EXFIL

by Anthony C. Patton

  ◆◆◆

  “One last signature here,” Lieutenant General Lewis said as we sat on the couch in his office with a stack of forms.

  I paused to read it and signed it with a sense of relief and regret. I had formally resigned my commission from the Army and retired with an honorable discharge. I closed my pen and slid it into my inside breast pocket. “Thank you for the statue in Mr. Bartfield’s office.”

  “I understand the offer was attractive?” he asked.

  “I haven’t discussed it with Beth,” I said, “but I’m inclined to turn it down, given how hard she has worked for her job at West Point.”

  “Good for you,” he said. “Although, I thought you might go for the money.”

  I took a deep breath to calm myself. “I realize that I’m not the best person to raise any moral issues here, but you ran an operation that allowed China to push us to the brink of war with cyberattacks so that Bartfield could win a contract. How many millions of dollars?” I was no longer in the military, so I held his stare. “Would it be safe to assume that Bartfield offered you a job as well?”

  He observed me in disbelief like a laboratory specimen.

  “You know I’m legally prohibited from taking a job with Bartfield for long after I retire, but I did convince him to give you an opportunity,” he said.

  I sensed that he wanted to say more but knew it wasn’t worth his time. I also appreciated his decision to take the high road. I was no longer under his command, but had no plans to act as if rank no longer mattered. I stood and offered my hand. “If you’re ever in West Point, look us up.”

  We shook hands. “Thank you, and good luck.”

  On the way out, I stopped by the conference room to check the status of the cyber operation. They were busily typing away, Nguyen pacing up and down the aisle between the tables.

  “How’s it looking?”

  “Good,” Nguyen said. “Fingers crossed.”

  “Is Brett coming?”

  He shook his head. “He had urgent business.”

  His mind was focused on the operation, so I excused myself and exited Cyber Command without fanfare, to include turning in my security badge. I was officially retired.

  The drive to West Point was peaceful. I couldn’t have asked for a better ending to my military career, considering the alternative of criminal charges and prison. Looking back, getting promoted to brigadier general would only have complicated my life and driven me to claw for the next promotion, which would have made it impossible to balance family and Beth’s career. I was still in the penalty box, and the best plan at this point was to lie low, make the best of the teaching position, and do everything I could to help her career and spend quality time with the boys before they headed off to college. You never believe time flies by until time flies by.

  “Up to 1.2 million, with bonus and stock options,” I leaned closer to whisper as Andrew and Troy entertained themselves in the back seat. I glanced at the GPS and enjoyed the gentle turns through the two-lane road in a wooded area.

  Beth looked at me with a dropped jaw. “One point two million? What did you say?”

  I looked at her and shrugged. “Well, after not consulting you on my retirement, I figured we should talk about it first.” I maneuvered the next turn and noticed that our mystery destination on the GPS was less than two miles away. “You’ve worked hard for this teaching position.”

  “Well, yeah,” she said, “but that’s a lot of money.”

  “The offer is still open,” I said. Marriage was a constant battle of knowing when to make decisions and when to consult. Wives rarely offered clear guidelines.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said, “but I’m sure we could make it work. I’ve received multiple offers from universities and think tanks in D.C.”

  My initial reaction was surprise, but her willingness to be flexible and do what was in the best interest of the family was why I loved her so much. I gestured to the GPS. “Where are we going, by the way?” I asked.

  “It’s a secret,” she said.

  “I love you,” I said.

  “I love you, too,” she said and held my hand.

  As the GPS shifted from one mile away to descending decimal increments, I signaled for a right turn at 0.2 miles and slowed until I saw a concrete driveway leading into a dense forest, with no signs of civilization visible from the road. The driveway winded for half a mile before revealing a Tuscan villa with two luxury SUVs parked outside. I pulled up to a spot next to them, parked the car, and looked at Beth.

  “We’ll wait here,” she said with a gentle smile.

  I stepped out of the car to see Brett standing at the front door, wearing a light blue dress shirt and gray slacks. We met with a handshake and an embrace. He waved to Beth, opened the door, and gestured for me to enter.

  He led the way to a living room with veined marble floors, Persian carpets, and modern paintings on the walls. Then he gestured to a wet bar. I declined and sat.

  “What brings us here today?” I asked. I couldn’t explain what I was feeling, aside from my own nerves, but I knew he had something up his sleeve.

  He poured himself a soda water with lime, swirled the cubes, and took a sip as he sat. “I wanted to touch base after all the excitement. You seemed surprisingly forgiving about the operation. I wanted to apologize, again, from the bottom of my heart, and see how you’re doing.”

  “Look, we’re good,” I said, flooded by unwelcome emotions. “I would have done the same to you, given the opportunity.” He was right. I felt less forgiving now. “Besides, I heard on the radio that our attack was devastating.”

  He sipped his drink and smiled. “We infected their entire network, which will pay dividends for many years to come. It was fucking beautiful.”

  I touched my heart. “It was your masterpiece.”

  “Indeed,” he said, gently setting his drink on a coaster, and looking down with his hands in prayer with a deep breath. “Early-stage cirrhosis of the liver. My doctor detected it in time, but I’ll probably need a liver transplant.”

  “I’m sorry, brother,” I said, amazed by how my anger had just pivoted to compassion for my sick friend.

  He leaned back and sighed. “It broke my heart when we heard about you in Bangkok. You were larger than life. You were Captain America.”

  I sat, frozen, dreading what he might say next.

  “I spent many years thinking about the perfect intelligence operation, my work of art.” He nodded with a smile. “After two broken marriages and years of alcoholism, it finally occurred to me: the secret isn’t in planning the perfect operation against our enemy. The secret is knowing we’re our own worst enemy.”

  I gestured for him to continue, knowing how it would end but intrigued to hear the rest of the story.

  “When I hit rock bottom,” he continued, “crazy thoughts were running through my mind, dangerous thoughts.” He paused to sip his drink. “I got my life back on track, but it occurred to me that such a scenario presented the perfect opportunity, if only someone had been there to steer me in the right direction. I found my art—in a dark and scary place.”

  “It was a dark and very scary place.”

  We stood and embraced with firm slaps on the back. His operation wasn’t malicious; it was an honest admission of our flaws, used to unleash beautiful justice on our enemy.

  He smiled and gestured for me to follow. “An operation like this has many moving parts. I take some credit, but couldn’t have done it without a good friend.”

  We walked through the kitchen and he opened the back door to reveal Lieutenant Colonel Li sitting on the patio with his wife and daughter—Jade Envy in the flesh. My heart stopped. A smile filled his face as he walked over and shook my hand.

  “Son of a bitch,” I said. His muscles tensed up as I pulled him closer for a firm hug.

  He smiled and rested his hand on my shoulder. “You see, Colonel Reed, I told you we were on the same team.”

 
“Have been for ten years,” Brett said. “We decided it was time to help the Li family start a new life in America.”

  “Ten years,” I said.

  This meant Brett recruited Li after I’d left Islamabad, and there’d been no reason to tell me. This explained why they hadn’t wanted us to recruit Captain Chen in Bangkok. It explained why we’d stumbled upon the credit card information and why he’d accepted the pitch.

  As I considered all the moving parts, I finally understood that none of this would’ve been possible without Li pulling the strings behind the scenes, convincing his superiors that everything he did was necessary for the operation to succeed—a stunning achievement.

  “I’m happy for you and your family,” I said.

  “We are preparing dinner,” Li said. “Will you join us?”

  I gestured behind me. “My family is waiting. We’re on our way to West Point for my new teaching job.”

  He bowed gracefully and smiled. “Safe journey.”

  We were professional enough to avoid an extended farewell. I wanted Brett to enjoy his success without a third wheel. As I walked around the house, however, the flood of emotions overwhelmed me as I leaned against a tree and wept, falling to my knees. Up to this point, I had thought of myself as someone to admire, with my excessive drinking, sexual escapades, and arrogance unfortunate albeit necessary parts of the package—my charm, if you will.

  Brett forced me to face the ugliness within and plead for forgiveness, which filled me with an intense desire to never live that way again. The most humbling part was that they believed the operation would work. What did this say about me? I shuddered at the thought of how I looked through their eyes, despite their kind words, and dreaded the thought that Beth would discover the truth. To my relief, they had offered me a second chance I didn’t deserve.

  I dried my tears, wiped the dirt off my knees, and walked to the car to see Beth laughing and joking with the boys, the radio blasting. I lowered the volume, glanced in the rear-view mirror, put the car in reverse, and turned to Beth with my tears on display.

  She touched my hand. “Whatever it is, honey, I love you.”

  “You have no idea how much I love you,” I said.

  I backed the car up and headed down the winding driveway.

  THIRTY

  After a few weeks of teaching at West Point, I learned that life could be good on the other side of active duty. No one had a clue about what I had done, including Beth, although I imagined a scenario in which I would one day tell her the truth, perhaps by writing a novel.

  My work in intelligence was whispered about and created an aura of mystery, but no one asked for specifics. The inner circle of the China cyber operation had been sworn to secrecy.

  Everything I heard about the satisfaction of molding the minds of the next generation of Army officers was spot on. I entered this new chapter of my life with the idea of imparting my wisdom to these young cadets—how lucky they were to have me!—but they energized me in ways I could never have imagined. They stood at attention when I entered the classroom and called me “sir,” despite the suit and tie. They were always prepared to discuss what they had read the night before, and their arguments and insights were purified light.

  As I admired the students, I saw myself as a young cadet with my own pure light, the same young cadet who had once wondered what it would be like to have a successful career and teach at West Point, as many of my students no doubt wondered about me.

  I never could have imagined that one of my instructors could have acted the way I had, but I now could conclude that some of them probably had.

  I didn’t know whether it was intentional or ironic, but one of the courses on my schedule was Ethics of the Military Profession. I wasn’t any more of a philosopher than anyone else, but they needed someone to teach the class. I had taken ethics as a cadet, and the teacher’s guide made it possible to teach most classes without the benefit of an advanced degree.

  One lecture about the major ethical systems was particularly lively and put things in perspective. The utilitarian ethics of Mill was historically important and worthy of study but the topic was of limited relevance for the profession of arms. The principle of “the greatest good for the greatest number” was ambiguous, difficult to measure, and hardly useful for leading or motivating troops on the battlefield. The virtue ethics of Aristotle, however, had stood the test of time, was practical for daily living, and essential to sustaining a disciplined fighting force. This called us to a higher standard that was within our reach.

  When the discussion turned to the deontological ethics of Kant, I’ll never forget the exchange—not word for word, but the key points.

  “How do we assess whether someone acts in a morally right way?” I asked.

  “If they act because of duty,” a student said.

  “How do we assess the morality of a person?”

  “By the motives of their actions,” another student said, “not by the consequences.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the ends do not justify the means,” another student said; “there are always moral means to achieve particular ends.”

  “How do we know they have the right motives?” I asked.

  “Because they have a good will.”

  “Why should we do what is good?” I asked.

  “Because it is the right thing to do.”

  “How often?”

  “Always.”

  “Correct,” I said. “As an Army officer, you should always do the right thing.”

  I turned to erase something on the white board to hide the tears welling in my eyes. Leave it to a classroom of West Point cadets to help me remember the most important lesson of life. I had no idea what kind of journey was before them or how many of them would fail to live up to this profound dictum, but I could only hope that most of them would avoid my mistakes.

  The world these cadets were entering often didn’t approve of ethical systems that held people to high moral standards or spoke about objective Truth, but what alternative did we have? If we lowered the standard, people would fail to live up to the lower standard. I wrote Mill, Aristotle, and Kant on the whiteboard to justify my delay tactic and turned as class ended.

  Teaching every day gave me a new appreciation for the profession, but after a career of working nights and weekends in foreign countries to accomplish the mission, or putting my life on the line in places like Iraq and Afghanistan, this teaching gig was a leisurely change of pace.

  I was done teaching for the day and didn’t have any papers to grade, only a few odds and ends that could wait until the next week. I paused in the middle of the campus to admire the U.S. flag flapping in the wind and the cadets coming and going, checking their watches or walking leisurely on a glorious Friday afternoon. For a moment, I felt a peaceful pause pass over me, like the suspension of gravity when a rising elevator reaches the top floor or swimming in a river and resting your limbs to feel the current move you gently along.

  My phone rang. It was Beth. She was talking to a special guest and told me to hurry.

  When I entered the cafeteria a few minutes later, I was pleased to see Vice Admiral Wattana from the Royal Thai Navy. It transpired that a group of Thai military officers was visiting D.C. and New York, and he took advantage of a lull in his schedule to visit West Point, in particular, to see Beth and discuss her book. Of course, I had always known her charm was the real reason he had agreed to meet me in Bangkok. As luck would have it, he was knee deep in the port project and frustrated with how it was developing.

  I admired his pristine white uniform as we met with a firm handshake and seated ourselves.

  “Welcome to West Point,” I said.

  “I see teaching suits you,” he said. The gray hair and wrinkles on his face emanated wisdom. “You look relaxed.”

  “I feel great,” I said, intrigued by his observation. “I understand there’s a problem with the port project?”

  He nodded. “So
me powerful business interests are seeking money from Russia and China, but we have security concerns.” He touched Beth’s hand. “Your lovely wife tells me you might be in a position to help?”

  I looked at her, knowing this meant she wanted me to take the job. “Mr. Bartfield has his eye on this project.”

  “I have great respect for Mr. Bartfield,” he said. “If he could submit a proposal, I could arrange for a series of discreet meetings with the right people. I imagine Mr. Bartfield himself would not attend?”

  “Probably not,” I said as Beth gave me an encouraging smile.

  We stood and shook hands. “We’ll be in touch.”

  I nodded and waved as a junior Thai naval officer escorted him out of the cafeteria.

  “Any more classes today?” I asked.

  “Nope,” she said. “Done for the day.”

  We held hands and walked outside. “I guess I should call Bartfield.”

  She nodded as we walked. “What should we have for dinner?”

  “The boys should be home early—no sports, right?” I said. “We could order pizza and watch a movie.”

  “That sounds nice,” she said and rested her head on my shoulder.

  About The Author

  Anthony C. Patton

  Has served for three decades in the U.S. Intelligence Community, to include extensive collaboration with the CIA while serving in senior leadership positions in Latin America, Europe, and South Asia. Human Intelligence (HUMINT) subject matter expert (SME). Studied philosophy and mathematics at Augsburg University and received an MBA from Thunderbird - School of Global Management.

  Books By This Author

  The Spy Mindset: The Business of Intelligence

  Developing a spy mindset is your best defense against corporate espionage and insider threats, but it's also your best offense for succeeding in business today. With lessons and case studies from the U.S. Intelligence Community, The Spy Mindset defines intelligence for business and covers the five steps of the Intelligence Cycle to help you navigate the Seven Seas of information: 1. Planning & Direction, 2. Collection, 3. Processing, 4. Analysis & Production, and 5. Dissemination. The Spy Mindset also includes deep dives for Human Intelligence (HUMINT) and Counterintelligence (CI) to address the critical role of humans in a business now dominated by data and information, to include advice for avoiding common pitfalls. In the end, The Spy Mindset will help you make informed decisions about the bottom line.