by T C Miller
“Twenty-thousand men, plus search dogs, and we might find him in a month or two.”
“Intel says the perps are only here a week or so while they sell the nukes.”
“What I hear you saying is we need to double-time it, right?”
Uncle Bob broke in, “How about triple time? Yancy has buyers lined up.”
“Selling nukes is easy,” Kevin said. “Dozens of terrorist groups and power-hungry dictators have the money. Delivering them is the hard part. Can’t exactly call FedEx to come and pick them up.”
“True,” Jake said. “Which makes Chicago a likely destination.”
“To fly them out?”
“Probably not. Too many Customs people and too much security here. My gut says they’ll either truck them or put them on a cargo ship.”
“A ship? Going where?”
“Anywhere in the world. St. Lawrence Seaway leads right out to the Atlantic. Takes less than a week, and they can be in Europe in less than two weeks.” “But they’d still have to get through Customs.”
“Not a problem if you know what you’re doing. Twenty-thousand here, forty-thousand there and you can slip through any border. Happens more often than you’d think. Customs people don’t make enough to resist temptation at a certain level, and smugglers know what that level is. I go into detail in my
smuggling seminar you haven’t taken yet.”
“I’m sure it would keep me up at night.”
“Roger that, but back to business. Comm techs have a lead on the sat phone Yancy uses and are working to pin down a location. He’s using the best encryption available, so we can’t listen in, but it should give us his GPS coordinates. Have the men
mount up while I check in with comm.”
Kevin looked to Onkst for confirmation.
Uncle Bob shrugged his shoulders. “In case you haven’t heard, Agent Thomas is running this op with me, so whatever he says goes.”
“Right, Boss, err, bosses…whatever.”
“You and your team never cease to amaze me,” Jake Thomas spoke into the secure phone.
There was a moment of hollow static before Alan Markwell, team leader of the Secure Communications Analysis Division’s Satellite Telephone Tracking Team spoke, “Uh, thanks, Agent Thomas….”
“How many times do I have to tell you, Alan? Call me Jake, unless we’re in a formal setting.”
“Sorry, I’m so used to the rigid formality here in DC, I’m having a little trouble getting used to a Team Leader who’s so down-to-earth.”
“I came up through the ranks. Always been this way, and don’t see a reason to change.”
“Yes, sir, I mean Jake. As I was saying, Gary Kuhn is one of our best analysts. He wrote an algorithm capable of breaking conversations into
dynamically-searchable phrases….”
“Not to cut you short, Alan, but we have a dozen men on standby. How about the Reader’s Digest version?”
“Yes, sir, I’m excited about this new program, but
I’ll try to make this brief.”
Jake doubted Alan would.
“Gary threw what we decrypted into his program and came up with a boatload of interesting data. For instance, it picked out global sat phones using Slavic languages. It subtracted overseas devices, or those used by diplomats here in the US. Turns out, fewer
than a hundred are used by other people.”
“Still a lot to sort through.”
“Which is why we did a geographical track of the remaining phones and narrowed it down. Only nineteen sat phones were active in Colorado and Wyoming a month ago. Most notably, a cluster on the plains near Deer Trail….”
“Where the explosion occurred?”
“Yes, but here’s where it gets interesting. One phone is in Europe, while the other five are still in
North America.”
“Can you pin them down?”
“Already have. Two are within twenty miles of your current location.”
Leased Warehouse In Chicago
We will be here for only two or three days,” Gregori Yancy said to Vasiliy, his new assistant.
“What are orders, Bocc?”
“Put guard on corners of building and change every four hours.”
“Yes, Bocc. With thirteen men, they have eight hours off. Perhaps they can leave building to eat?”
“No, makes trouble easy.”
Vasiliy hesitated. “Men have only canned food for days. Is possible to eat food from restaurant?”
Gregori scowled. “No, I pay good money for hardships they endure.” His face relaxed. “But fresh food is important. Restaurant is good, but only takeout. Send three men to different places. Large order might betray us.”
Office of the NSA Director
“I’m not being evasive, Mike.” John Banner spoke into a double-encrypted, skip-frequency modulated phone, to Mike Pope, Director of the CIA. “You say one of your undercover agents is missing. I’m willing to use our resources to help find him, but you’ll have to tell me more before I can release the intel.”
“How about for an old friend?”
“Won’t do any good to pull the friend routine. We classify programs need-to-know for good reason.”
“Don’t I know it. Say, we haven’t had lunch together in a long time. Why don’t we get together
soon; like today, for instance?”
“Face-to-face chat in a neutral setting?”
“We have to eat, right?”
Thirty-minutes later, they mixed with government workers, office denizens and a few tourists at a neighborhood lunch spot in Georgetown. “Haven’t been down here in years,” Pope commented as they shook hands and sat down at a table along the side and toward the back. The smell of burgers sizzling on a flattop grill wafted out of the kitchen when the doors swung open.
“Didn’t realize how hungry I was,” Banner said.
“Me, neither.”
They had a clear view toward the front and scanned other diners out of habit. The server brought their drinks, took their orders, and left.
“Thank you again for your help with the Seawind Bay thing,” Pope said.
“No problem,” Banner answered. “Sorry about the loss of your agent. So, who is this undercover operative of yours who’s gone missing?”
Pope scribbled a name on a napkin and turned it around.
“I thought he died years ago.”
Pope tore the napkin again and again, and carefully put the pieces in his shirt pocket. “It’s part of the strategy, and should tell you how long he’s been undercover. We stopped receiving daily reports four days ago, and he missed his weekly check-in with his handler two days ago.”
Banner shrugged his shoulders. “Could be a thousand reasons….”
“He was visiting a certain underground site in the news recently.” “Colorado?” Pope nodded.
“Details?”
“He left a few hours before the incident in a helicopter flying east. It turned its transponder off, and the only lead we have is a crash north of Kansas City. Only body found was the pilot, who we ID’d as a contract agent formerly with the DEA.”
“Could your asset have wandered off in a daze?”
“Not likely. Locals witnessed the crash, including a deputy sheriff who was on the scene in less than three minutes.”
“Which means your agent was never in the
helicopter or was dropped off before the crash.”
Pope leaned back and sighed. “Oversight committee won’t let us operate domestically. They let this op go due to the international aspects of the case. My asset works out of Toronto for an organization based in Switzerland….”
“The Consortium?”
The slight rise of Pope’s eyebrows told him he hit the mark.
The server served a steaming bowl of soup to Pope and a salad to Banner, then left.
Pope used the distraction to regain his composure.
“I can’t discuss information classified
that highly.”
“You want my help, don’t you?”
“Yes, John, I do.”
Banner scraped croutons off the salad and popped a cherry tomato in his mouth. “We’re after them, too, so we happen to be on the same page. We can help each other and still keep the oversight committee off our backs.”
Twenty minutes later Banner tossed a credit card on a brown plastic tray and waited for the server to take it to the counter. “I’ll contact you when I have a report from my people. Although, like I said, cracking the encryption won’t be easy.”
Pope nodded. “My Signals Intel section will courier over the key for my asset’s phone.”
“Good, we can use it to tie your missing agent in with other conversations and pinpoint his location.”
“I thought that was difficult, if not impossible.”
“We’re the NSA, Mike, it’s what we do.”
“Thanks, I’ll owe you one.”
“You’ll owe me more than one.”
***
Chapter Sixteen
Office Of The Consortium Commissioner, Geneva
“No one is more baffled than I by the calamity at the Deer Trail facility.” Gunter Wilhelm sat in a wooden chair across the desk from the Commissioner. The comfortable wing back chairs from his previous visit were pushed against the wall. It could be a coincidence or intended to make him feel uncomfortable.
The Commissioner offered a theatrical sigh in response. His elbows rested on the highly polished surface of the priceless antique with hands pressed together in a praying manner.
An armed security officer stood on each side of the desk, with a third standing behind the Commissioner’s chair, also a distinct difference from last time.
Gunter sat back in as relaxed a position as the unforgiving chair would allow and practiced breathing exercises to lower his blood pressure. The pounding pulse in his ears lowered, and serenity returned.
The fragrant smell of wood polish and fresh flowers in a vase on the table between the chairs added a calming effect as he considered the sequence of events the last twelve hours.
His flight from North America was in a Consortium business jet with the gold double “C” logo surrounded by a green wreath on the tail.
A dour-faced technician administered a polygraph exam onboard, but the drug Gunter took before departure let him evade questions the man read from a clipboard in a mechanical voice. He silently thanked Morgan for the drug.
The next moments would be a critical juncture in Gunter’s career and life. Thanks to the drug and the flowers though, he wasn’t particularly anxious. Gunter examined his cuticles and patiently waited for whatever lay in store.
The Commissioner spoke in a voice devoid of emotion, “I must admit, Gunter, I am perplexed by your absence from the Deer Trail facility during the catastrophic event, and your subsequent appearance at an accident site hundreds of miles away.”
The words were spoken in a voice so low Gunter wasn’t sure they were real. It could be his imagination or the drug. On the other hand, the Commissioner’s lips moved in sync with the statement, so he must be saying them. Gunter made sure his voice was steady and projected confidence. “I suppose whomever was responsible was hoping to evoke such a response.”
“Who might you suppose is behind the incidents? They appear connected since the possibility of them being random would reach beyond conventional logic.”
“I have no idea, Commissioner, but I hope we will soon find out.”
“For your sake, indeed. I seldom have time for games. My first instinct was to kill you and dispose of your body where it would never be found.”
Gunter Wilhelm sat still and stared straight ahead. Has fate finally caught up with me? He weighed his options. He could tell the Commissioner about Jack Morgan, and his attempt to subvert him. Or he could recite the cover story Morgan gave him about former Soviet sphere countries trying to dismantle the Consortium.
He could throw himself at the mercy of the Commissioner and hope for the best. Instead, Gunter used a proactive approach. “I am confident you will decide wisely. I can be an invaluable asset to track and eliminate the threat to this organization.”
The Commissioner sighed again. “You are correct when you say we face danger from many directions. Destruction of the Deer Trail facility was but one example. Hostile forces have subverted projects throughout our history. They probe for weaknesses daily and attempt to exploit our vulnerabilities.
“The quandary I face is whether you are a threat. You are correct to assume your value to us if you are not the source of this peril. However, I must factor your potential worth into my decision. What I cannot determine is the nature of the connection between you and Gregori Yancy. Is he an acquaintance of yours?”
“Hardly. I met him for the first time at Deer Trail.
He struck me as crude and belligerent, in the way an animal might behave. I had an intense desire to be away from him as quickly as possible.”
“An opinion shared by most people, it would seem. Tcharnovsky was positively apoplectic when discussing Yancy.”
Gunter saw an opening and took it. “I have had success in the past pursuing perpetrators of such attacks, and would appreciate the opportunity to investigate.”
“I will consider your participation, but for not, return to your room take your meals there. A guard will be outside, and the door to the office complex will be secured.”
“I am a prisoner, then?”
“Consider it a time to rest and reflect on what has happened. We will meet in the morning.”
If I am still alive. “As you wish, Herr Commissioner.”
The Commissioner nodded, and the guards beside the desk stepped forward to escort Gunter to his room.
Chicago Warehouse Leased For Yancy by Morgan
Nestor jumped when his boss opened the passenger door of the van. He sat with his hands frozen on the steering wheel.
“Why do you wait?” Gregori Yancy demanded in a gruff voice as he settled into the passenger seat. “Go.”
“Is unusual for you to go on errands.”
“I need fresh air,” Yancy grumbled. “Drive.”
Nestor looked at the map he had perused at least five times, put the van in gear and pulled away from the curb. What have I done wrong? Why is bocc here?
Jake stood at a corner of the century-old factory building watching a single-door entrance halfway down a long stretch of flaking and faded brick. A trio of Tactical Team One members gathered behind him in the deepening twilight.
The fading sun cast long shadows across an abandoned parking area where weeds grew up through cracks in the pavement. Piles of garbage and cast-off equipment were strewn about. Thousands of pieces of broken glass acted like prisms and flashed hues of red, yellow, and orange.
“You okay, Boss?” the next man in line asked.
“I’m fine,” Jake whispered. “Managing the whole op is different than leading a five-man team.”
“Must be quite a challenge, having three or four dozen people to direct.”
And the fate of a big chunk of the population at stake. “Yes, but it feels good to be closing in on the perps we’ve been chasing for so long.” Jake popped a handful of M&Ms in his mouth and savored the satin-smooth chocolate.
“Uh, sir, do you have any idea how long it will be?” Susan Gilbert, a rookie member of the TRT, and third in line whispered.
“Not sure. Why?”
“It’s a little embarrassing, but I need a restroom.”
“More common on a first op than you might think.”
“Really? I thought I was the only one.”
“Not by a long shot. It’s simple jitters. I remember my first op in the Philippines. Wasn’t sure which end it might come out first.”
“Was it on this team?”
“No, and I can’t say more. Go in your pants if you need to. You can always change after the raid is over.”
“I’m not sure I could do that.”
“Holding it is your only other choice.”
Gilbert stood silently and considered her options.
South Side Of Chicago
Flashing red and blue lights were visible at an intersection a block away as the nondescript box van turned a corner. Nestor yanked the steering wheel to pull to the curb and turned to Yancy. “What shall I do,
Bocc?”
Yancy reached up and switched on the dome light. He opened a city map with exaggerated motions to convince the two police officers manning the barricade they were lost while making a delivery.
He moved the map toward Nestor and pointed to three or four places. “Pull from curb slowly and turn around.”
An officer left the barricade cradling a shotgun and leisurely strolled toward them. He turned around when he saw they were leaving.
Nestor executed a sloppy U-turn after a couple of tries and slowly accelerated. “I worry politsiya will capture us, Bocc.”
“Not this day. Turn left at next street and go approximately three kilometers. Then turn left onto I-94 freeway.”
Outside Leased Chicago Warehouse
Jake took a deep breath to calm himself and forcefully exhaled as he pressed the mike button. “TRT One, this is Two, what’s the sitrep?”
Bob Onkst responded on Channel Four of their communications headsets, reserved for command and control. “A pickup just drove away from the back loading dock.”
Uncle Bob sat in a mobile command post parked outside a perimeter fence at the far end of the warehouse complex. He watched displays from surveillance cameras mounted on telescoping antenna masts on top of the truck. “Now a box van is leaving. Don’t want to spook Yancy by stopping his men on site, so we’ll let them pull out and nab them down the block. Oh, oh, two more are mounting up. Looks like
we need to move in fast before they scatter.”
“Roger that, Two…let’s do it.”
Three four-person teams dressed in black tactical gear waited at each corner of the warehouse.
Jake switched to Channel One, an operational channel available to all team members. “This is BSOG-1. Remember, Agent Davies may be inside, so be careful where you direct your fire. With her in mind, let’s move in. I repeat, move in…go, go, go.”