by Brad Taylor
“Which Team?”
“Well, that’s what’s strange. I think it’s from Pike. It’s not from anyone active here.”
“Pike? Pike Logan?” Before Mike could respond, Kurt realized he was asking questions that Mike couldn’t possibly answer. He reversed himself and said, “Okay. Let me see the cable. And holler down the hall at George.”
“You got it. Here’s the message.”
Kurt read the cable, a short, simple paragraph. Skipping through the usual disclaimers about walk-ins, no established reporting record, and the ominous “Contact may have been attempting to influence as well as inform” trailer, he read:
Contact stated he had information regarding a potential WMD terrorist attack. Contact had no concrete information about the attack, but stated that he had intercepted Internet traffic implying an Al Qaeda involvement in procurement of WMD for the application against United States, Israeli, or Iranian interests. Contact stated that he believed the WMD was not radiological. Contact stated that two unknown subjects of Arabian descent were in the process of procuring the WMD. Contact became evasive when questioned on his knowledge of the aforementioned WMD, refusing to state how he knew this information. Contact firmly believes that the procurement is time sensitive, and that the AQ members are actively pursuing this aim.
It was impossible that anyone on earth would know the Prometheus alert crypt unless Pike had told them, and in Kurt’s mind, it was equally impossible that Pike would have told anyone such a secret. On the other hand, the Pike he knew might no longer exist. Maybe he’s slipped down completely, and is selling plasma on the street for his next bottle of Mad Dog 20/20, babbling secrets to anyone who will listen. Kurt rejected that, as it didn’t explain how a stranger was able to contact the CIA in an overseas embassy, then send the message. Everything pointed to its being Pike, however bizarre it appeared. Even so, they would need to confirm the identity before proceeding. Kurt turned at the knock on the door, seeing his friend and deputy commander.
“How long’s it been since you made a trip to Central America?”
George looked puzzled by the question. “Well, not since we were supporting the Contras back in the good ol’ days. Are they now the next terrorist threat? We going down to take them out?”
Kurt chuckled, filling him in on what he knew, then saying, “Call the station down there and let them know we’re coming. Tell them to contact whoever’s calling himself Pike. If it’s him, we’ll figure out what’s going on. If it’s not, we’ll figure out where the breach occurred. Either way, this is too big of a problem to ignore. We should be able to get down and back in one day, two at the most.”
“Easy enough. I assume we’re leaving tomorrow morning?”
“Yeah, I’ve got a date tonight that I can’t miss.”
54
A few miles away, Harold Standish sat at his desk in the Old Executive Office Building, silently reading the Prometheus cable. He saw an opportunity. A way to get America back on war footing, and get control of the Taskforce at the same time. A way to strengthen the defense of the United States. If the whiners on the Oversight Council are too timid to preempt an attack, maybe they need to see one up close.
The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. America had lost its focus on terrorism precisely because it hadn’t been attacked in close to a decade. The stupid electorate had the memory of a bovine, conveniently forgetting the threat, instead lambasting the very government that provided their protection. A WMD going off would wake them the fuck up, that’s for sure. There would be a feeding frenzy just like 9/11. All the politicians would be screaming for action. The Oversight Council would have to bend with the pressure. The Taskforce would be turned loose. With any luck, the council will be too busy doing their day jobs to look closely at Taskforce activities. I’ll be the man left at the wheel. It’s not like my day job takes up a lot of time.
Standish paused, realizing he was thinking about the slaughter of untold innocent civilians, not simply numbers in a news report. He pondered the cost and benefits. He decided the deaths were necessary. Great leaders throughout history have had to make hard choices such as this. He knew that Truman himself had made the decision to drop the atomic bomb based on this very same principle. Hundreds of thousands of Japanese civilians killed to save millions of Americans. This is no different. There’s a greater good here. He, of course, would need to go on vacation for about a month to ensure he was out of the blast radius, should Washington be in the crosshairs. This town could stand to lose a little deadweight anyway.
He called his in-staff intelligence officer and asked him to run down any “chatter” on terrorist threats within the last three days involving the words Israel, WMD, Iran, and poison weapons. Within thirty minutes, the man arrived with fourteen NSA reports that had some tangential relationship to the search criteria. Most were clearly not what Standish was looking for, only detailing vague information of little value. Using the Prometheus cable, he necked down the reports until he found a NSA cut describing a WMD attack against Israel. He didn’t have the background in terrorism to understand the reference to the far enemy, and was unsure why the intercept mentioned the historical state of Persia instead of the modern nomenclature of Iran, but since this was the only bit of intelligence that talked of pushing the Zionists into the sea via a single weapon—something that anyone could understand—he honed in on it, noting the reference to something called Operation Badr. He was pleased to see the intel was raw, meaning nobody had analyzed it yet, and thus nobody knew it existed.
“Ken, run a search on Operation Badr. Bring me what you find immediately.”
Five minutes later Ken returned with a single message. “This is the only thing that’s come in with those search terms.”
Standish read the report, which simply said that Operation Badr was progressing and that a device had been tested successfully. He connected the dots. “Okay, do an open-source search on anything strange happening in Belize. Focus on a group of unexplained deaths. See if anyone in the press has reported anything like that.”
After another wait, Ken returned, saying, “There was nothing in Belize. The only thing I could find was a bus crash on the border, but it was on the Guatemalan side.”
“What’s so fucking strange about that? I told you unexplained deaths.”
“Well, everyone on the bus died, but nobody died from the crash.” He handed the press report to Standish. “Apparently, they all died of some strange illness.”
Standish read the news report and smiled. The weapon’s real. “Ken, I want you to destroy any mention of these two intercepts about Operation Badr. Figure out who else got them, and erase them. Do it without their knowledge. Those reports never existed. Understand?”
Ken, a sycophant cut from Standish’s mold, didn’t question the directive. “Easy enough. I’ll do it as soon as I get back to my office.”
“Good. In addition, I got a cable from Belize today. Rescind that cable as well. Ensure it also doesn’t exist.” He gave the intelligence officer the cable cite number.
Ken asked, “What about the station in Belize? Won’t they ask why it was rescinded?”
“I’ll handle the station when they come in to work tomorrow. Just get rid of the cable right now.”
“Okay—I’m on it.”
Standish reflected on what he knew. On the one hand, it was a golden opportunity to accomplish exactly what he believed was necessary. On the other, while not out of control yet, it was an opportunity that had quite a few leaks. He had managed to stop the raw intel from being spread but couldn’t be sure about the Prometheus cable. If that thing’s not rescinded in time, I’ll never be able to deny I knew about it. Luckily, it had come from Belize. CTC would probably shunt that cable to the back of the pack, focusing on Pakistan, Iran, and whatever else was brewing right now. They won’t give a shit one way or another about a rescinded cable from Central America.
His primary problem was the Taskforce. They
would get the Prometheus alert and would act on it. He had to shut them down right away. There was no love lost between himself and the unit, but they would listen to him, since they were still on shaky ground and couldn’t afford an enemy of his stature. He could bring them down with a well-placed leak, and they knew it.
He called the Taskforce duty officer, went secure on his STE telephone, identified himself, and asked if the unit was planning any new movement in the next twenty-four hours.
On the other end, the duty officer Mike, knowing who it was, stated no. He didn’t literally lie, as his bosses were traveling true-name as part of their true affiliation—Kurt as a member of J3 SOD, and George as a TDY member of the Office of Southern Hemispheric Relations—thus they weren’t traveling under any of the covers used by the Taskforce. His answer was technically correct—there was no Taskforce movement. Standish next asked to speak to the commander and was told that he was out.
Standish hung up after leaving a message for Kurt to call first thing in the morning. He was satisfied that he was good for the time being. The cap was in place.
55
I woke up to the phone ringing, answered and perked up, replying quickly and ending the call. I saw that Jennifer was awake and leaning on an elbow, wearing a cheap tourist T-shirt with her hair sticking out all over the place, making me grin. Rubbing her eyes, she asked who was on the phone.
“It was the embassy. They want to see us at ten o’clock. The cable must have worked, because we’ve been invited behind the green curtain. We get to talk to the wizard.”
Waking up fast, Jennifer tried to brush her hair in place, asking, “What’s that mean? Who’d you talk to?”
“That was the asshole Eric.” Shit . . . Be nice. . . . “Sorry. That was the nice man from the embassy, Eric. He asked us to come back.”
“That’s good news, isn’t it? Do we need to do anything before we go?”
“No. I’m not sure what the cable caused. We’ll just see how it goes. Either way, we got some action, so that’s good.”
She looked at me like I was hiding something, and I was, but she let it go. “Okay, Jason Bourne, I’ll follow your lead.”
When we got to the embassy, even I was surprised at who was waiting.
STANDISH CALLED THE TASKFORCE first thing in the morning, early enough to get Mike before his twenty-four-hour shift as the duty officer was over. Going secure on his STE, Standish asked to speak to Colonel Hale.
“Sir, he’s gone TDY this morning.”
“What? I thought you told me last night that he was out with his wife. Where is he?”
“Sir, he was out with his wife last night. Today he left.”
Who does he think he’s talking to? “Tell me where he is right this minute.”
“Sir, I can’t give you that information on this phone.”
Standish was on the verge of frothing at the mouth. “I’m on a fucking secure line. You will tell me where he is, right this minute. Do you understand me? Is that clear?”
“Sir, I’m not trying to be difficult, but I must follow security procedures. Colonel Hale’s location is top secret. Your phone is only certified up to secret message traffic. I’m not allowed to tell you his location on this line. Not my rule.”
Standish realized he was done. The STE secure phone was only certified by the NSA to pass information up to the secret level. He couldn’t order the man to break classification rules, since he would be on record violating the safeguard of national secrets. He also knew that he was being stiff-armed on purpose by the duty officer, but couldn’t fight it. At least not right now. You mess with the bull, you get the horns.
“Listen to me Mr. Duty Officer. Pick up a fucking pen. Write this down. I want Kurt Hale and George Wolffe in my office within twenty-four hours or I will go to the president and have all unit operations canceled pending an investigation of improper actions. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir. I have it.”
“Don’t test me on this. If you value your mission, you won’t push me. I will see Hale and Wolffe or you’ll cease operations.”
Standish slammed the phone down. When I get control of that unit, he’ll be out greeting people at Walmart.
Done with the Taskforce, he turned his attention to the next problem: dealing with the CIA station in Belize. He couldn’t call the station directly because they weren’t in his chain of command and wouldn’t have a clue who he was. He would have to do it through the Latin America Division in the headquarters at Langley. Luckily, he knew the chief of LA and could use him to clamp down on Belize. All he had to do was control the conversation correctly. Satisfied with his strategy, he picked up the phone and dialed the chief of LA on his gray line, a direct secure connection into the CIA.
56
“Holy shit! What’re you doing down here?” I said.
After giving me a handshake and an embrace, Kurt verbally poked me, saying, “Well, I’ve got nothing better to do than chase phantom Prometheus cables. It’s what I do on my off-time.”
I got out, “Sir—” before he cut me off with a hand.
“Just kidding. How’re you doing?”
I figured the question held more than it seemed, and that he wasn’t asking how I was doing this morning. I answered truthfully, “Well, honestly, sir, I’m doing better now than I was a week ago.”
“Still blocking punches with your face, huh?”
I smiled and touched the cut above my eye. “Long story, sir.” Turning to Jennifer, I continued. “This is Jennifer Cahill. She’s the reason I’m down here, and also the one who figured out what’s going on.”
He greeted Jennifer politely, then said, “Okay, how about letting me in on the secret.”
I laid out the whole story, with the exception of the discovery of the e-mail addresses. After the bullshit shenanigans, I didn’t trust Eric as far as I could throw him. There was no telling what the station here would do with that information.
After about an hour of give and take, Kurt got to the bottom line. “Given your lack of ability to do anything, I get the Prometheus alert, but, really, is there any proof that such a weapon exists? What do you want me to do now?”
I had known that was coming and, in reality, agreed with his skepticism. “Sir, I’m with you. I’ve been struggling with the whole Mayan WMD thing since this started. Whether that weapon is real or not is an open question. In my mind, what’s not a question is that two intelligent terrorists with multiple passports believe it’s there, and are trying to get it to kill as many people as possible.”
“Okay. I can see that. Sounds like something that’s happening all over the world every five seconds. Why bring us in? You know this isn’t what we do.”
“I didn’t intend for you guys to fly down here to see me. I just wanted to talk to the chief of station. Sorry, but I played the only card I had. I think someone needs to check this out, to see if something strange happened on an expedition in the Petén region. If not, no harm. If so, investigate further.”
Kurt looked at Eric, who said, “That makes sense to me. It’s very little work to run this to ground. I’ll give the station in Guatemala a call and have them check it out.”
Kurt thanked him for the support, then asked George if there was anything else they were missing.
George said, “No, Pike’s right. Let the station get some assets on the ground. We’ll figure this out pretty quickly.”
Satisfied, Kurt wrapped up the meeting. He told us to come on back at nine the next morning to see where we stood. I walked with him out the door, stopping to allow him to retrieve his cell phone from the cubicles outside the station spaces. Since the cell phones could be used as eavesdropping devices, they weren’t allowed inside any secure government facility.
Turning on his phone, Kurt said, “Well, I’m not going to blow smoke up your ass. I don’t think there’s much chance of some secret Mayan weapon being out there, but since we’re here, might as well play the hand. No harm done by poking
around a little bit.”
He stopped when his phone chirped. “Jesus. I got six calls while I was inside there.”
He closed the phone. “Let’s get some dinner tonight. I’m sure you’ve got some things you want to tell me that you didn’t want to say in there.”
Smart man. “You read my mind. I held some cards back. There’s a great little fish stand near our hotel. Give me a call at the hotel when you’re ready to go.”
I watched him walk off, dialing his phone.
INSIDE THE STATION, Eric finished his coordination with his compatriots in Guatemala to check out Pike’s story. Talking to the deputy, he was disappointed to hear that it would be a couple of days before they could get on the ground at Flores, but was satisfied when he said they could make some calls to contacts up there for an initial snapshot. Eric thanked him, asking him to call back tomorrow at eight A.M. with any results, and hung up.
The phone rang with his hand still on it, startling him. Picking it back up, he was startled again when he found out that the chief of the Latin America division was giving him a personal call from Langley. Listening intently, he began to take notes.
WHEN JENNIFER AND I GOT BACK TO OUR ROOM, I noticed the red light blinking on our old-fashioned phone. Jennifer went to the bathroom, leaving me to get the message.
Coming back out, she asked, “Who was that? Kurt? Is he going to take us out to a nice dinner instead of the taco stand?”
“I wish. Kurt’s been called back to D.C. Something important came up, and he’s got to get back immediately. He said to send him a message through Eric, and he’d take it from there.”
“Well, he seemed like a pretty busy guy. I’m surprised he even flew down.”
She could see that I was disappointed, and tried to make a joke. “He clearly knew better than to mess with you. I’m sure if you send another cable, he’ll do something with it. Maybe you should tell him to meet us in the Caribbean, and that he needs to give us some tickets to get there.”