“Mr. Sharpe, I have the Executive Director for you now,” a male voice said, followed by a click.
Sharpe stiffened. He had expected to speak with the Associate Director, Sandra Delgado, who he knew on a personal level. Delgado and Sharpe had attended The Academy at the same time, one class apart, and had stayed cordially in touch over the years. Sandra and her husband had dined with Ryan and his wife several times over the past year. Sharpe didn’t know what to expect from the Director, and he didn’t like surprises.
“Ryan, its Fred Carroll. Sorry to ambush you like this, but the situation has changed slightly, and Sandra will no longer be included in the communication chain between the Pentagon and the Bureau.”
“I hope nothing is wrong, sir,” risked Sharpe.
“Nothing wrong with Agent Delgado. Apparently, there is something very wrong with the Black Flag files. We need to maintain a minimal chain of information custody with regard to Black Flag,” said Carroll.
“So Munoz wasn’t lying?”
“Apparently not, and whatever is in those files is protected by the Department of Defense’s strictest compartmentalized protocols. The Pentagon has agreed to grant us limited access. We will be allowed to use the information to unravel today’s events, and determine if an immediate threat to the U.S. exists. My assistant will pass the protocols to you immediately. Don’t mess around with this information. The Director himself convinced the White House that access to Black Flag was critical, but I have a feeling that the doors to this vault could slam shut at any time. Black Flag is a ticking time bomb that nobody wants aired in public. Contact me directly with updates. Instructions for direct contact will be contained in an email you should have just received. Let’s get to the bottom of this ASAP, without pissing off the Pentagon.”
“Understood, sir. I have the best agents working every angle of this case,” said Sharpe.
“If you need more than that, don’t hesitate to ask,” said Executive Director Carroll, and the line went dead.
Sharpe waved to Mendoza, who pushed his way through several agents huddled over a bank of computer screens in the middle of the operations center. By the time he arrived a few seconds later, Sharpe had read the Director’s email.
“Frank, take two agents from Counterintelligence, and report to the Information/Data bureau of the Pentagon. Your point of contact there will be Colonel Richard Farrington. I’ll need you there long enough to thoroughly assess pertinent information in the Black Flag files. From what I gather, the files are a time bomb waiting to explode. Focus on information regarding Black Flag personnel.
���Munoz lived close enough to his assigned target to imply a geographic based assignment, so let’s get names and start mapping out last known locations of all Black Flag operatives. We might find a trend. If we can nab another one of these murderers, we’ll have our best chance at nailing this to the wall by the end of the day. I don’t know what kind of information they will be willing to release, but I’d like to know about capabilities. If we need to take one of these guys down, I want to know exactly what kind of training they received. We need to know what were up against.”
“Alright, I’m on it. Does Counter Intel know I’m coming to grab more of their talent?” asked Mendoza.
“They will in a few moments. And Frank, you and the two agents will have to sign Category One, Compartmentalized Information Security (CIS) agreements prior to viewing any of the Black Flag documents. Any agents who have even heard the words Black Flag will be required to sign a Category Two,” said Sharpe.
“Christ. We better get word to Boston. The fewer agents exposed to this the better,” said Mendoza.
“Once you arrive at the Pentagon, you will see a list of approved, Category One personnel. You are entitled to share any information you see with these individuals personally on a face-to-face contact basis. That should be a very short list. Myself, the two counterintelligence agents and Executive Assistant Director Carroll. That’s it. I expect that you’ll be running back and forth all day to report to me. The two agents will be required to stay inside the Sanctum during the active investigation, or until the Pentagon shuts us down. Let’s nail this down quickly, Frank.”
“We’ll be thorough, and get everything we need as quickly as possible,” Frank assured, exhaling deeply.
“The Pentagon will approve and classify all information to be shared, so be aggressive and fight for anything that might help us figure out what happened today. They have a protocol for this. Start with the names. I think this is our best starting point. Remember, you can share anything with me personally, but if it’s not approved by the Pentagon, it’s not going onto these screens. If they won’t approve something you feel is critical to the investigation, you need to get your ass back here as fast as possible, so we can press the Director for more cooperation,” Sharpe said, and picked up one of the nearby phones.
“I need to get you two agents, and you need to be at the Pentagon ten minutes ago.”
“I’ll be in touch,” Mendoza said, and made to bolt out of the room.
���Frank!���
Agent Mendoza looked over his shoulder.
���You better take Keller with you. I���ll see if I can get him full access,��� said Sharpe.
Chapter Sixteen
3:35 PM
The Pentagon, Arlington, Virginia
Colonel Farrington saw the group approaching from the direction of the Information Section’s only authorized non-emergency access point: four men, escorted by a navy Lieutenant Commander wearing the summer white uniform. The Navy had recently shifted uniforms, trading service dress blues, which resembled a dark blue suit, for a white, short-sleeved uniform that reminded Farrington of the old fashioned Good Humor Ice Cream man.
“Thank you, Commander, I have them from here. Gentlemen, welcome to the Compartmentalized Information Section. Let’s take a seat in the briefing room, and we’ll get the formalities out of the way quickly,” he said, and led them to a room adjacent to his cubicle.
He fished a pair of keys out of the front right pocket of his crisply pressed dark green uniform trousers, and opened both of the locks to the room. The briefing room was sparse, decorated with a heavily varnished, rectangular conference table that could seat twelve. However, there were no chairs in the room. No pictures adorned the ugly off-white walls, and the room was illuminated by harsh florescent lights recessed behind large opaque plastic ceiling tiles. Separate stacks of paperwork sat neatly arranged on each long side of the table. Each stack was topped with a face sheet that displayed one of the agents’ names.
Colonel Farrington walked to the far end of the table, as everyone else filled in around their respective stack. Before anyone uttered a word, three more people filed into the room, and stood against the wall facing the colonel, on the other side of the room. The last one in, a female Marine staff sergeant, closed the door behind her. Farrington registered a look of discomfort on one of the FBI agent’s faces when the door closed, which gave the colonel some satisfaction.
When he had arrived to take this post, he had replaced a Navy Captain, who had turned this conference room into his own personal oasis. Comfortable chairs, pleasant lighting from several dimmable standing lamps, wall hangings and a fully stocked coffee station. Other staff members assigned to the section used it as a lounge when it was not in use. One of his first acts was to strip the room bare. He didn’t want any sense of comfort to exist here. In fact, he preferred that the room made everyone feel on edge. Only clear plastic sheets covering the walls and floor would make him happier about the room. His job was to enforce the Department of Defense’s strictest information sharing protocols. Penalties for leaking information in the Sanctum ranged from a simple career damaging letter of censure to life imprisonment without the possibility of parole on charges of treason. He liked to set the right tone here in this room. Nobody in his section even glanced twice at the door anymore, and he alone held the keys to open it.<
br />
“Alright, let’s get started. There are four documents that each of you must sign to enter the Sanctum. First, an explanation of the CIS categories, and specific instructions regarding the management of sensitive information under each category. CIS stands for Compartmentalized Information Security. You will all need to read and sign the acknowledgement under CIS Category One, which I’m sure you are all aware, is the highest level of information security, carrying the highest levels of penalty for any accidental or purposeful unauthorized breach. Category One is the easiest to remember. You can only share information directly, and in person, with the individuals listed on your agreement. In person means actually in person, face-to -face, in a secure environment, taking all reasonable precautions from eavesdropping, purposeful or accidental.”
Agent Mendoza opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the colonel.
“Before any of you lays the proverbial egg, there is a procedure for disseminating information pertinent to your investigation. My staff, and Mr. McKie from the Defense Intelligence Agency, will assist you in this process. Our charge is to protect sensitive, classified information, while at the same time helping your investigation. I’m sure we will all butt heads today, but I assure you we are in no way trying to hinder your progress. Anything cleared by Mr. McKie will be retyped by one of my staff, either staff sergeant Brodin or technical sergeant D’Onofrie, and faxed directly to your operations center with a CIS Category Two classification. Mr. McKie will make the ultimate call on what is Category One or Two, and what can be transmitted or communicated.
���If you see something in the files that Mr. McKie won’t release via fax, then you’ll need to personally carry the information in your head to your immediate director, Agent Sharpe, who will not be able to share it with anyone outside of the list. Are your heads ringing yet? It’s a lot to process, but we’ll try to make this as easy as possible for your organizations.
���Agent Mendoza and Mr. Keller are free to leave and reenter as they wish; however, we do require that Agents Harris and Calhoun stay within the Sanctum until the file is resealed. My staff will be required to make the same sacrifice. The Sanctum has full bathroom and shower facilities, cots, coffee, and you can order whatever you’d like from the canteen to be delivered at any time. We’ll send the bill to your agencies. Spare toiletry kits can be found in the bathrooms.”
He paused and looked directly at Mendoza and Keller.
“As for the two of you, anyone moving in or out of the section must do so with an escort, and you’ll be subjected to our strictest security protocols on the way in and out of the building. No rubber gloves gentlemen, but you will be scanned and frisked. Cell phones must be surrendered to security personnel; they are strictly prohibited in this section. Wear your security badges at all times. If there are no further questions, please read through the documents, and sign them. Once you’re done, we’ll get you situated in the Sanctum. Entry and exit from the Sanctum is strictly controlled by me, and I will be available at all times to facilitate your comings and goings. I’m here as long as you’re here.”
“Will you be stationed inside of the Sanctum with us?” asked Agent Harris, shuffling through his paperwork.
“No. I unlock and release the file to Mr. McKie. Once he has confirmed that the contents of the file match the contents requested, you won’t see me again inside the Sanctum, until it is time to lock the file back up for good. I simply serve as the gatekeeper and document custodian. I have no idea what you’ve requested, only that the strictest of security protocols has been assigned to the handling of the information contained in the file. Take a few minutes to finish the paperwork, and I’ll get you situated.”
Ten minutes later, Colonel Farrington walked out of the Sanctum, satisfied that everything was in good order. McKie had enthusiastically confirmed that the contents of the vacuum sealed, pressure activated storage locker matched what the FBI had requested. Project Black Flag. As usual, General Sanderson’s intelligence was right on the money. The files were stored in a single oversized, modern briefcase, which surprised Farrington. Most of the files in the Sanctum had been converted to thumb drives, hard drives, or even full laptop computers. The briefcase contained all of the known surviving documents pertaining to Sanderson’s notoriously successful covert operations program, and judging by a glimpse of the contents from across the table, the documents were originals.
He sat down in his cubicle, and glanced around the section. He could hear activity, but didn’t see anyone headed in his direction, so he reached into his briefcase and removed his cellphone. He dialed one of fifteen phone numbers that he had committed to memory over the past year, in preparation for this day.
“Are we in business?” General Sanderson’s voice asked immediately.
“Yes, sir. The files looked to be in an original form.”
“Do you have a timeline for extraction?” Sanderson’s voice replied.
“I have seven in the Sanctum right now, but I expect the herd to thin as they start to wade through the file. Two of them will likely depart within the hour. I’m looking at an early evening, possibly a late afternoon timeline.”
“Take your time, Rich. The file will be open for at least twenty four hours, if not longer.”
“I understand, sir. But once these files are secured, we won’t have another chance,” uttered Sanderson, glancing around again.
“You’ll have ample opportunity, I’m sure of it. Even if they suddenly shut down access to the file, you’ll be the first to know. I trust your skills, Colonel. We’ve known each other for a long time.”
Colonel Farrington’s beeper vibrated, and he checked the number.
“I have to go, sir. Looks like a few of our guests might be leaving earlier than I expected.”
“Understood. Keep me posted,” said the General, and the line went dead.
Farrington ensured the cell phone was placed in meeting mode, to keep it silent, and grabbed his desk phone. He pressed one of the conference call buttons, and was immediately connected to staff sergeant Brodin within the Sanctum.
“Sir, Mr. Keller wishes to depart the Sanctum,” she informed him.
“That was fast. I’ll be right there,” he replied, and glanced at the Sanctum’s security door adjacent to his cubicle.
“And sir?” she whispered.
Colonel Farrington continued to listen without responding. Sergeant Brodin lowered her voice even further.
“I think Keller might be eidetic.”
“Interesting. How long did he look through the files?”
“Six minutes. He didn’t appear to do much more than glance at the sheets, like he wasn’t really paying attention. McKie didn’t appear to be bothered by it. I just thought you should know, sir.”
“That’s why I have you in there, Staff Sergeant. I’ll be right over,” he said, and hung up the phone.
A photographic memory. Very interesting.
Fifty feet away, Julio Mendez shook his head from the safety of his “office.” Colonel Cellphone’s at it again.
Chapter Seventeen
4:05 PM
Safe House, Alexandria, Virginia
General Sanderson sat at a dark brown Shaker style table in an apartment on the outskirts of Alexandria, Virginia. He had recently acquired the unit through a real estate holding company owned by a loyal, longtime friend, a powerful friend who had more to do with the day’s events than simply providing an untraceable real estate purchase.
Sitting at the rectangular table, he faced a sliding glass door that led to a modest balcony two stories above a lush garden and small, undisturbed pool. Thick curtains gave him privacy from prying eyes on other balconies, and reduced the glare from a bright, declining sun. A stainless steel refrigerator hummed behind him, and marked the beginning of a granite and cherry cabinet appointed kitchen that filled the space to his immediate left. A sizable, sparsely furnished media room loomed to his right, containing a simple dark leather couch, c
offee table and wall mounted flat screen television. Empty built-in bookshelves flanked the television.
The General alternated his attention among three laptop computers situated in a semi-circle on the table. A tangle of wires extended over the back of the table, split between a massive power strip and a broadband modem jammed at odd angles on one of the chairs. He confirmed Petrovich’s flight schedule and picked up one of five cell phones sitting on the table next to the computers. Each one was plugged into a charger connected to the same power strip as the computers.
He dialed Parker.
“Sir?”
“Our guest should be arriving shortly. I want you to pick him up and find a rental car agency well away from the airport. Rent a car in your name, and give him your SUV. I don’t expect our friends to piece things together this quickly, but we can’t take any chances. Take him to my place north of the city, and wait for instructions. Make sure to outfit our friend well. I may need him at a moment’s notice.”
“Understood, sir. I’m a few minutes away from the airport. Any word from Farrington?”
“Everything is in place. We’re just waiting for the right moment. Let me know when the two of you have arrived safely,” the General said, and closed the phone.
Chapter Eighteen
4:13 PM
FBI Headquarters, Washington D.C.
The first encrypted fax from the Pentagon arrived thirty-two minutes after Special Agent Frank Mendoza and his team entered the Sanctum. Sharpe took custody of sealed folder from Special Agent Keith Weber.
Weber’s face appeared even more exhausted than this morning, though he had managed to find a new dress shirt to replace the crumpled mess he had presented to the task force this morning. Sharpe had watched Weber liberally pour Visine into his bloodshot eyes all morning, and the pale, lanky agent had never been seen without a cup of coffee in his hands. As tired as Weber might be, Sharpe was relieved to see him still functioning at full capacity. As chief communications officer for the task force, Weber was unlikely to find a moment’s rest in the next twenty-four hours, especially with CIS Category Two protocols blanketed over the entire task force. Any breach of information security would fall squarely on his shoulders…and Sharpe’s.
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