The Devil's footprint hf-3

by VICTOR O'REILLY

  "I have consulted with experts," he said, "as to what may have happened, but, in truth, their opinions are academic, because we know without doubt that she survived.

  "The helicopter was low over the water when it was destroyed, and its side doors were open. The theory is that an initial explosion inside the cabin blew her out and into the sea. The after-action reports spoke of multiple explosions. By the time the main explosion occurred, perhaps only a second later, Oshima was almost certainly already in the sea. Alternatively, when she realized that the helicopter was certain to be destroyed, she may have jumped.

  "She was picked up by a small fishing boat some hours later. She had disfiguring facial injuries and had minor burns and was exhausted, but she could function. To conceal her survival, she killed all the crew.

  "At his point we might have lost track of Oshima completely, except that luck was on our side. Normally, she is extraordinarily secretive and contacts only proven members of the inner circle of her organization. In this case, she was penniless, injured, and on the run, so she headed for the nearest haven, the home of a purported Yaibo sympathizer and right-wing extremist, Shuo Hori. She did not know Hori well, but Yaibo had supplied him with weapons in the past and she had every reason to think that he would be trustworthy.

  "As it happened, Hori- san was a deep penetration agent of Koancho and had been in place for many years. His main role was to keep an eye on extremists rather than terrorists. No one dreamed that he would come across a terrorist as significant as Oshima. But he is a resourceful man and he responded well to the challenge of what to do. He took her in and cared for her, and when he got a chance he contacted his superiors.

  "Our immediate reaction would normally have been to pick up Oshima and that would have been that," continued the Spider, "but Hori- san saw Oshima's arrival as his big chance to make a mark, the case of a lifetime. He proposed to his control that he befriend Oshima, work his way into her confidence, and thus penetrate the very heart of the terrorist movement.

  "Given Oshima's violent record, it was a very risky strategy. Not only was Hori- san personally in danger, but it would mean leaving a known dangerous terrorist loose – and one who almost certainly would want revenge. She had nearly been killed, and many of her group had been destroyed. It seemed unlikely that she would let this pass without a response.

  "Hori- san 's proposal was referred to the highest levels, where it was considered for several days. The initial reaction was to reject it, but then it was suggested that it Oshima could be encouraged to flee this country, we would have a chance to learn about Yaibo's international network without putting Japanese citizens and property at risk. Of course, this would only work if Hori- san fled with her."

  Silently furious though she was at not having been included in the operation, Chifune could not argue with either its daring or its logic. It was also quite cynical. The unstated corollary of letting Oshima flee was that if Japanese interests were not harmed and, indeed, advanced, it was of no concern that other nationalities might suffer. But such cynicism was not unique to Japanese security. It was fundamental to her trade in every country.

  "A complex operation was mounted to make fleeing Japan seem a highly desirable option for Oshima and her new friend. Normally, such an intensive series of raids might have aroused suspicion of Hori- san , but in this case considerable police activity was to be expected. Oshima had been shot and many Yaibo members killed during an attack mounted in the very center of Tokyo. A major response from the authorities was both inevitable and expected. The trick was to bracket Oshima and Hori- san without actually capturing them. Thanks to Hori- san 's information, that is exactly what we were able to do.

  "They fled initially to the Middle East, as expected. Oshima has never stayed in one place for too long, so she and Hori- san flitted from Libya to Lebanon and then Syria, and we received much good intelligence. But then there were some unexpected developments. First, she met a renegade American scientist in Libya, Edgar Rheiman, who was on the run from the U.S. authorities, and then a Mexican general, Luis Barragan, arrived on the scene. He was buying arms and recruiting mercenaries to protect his base in the state of Tecuno run by a certain Governor Diego Quintana.

  "He found more than he could have hoped for in his wildest dreams. The American scientist, Edgar Rheiman, had some very specialized weapons expertise he was trying to sell, and General Luis Barragan was in the market and had the necessary capital. And to round everything off, Oshima and Barragan became lovers. All of them, including Hori- san, decamped for Mexico and suddenly the operation crossed the line between acceptable risk and out of control. And to make it worse, our agent's ability to communicate from Mexico is very limited."

  The Spider paused and sipped his tea, and Chifune understood that it was now acceptable that she should ask questions.

  " Sensei, I am not sure I fully understand. What is the significance of this scientist Edgar Rheiman, and why is the operation now no longer acceptable?"

  The Spider spoke without emotion for about ten minutes. Chifune's mind raced as she pieced together the elements and assessed the various possible implications. This was not just a case of an operation going wrong. It was a veritable nightmare. It was just horrendous.

  She was quite shaken. It then came to her that she was not just receiving a background briefing.

  "Tanabu- san," said the Spider quietly, "though the circumstances dictated it, I regret deeply that you were not fully informed earlier. But that is in the past. Now the situation has to be resolved as discreetly as possible." He then told her exactly what he had in mind.

  Chifune's heart leaped when Fitzduane's name was mentioned. Then the complexities of the task ahead of her hit home. It was probably the best way to achieve the desired result, but it would be a very difficult operation.

  "You may take Inspector Oga with you," said the Spider in conclusion, "and such other sources as you may need will be provided." He indicated a thick file on his desk. "This is the operation file. I think you will find it helpful."

  The meeting was at an end. Chifune stood up and bowed respectfully.

  The Spider stood up also and returned her bow. This was not the dismissal of an employee but an acknowledgment of a different, stronger relationship.

  "Tanabu- san," said the Spider. "You must know that despite appearances, I have never doubted you."

  Chifune bowed again and left. She felt drained, exhilarated, awed, and confused. She fought to get control of her feelings. The sight of a sensible, solid, reliable Inspector Oga was like a breath of fresh air.

  "Oga- san," she said. "You must practice your already excellent English."

  Oga contemplated Chifune's face. It was slightly flushed. There was a mixture of emotions coming from her. Her normal reserve was missing. Whatever had been said by the Spider was rather more than routine. He suspected it might involve the gaijin. He said nothing.

  "We are going to America," she said.

  "North or South," said Oga lightly.

  Chifune's face clouded over as the significance of the mix of Reiko Oshima and Edgar Rheiman hit home. "Probably both," she said grimly, and strode off down the corridor.

  Oga, the smile gone from his face, walked after her.

  5

  General Shane Kilmara, commander of the Irish Rangers – Ireland's elite counterterrorist and special-operations force – sipped at his brandy and smiled.

  "One of Washington's finer French restaurants and a private room. And this from a man who normally forgets to offer me a hot dog, and always forgets the mustard. What is on your mind, William?"

  The man with the thinning hair and high domed forehead sitting on the other side of the table blew a smoke ring into the air. Neither man normally smoked, but good cigars were an occasional exception. Both had a weakness for Cuban, and Kilmara had brought a box when he had flown in from Ireland. Since he was received personally by Deputy Director for Operations of the CIA, clearing customs with such embarg
oed goods was not a problem.

  They had known each other since both the Irish and the CIA had been knee-deep in the Congo in the 1960s. The Congo operation was long in the past – the country had even changed its name to Zaire – but the relationship had endured. Each man considered it more an alliance than a friendship, but mutual regard had sneaked in nonetheless. You tended to learn the true worth of someone over a quarter of a century.

  In Kilmara's opinion, the CIA was much maligned. They were very far from perfect and they had their fair share of self-serving bureaucrats, but they had some very good people. Even more to the point, imperfect or not, they were necessary.

  William Martin was not quite ready yet to get to the point. "What is the U.S. doing wrong on counterterrorism, Shane?" he said. "You've got more experience than most. I'd value your opinion."

  "You already know my opinions," said Kilmara. "Too many cooks and not enough terrorists. Closing down an airport when there is a bomb scare is not counterterrorism. Crucially, your political direction is weak and you don't approach the whole thing at the right cerebral level. You've got to know your enemy, really understand the fuckers!

  Fundamentally, you don't think there is a real threat. The U.S. is too big and too strong. Even if there are hordes of bad guys running around doing their worst, you don't think they can do more than inflict the occasional pinprick.

  "And you're wrong. There is all kinds of lethal junk floating around in the world these days, and it is only a matter of time before some of it falls into the wrong hands. Nuclear, chemical, biological. It is all available at the right price. That's the downside of the collapse of communism and the introduction of market economies. Everything has a price and the people I am worried about have money. Shit, they have even got credit cards."

  He smiled a little grimly. "And they surely do have motivation." He sipped some more brandy. "The trick is to demotivate them – in advance. Carrot and stick, both applied with vigor and subtlety. You people don't do that. You wait until something happens and then pursue the perps to the ends of the earth – subject to the political exigencies. A big qualification. That just won't cut it. Someday they will do something and there won't be any earth left to pursue them around."

  He looked directly at the DDO. "As I keep telling you, William, counterterrorism is a serious business. It isn't just jobs for the boys or for a bunch of jocks with guns. Every so often you have got to deploy those little gray cells and then do something! Capisce?"

  William Martin nodded his head in acknowledgment. He knew Kilmara was right, but the reality of being ‘ The Superpower’ was that you moved with the subtlety and coordination of a herd of elephants.

  Hell, the Pentagon actually had press quarters inside it and the CIA was knee-deep in congressional oversight committees. That did not make for preemptive surgical strikes. It did make for an undue focus on ass-covering and gave new meaning to the word leak. It also had a disturbing effect on priorities. In practical day-to-day terms, a genocidal war in Africa was of scant consequence. A negative article in the Washington Post was serious. And congressional hearings were a crisis.

  Given the mandate of the CIA, that was almost exactly the reverse of the way things should be.

  It was one hell of a bloody world. But you dealt with the world the way it was. Idealists had notions. Practical people just dealt with things the way they were. Which was just as well, because nothing ever really changed.

  It was time to focus.

  "Hugo Fitzduane," said Martin. "How exactly does he fit into your operation these days?"

  "Hugo is his own man," said Kilmara. "But we work together very closely. He has a part-time commission in the Rangers and we train on his island. But mostly he does his own thing. His latest baby is this counterterrorist think tank. They're doing some very good analytical work. Governments don't have a monopoly on talent. Hell, you should know. The agency subscribes."

  Martin nodded. "We're concerned about the company he's keeping and what it could lead to. We have enough internal political problems without you people being caught in the middle. A little friendly advice might be in order. Tell Hugo to go and play elsewhere."

  Kilmara laughed. "William, you know Hugo. Say something like that and he'll get curious and then you'll never get rid of him. Appeal to his reason, on the other hand, and you are in with a chance. So tell me the problem and I'll see what I can do. Let's start with the Congressional Task Force on Terrorism."

  Martin snorted and then spoke with some anger. "A bunch of congressional staffers have no business at all in getting involved with counterterrorism. That's the job of the CIA and other agencies. Congress should have nothing to do with it. These people even go out into the field, for Christ's sake. They have no right. They should stick on the Hill and do what they are paid to do."

  "As I understand it," said Kilmara, "the Congressional Task Force came into being because they identified some serious gaps in counterterrorism work and they consider their oversight role on seeing how a modest twenty-eight billion is spent on intelligence work justifies some examination. Further, they travel because how else are they going to now what is really going on?"

  "All of that is true, but it's not the fucking point," said Martin. "The underlying fact is that counterterrorism belongs to the CIA abroad and the FBI here and we can't have a bunch of loose cannons screwing up what we're doing."

  "Even if they are right?" said Kilmara.

  " Especially if they are right," said Martin. "And frequently they are. But the end result of showing up the Agency is that we get out credibility damaged and maybe our budget cut, and that does not help the security of the United States of America. And it certainly does not help the work that people like myself are trying to do on the inside. You have got to look at the bigger picture."

  Kilmara eyed his cigar, which had chosen to die when he was not paying attention. Cuban cigars did that. He applied a match to the tip and blew smoke while he thought.

  Counterterrorism was very necessary, but the effectiveness of the designated agencies was not in proportion to the resources spent. An underlying problem was the counterterrorism had become an industry in its own right, and that meant jobs, money, power and influence, and not a few thriving little empires that had little to do with the ultimate objective.

  The Congressional Task Force's problem was that with minimal resources they were showing what could be done. They were succeeding because they were dedicated and focused and the few people they had were of the highest caliber. And their very success was in danger of giving Congress as a whole some radical ideas about what could be done with less money and more of a sense of purpose.

  No wonder the CIA, rocked with scandal recently and therefore particularly vulnerable, was upset.

  Fitzduane, on a routine getting-to-know-you trip, had stepped right into a turf fight. And Martin had a point. There was a bigger picture. And almost certainly there was a trigger issue lurking around. He thought back over his recent discussions with Hugo. It was fairly clear what it must be.

  Mexico.

  "Let me float a thought," said Kilmara. "Tecuno. Governor Diego Quintana is your man."

  The Deputy Director of Operations, CIA, was refilling both of their glasses when Shane Kilmara spoke. Mentally he screamed a loud "Holy shit!" but was pleased that otherwise he had not reacted. His hand was still rock steady.

  He looked at Kilmara with his best WASP career CIA man's look. In control; urbane; confident; all-knowing. We talk to satellites. The NSA can break all codes. We know things that you don't.

  "You are pouring our brandy on the floor," said Kilmara kindly.

  Martin looked down at his faithless hand. It was still rock steady. And it was.

  *****

  The DDO looked at his cigar, but there was not enough left to use as a smoke screen. Besides, he had to share this can of worms with someone, and Kilmara was nothing if not trustworthy. And he just might have an idea. And the DDO had drunk just enough
to be indiscreet.

  "The Agency has been bankrolling the PRI, Mexico's ruling party, for years to keep them strong against communism. To repay the favor, we turn a blind eye at drugs and similar scams, and if some Mexican mover and shaker like Quintana wants to set himself up as a local warlord, that is fine by us. Just as long as he is against communism."

  "So Governor Quintana is your man," said Kilmara.

  "Well, he was," said Martin. "Now he is so fucking rich he does not need us anymore. But he remains on the books as an asset. He is a psychopath. He makes Saddam Hussein look like a choirboy – but he is our psychopath. And experience shows that the Agency needs psychopaths. There are things that need to be done that only people like that will do."

  "William, how do you sleep at night?" said Kilmara.

  "I look at the bigger picture and count the pixels," said Martin, "until the whiskey cuts in."

  He stood up and stretched, then walked to the window and looked down at the street below. "So what about Fitzduane, then?" he said. "Is he getting involved or reverting to tourist?"

  Kilmara chuckled. "He's becoming a father in six months, so he isn't planning anything foolish. He was asked, but he turned them down. So relax. And that's hot news from the horse's mouth."

  Martin left the window and stood with his hands in his pockets looking down at Kilmara, who was still sitting back comfortably. "You know, Shane, just between us, this whole damn thing makes me very uneasy. I'm following policy, but I think those congressional troublemakers are right. Maurice Isser is the smartest damn analyst I have ever come across, and Cochrane, Maury, and Warner make one hell of a team. If they smell something rotten, then they're right."

  "But you're not going to do anything," said Kilmara.

  "Not a damn thing," said Martin. "And by the way, when is your boy leaving town?"

  "You sound like the sheriff," said Kilmara, amused. "Tomorrow all three of us are off to Fayetteville to do a little homework. I am somewhat surprised that Kathleen is coming, but I guess she will tour the area while we go to the exhibition."