Collateral Damage

by Stuart Woods

  “What is it, Lance?” Kate asked.

  “Tom Riley, London station chief, is on the phone with something important.”

  Kate reached for the phone near her and pressed the line button and the speaker control. “Good morning, Tom. We are assembled at the regular morning briefing. Everyone is here. What’s happening?”

  A large flat-screen monitor flickered to life and revealed a man in his late forties with an iron-gray, old-fashioned crew cut. “Good morning, Director, everybody. Local TV news is running a breaking news report of a large explosion at a Porsche dealership just off Berkeley Square. One of our people was lunching at the Connaught and saw the foreign secretary leave the dining room perhaps three minutes earlier. A Jaguar that might well be his official car was passing the dealership when the explosion took place, and anyone inside the car is now dead. We’re awaiting the running of the plate number, which begins with FO, indicating a Foreign Office vehicle.” News footage of a burning car filled the screen.

  “Tom,” Kate said, “if the foreign secretary was in the car, do you have an opinion as to whether this was intended as an attack on him or if he was just at the wrong place at the wrong time?”

  “I’m afraid that would be much too large a coincidence to be credible,” Riley said. “Hang on, I’ve just had confirmation that the number plate belonged to the foreign secretary’s car, and our own man reports seeing the man get into the car in front of the Connaught.”

  “Any thoughts on the perpetrators?” Kate asked.

  “Too many possibilities to make an educated guess at this point, but we’re on it, and we have good sources at New Scotland Yard, so we should have an idea soon.”

  “Anything else, Tom?”

  “Not at this time, Director.”

  “Keep us posted, then.” She pressed the button, and the screen went dark. “Not every day we have the assassination of a cabinet member in a major European ally,” she said to the table at large. “Lance? Anything?”

  “Nothing that would have led us to anticipate such an event, Director,” Cabot replied. “Not a peep. I find it interesting that the perpetrators decided to take out a building and God knows who and what else at a corner of London’s most famous square, in an effort to take out one man. I think there’s a statement there.”

  “Director,” Holly said, “given the timing, there must have been an operative on or near the site to set off the explosion.”

  “Good point, Holly,” Kate said. “Will you call Tom back when we’re done and ask him to get every possible angle of surveillance footage from New Scotland Yard? London has thousands of these cameras. I’m sure Special Branch is already reviewing the recording, but we might be able to spot somebody not in their files.”

  “Yes, Director,” Holly said, making a note. As she did, Holly had a thought, but it was too soon to bring it up, and certainly not in this meeting.

  “Did I detect something just now, Holly? An idea?”

  “Just a wild guess, Director. I’d like to run it down a little before I make an ass of myself.”

  That gained a chuckle from the dozen men and women present.

  “Oh, go on, Holly, I’d like a view into your frontal lobe. Entertain us.”

  Holly shrugged. “If you insist, Director. You will recall that, last week, a London asset of ours and his brother were involved in planting bombs at an L.A. location. They are both dead now.”

  “For which we can thank the appropriate person at this table,” Kate said.

  Lance lifted an eyebrow. “Did those two gentlemen have an accomplice we are unaware of, Holly?”

  “They had a sister,” Holly said, and the room became very still.

  “Ah, yes,” Lance said. “Remind us.”

  “Jasmine,” Holly said, “the youngest of the three Shazaz siblings.”

  “Whereabouts?” Kate asked, looking at Lance.

  Lance merely shook his head.

  “Holly? A guess?”

  “Her two brothers lived in London,” Kate said. “Perhaps she did, too.”

  “They had a rather elegant house, as I recall. Where was it?”

  “Cheyne Walk, beside the Thames, in Chelsea.”

  “Ah, yes. When you speak to Tom, raise that subject, please. I’d like to know where Ms. Shazaz is, or when she was last sighted.”

  “She was in Palo Alto when the West Coast bombs were made,” Holly said. She did not mention that one of the bombs had been a nuclear device, because she didn’t know how many of the people in the room knew that. Lance probably did, but maybe not the others.

  “Oh,” the director said. It was a very expressive word. “Why the hell didn’t we bag her?”

  Lance spoke up. “We didn’t bag anybody until after the Palo Alto operation had been shut down,” he said, “and intel led us to believe that she was already out of the country when we bagged her brothers.”

  “Did intel indicate where out of the country?” Kate asked.

  “No, Director, not at the time. Perhaps we have a better idea now.”

  “Could this be a revenge killing?” Kate asked. “Or is there a larger motive afoot?”

  Holly spoke. “It might be said that the foreign secretary was connected to recent events in California, in the person of the head of MI-6, who was present in L.A.”

  “Perhaps you’d better give that lady a jingle,” Kate said, “and let her know of your, ah … opinion. I would hate to hear of some later event that we might have helped to stop.”

  “With your permission, I’ll make that call now,” Holly said.

  “Please do so.”

  Holly rose and returned to her office next to the director’s, her heart beating a little faster.

  Holly dialed the London direct line for Felicity Devonshire, known as “Architect,” head of MI-6.

  “Yes?” a male voice asked.

  “This is Holly Barker, assistant director of intelligence, calling from Langley, Virginia, for Architect.”

  “Architect is presently unavailable,” the man said. “I’ll say you called.” He hung up without further ado.

  Well, that was short, Holly thought. She might as well go back to the meeting. Then her phone rang. “Holly Barker.”

  “It’s Felicity. I’m sorry my assistant was short with you. As you can imagine, we’re in the middle of a flap here.”

  “The director asked me to call and give you an idea that arose at our daily briefing this morning.”

  “I’d be grateful for any suggestion, of course.”

  “It occurred to us that this act might be revenge for the deaths of Ari Shazaz, aka Hamish McCallister, and his brother, Mohammad.”

  Felicity was briefly silent. “Well, that’s a stretch, but …”

  “Are you aware that the Shazazes have a sister who was complicit in the bomb making?”

  “One moment.” Felicity covered the phone and could be heard to speak authoritatively to someone in the room. “No, we are not aware of that. Do you have details?”

  “Her name is Jasmine, she is the youngest of the three siblings, and she may have shared Hamish’s London residence, in Cheyne Walk. I’m afraid that’s all we have, but we would certainly be grateful for anything you learn.”

  “Of course,” Felicity said, “and I thank you for the call, Holly. Please give my very best to Kate and thank her for thinking of us. Now, if you’ll excuse me …”

  “Of course.” But Felicity had already hung up. Holly was about to return to the briefing when her phone rang again. “Holly Barker.”

  “Holly, this is Tim Coleman. Is the director available?” Coleman was the president’s chief of staff.

  “Good morning, Tim. She’s in the daily intelligence briefing at the moment, but if it’s urgent I can interrupt.”

  “No, don’t do that. You’re in the loop on this, so I’ll tell you, and you can tell her.”

  “All right.”

  “The Oak Ridge nuclear plant has run some tests on the fissionable ma
terial found in the California device. It’s a match for a smaller sample that turned up a few months ago that is suspected to have originated in Iran.”

  The hairs on Holly’s arm stood up. “That hasn’t been confirmed?”

  “No, but we have samples of the enriched uranium from the stores of all the other nuclear-capable countries, and it doesn’t match any of them, so it has to be from either Iran or North Korea.”

  “I see,” Holly said. “Is anything else known about the California material?”

  “No, but the fact that the late Dr. Kharl supplied the material is another connection to one of those two countries.”

  Dr. Kharl, who had assembled the California device, was recently deceased, an order that Holly had transmitted from the director, after presidential approval. He had been instrumental in the Pakistani nuclear weapons program, as well as the North Korean program, and had been thought to be available to just about anyone with the cash.

  “I agree,” Holly said. “Anything else, before I drop this bombshell on the director?”

  “Just don’t expand the loop. See you later.” Coleman hung up.

  Holly hung up, too. That meant she couldn’t bring it up at the briefing. She went back into the room and waited, trying to hide her impatience, while Lance concluded his report. He was talking of the penetration of an Iranian army unit connected with that country’s nuclear program.

  The director glanced at her. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said when Lance had finished, “unless there’s something else of level one importance, you’ll have to hold any other information until tomorrow’s briefing. Thank you all.” She stood up, signaling that everyone should leave, and with a motion of her head indicated that Holly should follow her.

  Holly left the room and followed the director to her office, where she took the indicated seat.

  “You’ve learned something new,” Kate said.

  “First, Felicity and her people were not aware of the existence of Jasmine Shazaz, but now they are, and they will be checking out the Cheyne Walk house. I told her about that on my own authority, reasoning that MI-6 could get in there faster and more thoroughly than London station could, and with less of a local flap, and I think she’ll feel obligated to share.”

  “I concur.”

  “A second thing: Tim Coleman called and asked for you, but declined to interrupt your briefing. Since I’m in the loop he told me that Oak Ridge has determined that the enriched uranium in the California device most likely came from either Iran or North Korea, since it was introduced by Dr. Kharl and is not a match for that of any of the programs we’re familiar with.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t blurt that out in the briefing,” Kate said.

  “No, ma’am, I know the loop is small. I don’t even know if it includes Lance.”

  “You and I are the loop in this agency,” Kate replied, “and we’re going to keep it that way. Outside, it’s the Secret Service, Mike Freeman of Strategic Services, and Stone Barrington, who somehow managed to stop the clock on that thing without blowing us all to kingdom come, and Dino Bacchetti. And the president, of course, which accounts for Tim Coleman being inside, too.”

  “There’s one other,” Holly said.

  “And who might that be?” Kate asked sharply.

  “The reporter from Vanity Fair, Kelli Keane, who was in the room with the device when it was stopped.”

  “Good God,” Kate moaned.

  “Stone had a very serious word with her afterward, and impressed on her the importance of the event never having taken place.”

  “Do you think that will be enough to keep her lid on? I mean, she’s a journalist, for God’s sake!”

  “Stone thought she got the message.”

  “Did he threaten her?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “Holly, I want you to leave for New York immediately, by the fastest conveyance available, pick her up, sit her down in a quiet room, and frighten her to the bottom of her soul.”

  Holly stood up. “Yes, ma’am. Is there anything else?”

  “Do you have any doubts about the ability of Stone Barrington to keep this to himself forever? And Dino Bacchetti? It was his gun.”

  “No, ma’am, I have no doubts about either of them. They’re both under contract to the Agency as consultants and, as such, have the highest security clearance.”

  “Good. Get going.”

  Holly went to her office, picked up a phone and called the director of transportation. “This is Assistant Director Holly Barker. Is there a chopper on the pad right now?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the man replied, “but it’s leaving momentarily for Dulles, to pick up a visiting dignitary.”

  “Cancel that flight immediately and find another way to transport the dignitary. I want the aircraft fueled and the flight plan filed for New York by the time I can get down there.” She hung up without another word, got her ready bag from her closet, and headed for the elevator.

  The rotors were already turning on the brand-new Sikorsky X2 helicopter, not even certified yet, but on loan to the Agency. Holly hadn’t expected this, but she was looking forward to the ride. She hopped into the cabin and buckled in.

  After what seemed like only a moment, the sleek machine was flying north, directly into the D.C. no-fly zone and at no more than a thousand feet. She put on her headset. “Hey,” she said to the pilot, “aren’t we a little low?”

  “On purpose, ma’am,” the pilot said. “No traffic over Washington at this altitude.”

  “Can this thing really break two hundred fifty knots?”

  “That’s classified, ma’am, but you have an honest face, so yes, ma’am. It’s the fastest chopper ever, and it’s all mine! I guess you got your seat belt fastened?”

  “I have.”

  “Well, right after we blow past the White House, I’m going to show you some climb performance.”

  “You go right ahead.” Holly looked out her window and the White House blew by, indeed; she could see the ground-to-air missile launchers on the roof. Suddenly, the helicopter raised its nose, and Holly looked over the pilot’s shoulder at the speed tape on the glass cockpit’s pilot’s flight display. It was moving too fast for her to keep up with. Then they leveled at twelve thousand feet, leaving her stomach in the air, and the climb seemed to have taken but a moment.

  “You enjoy that?” the pilot asked.

  “I’ve always loved roller coasters,” she replied.

  “We’ll be on the East Side pad in less than an hour.”

  “Does the satphone work?” she asked.

  “On this bird, everything works, ma’am.”

  Holly picked up the phone, called the Agency’s East Side facility and asked for the agent in charge.

  He came on the line immediately. “Holly Barker?”

  “That’s right. I’m inbound for the East Side Heliport, ETA forty-five minutes. I need a vehicle to meet me, and I need an immediate location for a Kelli Keane, a writer for Vanity Fair magazine. She’s freelance and may work from home.”

  “We’re on it.”

  “Send a team to find her, stat, then politely but firmly bring her to your location. Clear a room for me to have a quiet chat with her. No video or audio, is that clear?”

  “Clear.”

  “Over and out.” Holly hung up the phone and sat back to watch the countryside stream past her window.

  —

  Kelli Keane was having lunch with a woman friend at a chic downtown restaurant when her cell phone went off. “Kelli Keane.”

  “Ms. Keane, my name is Carlson, and I am a federal agent. I need to speak to you alone at the front door of the restaurant immediately. My people will settle your check, so go there now, understood?”

  “No, not understood.”

  “If it will be more convenient for you, I can send two agents into the restaurant to assist you outside. Would you prefer that?”

  “All right, all right, how long?”

&nb
sp; “Ten seconds.” The line went dead.

  “Carolyn,” Kelli said to her companion, “it seems something urgent has come up and I’ll have to leave, maybe for a few minutes, maybe longer. The check will be taken care of.” Kelli looked toward the front door and saw two large men in dark suits walk in and look around. “Gotta go,” she said to the astonished Carolyn. The door was open when she got there.

  “Straight ahead,” one of the men said, assisting her along by the elbow and nearly lifting her off her feet. She found herself in the rear seat of a black SUV between the two men, and the windows were blacked out.

  “All right,” Kelli said, “what the hell is going on here?”

  “Be quiet,” the man said. “Someone wishes to speak with you. We’ll reach your first destination in twenty minutes.”

  “Then what?” she asked, but no one answered her.

  Twenty minutes later, the car drove into an underground garage and stopped at an elevator. Several floors later, she was put into what appeared to be a small living room, furnished with a sofa, chairs, and a small dining table. The door closed behind her before she could ask where they were.

  —

  After the helicopter landed, Holly held the headset mike to her lips. “That was just amazing,” she said to the pilot. “Thanks so much.” Then she hopped out of the chopper and, eight steps later, into a black SUV. Six minutes after that, the car went underground, and she was rising in the elevator. The AIC was waiting for her.

  “She’s in a holding room,” he said.

  “Remember, no video, no audio, and no peeking. Got it?”

  “Got it.” He led the way down the hall, opened the door, and closed it behind her.

  Holly found Kelli Keane sitting at the table, trying to use her iPhone. She recognized her from having seen her at The Arrington hotel in Los Angeles, but they had not met. “Your phone won’t work,” she said.

  Kelli put the phone back into her purse. “You look familiar,” she said. “Were you in L.A. a couple of weeks ago?”