EXFIL

by Anthony C. Patton

  In the world of intelligence, we consider it a pleasant surprise when a wealthy and powerful source doesn’t cheat. We never refuse to work with sources who cheat, but we advise them to be discreet, so as not to draw unwanted attention or put themselves in a position to be blackmailed. The most important difference, something many Americans don’t understand, was that many foreign men who cheated had absolutely no intention of leaving their families, no matter how passionate the sex was. They respected the bonds of family.

  When I strayed with Jewel, I rationalized it with the belief that it was an instinctive sexual release that wouldn’t betray my love for Beth or the boys, as long as it was merely transactional, without emotional content. When I left Bangkok, I vowed that I was a new man and would leave that world behind, forever. However, when I found myself rationalizing my behavior again with Anna Stuart, I knew I was entering dangerous territory.

  When Anna asked me to discuss job opportunities, I told her evenings were best because I worked during the day. This was only a half-truth, of course. I was often in the Pentagon and certainly could have stopped by to see her for coffee.

  When I called her to see if she might be available for dinner, I could have been professional and selected a modest restaurant, with the proviso that we would split the bill. Instead, I made flirty chit chat and recommended a classy steakhouse, with the implicit understanding that I would pay.

  Older guys flirt with younger women all the time, often with the understanding that it’s simply a case of being charming, or that it won’t be consummated.

  In my case, although I assumed that a stunning young woman like Anna probably had a wealthy boyfriend and wouldn’t be interested in someone like me, I was leaving the door open for something to happen, and her tone on the phone didn’t disabuse me of this notion.

  She was glad that I called, she said, and was looking forward to meeting again.

  I opted for my standard civilian dress—navy blue blazer and white dress shirt, starched and pressed with silver cufflinks. Anna was talking on her phone when she opened the door and waved me in with a smile, wearing a red cocktail dress and white high heels. I had turned off the location function on my phone, to avoid anyone linking me to her building.

  Her condo in Clarendon suggested a combination of empowered single woman and wealthy pedigree to mitigate her transition to adulthood, judging by the opulent marble floor and artwork on the walls. I waited in the foyer as she finished her call, put on her pendant earrings, and grabbed her white clutch. She moved close to me, and I resisted the urge to inhale.

  She offered her cheek for a kiss and raised her eyebrows as a signal to go.

  In the intelligence business, we often hold meetings in discreet venues where our sources won’t know anyone or be recognized. Although Clarendon boasted many good restaurants, it was a younger crowd and I didn’t want to have an awkward moment if Anna had to explain to friends why she was out on the town with an older man, so I opted for a steakhouse in Arlington.

  I had been there a few times over the years during short stints at the Pentagon.

  This was the kind of restaurant with white linen tablecloths, waiters in black suits, and a dessert tray that rattled as the wheels rolled along the tiles. I wasn’t the first D.C. powerbroker to bring a young woman there. A few heads turned as we followed the waiter to the table, but Anna was too elegant for anyone to think she was a professional.

  I helped Anna with her chair and sat to greet the waiter as the onlookers returned to their dinners. I asked for a Scotch on the rocks, Anna asked for a glass of Prosecco, and we opted for a bottle to share. “So, you want to work for Cyber Command?” I asked in a professional tone. “What’s your background?”

  “I studied computer science at Stanford,” she said matter-of-factly. “Now I’m finishing my Ph.D. in computer science at Georgetown, with a focus on cybersecurity.”

  I nodded, impressed and also amused by how she downplayed her pedigree. I could only imagine how the other computer science students reacted to her. Call me a rocket scientist, but something wasn’t adding up. Women who looked like Anna didn’t study computer science or aspire to work for the Pentagon. “You’re working as a contractor in the Pentagon?”

  “Short-term gig,” she said, “until my security clearance gets approved and I finish my degree.”

  “Are you hoping to get hired by the Department of Defense?” I asked. “Who’s processing your security clearance?”

  She paused. “Most of my work has been with the J6 in the Pentagon, but I told them I was interested in the Intelligence Community. They said my security clearance might be delayed because of my overseas travel.”

  “Possible, but most agencies would be tripping over themselves to hire someone like you. I could probably get you a job at Cyber Command, like yesterday.” The only question was whether the job would be commensurate with her advanced skills.

  “Really?” she said as the waiter arrived with our drinks.

  We clinked glasses and sipped. “That would be great,” she added.

  We maintained the professional tone throughout dinner, without a hint of flirting, aside from eye contact. I detected a friendly smile, but if I had to guess, she was still networking to get a job out of me, which was a relief. We discussed my career and family, including the ritual display of photographs on my phone, like I had with Jewel.

  For completely stupid reasons, I felt nervous discussing my family, as if I was somehow closing doors with her. I shouldn’t have worried, though; only a confident woman could praise another woman’s beauty. She was right: Beth was beautiful.

  From the limited details she provided, my sense was that Anna lived a charmed life, worked hard, and had a vision for where she wanted to go. Men would be putty in her hands every step of the way. I was pleased when she ordered a prime rib, medium, and finished it like a champion. She added a glass of Barolo and passed on dessert while we finished the Prosecco. I made no major missteps, but recognized that I needed to brush up on my fine dining etiquette.

  As we walked to the car, the inappropriate visions returned. The flow of her dress and her confident stride were dazzling, and I resisted a temptation to caress her back as I opened the passenger door. “Big day tomorrow?” I asked.

  She looked up. “The fun’s over?”

  “Of course not,” I said. I closed the door, thrilled, and terrified. I busied myself with starting the engine and buckling my seatbelt, then checked my watch. “It’s too late for a movie. We could grab a drink and continue discussing your career options.”

  I put the car in reverse and looked over my shoulder to avoid eye contact during the silence.

  “I hope I’m not imposing,” she said with an innocent tone that suggested she knew exactly what she was doing, or that her mind hadn’t caught up with her natural talents.

  It’s amazing how our own thoughts and intentions shape the meaning of what other people say. Her words were innocent enough, but it took the mind of a hound like me to think she was opening the door for something more. The reasonable decision would be to find a nice bar in Clarendon near her condo, have a nightcap, and wish her well, but I somehow decided that it was a better idea to take her to the lobby bar of my hotel in Crystal City.

  If things were truly innocent, I would take her home without saying it was my hotel.

  If there was a miscommunication, I could apologize and say I needed to get something for work. And if things went well—well, I didn’t want to think about it, but I was.

  The bar was mostly empty. We discussed the ins and outs of the Intelligence Community as we enjoyed a glass of Pinot Noir, but I was running out of time with each sip. I glanced at my watch, gestured to her empty glass—she was good—and tucked some cash in the glass with the receipt. If she had offered to pay half, that would have been the end of it, no questions asked, but as we stood, the words just came out.

  “I have a good book you might enjoy,” I said, revealing that we were in
my hotel.

  I expected her to express no interest or to wait for me in the bar while I got it from my room, but she stood and walked with me to the elevator.

  I inserted my room key and pressed the button for the seventh floor.

  Despite all the obvious signs—the red dress, the nightcap, the invite to my hotel room—I was still tormented by what she might be thinking. Could she be this naïve? If I was misreading the signs and she said the wrong thing to the wrong person, it could make its way back to Beth and ruin my marriage. All I had to do was grab the book and go, but as she stood there looking out the panoramic window, I approached her from behind, caressed her arm, and gently kissed her neck.

  She turned and smiled, as if we had known each other for years, and kissed me on the lips.

  I tossed the spy novel onto the couch, hoisted her up, and carried her to the bedroom.

  After a passionate kiss, I leaned back to look at her, hesitating.

  “Don’t ruin this by saying something stupid,” she said. “I don’t want this to come between you and Beth, promise?”

  I was about to respond with something cheesy, but she touched my lips to silence me, so I nodded and kissed her as we both moaned with delight as we fell onto the bed and removed our clothes. Beth was beautiful and amazing, but Anna’s taut body aroused me in ways I hadn’t felt in years, even more than with Jewel. I won’t describe all the erotic details, but between gently sucking her erect nipples and caressing the smooth shave under her panties, it was all I could do to restrain myself before we both reached orgasm.

  ◆◆◆

  The ringing of my phone was a jolt in the darkness. I groaned and glanced at the alarm clock—4:15 am. It was Lieutenant General Lewis.

  He told me to turn on the news and get to Cyber Command as soon as possible.

  I sat up, turned on the television, and scrolled through the channels until I found it: a cyberattack on the Pentagon.

  I nudged Anna, watching the images and reading the scrolling ticker tape: PENTAGON CYBERATTACK.

  “Oh my God,” she said and sat up as her own phone rang. “I have to go.”

  I admired her nude body as she grabbed her dress and headed to the bathroom, phone to her ear. I rolled my neck to work out the kinks and flicked on the kitchenette light to start the coffee machine before returning to watch television.

  Sources were reporting that multiple computer systems in the Pentagon had been hacked and rendered inoperable, but the command and control systems were running and there was no danger of major system failure. China was suspected but further analysis was required.

  I imagined Li stroking his chin with a Mona Lisa smirk.

  Anna exited the bathroom dressed and running her fingers through her hair. She sipped her coffee and thanked me as she slid on her heels.

  “I can take an Uber if you have to go to Cyber Command,” she said while tapping her phone. The map zoomed in to show our location at my hotel.

  My heart pounded as I gently held her hand to stop the transaction. Her phone was tracking her location, but there was no reason to create an Uber receipt for the permanent record.

  A healthy sense of paranoia was essential.

  “You should take a taxi with cash to avoid a digital footprint here.” I handed her twenty dollars with a kiss on the lips and—because why not—a playful spank on the ass.

  “Bad boy,” she said and closed the door with a wave.

  I walked to the bathroom, turned on the hot water, and grabbed my razor and shaving cream. Unless I was missing something, Anna had enjoyed a good time with me and left a satisfied woman, which made me a rock star. No matter how bad I knew I should feel, no matter how wrong I knew it was, every nerve in my body tingled with energy.

  I had no illusion about what would happen if Beth found out, but the calculation from my wrong head had decided it was worth the risk.

  I was a ruined man and loving it.

  NINE

  As an infantry officer, “getting the call” was a prelude to combat. During my stints in Iraq and Afghanistan, we were on the front line, kicking down doors and removing terrorists from the battlefield. If I wasn’t willing to face combat myself, I had no business sending my soldiers into harm’s way.

  Each compound raid came with unique risks but predictable variables—the smell of food with exotic spices cooking over gas flames, weeping children embracing their mothers in darkened rooms, and sweat dripping down the bridge of my nose as I felt my heart thumping in the quiet before the storm, ready to slide my finger down to the trigger.

  We never knew when a terrorist would surprise us with an AK-47 or a suicide vest. Mistakes were made, innocents killed in the fog of war, but we waged our war with a moral compass and surgical precision to eliminate an intransigent enemy: radical Islamic terrorists.

  We were still waiting for so-called moderate Muslims to condemn these terrorists. As long as we were killing them overseas, they couldn’t attack the U.S. Take the battle to the enemy.

  When I thought about the cyberattack on the Pentagon this morning, I recognized that this threat to our national security was no less real than flying bullets.

  If a country like China could cripple our command and control systems or shut down our critical infrastructure, it would make us vulnerable to a conventional or even nuclear attack on a scale never before imagined. This included shutting down our banks and stock markets, or stopping the flow of air and sea transportation. Our way of life was under attack.

  Our social virtues of trust and openness sometimes made it more difficult to defend ourselves from those who would do us harm. The computer geeks we had always teased in high school now had the power to bring us to our knees and make us rethink modern warfare.

  The operations floor of Cyber Command was in a state of controlled chaos, with red lights flashing on a diagram of the Pentagon computer network on the wall.

  The U.S. military was famous for its doctrine and tactics, but we were also famous for improvising and throwing out the rulebook when necessary, with the understanding that you couldn’t operate effectively without doctrine unless you had first mastered the doctrine.

  This drove foreign militaries mad, because they could never predict what we would do, just as they couldn’t understand how our short and ambiguous Constitution could have sustained our republic for over 200 years. Our traditional values and high degree of social trust made this possible, at least for those who could see beyond the noise in the mainstream media.

  Brigadier General Schmidt commanded the phone and gave out orders like a maestro, gesturing purposefully and reading reports without missing a beat. They had a detailed checklist and everyone knew what to do, but by now, the team was operating on a higher level of intuition, from triaging the relevant reports to manage time and resources to keeping the chain of command advised to make decisions. Every few minutes, one of the red lights would turn green, and the offensive would continue, one yard at a time, one first down at a time, one touchdown at a time. I passed by when he got a moment of relief.

  “Sticking it to Charlie?” I asked.

  “One phone call at a time,” Schmidt said, removing his reading glasses, and sipping his coffee. “I’m too old for this shit.”

  “What’s the damage?” I asked.

  He exhaled and shrugged. “Another hit on the Pentagon computers. Not fatal, but I’m not sure how much longer we can hold them off. It’s definitely the Chinese.”

  I gestured to Lieutenant General Lewis’s office, which overlooked the watch floor.

  “Keep America safe.”

  Lewis was busy on the phone and waved me in. Cable news had live updates from the Pentagon as the sun was rising, with interviews of soldiers on the scene and speculation from pundits. I found myself entranced again by the Laocoön statue as I sat and waited.

  Why did we find horror and death so gripping or sublime?

  Even if I were to get promoted to brigadier general, I had many years ahead of me
for political games before rising to a position like Lewis’s. The funny thing about promotions was that ambitious people couldn’t help but strive for them. At the same time, we feared promotion would remove us from doing what we loved the most, only to learn that we never wanted to go back after getting promoted. I had fun as a captain but would never want to be one again.

  Another factor was the knowledge that if you didn’t get promoted, someone else would, and it was never fun to salute colleagues or call them “sir” or “ma’am.” In my case, I loved intelligence. A promotion to brigadier general would virtually guarantee that I would never run overseas intelligence operations again, but as I watched Lewis talking on the phone, I couldn’t help but imagine that I would one day look back on my military attaché days with nostalgia.

  “How does it look, General?” I asked.

  “Our NIPRNet and SIPRNet security patches are holding,” he said, “but the Chinese are getting more sophisticated with each attack, making it look as though they’re coming from Russia, Iran, or North Korea.” He joined me on the couch.

  “How can I help?” I asked.

  “Sorry for calling you in so early, but I wanted you to see this firsthand so you’d know what’s at stake.”

  I nodded to show he had my full support, but was ready to change the subject.

  “I can’t believe CIA and FBI think Tom is working for the Chinese,” I said, hoping to get him on my side. “Chen agreed to work for us.”

  Lewis looked at me with a calm nod. “You mean you coerced him to work for us.” He raised a finger to keep me silent. “I understand that we sometimes have to take off the gloves, but keep in mind that they can play the same game. How would any of us respond to seeing compromising photographs? From what I hear, coerced sources usually aren’t reliable.” He managed a comforting smile. “We can’t turn this success into a failure. We can’t let CIA and FBI say they told us so. Help Captain Howard get this case on the right track.”