Black Harvest (The PROJECT)

by Lukeman, Alex

  Harker inserted the drive in a slot on her desk. The big monitor on the wall lit up and showed a windowless room. The walls were featureless. Five men sat at a smooth wooden table. Two had their backs to the camera. The lighting and quality of the video were good, but the field was narrow. Nick figured it had been taken by a concealed camera, maybe in the wall.

  One of the men facing the camera was in his 60s, elegant, immaculate in a dark suit that signaled money and power. His shirt gleamed with the look only a five hundred dollar tailored shirt can achieve. He wore a tie that had probably come from the same place as the shirt. His hair was silver, perfect, sculpted by an artist.

  Wendell Lodge, Director of Central Intelligence.

  From the back, one of the men they couldn't see seemed vaguely familiar, but Nick couldn't place it. The other wore civilian clothes and a close haircut. He had a military feel about him. Something in the way he sat. Lodge was talking. The audio was unintelligible.

  Harker said, "The audio clears up in a moment. The man to Lodge's left is Harold Dansinger. You all know who Dansinger is?"

  Everyone did. A rich man who'd made his fortune in agriculture, Dansinger was a major force behind genetically altered foods. Grains were his mainstay. Wheat. Rice. Corn. Barley. Millet. The bread grains and basic foods of most of the world.

  Carter had seen ads for Dansinger's products. They showed him smiling under a trademark white Stetson, his hand stretched out toward golden fields of corn rolling in green rows to the horizon. A few happy bluebirds glided in a cheerful sunlit sky. Homey letters spelled out "Hal Dansinger, The Farmer's Friend." Below that the ads read "Dansinger Enterprises: Putting American Food on the Tables of the World."

  Nick pictured the ad in his mind. He thought Dansinger looked like a used car salesman who'd just sold another clunker for a nice profit.

  "I wouldn't touch his food with a pole," Selena said. "He engineers his products to destroy natural competition. Once you plant Dansinger's rice or corn, that's all you can grow."

  "What's Lodge talking about?" Ronnie asked.

  "Wait."

  The audio cleared in mid sentence.

  "--April. Long range weather forecast is favorable over the Ukraine and Western Russia. Demeter is ready."

  "You are sure everything is in place?" Dansinger's voice was dry and without warmth. He was in his late sixties, large boned and raw, weathered from years under the Texas sun.

  Lodge answered Dansinger's question. "Yes." He paused. "Before we go on, I'd like to make sure we are all in agreement."

  One of the men at the table stood. "I am not. Wendell, I agree with our goal, but not this. The suffering will be immense if we implement. It's conceivable millions could die. I can't be a party to this."

  Harker gestured. "That's George Wilkinson, head of BRES."

  BRES was Biological Research Engineering Solutions, the world's leading authority on boosting third world agricultural economies. If there were crop problems in Southeast Asia or Africa, you called BRES. Wilkinson was a genius. He was also recently dead.

  Carter's ear began itching.

  "I understand your hesitation, George. I feel the same way. There's no decision to implement as yet. But Demeter is ready if the Russians push us too far." He gestured at the short haired man with his back toward them, who nodded. "This is simply preparation. We'll be sorry to lose you. Of course I trust in your discretion about our discussions."

  "I signed the paper, Wendell, I'm not going to say anything. But this is wrong. I think you must reconsider." He looked at his watch. "I have to get back to Washington. Gentlemen."

  Wilkinson left the room. There was a brief silence. Dansinger spoke.

  "He's a problem, Wendell."

  Lodge glanced down at notes on the table. "No, Harold, he's not."

  "Then I can report to the others that he will not interfere?"

  "You may."

  The screen blanked.

  "Do you think it's legitimate?" Nick asked Harker.

  "I do. We can analyze it, but I don't think it's faked."

  "Wilkinson's dead."

  "The implication is clear. Lodge had Wilkinson killed because he wouldn't go along with the plan, whatever it is."

  "But why? That's over the top, even for Langley."

  "If Lodge had Wilkinson killed, it's not official. He's gone rogue. He's planning something unauthorized about Russia. I'm going to have to go to the President. Damn."

  "Who could have sent this, Director?"

  "Good question, Nick. Someone who doesn't like Lodge. Someone who can't come out in the open."

  "At Langley?"

  "Maybe."

  She set the pen down. Everyone watched her.

  "This is all we needed," she said. "Up against the CIA."

  "We're not up against CIA," Nick said. "We're up against Lodge. I get along with Hood and Hood wants to be DCI. Maybe I could approach him. See if he's got any knowledge of what Lodge is doing."

  Clarence Hood was DNCS at Langley, Director of National Clandestine Services. In charge of field operations everywhere in the world.

  "We can't risk that. What if he's part of it?" Elizabeth picked up her pen again. "I'm going to get a new autopsy on Wilkinson. We will now assume Lodge has gone rogue. We need to be careful. Whoever sent this expects us to do something about it. They may be trying to set us up for their own ends."

  She looked at them. "Maybe I don't have to say this, but everyone needs to watch it."

  "So," Ronnie said, "what else is new?"

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Harker had been to the White House many times, but it never failed to impress her. She waited in an anteroom outside the Oval Office. Two Secret Service agents stood nearby. The dark suits and earpieces they wore were as much a part of the White House culture as the flag flying over the building.

  The building carried a tangible aura of power. Everyone who came here felt it. Everyone serious about politics wanted to be here. The White House was more than a pretty building or a symbol. It was the beating heart of the most powerful nation on earth. The man in the next room was the most important politician in the world.

  There had been good presidents and bad ones. There were a few great ones. Elizabeth thought James Rice was one of the great ones. Like all powerful leaders, he was surrounded by people who tried to please and mislead him. They tended to tell him what he wanted to hear and conceal their agendas. That was especially true of the intelligence community, the big agencies.

  Rice had created the Project to make sure he knew the things no one else would tell him. The Project alerted him to problems before they became more serious threats. More, it gave him a way to eliminate those problems without the interference of self-serving politicians. Elizabeth's unit operated under a budget blacker than the far side of Pluto.

  What she was going to tell him was political dynamite. Worse. DCI Lodge had helped clean up a conspiracy that would have torn the country apart. It was Harker's team that had broken it up. They'd left a mess and questions that couldn't be asked in public. Lodge had been Acting Director at that time and he'd been useful. The Director's spot at Langley was his reward. Rice had to do what was best for the country, even if he didn't trust Lodge or like him. The President wasn't going to enjoy what she told him today.

  An aide stepped through a curved door in the wall.

  "You can go in, Director. He's ready for you."

  "Thank you." She stood and smoothed the black linen pants suit she'd chosen for this meeting.

  Rice rose from behind Teddy Roosevelt's desk and came out to greet her.

  "Elizabeth. Thanks for coming."

  That was Rice's style. She'd requested the meeting but he was making her feel as if she were doing him a favor. The Secret Service agent standing by the wall displayed no expression.

  Rice was just short of six feet tall. He wore a dark blue suit and red tie. He still had a muscular look that hinted at when he'd been a young Marine officer in V
ietnam. He wasn't particularly handsome, but it didn't matter. You got the feeling in his presence that you were the most important thing in his life at that exact moment. He had charisma, in spades. He was also a very intelligent man.

  "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Mr. President."

  "I can give you ten minutes, Director." He walked over to the couch and gestured. They sat down.

  "It's not good news, is it?"

  "No sir. We have a situation. It might be best if we were alone."

  "That bad?" Rice turned to the agent. "Eddie, please wait outside."

  "Sir...?

  "I know, you're supposed to stay. Wait outside. Director Harker is not going to attack me."

  "Yes, Mr. President."

  The door closed behind him.

  Elizabeth had reviewed the autopsy on Wilkinson. At her insistence, the coroner had taken a second look. That had turned up a tiny puncture mark and faint signs consistent with being held down on a soft surface. No one would have noticed unless they were looking. Someone had shot him up with air. When the bubble reached his heart it hit him like a bomb. Wilkinson had been murdered.

  She gave Rice a no frills summation of what she'd learned, the video, Wilkinson, the talk of Russia. Campbell's comments about the Pentagon. Her certainty that the deaths of the three research scientists were related.

  "You believe this video is genuine."

  "Yes, sir. I am certain it is."

  "Director, you are telling me the Director of the CIA is a traitor, or at best a murderer."

  "Yes, sir, that is my conclusion."

  "You can't prove it."

  "No, sir. Not so a court would convict him."

  Rice stood. She rose with him. He walked over to the windows facing out on the Rose Garden.

  "Things are touchy with Russia right now. I'm trying to keep things calm about our missiles in Eastern Europe. The opposition is gearing up for the nomination and waiting for me to show any sign of weakness. If Lodge is promoting some cowboy adventure..."

  He left the thought unfinished. He turned back to face her.

  "What is your advice?"

  "Sir, we can't go after him yet. I've alerted my team. I'm seeking more intel. It's all I can do until there's something more specific."

  "I can't just remove him," Rice said. "He knows where all the bodies are buried. The son of a bitch is worse than Hoover ever was and it's an election year. He'd find a way to make trouble. Do you think you can handle this for me?"

  Elizabeth thought there were many levels to that statement, but she didn't say so.

  "I'll do my best, sir. It's what you pay me for."

  "Very well." Rice went to the desk, pressed a button. A door opened. An aide entered. She started from the room.

  "Director."

  "Sir?"

  "Thank you."

  "You're welcome, Mr. President."

  Welcome to another crisis in the works, she thought. She was glad she wasn't the one sitting in that office.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Elizabeth studied an elegant card engraved with the crest of the Russian embassy.

  Dimitri Yakov

  Second Cultural Attaché

  The card had arrived that morning. A note was written on the back in black ink.

  Washington Monument. 14:30 today.

  Yakov was SVR's chief resident in Washington. He wanted a meeting. It didn't surprise her that SVR knew who she was. What surprised her was that they wanted to talk. Communication between US intelligence agencies and SVR was non-existent. Yakov knew she wouldn't refuse.

  Yakov had been seconded from Department S. He would never arrange a meeting without direct orders from his boss, General Vysotsky.

  The early April afternoon was sunny and 60 degrees. Elizabeth sat on a bench near the base of the monument. She wore a concealed transceiver. Lamont sat on another bench not far away. He fed birds from a paper sack with his good arm. His Glock.40 was hidden in his sling. She leaned back and closed her eyes and let the sun shine on her face.

  She felt someone take a seat on the bench next to her and opened her eyes. Dimitri Yakov was about forty, of average height. His suit was tailored, English made, a gray pinstripe of fine wool. His eyes were blue, his hair a sun lit blond. He wasn't wearing a hat. Like Elizabeth, he wore his coat open to the warm weather.

  "A beautiful day, Director. It can be so tiresome when the rains keep everything gray. Thank you for coming." He didn't offer a hand.

  "Your note didn't say why you wanted to meet. It's unusual, to say the least."

  "Something has come to our attention. My superior hopes you may shed light on it."

  Right to the point.

  Yakov smiled. "Did you know that we study your methods, Director? We are, you might say, admirers. Too bad you are not working for us."

  "We study Zaslon as well, Dimitri. May I call you Dimitri? But you haven't asked me here to sing our mutual praises."

  "Your CIA is up to something it shouldn't be." Yakov watched her.

  "Oh?"

  "A video was delivered to General Vysotsky. It captured a meeting featuring your Director. You are familiar with this video, by chance?"

  Yakov's English felt stiff. Or perhaps it was his way of being polite. Elizabeth was certain Yakov had a side that wasn't polite at all. The video had to be the same one that had come to her. Where Lodge talked about Demeter and Russia. Should she admit she had seen it?

  "Was there a man named Dansinger in this video?"

  "Ah. You have seen it. Naturally, we are curious as to what is intended."

  Yakov reached into his pocket. He took out a piece of paper. He handed it to her.

  "This is a copy of a note accompanying the video."

  Do not jump to conclusions. In this matter, the Project is with you. A friend.

  "May I be frank, Director?"

  "Please."

  "This Demeter operation. A CIA plot against us cannot be tolerated. If this comes to the attention of certain people, it will cause very bad results. There are some who see your country as, ah, aggressive toward us. Overtly hostile, in fact."

  "Go on."

  "Whoever sent that video indicates your group may be of assistance. We wish to understand this. For now, General Vysotsky has chosen to keep things between our two respective organizations. He wonders what is meant by the comment that you are with us?"

  Elizabeth had never been in a situation like this before. How much should she tell him? What could she tell him? SVR had seen the video. No secrets there. Yakov was right, if it reached the highest levels in the Kremlin it would make a lot of trouble.

  She knew what her father would say.

  Play the cards you got. Sometimes you bluff. Sometimes you don't. Winning is all about knowing when to do one or the other.

  She decided not to bluff. She chose her words with care. "We are concerned about Director Lodge."

  "By 'we' you refer to your group?"

  "Yes."

  "Who sent it?"

  "I don't know. I think someone in our intelligence community."

  Yakov nodded. "That is also our conclusion. You say you are concerned. What is your concern?"

  "I am certain Lodge murdered Wilkinson."

  "The head of BRES, in the video?"

  "Yes. I think he was killed because he withdrew from whatever Lodge and Dansinger are planning. It proves Lodge is out of control, willing to do anything to avoid exposure. He's gone over the line. For us, Lodge has now become the enemy. Whatever he's doing is not sanctioned. It's not in America's interest. Or yours."

  Yakov's face showed no emotion. Don't ever play poker with this man, she thought. Yet, here she was.

  "What is Demeter?"

  "We don't know yet. Now I have a question for you. Did you intervene in Bulgaria?"

  "You are correct. It was one of our operatives."

  "Why?"

  "To be frank, that was not our original intention. Our agent followed you
r people, knowing Gelashvili would come after them. We wanted to, ah, remove Gelashvili. Collateral damage was not deemed important After we received the video and the note our agent was ordered to make sure no harm came to your team."

  "Collateral damage? My team?" She felt the beginning of anger.

  Yakov shrugged. "It is the way of our business, is it not?"

  It was. She took a breath.

  "Dimitri." She was about to cross a bridge. "Lodge has to be stopped. Whatever he's planning is bad for both of us. This can't be done publicly. I've alerted the President, but there's no proof of anything. He can't act without it."

  "But you and I know Lodge is, how do you say, over the line. There are obvious solutions."

  "This is America. I can't remove Lodge the way you removed Gelashvili. Besides, there's Dansinger. There are others. It's a conspiracy. It has to broken open."

  "What do you propose?"

  "Perhaps we can work together." She thought about what to say.

  "This man is head of your CIA. You say you would work with us against him. Forgive me, I find this difficult to believe."

  "Whoever sent us that video believes it."

  "How do you see it, this working together?"

  "I need a secure line of communication to Vysotsky. I want cooperation if my operatives have to enter Russian territory or spheres of influence. A guarantee nothing will be done against Lodge. Time to deal with this."

  "You are asking for a lot, Director."

  "I am in a much better position to do this than you are. If you practice your style of removal against Lodge it will complicate things. Leave him to me. Anything I learn about Demeter I will pass on to you."

  "Your Pentagon may be involved."

  "That remains to be seen. I want to be clear about something. I will do nothing to compromise our security. Be certain of that."

  Lamont had stopped feeding the birds. Now he appeared to be taking a nap. He had heard every word of the conversation on his earpiece.

  Yakov stood. "I will pass your proposal to General Vysotsky, Director."

  As if he didn't already know, she thought. Yakov is probably wired right to Vysotsky's office in Moscow.