by Lynn Ames
Vaughn Elliott, former CIA agent and current recluse, closed her eyes, already regretting having answered the phone. “You were expecting someone else? To what do I owe the pleasure, Sabastien?”
“Don’t I even rate a ‘Hi, how are you?’”
“Is this a social call?” Vaughn pinched the bridge of her nose where a tension headache was starting to form.
“Oui, et non.”
“Which is it, genius? Yes or no? It’s either a social call or I’m hanging up on you and going back to the beach. Three. Two. O—”
“Wait! Merde. Why do you have to make everything so hard?”
Vaughn smirked. “Because it’s fun when it’s you and because I told you when I set you up in D.C. as private cyber sleuth to the president that I wished you well, but that I was done with the game. Retired. What part of that didn’t you hear? As I recall, I even said it in French so there’d be no misunderstanding.” She held the phone against her ear with her shoulder while she went back to preparing herself a fruit salad.
“I got the message, but this is not about the Company.”
“Then what?” Vaughn expertly skinned a kiwi, sliced it, and added it to the bowl.
“I want to, how do you say it…bounce something against you.”
Vaughn laughed. “You mean ‘bounce something off me’ I presume.”
“Exactement. C’est ça.”
“I’m listening.”
It had been months since Vaughn last ventured to the mainland from her island paradise and almost that long since she had seen or spoken to anyone other than the locals. In spite of herself, she was almost glad to hear a familiar voice. She had recruited Sabastien Vaupaul to work for her when she caught him hacking into the CIA database and nearly derailing one of her operations. Most recently, he was instrumental in helping Vaughn recover Sage McNally and foil a plot to kill the US Senate majority leader.
“I received an unusual call from the president last night,” Sabastien said. “First, he wanted me to verify the authenticity of some files he received outside of channels to make sure they hadn’t been doctored.”
“That doesn’t sound particularly exciting.”
“Maybe not. But then he asked me to hack into the NSA database to find the originals. I could tell that they had been there, but even I could not un-erase them.”
“Maybe you’re slipping.”
“Not possible. And that is not all.”
“Mmm?” Vaughn rinsed strawberries in the sink.
“He had me review the Fort Meade security footage from last night.”
“What was he looking for?” Vaughn tried to keep her tone casual, though her curiosity was piqued.
“He would not tell me much, except that an NSA analyst was the one who discovered the files. Then, the analyst claims that the files disappeared from her system and she was paid a visit by some very unauthorized baddies. The president wanted to see if she was telling the truth.”
Vaughn stopped slicing, the knife poised in mid-air. “Was she?”
“That I cannot tell you. What I can say is that there is a curious gap in the security tapes that takes place within minutes of the files disappearing from the system. I could see her at her desk working. I could follow every keystroke she made up until the point where she accessed that file. I watched her get up from her desk and go to a filing cabinet. She seemed agitated. She rushed back to the computer and was clicking keys, so that fits with her trying to recover the file. I could see her look up quickly, as if she heard or saw something. Her eyes widened. Then the tape goes all snowy. Nothing more until almost half an hour later and there is no sign of her again. I even went back into the system today. She did not report for work and never logged in.”
“So how did the president end up with the file?” Vaughn stopped even pretending not to care.
“Again, I do not know. But he had me vet this analyst very thoroughly.”
“Who is she?”
“I do not know if I should say.”
“Why would you tell me all of this and then not reveal who she is?” Vaughn growled.
“Mon Dieux, Elliott, you are pretty surly for someone who does not have an interest in anything work-like.”
“Shut up, Sabastien.”
“Okay. But if I do, you will not get any more information from me.”
“Just remember, I still maintain a healthy collection of weapons and I know where to find you.”
“That is low, Elliott.”
“But effective.”
“Just so. But still, I really am not authorized to tell you that. It could mean my job.”
Vaughn wanted to scream. “Then why are you telling me any of this?”
“Because I think this woman is one of what you would call ‘the good guys’ and I think she may be in a lot of danger.”
“What makes you think so?”
“The president had me track this woman. There has been no activity on her credit cards, her cell phone is turned off, someone is monitoring her bank account, and her home and work phones are tapped.”
“So what do you want from me?”
“I want to know how much danger she is in.”
Vaughn rolled her eyes. “Without more information, I can’t answer that. It sounds like she could be in deep, but then again, maybe not.”
“Do you think she is dead?” Sabastien’s voice was almost a whisper.
“I have no way of knowing.” Vaughn knew it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. His voice held genuine concern. Sabastien was someone who usually was so confident in his own abilities and immersed in his own geeky world that he was oblivious to the humanity around him. “What is it about this woman, Sabastien?”
“I do not know. She is very pretty. But it is more than that. There is an intangible quality about her. I cannot explain, Elliott. I can only say that I am troubled for her.”
Vaughn considered. “Well, somehow the files ended up in the president’s hands. That tells me that the woman managed to preserve the file or copy it before it disappeared. So we know she’s resourceful and that she somehow got the file to the president. If she didn’t do that from her work computer—”
“She did not.”
“Then she obviously made it out of the building alive.”
“True, but I have been monitoring all of her activity and she is simply gone. Not a trace of her anywhere and she has not been back to work.”
“Does she have any field experience?”
“Oh, yes. She has been all over the world.”
“Okay, then. I would say she’s probably capable of taking care of herself and you shouldn’t worry.”
“Come on, Elliott. I am not a child. Do not dismiss me or my concerns.”
Vaughn resumed rinsing the strawberries. “I’m not, Sabastien. I meant what I said. She sounds like she’s got some training and a good head on her shoulders. Like I said, without knowing a whole lot more about what was in the files, I don’t know what else I can tell you.”
Sabastien heaved a deep sigh. “I do not know what I was looking at. And even if I did, it was top secret and you no longer have clearance. I could be arrested for treason if I shared the information.”
“I don’t want you to violate any rules or regs.”
“But what can I do? How can I help her?”
Vaughn shook her head, although she knew Sabastien couldn’t see it. “You can’t right now. Sometimes there’s nothing you can do.”
“As you Americans would say, that sucks.”
“I know. I know.”
“I am sorry about Sage. She was a lovely girl.”
Vaughn closed her eyes. “Too nice for me.” She hoped her tone brooked no further discussion of her failed relationship with Sage McNally. Sage was better off on her own back in the states.
“It will likely piss you off when I say this, but I miss you, Elliott.”
“You’re right. See you around, Sabastien.”
Vaughn disconnected the cal
l but continued to hold the receiver, her thoughts and emotions jumbled at the mention of Sage’s name. Better to think about Sabastien’s mystery instead. Who was this woman and what the hell had she stepped into? “Not your problem, Elliott. Remember? You’re done with all that.”
Vaughn speared a piece of apple with a fork and bit into it. Not surprisingly, the sweetness of the apple could not replace the bitter taste in her mouth.
CHAPTER THREE
The helicopter hovered, its descent temporarily suspended, before touching down gently on the lush, green, rolling lawn at Camp David, the presidential retreat. When the rotors stopped spinning, two passengers emerged. One was a fit, sandy-haired man in his early sixties. The other was a tall, striking woman with glossy black hair and arresting blue eyes.
“Did the president say what this is all about?”
“No. Just that—”
“Katherine Kyle and Peter Enright, I presume. I’m Louis Dampier, the president’s personal assistant. If you’ll come with me, the president will meet you in his study.”
Kate and Peter climbed into the back of the custom-built golf cart that would take them to the main house. Although it had been twenty-two years since either of them had been there, it was a ride they were both quite familiar with.
“Feel like déjà vu to you?” Kate asked, when they were settled on opposite ends of the well-worn leather sofa in the president’s study. As press secretary to a previous democratic president, she’d been to Camp David many times. As a special assistant, Peter also had been to the retreat often.
“All over again,” Peter answered.
“It’s a little unsettling, don’t you think? I mean, so much time has passed, and yet, in here, it’s as if nothing’s changed.”
“Kate, Peter,” the president said, striding into the room.
Both Kate and Peter quickly rose.
The president took Kate’s hand. “You don’t mind if I call you Kate, do you? President Hyland has spoken of you so often, I feel as if I know you personally.”
“Not at all, Mr. President. It’s an honor to meet you.” Kate stood ramrod straight.
“No need to stand on ceremony with me.” He turned his attention to Peter. “Your reputation precedes you, sir.”
“As does yours, Mr. President.”
“Touché.” The president moved to a matching leather chair facing the sofa and motioned for them to sit. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I summoned you.”
“It has been rather a long time since I’ve been contacted on urgent business by a sitting president, sir.” Kate took the lead. “I’m not sure how I can be helpful, but I’ll do my best.”
“Whatever you need, Mr. President,” Peter added.
“That’s exactly what Charlie said you would say.”
“I’m not sure whether we should be flattered or concerned about our predictability.”
The president laughed. “Let’s get right to it, shall we?” He leaned forward. “You’ve seen the images on the news of the so-called ‘Arab Spring’ revolts from Tunisia and Egypt. Ben Ali is already out, and Mubarak is all but done, as well.”
Kate and Peter nodded.
“Well, the unrest is spreading into Yemen, Iran, Bahrain, Libya and Algeria. Obviously, that’s in addition to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the situation between Israel and the Palestinians, the unreliability of Pakistan’s allegiances… It seems all of the Middle East and North Africa is a tinderbox. At the moment, it’s hard to tell how all this will shake out. The situation is too fluid, and there are too many players in the game.”
“Sir, presumably the Arab Spring isn’t a bad thing for the US.”
“You’re correct, Kate. Not in and of itself. But all that mayhem has spawned an unforeseen complication.”
“Sir?”
“This is for your ears only.” The president looked meaningfully at each of them in turn. “I trust that whatever we say in here, stays in here, except for persons I specifically authorize you to brief.”
Again, both Kate and Peter nodded.
“A reliable source has discovered some unusual activity outside of Baghdad. It’s a former Saddam nuclear site called Tuwaitha.”
“I remember that name,” Peter said. “Didn’t our folks move something like five hundred fifty metric tons of yellowcake out of there a few years ago?”
“They did. The previous administration facilitated the transfer of all the material to Cameco, a uranium producer in Canada. Or so they thought.”
“Sir, surely something as important as that would’ve been verified?” Kate asked.
“It was. According to testimony given at the time before the Congressional Intelligence Committee, every barrel was accounted for, and the place was shuttered. That’s what makes this so troubling.”
“What are you thinking, sir?”
The president rose and began pacing. “There are several possible scenarios, and none of them would be good news for us.”
“Either someone was incompetent and some of the yellowcake got left behind,” Peter ventured. “Or someone stole some of it and covered it up. Otherwise, the activity you’ve spotted involves something not tied to that event.”
“Exactly.”
“It’s been three years, sir,” Kate said. “If that yellowcake has been sitting there all along, why has someone waited until now to do something with it?”
“If it was incompetence, then it may be that the yellowcake is just now being discovered as our troops draw down.”
“If it’s either of the other two scenarios, it may be that someone is using the confusion in the region as a cover for whatever plan they have in mind,” Peter said.
“And that’s why you’re both here.” The president sat back down. “Normally, a report of unusual activity such as that which I’ve described would be included in my daily briefing either from the CIA, the Joint Chiefs, or potentially, Homeland Security. But that didn’t happen here, and that’s particularly troubling.”
“So, exactly how did you come by the intelligence, sir?” Kate asked.
“Several days ago, I was surreptitiously slipped some information by a mid-level analyst from the NSA. This individual went to a lot of trouble and put herself at great risk to get the information directly into my hands.”
The president swiveled his chair to gaze out the window, then turned back. “What she gave me, frankly, is chilling.”
“What is it, sir?”
The president touched the buttons of a remote control and a portion of the wall slid open to reveal a large-screen display. “A series of current images of the Tuwaitha Yellowcake Factory.” He pushed another button on the remote, and a large satellite image filled the screen.
Kate and Peter moved in to get a closer look.
“As you can see, the complex is abuzz with activity.” The president pointed at a series of buildings. As he clicked through several long-range images, numerous vehicles and people appeared to come and go in a time-lapsed sequence.
“Sir, I’m sure you know that images can be manipulated,” Peter said.
“Of course.” The president dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “That’s why I personally consulted with an independent expert. He assures me that the images have not been altered in any way.”
“Why didn’t your source just take her findings to her superior?” Kate asked.
“Apparently, she discovered the images quite by accident. When she tried to dig a little deeper, she immediately was locked out of the system.”
“By accessing the file while logged in under her own username and password, she triggered some sort of alarm,” Peter said.
“Exactly.” The president nodded. “She’s been on the run ever since.”
“Any chance she’s being paranoid, sir?” Kate asked. “And how do you know she’s legitimate?”
“My technology expert was able to hack into the NSA database and retrieve her service record. Since I actually met her, although I did
n’t know it at the time, I was able to verify that she was the one who directly handed me the information.
“In addition, my expert has been able to determine that someone has been working very hard to find this woman. Her phones are tapped, and her bank account activity is being monitored along with her credit cards. Someone is going to a lot of trouble to locate her.” The president sighed. “So yes, she’s legitimate, and no, I don’t think she’s imagining things.”
“Where is she now?” Kate asked.
“Honestly, I’m not sure.” The president held up his hand. “I know, that sounds crazy. But she was convinced that if whoever is looking for her determined that she’d shared the information with anyone, it would compromise our ability to identify and thwart whatever is going on at Tuwaitha.”
“Sounds like she’s putting herself in grave danger, sir,” Peter said.
“Indeed, and I’m not happy about it,” the president said. “She had me contact her via a burn phone. I’m hoping she hasn’t dumped it. I plan to call her when we’re done here and put her in contact with you.”
“With us, sir?” Kate asked. “What is it you’d like Peter and me to do?”
“The whole thing stinks, and I’m particularly troubled that none of my direct reports has mentioned anything at all about Tuwaitha. Now, it might be that they don’t know about it. But with something this sensitive, they certainly should be aware and, in turn, should have informed me right away.
“I have no way of knowing exactly what the activity at that facility is, although the location would logically indicate that it involves raw uranium. Given the extreme sensitivity of this matter, and the potential for catastrophic outcomes, we simply can’t go charging in there.”
“Of course not, sir,” Kate agreed.
The president continued, “Are there dissident Iraqi elements creating dirty bombs? If so, why haven’t my intelligence agencies heard any chatter or put a report on my desk about it? Did a quantity of yellowcake somehow get left behind in ’08 and someone is trying to cover his ass by cleaning it up now? If so, again, why doesn’t my intelligence team, with all its sophisticated equipment, know about it or think it’s significant enough to bring to my attention? Is it conceivable that whatever is going on at Tuwaitha is unrelated to the yellowcake? Or is there another explanation?”