by Ken Goddard
"Ruebottom? Is he one of us?" Lightstone asked. "Name's not familiar."
But that didn't necessarily mean anything, Lightstone knew, because during the entire six months that he'd been employed by the federal government, the only Fish and Wildlife Service agents that he had ever met face-to-face were the members of McNulty's Special Operations team.
Paul McNulty seemed to want it that way.
"No, he's actually one of the new agent-pilots," McNulty said. "I made arrangements to borrow him from the Portland regional office for a while. Plane and pilot are ours for as long as we want them, long as I pay all the expenses."
"You're sure the guy's to be trusted?"
"Halahan will make sure Ruebottom keeps a lid on. Unfortunately, he's still green when it comes to investigative work. Tends to want to do everything by the book, which is probably why he's so good at keeping airplanes up in the air."
"Have I ever mentioned to you that I hate to fly?" Lightstone asked.
"You'll get over it. Have to if you're going to stay in this outfit. Think you can handle Ruebottom?"
"Do I have any choice?"
"I could always send you to flight school," McNulty shrugged.
"Ruebottom sounds like one hell of a guy," Lightstone said quietly. "We'll get along just fine."
Chapter Seven
As intended, the conference table was the immediate focus of attention for anyone who stepped into the huge, log-walled meeting room of Whitehorse Cabin.
The slabs for the large, six-sided table had been cut from a two-hundred-year-old sequoia redwood. The rough-cut boards had been trucked to a pair of master carpenters in Bend, Oregon, who had spent six months carefully measuring, planing, joining, and then finally hand-finishing the six individual pieces so that they formed a virtually seamless hexagonal surface precisely thirteen meters between any two opposite corners.
To Dr. Reston Wolfe, executive director of ICER, the table represented image and substance. It had cost the financial backers of ICER a bundle, but as far as Wolfe was concerned, it was worth every penny.
Sitting alert at the designated head of the table, Wolfe scanned the huge conference room, savoring the massive rock fireplace, the six-by-eighteen-inch support beams, the overstuffed chairs, and the original artwork on the log walls. Thoroughly satisfied, he waited while two members of his carefully screened staff finished clearing away the plates and silverware.
A thick stack of sealed folders and envelopes was set before each of the guests. It was only after the doors were quietly pulled closed behind the two staffers that Wolfe's gaze shifted to the thirteen men and women seated around the huge table.
"I hope the breakfast was to your satisfaction."
There were polite murmurs of approval. Wolfe had expected no less, since the iced king crab and fresh shrimp for the omelets had been flown in fresh from Anchorage and New Orleans that morning.
"In that case," he said with quiet firmness, "we will return to business." He noted that the three groups continued to sit apart. In the middle, the Germans-Maas, Gunter Aben, Felix Steinhauser, and Carine Mueller; to the left, the Japanese-Asai, Kiro Nakamura, Shoshin Watanabe, and Kimiko Osan; and to the right, the Americans-Paul Saltmann, Arturo Bolin, Roy Parker, and Corrie James.
They didn't trust each other yet, Wolfe realized, knowing that that would have to change before he and Abercombie sent them out on a mission, where there could be no room for failure. It would be up to Maas, the assault-group leader, and his two primary assistants Asai and Saltmann, to forge the necessary links. And they would have to hurry, he reminded himself, because there wasn't much time.
"We spent the better part of yesterday providing you with some of the tools necessary for you to carry out your mission," Wolfe began, comfortable in his role as project director. "Clothing, cash, credit cards, as well as the means to access houses, land vehicles, air transportation, and virtually any other resource you might need."
Wolfe paused for effect.
"Later on this evening, we will distribute a wide range of firearms and other weapons for your use."
As Wolfe fully expected, the topic of weaponry drew the complete attention of everyone in the room.
"I realize that given a choice, you would prefer weapons with which you are intimately familiar. I certainly understand your reasoning. But here I must emphasize a crucial element of our operational planning.
"As far as we are concerned," Wolfe said as he looked around the room, "all weapons used in Operation Counter Wrench are disposable. In the event that it ever becomes necessary for one of you to use any weapon against any opponent in the field-and by this I mean not only firearms, but also knives, arrows, clubs, darts, et cetera-that weapon is to be wiped down for fingerprints and then destroyed or discarded at the first opportunity. The same goes for any related ammunition, magazines, and expended casings to the extent possible and practical. This is the only way we can be sure that a projectile, an explosive, or an injury cannot be traced back to our operation.
"For reasons that I hope are obvious," Wolfe placed the palms of his hands on the table for emphasis, "that must not happen with Operation Counter Wrench."
Knowing the background of some of the group members, Wolfe had expected some sort of negative reaction to this announcement, but all he received were a few silent nods of approval.
"Because of this policy, we have not only stockpiled several dozen replacement weapons for each of you, but we have also made certain that the make, model, and manufacture of these weapons vary considerably. Here again, we are making a determined effort to avoid patterns that law-enforcement investigators traditionally use to link suspects to victims or crime scenes.
"To aid you in familiarizing yourself with these weapons," he went on, "you will be given full and unrestricted access to the state-of-the-art training facilities we have constructed on the Whitehorse Cabin grounds. These facilities include underground firing ranges, combat simulators, advanced robotics. The staff we have hired to design, equip, and run this facility is the absolute best."
That comment caused considerable murmuring among the ICER assault group members.
"You will be given access to your weapons and some of the automated firing ranges beginning this evening," Wolfe said. "Meanwhile, it is now time to explain to you exactly what the mission of Operation Counter Wrench is, and what we expect from each of you."
In spite of Lisa Abercombie's political connections and the extensive technical and military skills possessed by the other individuals sitting around the table, at this moment Dr. Reston Wolfe truly felt that he was the one in charge, and he liked that feeling.
He could also feel Lisa Abercombie's eyes on him from the far back of the room, and he liked that, too.
"Your specific assignments," he said, his confidence growing with every passing moment, "are described in detail in the sealed folders before you. I want you to read them carefully. But not now."
Wolfe was pleased to note that not one of the twelve assault group members had reached for his stack of folders and envelopes. Instead, each watched him with a quiet and easy patience that suggested a strong sense of discipline and training. He liked to think of himself as a leader of such men.
"There will be time to read this material this afternoon and this evening," he went on, "and we will discuss it at great length tomorrow afternoon. I have a few other matters to address at this time.
"First, as you know, you are all posing as highly specialized biologists. You have been given the necessary background materials, passports and visas, and should have no trouble in maintaining your specific identity. If you are ever queried about your work, please remember that you need only respond in meaningless generalities. You are working on a government project that has certain biological sensitivities, none of which you are free to discuss. I might add that a little bit of bureaucratic arrogance-but not too much-is always a nice touch.
"Which brings us to your real work." Wolfe paused to look a
t each of the twelve faces.
"To begin, I would simply remind you that you were selected for Operation Counter Wrench on the basis of your technical expertise and previous experience, with specific emphasis on your military skills. We have considered these skills very carefully in making the team assignments, which, as I said, are in the folders before you.
"The basic plan is for ICER to operate as an assault group made up of three teams, each team being comprised of one German, one Japanese, and one American. While we may need to vary the team composition from time to time, the German member of each team will always function as the team leader. Accordingly, they will report to Mr. Maas, the assault-group leader, who in turn will report to me."
Wolfe gestured across the table to Maas, who responded with a brief nod of his white-haired head.
"Technical support," Wolfe went on, "in the form of surreptitious entries, electronic monitoring systems and countermeasures, photo and video surveillance, computer access and transportation, will be the responsibility of the Japanese member of each team, with Dr. Asai functioning as the technical support coordinator."
Dr. Morito Asai responded to the mention of his name with a formal nod.
"Intelligence, in terms of data gathering, analysis, and dissemination to the other team leaders, will be the responsibility of the American member of each team, with Mr. Saltmann functioning as the intelligence support coordinator."
Wolfe gestured toward the curly-haired, well-built individual who looked far more like an advertisement for Golds Gym than an intelligence analyst.
"And finally, should anything go wrong during the course of our activities, as things inevitably do," Wolfe added with a knowing smile, "it will be the responsibility of the American members of each team to provide the necessary covers, escape routes, and what we might describe as appropriate distractions."
There were a few nods, smiles, and murmurs of approval around the room, although Wolfe noted that Gerd Maas was now staring at the muscular, curly-haired Saltmann in a cold and reflective manner.
"Having said that much," Wolfe went on, deliberately lowering his voice to underscore the perception that he was in charge, "I would remind you that Operation Counter Wrench was not, and I repeat, not designed to be a military operation. At least not in the sense that you are accustomed to. Operation Counter Wrench is a covert operation. We will have to take aggressive action, but we will never do so openly. Every action we take will be from a point of concealment, hidden from the eyes of the world. If we are to succeed, nothing can ever be traced back to any of the people in this room.
"In effect, all of you here today will be the hidden warriors of our operation-the ones who will confront our enemies and cause them to destroy themselves with their own weapons."
"Dr. Wolfe."
The voice had come from the far end of the table, and Wolfe turned to look at the blond West German, who seemed perfectly comfortable sitting next to Gerd Maas.
Gunter Aben, Wolfe nodded, immediately recognizing the face from the file photos and remembering the summary notations under the photo. Aggressive, fearless, and extremely deceptive in his mannerisms. Excellent covert operator. Can't ever tell what he's thinking. Good man. Ruthless and lethal. Controllable only by someone he respects.
Someone like Maas.
"Yes, Gunter?"
"Dr. Wolfe, you make the nice image that we are the hidden warriors who will use deceit as our primary weapon," Gunter Aben said, his youthful face open and smiling. "But you do not tell us who this enemy is that we are to deceive."
"Yes, an excellent question," Wolfe smiled. "Our enemies. Who are they?"
He looked around the room as though expecting someone to raise a hand, but no one moved.
"Greenpeace, for one," he said, answering his own question. "And Earth First! and any of the other environment activists. No-" he paused, holding up one hand in a theatrical gesture "-let's use a more accurate word for these people. Call them what they really are.
"Terrorists."
Wolfe let the word flow from his lips as if he savored its very pronouncement. The word itself seemed to echo throughout the quiet room, or at least in the minds of the people who sat there, silent and listening.
"For you see," he went on, caught up in the dramatic flow of his oration, "that is exactly what they are. Driven, emotional people who don't hesitate to use fear, uncertainty, and distortion as a weapon to force their will on an entire unsuspecting world.
"Our countries, Japan, Germany, and the United States, have been the most powerful in the world, because our businesses and our industries have been able to compete from a position of strength. But we in the United States are now threatened by an inability to compete. Our businesses and factories are being choked to death by needlessly restrictive rules and regulations put forth by the environmentalists and voted in by a brainwashed public. A public that simply won't understand what they've done until they no longer have their cost-effective cars, and lifesaving air conditioners, and freezers filled with food.
"And what we must all understand here," Wolfe went on, "is the fact that the United States is not alone in this. You need only read the newspapers to find that the environmental groups in Japan and Germany are not far behind.
"So what all of this comes to," Wolfe finished, his voice brought back to its normal pitch, "is the simple fact that these self-righteous entities, well-meaning as they might be, simply cannot be allowed to bring the industrial might of the free world to its knees."
For a long moment the silence in the room remained inviolate, until it was finally broken by the familiar, cheerful voice of Gunter Aben, the quiet, deadly one.
"So we are to destroy the Green Movement, is that what you are saying?" Aben asked.
"We will not directly destroy them," Wolfe corrected. "That would be counterproductive. What we will do is to divert their resources, disrupt their plans, cause divisions where they are trying to create alliances. In effect, altering their public image and destroying their effectiveness by exposing them for the self-righteous and self-serving bastards that they really are."
Wolfe looked down at the table for a brief moment and then brought his head back up to stare out at the group.
"A few moments ago I suggested to all of you that these environmental activist groups are, in fact, terrorists. Now, in that same line of thinking, I would further suggest that you look upon yourselves as counterterrorists."
"But with no official standing," interrupted a voice, cold and foreboding.
Gerd Maas, the German assault group leader, sat with an imperturbable expression on his white-bearded face.
Wolfe felt his throat constrict. Much as Wolfe hated to admit it, Maas scared him half to death.
"That is true. This is not an official government operation," Wolfe said, swallowing hard as he felt the uncontrollable numbness spread down his limbs.
"Perhaps I can expand on that answer," Lisa Abercombie said in a forceful voice from her seated position.
All eyes in the room shifted to the strikingly beautiful woman.
"I believe that Dr. Wolfe would agree when I say that this is an official government operation," Lisa Abercombie said, acutely aware that Gerd Maas was staring at her with his cold blue eyes. "It is not, however, officially sanctioned."
"I do not understand the difference," Gunter Aben said matter-of-factly.
"The difference is simple," Abercombie said. "You are living in a federal government training facility, and you are being directed by Dr. Wolfe, who is a federal government employee. You will also have access to a wide range of federal government equipment and supplies as necessary.
"However," she went on firmly, "because of the extremely sensitive nature of this operation, the United States Government cannot and will not acknowledge your existence. I am sure you can understand why this would be necessary."
"Does the United States Government know what we are doing?" Gerd Maas demanded in his glacial, penetrating voice.<
br />
To Lisa Abercombie, it was like having a bucket of ice water suddenly thrown in her face, and it was all that she could do not to flinch.
"Yes," she answered, forcing herself to remain calm and controlled.
"All the way to the top?"
Like Dr. Reston Wolfe before her, Lisa Abercombie could feel the fearful chill spread down her spinal cord, but to her credit, she hesitated only briefly before answering.
"No."
"Who is responsible then? You?"
"Myself, and a coordinating committee, yes."
"But this coordinating committee will not be involved in direct operations, correct?" Maas pressed.
"Yes, that is correct."
For perhaps thirty seconds the room remained deathly quiet. Then, once again, Gunter Aben broke the silence.
"Then perhaps you are the one to answer this," Aben said. "Is it also correct to say that we must not allow ourselves to be apprehended by the authorities, under any circumstances?"
"We are the authorities," Lisa Abercombie said after a moment's pause, "but not everyone in the government would agree with what we are doing."
"But what does that mean?" Gunter Aben demanded.
"It means that we have to be careful," Dr. Reston Wolfe interrupted in a quiet voice. "It is possible that our activities could attract the attention of one or more of our country's law-enforcement agencies. If that happens, we have to be ready to deal with the situation immediately. "
"And how are we to do that?" Dr. Morito Asai asked politely, even though the cold, glittering darkness remained in his eyes.
"First of all," Wolfe said, his composure returning, "discounting state and local police agencies, there are only a couple of federal law enforcement agencies likely to cause us any concern."
"And those are?" Asai pressed.
"The FBI, of course," Wolfe conceded with some reluctance, "but we should not come to their attention unless we are careless. If we do our job properly, any FBI investigation will only confirm that our targets have been the cause of their own demise. Mostly because we-which is to say, your team, Dr. Asai-" Wolfe added with a grin, "will have provided them with physical evidence that will be impossible to ignore."