Black Flagged

by Konkoly, Steven; A. Sullivan, Felicia

  “Didn’t seem like a fluke to me. Seemed like more of a leak,” he said, and glanced around the sterile room at Parker and Farrington.

  “I guarantee you we’ve had no leaks today. Everything has proceeded according to plan, except for the team sent to intercept you. Everyone, please have a seat,” he said, and motioned toward the couch and chairs arranged around an empty coffee table.

  Daniel glanced at the dining room table, which was covered with three laptop computers and a mess of power cords and wires. He saw the hallway outside of the apartment on one of the monitors, which gave him some reassurance that they might be safe here.

  “Intercept is certainly one way to describe it. It felt more like a Black Flag mission. There was no hesitation to kill me,” Daniel said, while he placed his green backpack in the middle of the bare coffee table, and opened it.

  He saw Parker and Farrington tense, but they didn’t move. General Sanderson kept the same indifferent expression on his face while he reached into the pack and took out one of the laptops.

  “Excellent work. Parker, I want you to take a look at the files on this computer. There are two of them, right?”

  Daniel didn’t answer, but instead pulled the second one out of the main compartment. He felt the heavy weight of the MP-9 through the thin nylon, and dismissed the thought that formed from the contact.

  “I pulled some cameras from the trucks too,” he said, and spilled these out onto the table over the computers.

  Sanderson opened one of the laptops, and shook his head.

  “Now this, is very interesting,” he said, turning the computer around for Daniel.

  He found himself facing a recent driver’s license photo, and a ghost from his past, Marko Resja.

  “Shit,” uttered Petrovich.

  “Shit is right. You were brought into this at the last minute, so I think this might be related to the little problem we discussed, Colonel,” he said, and Colonel Farrington nodded.

  “Something else that fell through the cracks today?” said Petrovich, glaring at the general.

  “Something we couldn’t have foreseen, but we can certainly handle. I’ll need your help with this. Probably later tonight. Maybe tomorrow. When do you think they’ll figure out what happened at the Sanctum?” Sanderson said, addressing Colonel Farrington.

  “Impossible to say. They might know already…or if it’s a relatively quiet night for the FBI, it might not become apparent until morning,” he said.

  “It won’t be a quiet night for the FBI. Our team in the northeast just took down the FBI convoy transporting Munoz,” said Sanderson.

  “Then they probably know something is wrong. The only line in and out of the Sanctum has been cut, and one of my staff was holding a fax sheet in his hands. I couldn’t tell if this was incoming or outgoing. It fell into a pool of blood,” said the colonel.

  “Let’s assume they know. Our problem should be out on the streets tonight. Right?”

  “The toxin lasts a little under an hour, and has no known side effects aside from dizziness. If he can clear the FBI’s red tape, he should be back on the streets pretty quickly,” said Farrington.

  “Who is this problem you’re talking about? I think we’re all far enough along in this to cut the need-to-know bullshit,” interrupted Petrovich, tired of the semantics game they were playing.

  “The CIA liaison at the FBI has an eidetic memory,” said Sanderson. “That means he has a…”

  “I know what it means, General. So, you want me kill a CIA employee now? Fine. Who else knows about me, or Black Flag, or whatever the fuck else you’re going after today? I’ll kill them all if it puts an end to this,” he said, glaring at Sanderson.

  Sanderson didn’t speak right away, and Parker looked uncomfortable. He couldn’t get a read from Farrington, and for a fleeting moment, Daniel thought he might have to shoot his way out of the apartment. His mind started calculating the process, and within the flash of a second, he envisioned it all. The MP-9 was loaded with a round in the chamber, and all he’d have to do was get his hand into the backpack. The top was unzipped roughly four inches to allow him quick access. He wouldn’t have time to remove the weapon, so he’d fire it from inside the backpack.

  “Danny, there won’t be any need for you to shoot your way out of here. You’re part of the team. We just need you to tie up a loose end, and our work is done here. We’re all free to start over,” said Sanderson.

  “There’s more than one loose end. Someone on your ‘team��� talked to the Feds. Have you heard from the man you assigned to the Newport killing?” said Petrovich.

  “You caught that? The story was up for a total of thirty-three minutes before the feds pulled the plug on the article,” said Sanderson.

  “Not exactly what I wanted to see when I woke up this morning. How much of today’s operation was compromised because of that? Or did you have a contingency plan, as usual?” said Petrovich.

  “I didn’t need a contingency plan. His capture was a critical part of my plan. Without his flawless performance, all we’d have to show for our efforts are eight dead Al Qaeda financiers. You met him during your initial training, before we split you up for area specific indoctrination,” said Sanderson.

  Petrovich didn’t know what to ask next. For the first time, in as long as he could remember, he was thoroughly confused. He let the general’s statement settle for a few seconds, before responding.

  “You purposely put one of our guys in FBI custody?”

  “I had to,” Sanderson said, studying Daniel’s response.

  “I didn’t leave him hanging out to dry, if that’s what you’re thinking. You know me better than that, Daniel. I may be a shitty son-of-a-bitch to work for, but I have never put one of my people into a situation that they were not adequately prepared to handle, or without the best possible plan to help them achieve the mission. The convoy we just hit was transporting him to FBI headquarters here in D.C. Right now, Munoz is on a boat slicing through the waters of Long Island Sound, headed for a quiet rendezvous, and a nice, secure transit south.”

  “And the rest of the operatives? If the CIA somehow connected the dots to me, then parts of the file are out. Right, Colonel?” said Daniel.

  “Very limited information. Roughly a dozen names along the East Coast were provided to the FBI from the Black Flag file, which is what we counted on. I destroyed those faxes on the way out. I saw some detailed information from your file on the last fax sent to the FBI. McKie tightly controlled the flow of information on behalf of the Pentagon. Nobody wanted the contents of this file to go widespread,” said Farrington.

  “McKie? I figured he’d be in hiding with General Terrence,” said Daniel.

  “McKie stuck around the Pentagon, and landed himself a cushy job doing nothing, except managing the flow of our military’s best kept secrets. That’s how our country rewards traitors,” said Sanderson.

  “I assume he’s dead,” said Daniel, looking to Farrington.

  “Very dead,” the colonel confirmed.

  Daniel sat back into the couch, processing everything he had been told, but he still couldn’t make any sense of the day’s events. He had assumed that the entire day had been some version of a revenge play orchestrated to cripple Al Qaeda’s operations within the U.S. Sanderson could be almost childlike in his need to seek revenge, but beyond last evening’s assassinations and the death of McKie, nothing else he had just heard from Sanderson fit this assumption.

  “This isn’t about taking Al Qaeda down, is it?” said Petrovich.

  “Cutting off funds to Al Qaeda’s growing U.S. presence is my gift to the U.S. government. They would have watched and waited until it was too late. But you’re right, this wasn’t the main event,” said Sanderson.

  “Then why exactly has my life been turned upside down today?” said Petrovich.

  “Colonel?”

  At his prompt, Colonel Farrington removed his jacket, and started unbuttoning his uniform shirt.
Daniel thought he was wearing a bulletproof vest, which would be a nice addition to his own equipment list given the circumstances.

  “There’s gotta be an easier way to set me up for a gay striptease act,” said Daniel, and Parker laughed.

  “Always quick with a joke, even under extreme duress. You know, this was one of the key indicators that you were a good match for my program. My staff psychologists spent more time than you can imagine examining your reactions to stress. You were by far their favorite,” said Sanderson.

  “Glad I could amuse someone. My wife finds it annoying,” he said, and his mind flashed to Jessica, but was jarred out of the thought by Farrington.

  “The entire file,” he said, handing the light tan colored nylon vest to General Sanderson.

  “Thank you, Richard. Excellent work. Simply flawless execution on your part,” he said, and looked at Daniel while he ripped open the velcro straps to expose the contents of the vest.

  Daniel started to sink into himself, and felt his focus narrow. If the entire day’s events had been orchestrated to steal top secret information for Sanderson’s benefit, he would kill all three of them in their seats without hesitation, and take his chances on the outside. He had all of the money and papers he’d need to disappear with Jessica forever, even with the U.S. government and Sanderson’s people on his trail. Money bought security and anonymity in warmer climates.

  He watched Sanderson and Parker closely, as Farrington announced he would change into civilian clothes. This would be his best opportunity. With the colonel out of the room, and the other two preoccupied with the papers in the vest, he could put the MP-9 into action within a second. He desperately wanted to cut the General’s strings for good, and was convinced that the only way he could ever disentangle himself permanently from Sanderson was to kill him. Five years on his own, and the man walked right back in to unravel everything. All for this file? None of this made any sense.

  “Still thinking about killing me? I don’t blame you,” said Sanderson, and Daniel lunged for the backpack.

  His hand grasped the submachine gun’s pistol grip, and flipped the safety off before anyone reacted, but he didn’t start firing. Instead, he rushed around the table, and placed the gun next to Parker’s head, aiming at the General. Parker and Sanderson remained motionless and silent, which kept them alive.

  “What’s in the file?” said Daniel, mentally giving Sanderson three seconds to respond before putting a bullet through Parker’s head.

  “I’ve never seen someone move that fast. Amazing,” said Sanderson.

  Daniel’s expression never changed as he reached three seconds, and committed to killing all of them. He could read the file for himself. His grip tensed on the gun still covered by the backpack.

  “It’s all that remains of the original Black Flag file, Daniel,” he said, and this statement bought them some more time.

  “You don’t need the Black Flag file,” Daniel said, as he slid the compact, black weapon out of the backpack, and shifted to a position behind Sanderson’s chair.

  “You’re right. I don’t need it. I need to destroy it.”

  “General, you know how my mind works better than anyone…”

  “Better than you,” Sanderson interrupted.

  “Then you know I’m not seeing a reason to keep any of you alive right now,” said Petrovich.

  “I needed to remove all remaining traces of Black Flag from the official archives, Daniel. Destroy any link to the dozens of graduates still out there. The ones not already reactivated,” he said, and turned his body around in the chair to face Daniel, “I’m restarting the program.”

  The words hit him like a gale force wind, quickly followed by General Sanderson’s iron grip to a pressure point located on Daniel’s wrist. Sanderson squeezed the pressure point with brutal force, causing Petrovich’s trigger hand to reflexively open and lose its hold. Parker swung around the chair at the same moment, aiming a martial arts kick at his throat, which forced Daniel to abandon his remaining grip on the weapon to parry the potentially devastating attack. He felt the weapon slip away, and knew he was essentially screwed. Oddly, the General released the pressure point, giving him a chance.

  He backed out of Parker’s immediate hand-to-hand combat range, but the former SEAL pressed the attack, while General Sanderson removed the ammunition from the submachine gun. Petrovich didn’t have much time to process why Sanderson was doing this, while blocking a series of judo style hand chops, and launching his own retaliatory strikes. His forearms burned from each blocked chop, but he managed to get inside of Parker’s balance line, and swept the commando’s legs. Parker toppled back, nearly falling over the table laden with computer equipment. In a flash, Petrovich retrieved the knife hidden in his front pocket and flicked it open, switching to a reverse grip.

  “That’s enough! Put the knife away!” yelled General Sanderson, and Daniel glanced in his direction long enough to see Farrington emerge from one of the bedrooms aiming a silenced pistol at him. “That won’t be necessary either, Colonel,” Sanderson announced, and Farrington reluctantly lowered the weapon.

  Sensing no immediate danger from anyone in the room, Petrovich closed the blade and focused on one of the computer screens.

  “This is my house. What the fuck is going on here?” he said, staring at a screen with at least a dozen camera feeds.

  “Every location was raided about an hour ago. Simultaneously. Of course, nobody was home,” he said.

  “My wife was home,” said Daniel.

  “She’ll be fine. She can take care of herself,” said Sanderson.

  Daniel stared at the screens for a few seconds, and walked back over to the group standing near the couch. He had a little more respect now for Parker’s skills. The former Navy commando’s hand-to-hand skills were impressive, but lacked the depth that could only be acquired by applying these skills in real situations, where your life depended on the outcome. Schoolhouse skills, but pretty damn good.

  “You’re already training new operatives?” asked Daniel.

  “And recruiting old ones,” replied Sanderson.

  “I’m not interested.”

  “Suit yourself, but I’ll still require your help with our CIA problem.”

  “And then I’m finished.”

  General Sanderson nodded and walked over to the table next to Daniel.

  “You know, none of them hesitated to come back,” he said, and looked directly into Daniel’s eyes.

  “And most of them were leading successful lives. Families, businesses, solid jobs…bright futures by American standards. Every one of them looked relieved when I asked them to join the new program. Their lives were covert missions, and they were waiting, praying to get out. You can’t tell me you don’t feel the same way, Danny. At least somewhat. You were one of the best to come out of the program,” said Sanderson.

  “I haven’t had much time to think it over. My life has been pretty much gutted over the past twenty-four hours thanks to you.”

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t have any confidence that you would take part in this voluntarily. The Ghani job had been assigned to another operative, but a problem developed at the last minute,” said Sanderson.

  “I don’t believe you for a second,” said Petrovich, and Parker interjected.

  “He’s telling the truth. The operative assigned to the Ghani job had a mental breakdown two days ago.

  Petrovich started laughing, taking several seconds to regain control of himself. “Imagine that. Another one of your willing participants, General? And for the record, Parker, your glorious leader may be telling the truth about the last minute assignment, but his truths can be slippery. One way or the other, my life in Portland, Maine was scheduled to come to an end today. It didn’t matter who killed Ghani. Once the list of operatives surfaced, I was burned. Having that assassination shoved down my throat gave me a little more time to prepare for the inevitable,” said Daniel.

  �
��Nice work by the way. Parker should have provided you with a knife,” said Sanderson.

  “I keep a few around the house for the occasional murder,” replied Daniel, wondering how much the General really knew about what happened the night of Ghani’s murder.

  “Parker, what do you think?” asked Sanderson.

  “Based on the profile workup I’m seeing in this laptop, and Brown River’s involvement, I’m pretty sure we have two problems at the CIA. Keller’s memory is one, and that needs to be erased, but I think we have a bigger problem out there. Someone moved pretty quickly to take you out, and they didn’t hire a few ghetto thugs to do the job. Keller took the information back to the CIA, and within a few hours they found you. That’s both impressive and frightening, and suggests the work of someone highly placed within the CIA, with NSA contacts…”

  “Or a leak within your group,” interjected Daniel.

  “There’s no leak here. Parker’s the only one other than myself that knew about you, and I trust him completely. Whoever activated the Brown River team has a personal grudge against something you did while assigned to the Black Flag program. I can only think of one possibility.”

  Daniel tensed at the thought that someone at the CIA had made the connection to a secret he had taken every precaution to keep buried. Secrets like Daniel’s died hard, and Sanderson’s supernatural efforts to resurrect Black Flag might have raised a few other unintended specters from their burial sites. He had no choice but to finish this day’s work for Sanderson. Black Flag would rise from the ashes, but Daniel’s connection to Zorana Zekulic had to be put back under the ground, for good.

  “Do you have anyone working in Langley?” said Daniel.

  General Sanderson smiled, which gave Petrovich little satisfaction.

  “We have a few people in the CIA, but not at Langley.”

  “I guess it doesn’t matter. Colonel, what is Keller’s status? Will he need to be hospitalized?” asked Daniel.

  “No, I hit him with a Taser and gave him a specialized neurotoxin. He might be coming around right now. The toxin is harmless, as far as we know,” said Farrington.