Special Access

by Mark A. Hewitt

  Hunter thought over what Nazy told him about the man, but he didn’t want to explore that avenue yet. “What if it’s a diversion?”

  “What do you mean?” Lynche asked.

  “Politics. What if you’re targeting SEALs to draw attention away from another op? Or what if you target SEALs to take them out of action, to neutralize them. How about this? What would happen if SEAL Team Six was completely taken out? What is it that you guys do, that, if you stopped, it would create a vacuum in capability that someone could exploit? I really don’t know what-all you guys do.”

  “Well,” McGee said, “DEVGRU’s mission includes pre-emptive, proactive, counterterrorist operations, counterproliferation—especially WMDs—as well as assassination or recovery of HVTs. I’m sorry. That’s high-value targets from unfriendly nations. Also, DEVGRU is authorized to use preemptive actions against terrorists and their facilities. We kill the enemies of the United States.”

  “Hooyah!” Hunter smiled. “How’d Jorgie die again? There was a note? How did the shooter know he was in Key West and would step outside? Did you know where he was?”

  “Last question first. Green Parrot Bar.”

  “How do you know that?” Hunter unconsciously scratched the side of his face, remembering how he took Nazy to the Red Parrot in Newport.

  “It’s our…a SEAL hangout in Key West. I was briefed about Jorgie, how he was shot and what the note said. I’m totally bewildered how anyone knew he would step outside to make a call.”

  “It’s unlikely he was tracked there by one of those little black boxes,” Hunter said.

  “Agreed.”

  “What if he had an appointment to make or receive a call?” Lynche suggested. “I expect the FBI will scour his cell phone records. How’d the other guys die? Were they similar, at other SEAL hangouts?”

  “What I know is that all were shot outside except for Pablo. He was found inside, but the cops thought he was the victim of a random shooting. There was a bullet hole in his living room window.”

  “Could have been our guy.”

  “Yes, Sir. That’s what I believe now. No doubt in my former military mind.”

  “Do you know if they’re planning another op?” Hunter asked. “I mean, after taking out Osama bin Laden, what does a SEAL do?”

  “Blow up Iranian nuclear facilities, create mischief in Korea, sink Libyan ships, shoot pirates—fun shit.”

  “I didn’t hear that,” Lynche said.

  “Anything else rattling around there?”

  “It’s all so weird,” McGee said. “It doesn’t make sense. Most SEALs so dislike POTUS that some have been doing their own research into who he is. Some have had to be counseled to follow orders or resign. I hear of active-duty guys thinking he’s a commie plant. His associations scream communist. Do you know a communist? I don’t, but he’s surrounded by them.

  “For thirty-five years, all my efforts have been dedicated to bringing down the Soviet Union and to kill communists, and now our president’s one. I hate to say it, but I’ll go to my grave thinking the man’s a puppet for the communist party.”

  Hunter realized that was the most he’d ever heard McGee say. “You mean like the Manchurian candidate?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Anyone find anything?”

  “This is technically hearsay, but I consider the source as reliable as if you or Greg told me. Back in 2003 or 2004, well before the election, a very senior SEAL, a good friend of mine and the guy who probably led the raid on Osama bin Laden’s place, had been working at the NE Division and said he saw a two-inch-thick dossier on the man. A long-retired case officer started a file on him when he went to Pakistan in the ‘80s on a British passport while attending college in the US. That sent red star clusters all over NE Division.

  “The list of suspected terrorists he saw, complete with photos, was supposedly a who’s who of really bad guys and probably included Osama bin Laden. We killed most of them since 2002. The rest are probably in Pakistan or sitting in Gitmo.

  “When the senator from Michigan started making national news, I think right after we got out of the War College, the deputy chief pulled the file and made a duplicate. In today’s context, my buddy said the information’s so explosive it would rattle the foundations of the democracy.”

  “If he was attending school in the US on a British passport,” Lynche said, “and went to Pakistan, that would be enough for a field agent to trigger a case file or mention in a dispatch.”

  “Somehow, he secured a US passport,” McGee said. “Copies of both were in the file. The deputy hid the duplicate in plain sight and contributed to it when he could. Here’s the kicker. The deputy chief was astounded when the DCI personally came down to NE Division and demanded to see what, if anything, they had on the man. I understand the deputy opened his safe and handed the file to the DCI, who didn’t even sign for it. It was never returned.”

  “When was that?”

  “2008. Before the election. The previous DCI.”

  “Hold it,” Lynche said. “If the previous DCI came down and asked for the file, then he somehow knew the senator was the subject of an inquiry. Probably it came up in a weekly report or on the dispatch board. If he really traveled on a British passport, how’d he become a state and a US senator?” Hunter and Lynche looked at each other.

  “I would’ve expected the case officer or the deputy to do something,” Lynche said slowly. “There’s paperwork…chain-of-custody regulations….”

  “That deputy did,” McGee said. “The guy was a former Marine. Duncan, I thought you’d appreciate that. He’s dead, too. Happened a couple months ago, about the time this all started.”

  “There sure are a lot of dead guys in this discussion,” Lynche said. “Sounds like more than a coincidence. How’d that happen? Don’t tell me. Similar to the others?”

  McGee lowered his head and nodded, trying to make sense of the seeming coincidence.

  “Nazy’s boss was found with a bullet wound to the chest a couple months ago,” Hunter said. “He was the chief, not the deputy, but he used to be Deputy NE. She moved up to chief.”

  The two men stared in shock.

  “What would you do if someone has been killing your friends, and you thought you’d be next?” Hunter asked.

  “I called you,” McGee said. “We’re getting the hell out of Dodge, flying…it looks like west.”

  “I was thinking the president has friends in Pakistan, but that doesn’t make a lot of sense, either, does it?” Hunter asked.

  McGee pondered that.

  “Bill, how close were you to getting bin Laden?” Lynche asked. “I read several accounts from the commander of US forces in Afghanistan at the time, as well as the senior CIA agent on the ground chasing him. One says we don’t know whether bin Laden was at Tora Bora. Some sources said he was. Others said he was in Pakistan.”

  “I learned at school, reporters get it about fifty percent right. The guys with clearances and Special Access won’t say anything unless they’re disgruntled or ready to retire. Tora Bora and the Zhawar Kili cave complex were teeming with hundreds of Taliban and al-Qaeda. My snipers engaged every target we saw. One of my sniper teams killed over fifty of the bastards. The Air Force bombed the shit out of the surrounding area. What they didn’t bomb, Predators hit targets of opportunity. Multiple assets, including strategic assets, were so thoroughly looking at that area, we'd see a mouse crap. We could’ve taken Osama bin Laden out to 2,000 yards or put an LD on his forehead or let the Air Force bomb him back to the Stone Age.

  “Try as we might, we never positively acquired him. We were the closest group to where we thought he was, but we never saw him. The truth is we chased a radio. He was already in Pakistan. He had one of his trusted agents carrying a radio. He was smart enough to know we’d triangulate his position, so he had someone carrying a radio with a recording of him giving directions.

  “Like a dumb hound dog, that was the only place we looked. We we
re so close that when others, like Delta and CIA SOG, called for air strikes, they were denied, because it would have meant killing me and a dozen of my SEALs, Team Six. CIA and Delta were pissed, but few knew Team Six was that close. We were on top of them, and we came in from the Paki side. Everyone else came from the west.

  “Osama bin Laden wasn’t there. Even if he really was at Tora Bora, the commander of US forces in Afghanistan wasn’t going to let anyone blow us up, too. The SOCOM commander and I were relieved of command for not finding bin Laden. I don’t think I ever told you that. Shit rolls downhill.

  “We took a chance at finding him at Tora Bora. We expected the Taliban and al-Qaeda to protect their west flank, as they had the Pakis in their pocket and didn’t need to protect the east one. There are a ton of theories about how Osama bin Laden escaped. They’re probably all true. Having him taken down in Pakistan only proves the Pakis had him and knew where he was all the time. If you think about it, would he really thumb his nose at the US after 9/11 and just hide out in the Afghani mountains? His history was always hit and run. He whacked the head of the Northern Alliance, started the ball rolling for 9/11, and ran to friendlies in Pakistan.”

  “I always found it incredible he would have stayed in Afghanistan after the Towers fell,” Hunter said. “The last democratic president sent a dozen Tomahawks after him for just…. Oh, that’s right. That idiot was another Islamic sympathizer and bombed an aspirin factory.”

  “I can attest that was wag the dog and all that,” Lynche said.

  “We knew he was in Pakistan, but we didn't know where. The ISI wanted us to look in their so-called tribal regions, but those people were mainly enemies of the ruling party. If Americans were killing them, then that would be a good thing.”

  Hunter focused on the big black man’s dark eyes. “I don’t want to see another of you guys taken out. We have to be able to do something to lock them down. Can we war-game this a little? Say it’s the Broken Lance or Lancer connection. Is it really a sniper who’s taken out your guys? Are we sure, or is it we don’t know?”

  “It’s absolutely a sniper,” McGee said.

  “How’d the first guy die? Do you know?”

  “We heard Pablo was found dead in his home. We thought he was the victim of a random gunshot.”

  “Bullet wound?” Hunter fired questions at McGee.

  “Heart. Single shot.”

  “The next guy?”

  “Disco Ford was found dead along the perimeter road on the Navy base in Memphis at night.”

  “Bullet wound?”

  “The same—heart, single shot. Regarding Petersen and McCreedy, I’m not sure how. I only heard about Petersen from a friend, and that’s when I texted you. I heard McCreedy was pronounced dead at Bethesda. Jorgie was shot in the parking lot of the Green Parrot.”

  “Where and how?”

  “Heart, single shot. All of them. With terminator rounds.”

  “Terminator rounds? What’s that?” asked a shocked Lynche.

  “It has a special jacket that slows it immediately after penetration and spreads out until it’s two inches wide. It blows a hole out the other side, sometimes grapefruit-sized, sometimes volleyball. It’s oneshot, one-kill ammo. They’re illegal for anyone but the SOF and are super-controlled. The UN banned terminators for combat.”

  “Fuck me.” Lynche shook his head.

  “What about the CIA case officer, the Marine?”

  “He was found dead in his backyard. The dog was howling, which alerted the neighbors. They thought it was a heart attack, but, when they turned him over and saw the exit wound, it was clear he’d been shot.”

  “In the heart, single shot?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Big fucking hole in his back?”

  “Yes, Sir. Terminated.”

  “Five or six guys; six kill shots? I’d go out on a limb and say all six single shots were terminator rounds to the heart. Isn’t that a signature shot? I’ll go out on another limb. I’m sorry, but isn’t it obvious that somehow the DCI is behind this, because the case officer’s dead? That can’t be a coincidence.”

  Lynche and Hunter looked at each other, then at McGee.

  “It can’t be a coincidence,” Hunter repeated.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  2050 June 9, 2011

  24,000 Feet above New York State

  “I have to admit, it’s pretty damning,” Lynche said. “All vectors point to him, but I can’t fathom why. All those SEALs and the case officer can’t be a coincidence.”

  “I think this is important,” Hunter said. “Suddenly, this has reached the level of spooky. Full disclosure, Bill. Greg and I have been working indirectly for the DCI, past and present, on a number of activities. I told you long ago someday I’d tell you what I was doing. Here it is.”

  Lynche pursed his lips and nodded.

  “Greg and I fly an old top-secret spy plane for the CIA doing work no one else can do.”

  “Like what?” McGee asked.

  “We’ve located hostages held by the FARC and in Somalia. We’ve located a dozen submarines used to smuggle drugs from Colombia and Peru. We’ve killed poppies in Afghanistan with a laser. That’s for starters. All at night with a quiet airplane.”

  “I knew it had to be something like that. That’s very cool.”

  Hunter paused for a moment. “This could be bad for all of us.”

  “You think?”

  “If the DCI’s behind this, we all have to be careful.”

  “Agreed. I knew there were few people I could trust, and I kept coming back to the DCI. He has crazy assets at his disposal. That’s why I used disposable cell phones.”

  “That was smart,” Lynche said. “We need to make sure it’s him. Will someone please tell me what his motive is?”

  Hunter suddenly closed his eyes and shook his head. “I think…I might know.”

  They looked at Hunter, disbelief spread across their faces.

  He opened his eyes again. “We have to land.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  2130 June 9, 2011

  Schweizer Aircraft Company, Elmira, NY

  The Schweizer CEO greeted them by saying, “Captain McGee, you haven’t aged a day since the last time you were here. These two are older and uglier, of course. What an unexpected surprise.”

  The men decided not to discuss with Saul Ferrier the goings-on with McGee and the mess with the SEALs.

  “Saul, we need to work in the SCIF, at least the Green Room, for a few hours,” Hunter said.

  The Schweizer Green Room was a secure facility for people with clearances to have secure meetings, develop classified proposals for government, as well as hold and store sensitive government or company proprietary documents. Every six months, a security team from the CIA inspected the facility and reviewed procedures to ensure all government documents were properly handled, stored, and disposed of per strict classified regulations.

  The three-and-a-half-foot-high shredder in the middle of the room looked like it could disintegrate a New York City phone book into a billion chads in seconds, and it could. Also part of the semiannual check of the SCIF and Green Room was a sweep of the rooms for listening or eavesdropping devices. Additional external checks of the facility included testing with a laser-monitoring system to determine if communications could be intercepted when other access to the room was impossible.

  Green rooms and SCIFs with windows were often outfitted with countermeasures to negate the effectiveness of a laser-surveillance system. The company, famous for making high-end waveguide speakers and noise-canceling headsets, also quietly developed the best noise-canceling systems for the Agency SCIFs and corporate SCIFs involved with the intelligence community.

  Russian laser transmitters directed at the window of a room used to pick up the reflected laser and convert it into electric signals, which, after filtering, were amplified and fed into recording devices. For the SCIF at Schweizer, whatever was said in the room stay
ed there. The three men felt they weren’t under surveillance at the moment, but they didn’t want to take any chances while on the ground.

  Ferrier asked if they wanted to see the progress on 007 before going into the SCIF. Lynche and Hunter, so preoccupied with the crisis facing McGee, completely forgot why they flew to Elmira.

  Hunter looked at Lynche for approval, because McGee wasn’t read in on the YO-3A program. When Lynche gave an imperceptible nod, Hunter said, “Absolutely, Saul. I hope she’s getting close.”

  The CEO, smiling, walked toward the hangars. After McGee shared the details of Broken Lance, there should be a measure of reciprocity between them. Still a government employee, Hunter wondered if he would pass the next poly test from Lynche's old place when the interviewer asked, “Have you ever shared classified information with someone not authorized to receive it?”

  I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, Hunter thought.

  They passed through the adjoining delivery hangar, where three dark-blue helicopters, bearing San Antonio Police Department livery, sat in the middle of the light—gray floor, their tail rotors almost touching. Ferrier slipped into his role of host and tour guide to visiting VIPs. No special-purpose airplanes were being built, but several dozen small training helicopters were in various states of assembly.

  Several minutes later, they completed their circuitous trip at the far side exit door, hit the push bar, and stepped outside into darkness punctuated by floodlights. Ferrier waited for Hunter to bring up the rear and close the door.

  They stood on an elevated concrete walkway that connected the factory to a stand-alone hangar. A door with heavy cipher lock and electronic sensor barred their advance. Ferrier took a small, tear-drop-shaped button on the end of a lanyard from his pocket and held it beside the sensor. Immediately, an unseen powerful mechanism slammed ten locking lugs open, startling everyone but Saul, who punched buttons, flipped the handle, and stepped inside. He walked to another keypad, turning on light switches, as he quickly disengaged the alarm. The hangar was one giant safe.