The Ethiopian Intercept

by R G Ainslee

  "What about my situation? When do I get to go home?"

  "They don't know what to do. You're in the country illegally, a civilian, not a government employee. No one at the embassy wants to make a decision. Colonel Wilson's been taken out of the loop."

  "Why can't I fly out on the Navy plane with you?"

  "You know the way it goes. They'll kick it upstairs and keep kicking it until it reaches someone who don't give a damn. Nevertheless, Colonel Wilson and I will not let it happen. When we get back, we'll go to bat for you at NSA. They'll cut through this BS in no time."

  The mission had gone belly-up and they’d do all they could, but I wasn't hopeful. I understood how things worked. Me, the obvious choice for fall guy, someone to be left to hang out to dry.

  The door flung open, an even more flustered Wilson flew in and slammed it shut. The picture of President Carter on the wall trembled as if he was privy to our troubles.

  "Didn’t think the situation could get any worse, but it has." He slumped in the nearest chair and continued, "By some means, a member of the Senate Intelligence Committee was informed about the Sudan affair. The directors of NSA and the CIA both have been summoned to a closed hearing next week to explain." He glanced around the table, eyes on fire. "Does anyone have a clue how this happened? Has there been a leak?"

  Barker spoke with a tentative voice, "Sir, think I may be able to answer that question." He informed Wilson about Palmer Bradbury and his famous father.

  Wilson sat with his eyes closed and let out a deep breath when Barker finished. He stood, shoved his chair back, and intoned, "Gentlemen, please excuse me. I have one last matter to take up with the ambassador."

  Wilson halted at the door, pivoted, and addressed us, "I want to thank you for your service on this mission. Raven-One, in the end, will be regarded as a successful endeavor. We have collected important new intelligence and captured a traitor. I will not forget your efforts, you can count on it."

  Now, I was even more worried. "Why can't I fly out with Mack?"

  He canted his head and spoke with composure, "I raised the possibility, but the ambassador declined to make a decision. The CIA station chief believes the embassy is under surveillance by both the Kenyan authorities and the Soviets. The ambassador is determined to avoid any further incident." Wilson paused to sigh. "I only wish you had gone with Smith, but now it's too late."

  "What am I supposed to do?" In the back of my mind, I had that sinking feeling: I'm being set up.

  Wilson pulled himself erect and glared straight at me. "As you so succinctly stated it before — BOHICA."

  Thursday, 23 February: U.S. Embassy, Nairobi

  I spent the next morning lounging in Barker's office, which had become my new home. He provided a supply of old magazines, Time, Newsweek, and Aviation Week. Karen offered a stack of worn copies of True Romance. Glanced at the covers and declined, at least for the time being.

  The news magazines soon became stale and I grew more restless and worried. A thought occurred to me. What if El Jefe and his crew found out Lisette returned to Lamu? At least her uncle would be on guard. Maybe he could get protection from the police. But what would he tell them? The possibilities gnawed at my conscience.

  Karen interrupted as I was about to go down to the snack bar for lunch. "Major Santini wants to see you in the conference room."

  "Do I have any calls?" hoping for a call from Lisette, or even Lara."

  "No … I'm so sorry." She knew some of the story and seemed concerned. She must have viewed my situation as a real-life version of her pulp magazines. With luck, it would have a similar happy-ending.

  Santini sat alone in the conference room reading a newspaper. "Come on in and take a seat. How's the shoulder?"

  "Better, soreness almost gone, still got a bruise. Any word yet?

  "No." He paused, obviously disturbed. "But I’m afraid the situation has gone from bad to worse."

  I didn't respond. It couldn't get any worse. No way.

  He peered straight into my eyes. "Looks like the Kenyan authorities are after you."

  "Me? … Why?" My mind froze, unable to process any more bad news.

  "They have a description, probably from the Russians. The police received a tip that claims the same man that killed two men down on the coast, shot a man in Nairobi — the one left in front of the Canadian embassy. Witnesses place him in the vicinity of the killings on the coast and a bookshop clerk here in Nairobi can positively identify the person who attacked the man dumped at the Canadian embassy."

  My stomach burned with anxiety. "But they can’t tie me to the killings — can they?"

  "No, not yet, let's hope it stays that way. Right now, you’re being characterized in the local press as another Carlos the Jackal." He pitched the afternoon edition of The Standard across the table.

  A bold headline in red sounded the alarm. "They mean Carlos the Jackal, the international assassin?"

  "Yes, the terrorist who hijacked the OPEC summit."

  "You think they've tied me in with the Sudan flight?"

  "I'm sure the Russians have, and we expect them to offer assistance to the Kenyans."

  I scanned the page. "Is it a good description?" At least they didn't have my picture.

  "Afraid so. Anyone who knows you will recognize you right away."

  Anyone would include Lisette and her uncle. I hadn't told her about killing those two men, not to mention the third man on Mount Kenya.

  What’ll she think? Probably believe I'm a cold-blooded killer … she killed a man … and I got her into it. My heart sank. I was finished, reached bottom, never able to return to Kenya or see Lisette again. She'll most likely go back to the convent. Can’t blame her?

  "We can't figure out though, why the Russians are taking this so personally. We all play hardball, but this is a bit unusual."

  I knew why but didn't tell Santini: a response to the pistol and the body left at the Canadian embassy. They needed some sucker to take the heat off them, and guess who the logical candidate was.

  "One more thing. Karen found out from the embassy grapevine about Wilson's last-minute visit to the ambassador’s office. The colonel had it out with him big time and threatened to file charges when he gets back to DC. The ambassador’s secretary says he’s really shook up." Santini grinned. "Hate to be in Palmer's shoes at this moment."

  * * *

  Barker brought a hamburger, fries, and a Coke for lunch. Santini decided it was better to avoid the snack bar at mealtimes. I agreed, not sure what I’d do if the Bradbury stooge showed up.

  Barker had just finished a rundown on Ohio State’s basketball fortunes, when he leaned over and snitched one of my fries. "Think you obtained all the info you needed from Marsden?"

  "Dunno." I sipped the Coke and pondered his question. "A lot of his story doesn't make sense. It's like an unsolvable puzzle."

  "How’s that?"

  "I find it hard to believe Marsden made the Cochise Project work. We spent so much time and effort and never came close to proving the concept. Then he goes to Russia and somehow it all works. Just don't know. Mack seems to think we can come up with a solution once we get back."

  Barker pilfered another fry. "You considered the possibility of a deception?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "In our intelligence course for this job we covered the art of deception and misinformation. The Chinese strategist Sun Tzu wrote: all warfare is based on deception. Soviet Marshal Grechko coined the term dezinformatsia, the dissemination of misleading information intended to confuse the enemy. They're good at it. I'm not familiar with your technical details, but that's one possibility I'd consider."

  I paused with the burger halfway to my mouth. "Yeah, Marsden sang like a canary. I believe he basically told the truth."

  "Maybe he was unaware of the deception. Maybe they used him and gave him a credible role to plant disinformation."

  Took a bite of burger and pondered the notion of a deception. "Been don
e before, false signals and fake messages have been used for ages. Hmm… need to think this over. You may be on to something."

  "They might be planting data which is technically correct, but when taken out of context creates false correlations that can mislead you into believing a specific set of circumstances and cause you to engage in an alternate course of action."

  I nibbled on a fry. "Sounds complicated … not sure what you mean."

  "The Reader's Digest version — perhaps you were meant to focus on Marsden, when the real truth is elsewhere. Politicians do it all the time."

  A light came on in the dim recesses of my mind. "You may be on to something." His idea had merit. Perhaps we were asking the wrong questions.

  * * *

  Mack stopped by after lunch to tell us he was leaving. He had no more news but remained confident I would soon be on my way home. I told him about Barker's theory. He checked his Rolex and sat down.

  "That's an interesting interpretation and even more interesting because I've had similar thoughts. We took Marsden through the whole course, and at first, I was optimistic. But the more I think about it, the less sure I am. It just doesn't add up. Does that make sense?"

  "Yeah, we're on the same page."

  "It's not out of the realm of possibility they may be trying to create an impression they possess a capability that doesn't exist. We've done the same from time to time."

  "Now what?"

  Mack paused, deep in thought, and gazed keenly at the large map of Kenya on the wall. "I'll work on this new angle back at Huachuca. First, I'll run your idea by Michaels and we'll talk it up with the folks at Meade when we stop over." He shot a glance in my direction. "You're the only one with direct experience with the signal, so why don't you try to come up with an alternate explanation."

  "Speaking of Michael's, he mentioned the intercept in Iran. If I listened to their recording maybe—"

  "Don’t worry. We'll go over the Iranian intercept. But there may not be much to analyze."

  Frustration boiled up inside. "My memory of the signal is hazy. Don't have a good feel for it. I'd have to analyze the tape … but it's deep-sixed."

  "Understand. Just keep trying. Run the sequence of events through your mind. Maybe it'll come to you." Mack paused and contorted his face. "The deception angle … does sound interesting. I'll give it some thought. When we get back, we'll try to reconstruct Marsden's work based on what we've learned. Go back to the beginning. There could be other factors at play."

  Go back to the beginning … other factors. Yeah— like a stab in the back. "I can think of one, Palmer Bradbury, the senator. He was involved with Marsden from the beginning. For years, he's run interference for Simion Georgescu's shenanigans in congress. Both of them have been accused of shady dealings with the Russians. And to top it all off, his son works here at the embassy. I can't help but think they're involved somehow. Marsden's defection could have been a set up—"

  Mack bowed up and snapped, "Hold it right there. Accusing a sitting senator would open up a can of worms you don't need right now."

  "Yeah, but—"

  "Cool it, don't go off on another one of your tangents." He hesitated and continued with a calmer voice, "I agree it looks suspicious, but don't try to rock the boat. At least not just yet. Take this thing one-step at a time. Remember, you have to get out of here first. Wait 'till we have more information. We'll explore all the possibilities once we get back to Huachuca. Perhaps the Soviets have a new system that may be related, one we haven't considered. There may be something we missed."

  "Wait a minute. Do you remember a project last year out on the range? The one everyone got upset over."

  Mack gave me a quizzical look. "You mean the energy burst experiments?"

  "Yeah. They were testing an artillery shell designed to disrupt or damage electronic components on discharge. They sent out an electro-magnetic energy burst on detonation. We lost an entire day's data when they zapped everything within a three-mile radius."

  "Yes, I remember, but don't see how that relates to our signal."

  "Right after the last missile attack — the one where I didn't detect a signal — the Blackbird lost radio communications and had a power failure. None of my gear worked. The receiver and scopes were all dead. All we had left was the intercom between the cockpit and my position. Come to think of it, that’s when the engine quit, he called it an unstart. There was definitely something different about the last missile."

  Mack’s eyes brightened. "Hold on. Let’s get Michaels in on this." He rose from his chair and headed for the door. "The Navy flight can wait."

  * * *

  After listening to a recounting of Barker's ideas and my new interpretation of events, Michaels rubbed his chin and stared at the wall for a minute. According to Mack, he was a certified genius, a PhD from Cal Tech.

  "The energy burst idea sounds plausible. The results you described are consistent with our experiences. We do know they have considered the concept in theory, but I'm not aware of any actual tests or deployments. Most likely, they would have run into the same problems we had. As far as Marsden is concerned, I'm certain he was telling the truth, as he knows it. He was too scared. His fear was genuine."

  I didn't agree with his evaluation of Marsden's veracity, but another thought occurred to me. "What about the signals from Iran?"

  "The T-2 signal was similar to what you described from your intercept over Ethiopia. However, they collected only a fragment, not enough to determine the basic parameters."

  "How ‘bout the follow-up? Are they going to make it a priority or just sit on it?" I knew from experience that the folks back at Meade had their own ways of doing things.

  "Don’t have any word on the IBEX missions NSA requested. I'll check on their status first thing." He didn’t sound confident. "In the end, it may just be a coincidence. I’ll look into it back at Meade, but don’t get your hopes up."

  "So, you tend to believe Marsden perfected the third harmonic concept."

  "Haven’t seen any evidence to the contrary."

  "Yeah, but you didn't work with him on the Cochise project. I did, and it doesn't add up. Something smells fishy. He's pointed us in that direction, but it sounds too good to be true."

  Michaels appeared to be irritated at my contrarian views. "Your observations do raise questions. Unfortunately, a definitive answer to this puzzle lies on the bottom of the Indian Ocean." His face reflected disapproval. "You say Captain Barker came up with the deception scenario." His eyes narrowed. "Didn’t think he was cleared for—"

  "Hey, he placed his butt on the line, give him some slack. We didn't go into any technical details."

  Michaels, taken aback by my brisk defense of Barker, dropped his smug attitude. "Sorry, you're right." He gave Mack a quick glance and said, "Barker does seem to have a good feel for this business. Perhaps Wilson needs to recruit him and get him re-assigned to his group."

  "You think Wilson will survive this fiasco?" My confidence in Wilson and his whole operation was at low ebb.

  Michaels gave out a derisive sniff. "Obviously, you haven't worked with Wayne Wilson before. He's a survivor. Remember, he was a Wild Weasel. He knows how to identify, zero in, and destroy his target. He'll get all his ducks in a row and march them right through the front door of NSA. He has big plans for the Special Signals Research Project. The people upstairs understand what he is trying to do. He’ll make it work. You can count on it."

  "He's right about Wilson," Mack checked his watch. "We've got to go. I'll call you when we get to the states."

  Chapter 27 ~ Escape

  Friday, 24 February: Nairobi

  After Mack and Michaels left, there was little to do but wait. My movements limited to Barkers' office, the snack bar, and the Marine guardroom. Reduced to reading Barker's reference manuals and the morning newspapers, cabin fever took hold.

  The local papers had a field day, convinced Carlos the Jackal was on the loose in Kenya spreading mayhem. The p
olice implicated me in three more murders, two in Nairobi and one in Eldoret, hours away. The Kenyan government took precautions: prominent politicians assigned additional security, troops stationed at the airport and border crossings. If they ever caught me, I'd be the star of the most spectacular trial in Kenyan history.

  As troubling the prospect of arrest might be, it wasn't my biggest worry. Lisette was sure to see the newspapers. Her uncle would bring the story to her attention and prove he was right. If that happened, I was burnt toast.

  Lieutenant Colonel Gregory, the chief defense attaché, returned on the flight sent to pick up Mack and Michaels, his golf outing to Bahrain cut short. In Pentagon parlance, the junket was billed as a so-called area studies coordination conference.

  In a joint meeting with Reynolds, the CIA station chief, they made it clear I was not to speak to anyone in the embassy, except for Santini, Barker, and Karen. A persona non-grata, I sensed a set-up, an exercise in bureaucratic CYA.

  One thing was obvious: rely on my own resources to get home and don’t count on anyone at the embassy. Gregory and Reynolds were hostile to my well-being and upset the operation took place without their involvement. Santini and Barker might help, but I didn't want them to risk losing their careers.

  With limited options, there was only one person to turn to — Lara Dumont. True, she wasn’t happy with me, but she was still friends with Lisette. I had no other choice.

  A call to the French embassy on the office phone was too risky. Both embassies most likely maintained records of calls. I lacked the necessary credentials to sneak out and get back inside without detection. Moving about town with no passport or other identification was dicey, to say the least.

  "Got some good stuff for you." Sergeant King plopped a small pile of Playboy and Penthouse magazines on Barker's desk.

  A casual flip through an issue of Playboy paused on the centerfold, Miss December. "Thanks, just what I need." The buxom babe was filled out in places Lisette wasn’t.