Ever vigilant and devious, MacAuley had, over the years, often hired someone to go to Aceh wearing a rubber mask in his likeness. As well, MacAuley had hired a bodyguard for his look-alike to be certain that the double performed his task. The ruse was to distract anyone who was interested in MacAuley, leaving him free to get on with other important tasks; in this instance, a meeting with the Russian oligarch who had hired him to check up on the success of the weapons development program on the stolen Akula attack submarine.
MacAuley had links in the Russian government's hierarchy. These double agents provided copies of all of the Akula's communications for an exorbitant price. Since MacAuley always paid, he was privy to top-secret information that even the oligarch could not obtain. After all, the old Secret Service, the KGB, or more recently the FSB, still needed to know the whereabouts of its Russian submarines, even rogue submarines. Information was power.
While the world thought MacAuley was in Aceh, Sumatra, he was actually elsewhere getting this pricey information to his supposed Russian controller, the oligarch. The highly destructive weapon had been tested and succeeded. As usual, MacAuley was going to ground and no one knew where. As yet unknown to him, for the first time in his long career, someone had outwitted him. The spear, Kefira, had the upper hand and an ace-in-the-hole. Zak did not know about Kefira's secret advantage, Michael, the lesbian, because Kefira had withheld information about the intensity of her connection to MacAuley's sister.
Zak's new team was fast asleep all around him in the Learjet. They were all in their mid-twenties, eager, highly-strung, but green. Everything in the beginning would have to go through him. He knew their training was impeccable, but reality sometimes dealt unexpected cards. Before going to sleep, they had all gone over the present location of the houseboat on satellite images. Possible scenarios were hard to concoct. As well, they had HUMINT from a source on the ground that had visuals on the dock and houseboat.
Meanwhile in Tigre, the noise of a passing boat motor, combined with an increase in the rocking motion of the houseboat, gently awoke Kefira about seventy-five minutes after her failure in trying to use trickery to seduce information out of MacAuley. She got up and brewed coffee while soft boiling eggs. Her prisoners were still under the influence of her knockout formula.
A quick meal of warm rolled oats with nuts gave her some energy. A space-limited version of her Capoeira exercises followed, giving her much needed calm and balance. After her exercises, she sat down to meditate, but MacAuley was stirring. She knew he would need to use the washroom and his use of a pre-arranged communication method confirmed her hunch. She saw his five fingered gesture and removed one of his earplugs.
"There's a bucket under your chair. Do your business there," said Kefira.
She left the room for a minute after looking at Michael, who was still fast asleep, lying on her side. On her return, she emptied MacAuley's bucket and cleaned it in the river water. The constipation caused by the opiate-based knockout drugs made her task slightly easier.
Kefira came back and lifted MacAuley's burlap mask somewhat over his mouth, while ignoring his attempt to speak around his gag. She gave him water via a tube and a squeeze bottle, forced into his mouth beside the rubber ball in his muzzle. His displeasure was obvious, but understandable. The man was a master of such situations and Kefira knew she must not give him the upper hand again. She settled down to several hours of waiting, after plugging his ears to deprive him of sound orientation again. The hours passed drearily and were occupied by the mundane aspects of taking care of prisoners.
Movement near the houseboat alerted Kefira. A car door closed, and then someone crossed the gunwale and knocked on the entrance window. Zak's voice set her hands to shaking for an instant. The stress of the hours of vigilance had taken their toll.
"You can't imagine how happy I am to see you," said Zak, as he embraced Kefira.
"That's an understatement. We've gotta go to the vehicle. I have to fill you in on some troubling aspects of this situation."
"I'll just get everyone to a task. The van is there. Here're the keys."
Kefira stretched and walked to the van. Zak followed shortly after. The vehicle was a non-descript, beige, Ford minivan with tinted windows. A friend of a friend lent it to the embassy for undercover work. Zak had picked it up at the airport parking lot.
"So."
"I fucked up on two counts."
"Don't be too hard on yourself."
"Anyway, here is a video of my blundered attempt to outwit MacAuley. He got the better of me."
"What matters is that we still have him. We'll get it out of him. How did you get both of them?"
"That's the second problem. I seduced the sister."
"I knew that."
"What you didn't know was that I fell in love with her."
"What?"
"You heard me. You'll see it on the tape. Now I need some air. I am going to go for a ride."
"You'll do nothing of the kind."
"I am still commanding officer here," asserted Kefira.
"'Fraid not. Look here," said Zak as he produced a small secure phone that was playing a video of Sam.
"You bastard!" said Kefira, letting all of the stress of the day out in her vehemence.
"We got a message from the spotter stating that you were buckling under from the stress. You told him you were the spear. As well, he said you threatened him."
"All true. I used my judgment and I got over-confident because I had MacAuley. I told you I blew it."
"I can't have you running around the city on your bike."
"Shoot me in the back," she said as she opened the door to the van and made her way to the tarp on the deck of the houseboat.
"This isn't exactly the meeting I was expecting," said Zak to her back.
"You have me on GPS on the Streetfighter. I just have to clear my head out. Besides, I am a liability in there. Just get results and I will be back within half an hour of your contact."
Zak acquiesced, turned, and went back into the van to watch the video of Kefira's ill-fated interrogation of MacAuley. As he watched, he tried to repress his emotions about her. What exactly did she mean by saying she fell in love with the sister? thought Zak. He had to put those thoughts out of his mind. Compartmentalize, compartmentalize, reflected Zak, as he suppressed his feelings.
The video spoke for itself. Kefira was a liability in there now. It was better that she had left. Breaking Zak's train of thought, a young woman who looked remarkably like Sarah, the agent they had lost in North Hatley, Quebec, knocked on the van door. Zak snickered to himself and relished the task at hand.
"You have an uncanny resemblance to someone I used to know," said Zak as he opened the door to admit Tahila.
"I get that a lot. What's on the video?"
"Need to know."
"Next question. How are we going to proceed?"
"We are going to apply methods that do them no physical harm, but take advantage of innate human reactions. Ordinarily, these techniques would not work on a hardened case like MacAuley, but we have evidence here on the video that he cares for the woman, his sister. We will exploit that weakness. Go get her back on the other chair and I will join you shortly."
Zak had studied painless torture techniques, but thought he would possibly make an exception for MacAuley if he didn't succeed quickly. The situation in Syria was roiling out of control and there was chatter about Syrian rebels gaining access to liberated weapons of mass destruction. Israel had to know about the whereabouts of those weapons. They could not trust their fate to an inestimable group of rebels in Syria. Just before deplaning, Sam had called and put a twelve-hour time limit on information extraction. Zak did not have time to worry about Kefira's existential problems.
"Let's get started," said Zak to his two new recruits.
Both of the prisoners wore burlap head covers, earplugs, and gags. Zak ordered his assistant to tie a tight rope around MacAuley's scrotum. He tugged on it to ge
t the man's attention. MacAuley sat up appropriately. Zak then left him to ponder what was coming next. Zak then tied a rope around a large rock and placed it in the prisoner's lap.
While simultaneously lifting the flat rock and the second string around MacAuley's scrotum, the prisoner made an unseeing connection between his scrotum and the rock in his lap. Zak then turned his attention to the woman. She felt a pin prick in her left nipple, causing numbness in her now erect nipple. One of the officers then made a circular swiping motion with a very dull steel blade around the affected nipple. They spilt warmed cat's blood on the woman's breast, simulating nipple excision.
Michael squirmed as the blade faked the loss of her nipple. She screamed as the liquid coursed over her breast. After a few minutes, Zak slowly cut open a flap over one eye of Michael's mask. He placed the altered copy of a photo of her breast, without a nipple, in front of the woman's watery eye. Michael was shaking. Zak then injected a pain enhancer just under the nipple and covered the nipple with a rubberized representation of the surgical removal.
The operation took seconds, after which Zak removed the woman's burlap sack and let her look at the results of his handiwork for about two seconds. He then covered her head again. The two younger officers reached under the masks of both prisoners at the same moment, following Zak's orders. They temporarily removed one earplug from MacAuley's ear and the gag from Michael's mouth. MacAuley listened, fear growing up inside him.
These people had read him. He felt they were playing, but he was no longer sure. The fool who had tried to trick him earlier was obviously not present. The procedure was repeated on Michael's other nipple. This time MacAuley listened all along. His sister whimpered helplessly throughout.
"Keffy, how could you leave me to these monsters?" uttered the young, blindfolded woman. She continued to cry and cursed the name of her brother who was straining on his bindings as he listened.
Zak pushed MacAuley's legs open and the flat rock started to slide down between his legs. Zak placed it between the man's thighs, forcing the terrorist to hold the rock between them. Earlier in the interrogation, Zak had communicated the stop signal to MacAuley. The prisoner gestured the agreed signal to end the process. Zak opened the gag and removed MacAuley's mask. The prisoner could see his sister's breasts through watery eyes. He made to spit at Zak, but thought better of it and instead, to the surprise of Zak, MacAuley gave up.
"I have Syrian GPS coordinates for you. There is a cavern, an ancient salt mine, near the coast. I planted the stuff there a year ago," he uttered as he gulped air through his open mouth, and then continued, more sure of himself after having succumbed to the wishes of his captor. The ease of his giving in stunned both MacAuley and Zak. As well, Zak found that MacAuley had recovered from the interrogation too quickly, but the tight timetable pressured his judgment, perhaps making him careless.
"The bunker's a weapons of mass destruction (WMD) storage place. The government forces may not be able to hold back the rebels. There is also an unusual training room there, the room, but I am not privy to its purpose," said MacAuley in a manner that alternated accuracy and perplexity.
"The coordinates?"
"Coordinates: N 35° 27' 37.4051, E 35° 50' 28.244. Now stop with her. I will remain behind and give you any information you require in exchange for her freedom. She has suffered too much in her life because of me."
Zak blocked up MacAuley's mouth, returned the mask, and then went out to the van to call Sam on a secure uplink. Sam congratulated him and got the coordinates on satellite image. He switched to thermal and, sure enough, right in the middle of the Syrian countryside, not far from the town of Latakia, Syria, was a large underground heat signature.
"We'll need confirmation before launching strikes in Syria. Your teams will go in to verify and collect evidence for presentation to the world community and the United Nations. Come home, now."
Zak broke the secure connection, slid sideways, stepped around the front passenger seat, and got out of the sliding passenger-side door of the van. He looked at the boathouse and thought about what to do with MacAuley and his sister. Just then Kefira appeared. He turned to see her Streetfighter halt beside the van. She appeared more together. Despite what she had said about the MacAuley woman, his heart sprung hopeful when he saw her. She moved toward him with purpose and wrapped her arms around his neck before she kissed him, deeply, while her tongue explored his teeth and then his tongue. A lot of energy passed between them, but Zak snapped out of it first.
"In love with her?" he asked.
"I got too involved in the mission. Sometimes that happens. It's you I love. I just wanted to succeed and I was willing to do anything. Anything, it seems, except torture her."
"We got the coordinates. He broke just as you said. You succeeded here. This is the biggest success of our careers. Now Sam wants us back in Israel. We have to go in and get proof in order to justify bombing raids to the UN."
"You mean we don't have to report my fuck up!"
"You know the rules … we're always measured by results, not methods. You're the pro, not the spotter. We'll just say it was need-to-know."
"What're we gonna do with MacAuley?"
"We need to keep him under wraps, to be sure about his information."
"And what about living up to our word about the girl?"
"I really don't know what's gotten into you. Those pigs are murderers."
"Murderers have families, loved ones, too. Besides we'll need to milk him dry."
"We just don't have time now."
"Looks like one of your new recruits gets a promotion to Captain."
"That's what I thought, too. Can we use the house where you were hiding out with them before?"
"There's a boathouse by the dock. It'll be empty for months now. It is a bit risky, but the risk is manageable. All we need is to convert the houseboat to a dungeon of sorts with an opening for a slop bucket. Shouldn't be too hard. Did you bring any power tools?"
"I never travel light. They are in the back of the second van."
"All we need then is some plywood and hopefully some sound absorbing rubber insulation, and a shit load of long screws that'll go into the houseboat's deck."
"I saw a Supermercado Jumbo on the way in here one day. They have all the building supplies we'll need."
"Where is it? I'll send Tahila."
"Tahila, is it? Already on a first name basis."
"I like the ring of that jealousy better than hearing about your lesbian affairs."
"It's on something Larralde. Wait, I'll check on the GPS on the Fighter. It's on Avenida Crisologo Larralde, about fifteen minutes from here."
"Go and bring them both to the van, will you?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Cut the shit, Kefira. They're as green as they come. I have to maintain discipline."
"I know. I just couldn't resist."
"You stay with the prisoners, and no funny business. Just sit and watch. Don't even talk to them. They're blindfolded and their ears are plugged. Remember, don't speak in the room. Use hand signals to get the others here."
"Sir."
"The other one's name is Ben."
The two younger agents went off to the lumber supply store. They had a list of supplies to pick up and needed both vans with the seats removed to accomplish their task. When they got back, all four agents loaded the supplies and tools onto the deck of the houseboat. The spotter remained behind to watch the vehicles, while Kefira nosed the houseboat back into the river channel and moved off toward the boathouse she had spoken to Zak about earlier as a possible place to hide their transportable prison.
On the way there, Zak and the younger agents used a chain saw to cut up the bedroom furniture. As well, they started making a room inside the bedroom. It was lined with sound dampening rubber and consisted of metal struts and a double layer of plywood. The door had a large hole with an outer lock for sliding food in and body fluids out.
Inside, the two prisoners each l
ay on half of the old mattress, in diagonally opposite corners of the room. Michael could just reach the food and refuse buckets. Ropes suspended from the ceiling kept the two away from each other. A section of Plexiglas near the ceiling permitted the guards to see everything in the room. There was a second piece of Plexiglas in the door. The four of them built the mini-prison in six hours. Zak drugged the two prisoners again and left them asleep on their respective beds. Tahila took over command of the operation with a promotion to Sergeant. Ben accepted his role graciously.
DRONE CONTROL ROOM
March 2012
Two men and one woman sat staring, mesmerized, even after several years of experience, by the video feeds – often called pred porn – that were displayed in front of them on floor-to-ceiling plasma screens, deep under the Pentagon. The attack on September 11 had freed up enormous amounts of funding, which committees such as the Predator Planning Committee gobbled up.
One result of that funding extravaganza was the new Navy Command Center that the Joint Chiefs constructed deep underground to protect it from possible attacks in the future. After all, it was likely, so the funding requests stated that the terrorists had intentionally targeted the Navy Command Center on September 11. Hidden deeper still, and not reported on any funding schedules, was the Navy Predator Control Center. In this room, video data streamed live from Navy-controlled ops all over the world.
As a result, command could directly influence black operations with a hands-on approach. As a result, Navy Command could supervise even the most delicate operations, and these operations could evolve as US Central Command needed them to, with unvarying command input.
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