“Correct.”
“Why not a Muslim shooter?” Lynche asked.
Hunter was in his usual mode of observing and thinking. “First of all, they aren’t that good. I think our shooter’s a world-class marksman, and he’s been to sniper school. He’s a trained US military sniper.”
“Why wouldn't they be that good?” Lynche asked. “Don’t they go to sniper school?”
“They do, but it’s the quality of the course. Then there’s the whole mobility issue. I just can’t fathom how a Muslim could kill five SEALs at long range. I’m trying to say it isn’t that they aren’t capable, but they haven’t had the specialized training and practice. You have to maintain your proficiency to shoot ultra-long distances.”
“What I’m hearing is sniper school is like Top Gun or Fighter Weapons School,” Hunter said. “Only the best of the best can kick it up a notch, like my racquetball. It’s a huge leap from being an A player to an Open player. I see where first-tier allies could go to Top Gun, but I’m unaware if we allow all foreign pilots access to that information and training."
“I’m sure all the yellow and red books I read had Not Releasable to Foreign Nations—NOFORN all over them, or Release to the UK, Canada, and Australia only. So I think any of the questionable Islamic countries would be excluded from first-tier training. The same case could be made for the sniper.”
“Agreed,” McGee said. “He’s US. I’m starting to think a spec-ops guy gone bad.”
“What about a convert?” Hunter stared into McGee’s eyes.
“What?” Lynche asked.
“A convert. How about someone who was a sniper, went to jail, found Islam, and got out with a chip on his shoulder or was properly motivated with money?”
“Unlikely,” Lynche said. “You can’t buy weapons if you have a felony.”
It was getting late. Duncan rubbed his eyes. “Did you really say that, Greg? News flash. I could probably go into town and within a couple hours buy a half dozen beautiful documents that could be used to get me ammo and weapons. All I need is money and the balls to do it. Your old place is a master of bogus documents. Behind Langley, there are a dozen places south of the border.”
“So we think former sniper or SOF, possible convert.”
“You still think there’s an Islamic component?” Lynche asked almost sheepishly, his liberalism trying not to ooze out.
“I do. SEALs killed Osama bin Laden, and now SEALs are being killed. That isn’t random. Occam’s Razor. This has to be something simple, and the DCI is obviously involved—somehow, some way. Nazy indicated the DCI had a close relationship with a Saudi prince who facilitated his habit with kids.”
“Former sniper or convert?” McGee asked. “Sounds like both are the best solution.”
“OK. Let’s assume we know how they did it. The DCI has to be running a sniper.”
“Or a sniper team via a surrogate,” McGee said. “Too hard to do directly.”
“I’d think it would be hard to run a team, although the Washington, DC, snipers worked as a team, but I’m no expert,” Lynche said.
“If they were Marines or a SEAL sniper team,” McGee said, “they could run all over the country or downtown Washington, DC, and you’d never know it.”
“I first thought a team could be a player,” Hunter said, “but I’m more inclined to think this becomes infinitely more complicated if there’s a team. I can wrap my head around a middleman talking with a single shooter. Who could do this besides a single sniper?”
“There are several things to consider,” McGee said. “One is range. Up to 1,000 yards, and you have a lot of players. Beyond that, it’s rarefied air—the difference between you and me playing racquetball.”
“So a pro, a superstar with a rifle? How many of those guys are out there?”
“Actually, maybe one hundred worldwide,” said McGee.
“Greg, are there any snipers at the CIA?” Hunter asked. “There might be, but that wasn’t something we did. We left the long-range stuff to Bill’s guys and Marine Scout Snipers and such. We’d try a surrogate to do the dirty deed or be much closer, like trying to poison Castro. I’m not sure we have ever taken anyone down via an internal sniper. Maybe we have. I’ve been away a long time and don’t know."
“No doubt some at the NCS have those skills. I can’t imagine CIA taking out a SEAL stateside, though. Someone rogue, maybe, but not an active-duty guy. He would’ve popped up on a polygraph.”
“I think we’ve got two possible scenarios,” Hunter said, “Broken Lance and that mosque. Because of what you and your guys did in Afghanistan, the mosque is tantalizingly simple. My radar homed in on them, but if they’ve been raided and shut down, and you haven’t been molested until now, that screams why and who? Technically, how could anyone locate your friends who were shot? Credit card transactions? Military orders? Cell phones? Bill, that timeline of when the killings started, it was like a forced march starting from….”
“Denver. That was first, with Pablo Reyes.”
“Right, Denver. Then Memphis, Norfolk, Key West, and Washington….”
“Who could move from middle America, find and locate a SEAL, one of the most highly trained killers on the planet, determine his daily routine…?”
“All in the span of a few days,” McGee added.
“…find a weakness and avenue of approach, then take a shot all without being seen or heard,” Hunter finished. “Who can do that?”
“I could do some of it,” McGee said, “the trigger-pulling part. Someone has to provide the intel on who, what, when, and where. We just don’t do that. We take action on actionable intel developed by intel geeks. Where are you going with this line of reasoning?”
“Is that something a smart one at a mosque could do or have done?” Hunter asked cautiously.
Lynche looked at him curiously. “My knee-jerk response is no. There’s no connection.”
Hunter thought hard for a couple seconds. “No one thought on the day of 9/11 that there was a nationwide conspiracy at airports. What was it, Greg? Over sixty Muslims working for contracted security firms that disappeared from half a dozen airports when the FAA shut down the airspace? That was a pretty good network.”
“Really?” McGee asked. “I didn't know that. Were Denver and Memphis on that list of airports?”
“Denver was,” Hunter said. “It’s been so long ago, I think so, but I’m not 100% sure of Memphis.” Hunter searched the deep recesses of his memory. Was Memphis part of the original group of airports unreported in 9/11? There was Dallas, Denver, Miami, LA and…Memphis.
“CIA could do it if they had the names and SS numbers,” Lynche said. “They could send out teams. So could the FBI, which would be more likely, and they investigated the Muslim-airport connection.”
“Memphis was one of the 9/11 airports,” Hunter blurted. “I remember now. Don’t you find it odd that the former DCI took the president’s file and the case officer is now dead? Five SEALs are dead in cities near where some 9/11 players were, and there’s this little tiny thread that connects DCI with Broken Lance?”
“I still can’t get my head around why the DCI would want to kill off a bunch of SEALs,” McGee said.
“I think the better question is why would the DCI want to off the president,” Hunter added. “‘Kill the one who ordered the hit on Osama bin Laden, and I’ll stop killing SEALs.’ He wants the president killed by SEALs, and he’s putting great pressure on the SEALs, especially the Lancers, to do the dirty deed. Isn’t that the question? Why?”
“Maybe he’s tired of the president’s shit?” Lynche was embarrassed when he said that and couldn’t believe he let it out. “Maybe the president wants him to do something he doesn’t want to do. I don’t know what that could be, but the DCI’s a powerful Democrat, and the president’s a radical….”
“He’s a communist,” McGee said quickly. “Community organizer is code for communist sympathizer. He and his band of commies have brought up
charges against several SEALs who supposedly abused some fucking terrorist. Democrats don’t want to admit their party has been hijacked by communists and radicals.”
“There’s a difference?” Hunter asked, amused. “What’s the difference between a democrat and a communist? A communist actually practices border control and respects the military. This coke-sniffing dude despises guys in uniform, and the nicest thing I can say about him is he’s a rabid socialist and a closet Muslim, in my humble opinion. Anyway, is there something there?”
“What do you mean?” Lynche asked.
“To me, it’s obvious the president is the real target, and Bill’s SEALs are expected to pull the trigger. What could POTUS do to make the DCI want to kill him?”
“You mean, like blackmail? You think the president is blackmailing the DCI?”
“That’s one thought. Any others?”
“What could he be blackmailed for? He’s openly gay. It used to be that was the biggest taboo—catch someone in a compromising position and manipulate him. That’s Spycraft 101.”
“What if he had AIDS?” McGee asked.
“I wouldn’t think that would do it,” Hunter replied. “You want to kill the president for fear he’d tell the world you have AIDS? I don’t think so.”
“I’d agree,” Lynche said. “It would have to be something really horrendous. I don’t think liking boys is enough. The rich bastard would just quit and have all the sex he wanted. I have a hard time thinking it’s blackmail.”
The three men were quiet, looking at each other, waiting for someone to speak.
Hunter, who was never bashful at floating trial balloons, asked, “What if he had an epiphany?”
“Who?”
“DCI.”
Lynche rolled his eyes. “What are you thinking, Duncan?” “He had an epiphany, an awakening. He suddenly realized a great truth.”
“And, that is to kill the president?” Lynche, feeling tired, was exasperated.
“To make it stop.”
“What are you talking about?” McGee sensed Hunter was about to right their foundering ship.
“When someone can’t take it anymore, what does he do? If they hurt from cancer and realize it won’t get better, sometimes they kill themselves. Postmen go postal. A husband has enough of his wife running around on him and kills her. A wife has enough of her husband’s beating on her, so she runs away. German generals think Hitler is off his rocker and try to blow him up. Sam Doe had enough of Liberian President…Tolbert, so he marched him to the beach and slowly turned him into fish food.”
“It was a colonel,” McGee said. “Von Stauffenberg. Hitler had him shot.”
“The price of failure,” Lynche said.
“I only got fired,” quipped McGee.
“When this is all over, I think it’ll be something like this,” Hunter said. “Motive starts to make sense with this scenario. I’m at a loss to explain it with anything else.”
“OK,” McGee said. “What next?”
Hunter walked to the whiteboard and drew a line through the words Plan to discover source of DCI’s actions and said, “We need to add to this list, Interdict shooter. We need to stop him.”
“He can’t get Bill if he’s here,” Lynche said.
“At some point, Bill doesn’t show up. What would you do? Roll to your next assignment. DCI finds out we helped Bill, he’ll have us shot.” Hunter lowered his chin to his chest.
“What are you thinking?” McGee asked.
“I think the shooter’s in Newport waiting for you to return home or work—maybe even the gym—to take a shot at you right in the heart, one shot, one kill. Then he’ll go after Nazy, Greg, or me. I still don’t know how he knows where the SEALs are, but the DCI has his fingerprints all over this. I think we take 007 to Newport and try to find him and take him out before he takes you out.”
“Are you thinking of using me as bait?” McGee was curious and incredulous.
“I think we need to find this guy. Based on what we know, you think you’re next. I think you’re right. This guy is on his way or is already in Newport to target you. I think we can find and stop him. How do we stop a sniper?”
“A better question might be is how would you target yourself?” Lynche asked.
“You mean, how would I turn this into an op? Go offense?”
“How would you do it? I know we can find someone with the FLIR if they’re outside. If they’re in a building….”
“Or a vehicle,” Lynche added.
“I’m not sure I like this idea,” McGee said slowly.
“You have a better one, good Sir? I’m all ears,” Hunter said. “Who can we call for help? I think we’re on our own.”
McGee didn’t like the finality of Hunter’s conclusion, but he knew he was right. As he tried to think of an alternative, his mind raced through thirty years of lessons learned in combat, trying to find a way out of his predicament. Subconsciously, McGee flexed his muscles and balled his fists. He realized he was out of ideas.
Lynche and Hunter watched McGee wrestle with himself.
Then the big man relaxed and rubbed his callused palms together. “OK,” McGee said. “Here’s how a SEAL would do it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
0100 June 10, 2011
Millerton and Elmira, New York
It was so simple. He began with the address, which he typed into the Find Location block. In seconds, through the magic of satellite photography and software, designed to mesh an extensive collection of high-resolution satellite imagery into a coherent, seamless picture, the image processor and analysis algorithms enabled the Northern Hemisphere to rotate from over the Atlantic toward New England.
A forward scroll of the mouse, and the image resolution increased exponentially and zoomed to the maximum government-allowable resolution for civilian imaging. Additional zoom increments triggered embedded software to overwhelm program software limitations and distort the images.
EarthZoom and StreetZoom options provided enough resolution to establish the lay of the land, potential avenues of approach, the footprint of the target structure, and latitude and longitude coordinates down to the second of latitude. The EarthZoom feature with precision coordinate was especially helpful, as it enabled planning without having to shoot a back azimuth from the point of impact.
Clicking the Tools menu, he selected Compass. A single click pinned a From location, and he noted the coordinate. He dragged the mouse to the next location and double-clicked to receive the calculated azimuth to the house from the treeline.
StreetZoom facilitated sufficient granularity of the surroundings that potential cover locations were easily noted. He was looking at a God’s-eye view of the house, roof, and systematically examined the outlying copse of trees that appeared best suited for a hide. Clicking the Tools menu again, he pulled down the Ruler and measured the gap between the house and treeline fifteen degrees to the left of the stoop. It was 1,250 yards.
Miller saved the images and details of the next hunt and shut down his computer. He expected to receive more information in the morning. It was time to rest before the next e-mail arrived.
*
One hundred fifty miles away, McGee finished with, “That’s how I’d do it. It’s the only solution. It provides the right cover and an escape route from the area. That’s where we’ll find him. I might even be able to shoot him, but I think I want to talk to him first.”
Hunter and Lynche exchanged solemn glances; McGee just nodded his head.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
2000 June 10, 2011
Chief Near East Division Office CIA Headquarters
Nazy Cunningham awoke in her office, not an uncommon occurrence for some of the senior intelligence service executives in the CIA. Since receiving messages from Duncan, she scrambled through her house in Vienna, racing through every room to ensure the windows and doors were locked, packed a roller board, and grabbed her “go bag.”
Five years earli
er, when she received an assignment to Saudi Arabia as Deputy Chief of Station, Duncan helped her pack a “go bag” of essential items to take in an emergency, such as the evacuation of an embassy. Never once thinking she’d have to evacuate her house, she was well prepared for it but was emotionally drained. She had hundreds of questions for Duncan, primarily, “What’s going on?” and “Why do you need a file about the president?”
As she oscillated between concern for Duncan and bursts of energy to select a week’s worth of clothes, several conflicting thoughts crowded through her mind. She thought the file about the president was just a rumor. They’d been told it was long in the past, and there wasn’t anything in it, anyway.
She also realized the DCI had been curiously absent from most of the executive meetings recently. The deputy ran the show. Was that related to whatever Duncan was doing?
The Chief of the Near East Division wandered the sixth floor, visiting everyone and telling them how much she appreciated their working crazy hours in support of the document release and analysis of some of the documents taken from Osama bin Laden’s compound.
After walking through all the NE offices and talking with everyone, she was pleased to find they complied with the “clean-desk” requirements. CIA employees and contractors were responsible for clearing their desks when they left the office at the end of the day. Extraneous papers were either shredded or locked in a storage space. Over the last few weeks, it was very difficult for supervisors and the chief to check all the offices at the end of the day. There was so much material from the Osama bin Laden raid and not enough storage or four-drawer safes, the intelligence professionals of NE feared they would miss something important, so supervisors didn’t confiscate or destroy any folders or papers employees may have left on desks.
Six weeks after the raid, the NE had just begun to return to normal, and clean desks were everywhere. People went home to their families or took well-deserved vacations. If something like a file was left out in plain sight, there would be consequences for policy noncompliance. Duncan would have said Nazy was “going 1,000 miles an hour.”
Special Access Page 39