by Jack Bowie
This late in the afternoon, the MITRE parking lot had begun to empty, and she had little problem finding a space. As she walked up the long entrance drive, she prepared her new persona: confident but a bit nervous; smart, but not arrogant. By the time she reached the entrance doors, she was ready.
She approached the reception desk where she gave a frighteningly young receptionist the name of her contact. Her eyebrows immediately jumped, as if this was a well-recognized name she did not usually hear proffered by a first-time visitor. She quickly regained her composure and suggested Walker take a seat in the waiting area.
Walker was five minutes early, but it only took two for a tall black woman to exit an elevator behind the security gates. At least the woman looked old enough to drink. She stopped at the reception desk and the receptionist pointed in Walker’s direction. A few seconds later, the woman approached.
“Ms. Walker?” she asked.
“Yes,” Walker replied.
“I’m Candice Cutler. Welcome to the MITRE Corporation. There’s a conference room just down the hall that we can use. It saves having to go through the hassle of security.”
Cutler was taller than Walker, almost six feet even in flats, with short curly black hair and dark brown, penetrating eyes. She was dressed in a smart black dress and walked with a confident, almost military, stride. Walker’s mind spun trying to identify Cutler’s role.
She led Walker into a small, almost claustrophobic, interior room. Posters depicting the breadth of MITRE’s operations with various high-profile government agencies covered the walls. Typical recruiting advertisements. The room was not randomly chosen.
The pair sat across from one another at a small round table. Cutler placed a manila folder in front of her but didn’t open it. She did open a small spiral notebook.
“Thank you for coming in today,” Cutler began. “I must say you have a quite impressive resume. Computer Science degree from the University of Michigan, Army Intelligence with a posting at DIA. You were at DIA for four years?”
“Yes. It was a good run.”
“What caused you to leave?”
“Honestly, I really liked DIA. We had a great team.” She tried her best to pull off this little white lie without gagging. In fact, her superiors at DIA had been the most arrogant, sexist men she had ever known. She couldn’t imagine a more hostile work environment. “The work just eventually took too much out of me. I imagine it’s not unlike any law enforcement position. All you see is the worst side of people. It was a bit much to take.”
Cutler nodded. “I can see how that could happen. Professor Hawthorne gave you a very glowing recommendation. How do you know him?”
Walker took a deep breath. Braxton and Hawthorne had anticipated this question and discussed how best to respond. It was another part of the Plan. “I was doing some background research on a DIA assignment, and someone recommended Professor Hawthorne. We met a couple of times. He was very helpful.”
“What kind of project was it?”
Walker straightened in her chair and put on a somber expression. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss that, Ms. Cutler.”
“Oh. Yes. Of, course.” Cutler hesitated as if she needed to rethink her interview strategy.
Besides the obvious goal of eliminating any further questions on her real relationship with Hawthorne, Walker had hoped to put Cutler on the defensive. It appeared the tactic had worked.
“When I decided to leave DIA,” Walker continued without missing a beat, “I called the professor for any suggestions. He had become a real friend and mentioned your opening.”
“Thank you. That certainly explains his involvement.” Cutler made a few notes on her pad. “How much do you know about MITRE and Jason, Ms. Walker?”
“I know a bit about Jason from my intel work and MITRE was always a good partner to DIA. But how do the two organizations work together?”
“Excellent question. Jason is not an organization as much as a set of individuals. The government sees value in enlisting the assistance of independent consultants to provide guidance and advice that are free of, shall we say, political entanglements or biases. Of course, everyone has some biases, but we have found that individuals who are recognized experts in their scientific field, whether they be from academia or industry, to be of significant value.
“At the same time, contract management of these rather independent individuals can also be a challenge.”
Walker smiled politely, but knew, from Braxton and others, that in this case “independent” was nothing more than a trite euphemism for rude, self-centered and arrogant.
“Jason has gone through many organizational experiments over the years, but currently MITRE hosts a Jason Program Office that provides structure and administrative services. Government agencies, such as the DIA for example, approach the Program Office with a proposal, actually a set of questions they would like answered. The Program Office presents these questions to the appropriate Jason members for their review. Then a contract is drawn up. The client works with MITRE for contract management and MITRE facilitates Jason participation and provides administrative support such as final report production.
“The open position is a Project Manager. A Project Manager is responsible for all aspects of a specific Jason engagement. They facilitate meetings of the Jasons, gather support documentation and manage deliverables. Project Managers report directly to the Program Manager. Still interested?”
Walker hesitated, not wanting to appear too anxious. “Absolutely. It’s not all that unlike what I did at DIA.” Except hopefully not going undercover in a den of thieves and nearly getting killed. “Is this a new position?”
“No, it is a replacement. One of our current PMs is retiring. We handle over 200 engagements a year and have ten full-time Project Managers.”
“What will be my interactions with the Jasons assigned to my projects?”
“Simply put, your job is to get the Jasons to answer the questions posed by the sponsor. MITRE staff aside, you will be working with some of the most intelligent, and intransigent, individuals in the world. You will need to keep the Jasons focused, not go off on some random intellectual tangent, not allow the engagement to stretch into a multi-year research project, complete the task in reasonable time, and create a final report that can be read by the sponsors, most of whom do not have doctorates in nuclear physics.”
Walker smiled. At least Cutler had a realistic view of the work involved. As well as a sense of humor.
“What is your role, Ms. Cutler? Are you a Project Manager?”
Cutler smiled broadly. “No. I’m Jason Program Manager. I guess I run Jason.”
“I’m honored,” Walker quickly replied. She had expected her initial interview to be with some mid-level manager. Hawthorne must have written some special recommendation.
“Thank you, but I believe it’s important that women accept increasing responsibility in our government. That’s one reason I’m here at MITRE. What would you see as your contribution to the Jason Program, Ms. Walker?”
Walker took a moment to consider her answer. Cutler was obviously a very intelligent woman who would expect nothing less than an equally intelligent response from a new hire.
“I would simply like to make a contribution, Ms. Cutler. I am certainly not of the same intellect as the Jasons, but I believe my interpersonal skills can be of assistance to your mission. One thing I learned at DIA is that the ability to effectively present complex intelligence is as important as the gathering of the intelligence in the first place. Perhaps this insight would be of value to Jason as well.”
Cutler sat expressionless as she listened to the response. Then she gathered up her folder and notepad, stood and extended her hand. “I think that will be sufficient, Ms. Walker. It’s been interesting speaking with you.”
Interesting? Walker was not used to being dismissed quite so abruptly. Had she said something wrong? “Will I be speaking with anyone else?” she asked.
&nbs
p; “No. I don’t believe that is necessary.”
Walker shook Cutler’s hand then followed the woman back to the reception desk. She had failed. What were they going to do now?
Cutler turned to Walker. “I expect to see you back here tomorrow at 8:00 a.m. for orientation and vetting. I trust that is convenient?”
Walker nearly fell over. “Ah, yes. Certainly. Thank you.”
“Excellent. I’ll set up some time tomorrow for us to get better acquainted. Have a great day, Ms. Walker.” Cutler turned and walked through the security checkpoint.
Very little flustered Sydney Walker, but Cutler had managed it. She watched as the Jason Program Manager disappeared into an elevator.
Damn. I’m in.
Chapter 9
NSA Headquarters, Fort Meade, MD
Friday, 11:05 a.m.
Despite having finally found real evidence of the Havana Syndrome, Slattery still had a lot of questions. He had to wait to get any answers out of Islamabad, but there was something he could do now. The conversations with Stroller and Flynn had put a disturbing idea in his head. He needed to go to Maryland.
The headquarters of the National Security Agency was in Fort Meade, Maryland, a relatively short drive from Langley, but one which necessitated a trip across the war zone that was the American Legion Memorial Bridge. The Northern Virginia weather had cleared, but that only meant that I-495 traffic would go back to its normal level of gridlock.
At first, Slattery had been surprised when his meeting request had been so rapidly accepted, but subsequently decided that Stroller had checked one of his spy satellites and determined that there was no possible way for Slattery to make the appointment on time. Score another one for the Deputy Director.
Still, he was only five minutes late for the meeting thanks to a near-suicidal ride by his assigned driver. Slattery passed through the obligatory security checks without incident and was directed to Stroller’s office.
This was the first time Slattery had been in the Deputy Director’s office. It was smaller than Markovsky’s and much less opulent. Framed Agency citations and commendations replaced smiling group pictures, evidence of Stroller’s strong technical background. Like the rest of the NSA, the mood was formal and serious. To be honest, it felt more like an interrogation room than an office.
“Roger, how good to see you again.”
Slattery approached Stroller’s desk and shook the offered hand. A hard wooden chair had been placed directly across from the spook.
“Deputy Director. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I promise I won’t take too much of your time.”
“Claude, please. We’ve been through too much in the past few years to stand on formality. How can I help you?”
Slattery squirmed to find a comfortable spot on the chair. He had to be careful not to be too accusatory. “I wanted to follow up on our conversation about the, ah, counter-surveillance project we spoke of in Deputy Director Markovsky’s office. Given the lack of a real explanation, we’re now focusing on early detection techniques and just wondered how you identified the neurological side effects.”
Stroller’s face stiffened and his smile dissolved into a thin straight line. “I see. Well, as I described in Peter’s office, we have had an active research program on counter-surveillance techniques for many years. The NSA has led these efforts for decades, developing technologies from improved mechanical shredders, to state-of-the-art encryption techniques, to our work on Tempest shielding.” Slattery sat back and nodded politely. Stroller had launched into full-bore “Congressional testimony” mode. There was no way to turn it off. The best Senators in the history of the Republic had tried and failed. He would have to wait it out.
“Recently, we have been investigating masking technologies that further eliminate the capture of electronic and acoustic signals from potential targets. Embassies and consulates are frequent targets. You are undoubtedly familiar with the concept of using white noise to obfuscate relevant signals. We found that a mix of acoustic signals, outside of human perception, actually performed better than white noise. We were refining this frequency-shifting technique when difficulties appeared. The problems surfaced as reports from agents working with the technology. As I discussed in Peter’s office, they were similar to those reported by the State Department employees.”
Stroller took a sip of something from a glass on his desk. Slattery would have killed to know what it was.
“Thank you, Deputy Director, er, Claude. That’s very helpful. I was wondering if your team had used any outside resources or assets for any of this analysis?”
Stroller paused, slid his chair closer to the desk and leaned forward. His eyes burrowed into Slattery. “An interesting question, Roger. We do not, in general, involve other government organizations in our research activities. We feel it is important to keep these activities highly compartmentalized.”
And keep your secrets away from fellow agencies.
“There must be some occasions where external expertise can be of assistance, however.”
Stroller didn’t move a muscle. He waited a few seconds, then continued. “Of course, we don’t have experts in every domain. When we recognized that there were side-effects from the technology, we wanted some background on the possible neurophysiological effects. We let a contract to Jason to provide background on possible root causes. They produced a small report that proved helpful to our subsequent analysis. Is there a specific agency you are interested in?”
“Honestly, Claude, I just wanted to be sure the CIA hadn’t provided any assistance. I would be very concerned if we could have been the source of any leak.”
The tension instantly drained from Stroller’s face. The danger of Slattery’s approach had been that Stroller would feel the CIA wanted to insert itself into the NSA’s investigation. Now he had an out.
“No, Roger. This was all our operation. Unfortunately. But don’t worry. We’ll get to the bottom of it. Whatever it is.” He punctuated the comment with a broad smile.
“I have no doubt.” Slattery rose from the chair. “Thank you again, Claude. I won’t take up any more of your valuable time. You’ve been more helpful than you know.”
Stroller stretched his arm across the desk and shook Slattery’s hand. “Always happy to help a sister agency, Roger. Safe travels. And say hello to Peter for me.”
Slattery nodded and headed for the door.
On his way back to his waiting car, Slattery was reminded of something Markovsky had taught him when they were both in the field. “Never trust a smiling bureaucrat,” he had intoned. Well, Slattery had never trusted Stroller, but he now did know one thing: the NSA’s internal investigation was not going to catch a traitor.
* * *
Walker was escorted to Cutler’s office by her designated HR gopher.
The morning had been exhausting. Between the litany of MITRE personnel policies and obnoxious security screening questions, she was tired and cranky. Not a good state for her first meeting with her boss.
Walker tried to balance the two huge policy notebooks against her chest as she knocked on Cutler’s door.
“Come in.”
She finally just dropped the notebooks on the floor, straightened her suit and opened the door.
Cutler’s office was small but bright. Morning sun shone through the two small windows, a welcome respite from the previous days’ gloom. She had a bookshelf filled with what appeared to be scientific textbooks, an immaculately clean desk supporting only a shiny iMac, and a heavy filing cabinet with a biometric lock. Typical fare for those in the black world.
No personal photographs were present. Also not unusual for female executives.
“Sydney,” Cutler exclaimed as Walker entered. “Welcome to MITRE. I hope the orientation gauntlet wasn’t too oppressive.” She pointed to a chair by the side of the desk.
“Just the usual,” Walker replied with a grin. “But I am glad it’s over.” She glanced back at the bookcase
. “That’s quite a library you have.”
Cutler returned the smile. “Self-defense. I spend much too much of my time trying to keep up with our Jason friends. It’s usually a losing battle.”
“Where would you recommend I start?”
“Well, we have a staff meeting in a few minutes. That’s one reason I rushed your paperwork. It will be a good way to meet the rest of the team and catch up on our projects. I’m afraid I’m pretty booked up today. This is the only free time I had so I asked HR to schedule me in.”
Then her smile collapsed. “One thing I did want to mention. I think I know the real reason you left DIA.”
Walker opened her mouth, but Culver shook her head.
“No comment necessary. I could be wrong. But if I’m not, you certainly wouldn’t be the first. It’s important to me that you know that that will not happen here. If there is even the slightest hint of inappropriate behavior you tell me. And that’s not a request. It’s an order.”
Walker stayed silent. This was one in-control lady.
Culver’s smile returned, and she pulled a folio out of her desk drawer.
“Good. Let’s get to that staff meeting.
* * *
Walker again remembered why she hated “regular” jobs. She had spent the last hour sitting quietly in the world’s most uncomfortable plastic chair, listening to a drone of administrivia that was the Jason Program Office Staff Meeting. The closest thing Cerberus had to a staff meeting was when Braxton yelled through his office door to Chu.
Even Cutler couldn’t stand to stay around. After ten minutes she had declared she had a previously-scheduled engagement and left the meeting to be run by Jack Nolan, a nebbish of a Project Manager who seemed to enjoy his newfound authority a little too much. As a parting act, Cutler stood behind Walker, rested her hand on her shoulder and introduced her to the rest of the managers, asking for their assistance in her new role.
The motherly support seemed a bit out of character.
There were now eight people sitting around the long conference table, encompassing most of the Program Office’s PMs. They were an impressive mix: four men and four women, a young woman in her early thirties and a balding man in his late fifties, a Muslim woman in a colorful hijab and a Sikh man in an elegant white dastaar turban. Cutler had certainly built a diverse group.