she was handing him the hearing and eye protection she had packed—then putting on her own.
Jenny loaded her own weapon with the same meticulous care she took with everything she did. Only then, did she look up and him.
“Do you mind if I go first?” Jenny said.
Morgan let her take the center of the lane. He noted that she planted her feet just a hair wider than shoulder width. Then she placed her right foot (her firing side foot) even with the instep of her left foot.
It wasn’t the beginner’s Isosceles stance, or the Weaver, which was favored by law enforcement. It was the Fighting stance used by military and special ops. Jenny executed it perfectly, flexing her knees and lifting the weapon up to her head, which she kept level.
Jenny emptied the pistol’s six round magazine into the target, which was a respectable twenty yards away. Morgan knew that she had done well. Jenny pushed the button on the side of the lane and the target raced forward.
It was a standard black silhouette in the shape of a bear on a white background. There were no hits in the bull’s-eye on the bear’s head, but he saw that all of the shots were center mass.
Jenny glowed with pride. “What do you think?”
“I think that bear is a goner.”
“I’ve been practicing,” she said.
“I noticed,” he replied.
“Why don’t you try, then we’ll take the target out a bit farther. And later I’ve rented us two Uzis. I’ve never tried one of those.”
Morgan realized that this was going to be an interesting trip.
* * * *
After her latest workout with Schmitt, Alex felt pretty good. She applied herself and trained like crazy to learn what Schmitt had to teach her.
As a result, Alex had taken her instructor down twice in their hour together. It was nothing compared to the number of times Schmitt had put her on the mat, but it was progress.
Even Alicia Schmitt was pleased, and she wasn’t easily impressed. The commander had multiple black belts, but Alex was confident that in a year or two she might be able to give her instructor a real run for her money.
As it was, Alex was almost as good a marksman as her dad, at least with a handgun. She knew it was just a matter of time before she caught up with him and maybe even surpassed him.
That was a sobering thought. Growing up, she had definitely been a daddy’s girl. And then there had a brief period of estrangement in her later teen years. It had started when she had joined Americans for a Peaceful Society. She had felt her father’s disapproval then, and that had made her identify with the group even more.
Things had only gotten worse when she learned what her father really did for a living. Then, for a brief period, he had literally become the enemy—the embodiment of the arrogant military powers she and the APS believed were the true threats to world peace.
Though it pained her to admit it now, she had come close to hating her father then. He represented the opposite of everything she had thought she believed in. The only problem was that just about everything she’d believed in was wrong. Those beliefs were fairy tales she’d told herself about all people and all nations being basically good. She still believed that about all people—or at least most people—but less so about all nations.
Like people, governments could be corrupted by ideology, or greed, or—there was no other way to put it—evil. Once she’d understood that both individuals and groups could be evil, the world actually got harder.
In a fight between the truly good and the truly bad, you always had to make a choice. You couldn’t sit on the sidelines and endlessly collect information, rationalize behavior, and speculate about motivations.
It a world of good guys and bad guys, you had to choose; you had to take a stand. As an agent you had to do it with too little information and too little time. You had to just know.
The way her father just knew what was worth fighting for and what to do in almost any tough situation. When she was in the APS she didn’t know any of that yet. Of course that was still high school and seemed like a lifetime ago.
However, in reality, it was barely two years ago. Thinking back, Alex could hardly recognize that girl. And yet if Alex hadn’t gotten involved in her father’s business, Alex would still be that person. She’d likely still be a member of the APS and starting her third year of college.
She would be railing against the military and people like her father while remaining blissfully unaware of the real threats that were out there. She’d still be fighting imaginary monsters while the real ones were crouched in the darkness.
Alex definitely didn’t miss that person. She definitely didn’t miss being her, and yet she’d have to be, at least for the duration of this mission.
“Hello Alex,” Lily Randall said, as she entered the small briefing room.
“Hi Lily,” she replied automatically.
Alex liked Lily. She had given Alex some of her earliest weapons and hand-to-hand training at Zeta. Before joining Zeta, Lily had been an agent for MI5, the British intelligence agency. She was also the only female agent who worked primarily as an undercover operative, which was why she was giving Alex this last bit of training.
There were other women in the office, like Spartan, but she was a tactical agent and, as far as Alex knew, had never done undercover work. Alex, like her father, wanted to be able to do both, and do them at a very high level.
“Diana tells me this will be your first undercover assignment,” Lily said.
“Yes, if you can even call it that,” Alex said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’m basically going as myself. I’m not even changing my name,” Alex said.
“Sm
art,” Lily said. “The fewer things you change about yourself, the less likely you are to get caught.”
“That much I learned from my father,” Alex said.
“What else did he teach you?” Lily asked, with interest.
“That when I’m undercover, the fewer details I have to keep straight, the less the chance that I’ll be killed or captured,” Alex said.
“Good advice,” Lily concurred.
“But I’m not really worried about the killed and captured part. I mean, I’ll be infiltrating a bunch of college kids who are either pacifists or environmentalists, or both. I’m not worried about the physical danger.”
“Maybe, but what about mission failure? Because if you’re caught, you won’t be killed or taken to a dank prison somewhere, but you will fail in your mission, which is to collect intelligence about the group and their work. You can’t do that effectively if everyone suspects or knows you aren’t on the team. And I wouldn’t be so quick to discount physical danger. The only guarantee on any undercover mission is that there will be surprises.”
Lily gave Alex a minute to consider that. Alex knew that Lily had been captured and injured on a recent mission. And while Lily seemed normal now—though normal for her was drop-dead gorgeous—Alex knew she had not been in the field since.
“Never take your assignment lightly. Assume lives are always on the line, yours or someone else’s, or both. I’ve seen your mission parameters and I know that the Americans for a Peaceful Society are likely crackpots, but they are working with someone who is a leading biochemist and whose stated goal is the elimination of all human life on earth. And even if we judge the risk of Spellman and his club succeeding to be low, I’d say the failure cost would be pretty high. Wouldn’t you?”
Alex felt blood rushing to her treacherous cheeks. “You’re right, I’m embarrassed that I dismissed them…”
“Don’t be. This is one of the first steps in your education as an agent,” Lily said.
“I understand,” Alex said, “but why does my education lately make me feel like an idiot?” Alex asked.
“That’s because you are doing it right,” Lily said, smiling. “Now tell me what approach you are planning to take as you go undercover as Alex Morgan, college student.”
“Approach? I was just going to be myself,” Alex said, suddenly unsure.
“Okay, tell me how you feel about Professor Spellman and the student profiles you’ve seen?”
“Well, they’re morons,” Alex said. Even as the words left her mouth, she realized what was wrong. “Which, I now see might not be the right attitude to go in with if I want them to accept me.”
“See, you are learning already,” Lily said. “I know you were a member of the APS. At the time, I’m sure you were naïve and sincere in your beliefs. Assume they are too. And remember, even though they may be crackpots who fantasize about the end of the world, that doesn’t mean they are stupid. These are biochemistry students, some of them on doctorate tracks. And the professor himself was on the short list for a Nobel Prize or two. Keep that in mind and you’ll be fine.”
Lily stopped to appraise Alex.
“Just a few more things before I clear you. And then we have to go shopping,” Lily said.
“Shopping?” Alex said.
“Yes, you’re going to college. We need to outfit your dorm room, make sure you have appropriate clothes. We’re building you a character—you’re going to need some props and a costume.”
That made Alex smile, which was followed by a pang. She knew her father was pleased when she had decided to go into his business, and proud that she was doing something important.
However, she also knew her mother had been disappointed. When Alex had been in high school, Jenny Morgan had been looking forward to getting her off to college. There had been SAT prep classes and discussions about boys, and warnings about drinking too much.
Alex also knew that her mom had seen her friends send their children off to school, buying them clothes, setting up their dorm rooms.
Now Alex would be doing all of that in an afternoon with Lily. Well, Alex decided she would have to tell her mother all about it when the mission was over.
“Yes, let’s go shopping,” she said.
Chapter 8
“See you later, Amado,” Conley said.
The security guard smiled broadly at Conley as he left the hotel café. “Have a good morning, Mr. Conley,” Amado replied, smiling even as he spoke. There were two things Amado was never without: a big grin on his face and an oversized pistol grip shotgun on his hip.
That was the Philippines for you. Possibly the friendliest and most heavily armed people Conley had ever encountered. There were armed security everywhere—literally everywhere. Gas stations, convenience stores, and burger joints all not only had security, but armed security. And pistol grip shotguns were the usual weapon of choice.
These guards kept an eye on everyone and did things like check bags as you entered a store. However, they also helped people carry packages, reached items from the high shelves for customers, and cleaned the tables at coffee shops. Conley had even seen armed security men scooping ice cream for children when an ice cream parlor was busy.
There was something sweet about it. Of course, with that many armed people in a city like Manila, there were occasional accidents. Training for these private security guards varied wildly, and every year there were a few accidental weapons discharges.
But Conley suspected that had never happened to Amado, whom Conley pegged as retired military, now content to keep watch on the hotel café.
The security in Manila was a response to the ever-present threat of robbery and kidnappings, and recently it was because the terrorist activity in the south had made its way up to Manila and the larger cities.
The Moro Islamic Liberation Front had gotten bolder in recent years, with strikes in Manila as recently as six months ago. Their acronym—MILF—always made Conley chuckle, but they were a deadly serious threat.
Though usually Conley had breakfast on the beach, today he wanted to make a point of spending some time in the lobby of the hotel. This wasn’t a mission exactly; it was more like a working vacation. With the Chinese delegation arriving this morning, this was the beginning of the working part.
Not that he had many actual responsibilities. In reality, he was simply doing Diana Bloch a favor by staying at the hotel where the Chinese economic team would be staying. The conference could possibly strengthen ties between China and the Philippines, which—naturally—could affect the relationship between the Philippines and the United States.
The Philippines had always had a complex relationship with the U.S. Traditionally, the two countries shared a strong economic and political relationship, but the current administration in Manila had made it a priority to make their country less dependent on the U.S. At the same time, the Filipino government was increasing economic and political ties to China—ties which had been steadily building for about twenty years.
It was all fascinating and was probably keeping rooms full of analysts at the CIA and State busy—but none of those questions were particularly interesting to Conley. The Philippines and the U.S. had maintained their close but complex relationship since the Philippines achieved independence in 1946. Filipino administrations would sometimes flirt with China and get the State Department scurrying, but the reality was that the U.S. was the Philippines’ strongest ally.
Rather than focusing on the always-changing diplomatic situation, Conley was there to assess the current local security situation, at least for the conference. The fact was that any international conference would be a natural target for terrorists.
On the streets there were some more of the Filipino police and the so-called ‘Tourist Police,’ who with their blue slacks and blue shirts were often mistaken for regular police. They even had virtually the same p
owers to keep the peace and make arrests. Their biggest defining characteristic was the assault rifle each tourist policeman had slung on his or her back. Many, if not most, were ex-military. And they clearly had much more training than their private security counterparts, or even the regular police. Conley was also there as part of a test of Karen O’Neal’s new threat assessment software. He liked the idea of her project, but even if the idea was solid, optimizing the software to run it would take some doing, and probably quite a bit of trial and error.
Case in point: he was in Manila keeping an eye on an international conference that O’Neal’s system had tagged as a security threat when there was none of the traditional online and telecommunications chatter that always proceeded a major terrorist attack. So either Karen’s system saw something that all the traditional software had missed, or Karen’s new project needed some work.
The problem with current threat assessment tools was that they were painfully non-specific. They showed an increased threat to a country, or a region, or possibly a city. That could be helpful, but hardly told authorities where to deploy their resources.
O’Neal’s software had pinpointed the conference and the hotel specifically. Of course, they were logical targets, but in the absence of the usual online chatter and other signs, Conley—along with Diana Bloch—was not particularly concerned.
Still, it might help O’Neal and Shepard calibrate the software, which would make it useful in the long term.
Conley checked his watch. Based on the Chinese delegation’s arrival time, they were due to be arriving at the hotel shortly. Positioning himself so he had a view of virtually the entire lobby, Conley lifted his Wall Street Journal and began to read.
Just a few minutes later, he saw movement outside and watched as proper Filipino soldiers took up positions in the front of the hotel. They were professional, focused, and didn’t interact with the public in the way that even the heavily armed tourist police did. He counted at least a dozen soldiers and expected that they would be there for the duration of the conference.
Threat Level Alpha Page 7