Dead Water

by Russ Snyder

  "No, you can't. I need you to do whatever it is you can, but you have to be certain of any results; that I agree with. Keep me posted."

  "Absolutely," Lang was able to interject before the president hung up.

  The president's secretary, Alice Pritchard, called him. "Sir, remember you have that ceremony in Baltimore tomorrow."

  "What ceremony, Alice?"

  "Honoring the governor. He's celebrating forty years in public service."

  "Oh yeah. You're right. I forgot. I suppose it's formal?"

  "Of course. Don't worry, I've got your nice tux all set. Plus you have your entire staff to help dress you."

  "No need for sarcasm, Alice."

  "Sir, whatever do you mean?" Alice asked innocently.

  Director Lang then called Olivia Watson, his assistant director. "Tell me you have found something."

  "Getting close, sir. Larkin appears to be correct; it seems as though this agent is synthetic. Someone created it. We still don't know how it seems to disappear. Larkin is now working on the theory that it somehow turns on itself. I tend to agree with this. There just doesn't seem to be any other plausible explanation. Whoever thought this up is a diabolical genius. Nothing in nature does this. It's an entirely new concept. Once this process starts, there doesn't seem to be any way to stop it. It just dies its own death in an unnaturally short amount of time."

  Director Lang was short with his assistant. "I want a detailed written report on what we've found so far on my desk in thirty minutes," he said, slamming the phone down. He then called the White House and spoke with Laura Green. "Please tell the president I will have a report for him within the hour."

  "Will do." The conversation ended without pleasantries.

  Lawrence Larkin looked up as Joey Tanelli entered his office carrying two cups of coffee and sporting an angry look on his face

  "I'll be damned if I can figure out just how this bug disappears. I can't positively ID this residue we've found in the blood. I've been working bioagents for over twenty years, and I've never seen anything like this," Larkin said, exasperated, taking the coffee.

  Tanelli agreed. "It's beyond me. With everything we've done, we still don't know shit about how this works. Worse, we have no clue how to stop it." He sat down in the brown leather chair opposite Larkin's desk, placing his coffee cup on a cork coaster.

  "I'm thinking the only way to stop this is simply not let it get started. It acts so fast, by the time any countermeasures could be taken, it's going to be too late, anyway. I'm inclined to believe the only way to beat this is to find whoever is responsible and remove the threat entirely," Larkin declared. "I doubt Lang is going to like this."

  "Are you kidding? He's still pissed that you called the DPO, never mind his ass couldn't be found. I've worked under five directors, and this guy is a clown," fumed Tanelli. "The only thing he's really interested in is his power and keeping his ego intact. I was really hoping that with the change in the administration we'd get a new director. I still do."

  "Good luck with that one."

  11

  Myra Banks walked into Bernard Backersley's office. Backersley, on the phone, pointed for her to sit. She sat patiently for the two minutes it took him to finish his call.

  Hanging up, he asked, "So what have you found out about Darlene Phillips?"

  "What I suspected, primarily. She analyzes all the data that is fed to the DPO. She now has her mail delivered to a post office box. She started that ten days after she left us."

  "Why do you suppose she did that?" Backersley inquired.

  "It could be for any number of reasons. One might be that perhaps she travels. That is an educated guess."

  "Traveling for what?"

  "I'd say the DPO. I'm beginning to think there is more to this new agency than what appears. I will say again, this is making me extremely uncomfortable. I can't think of anyone I would rather not screw around with. I don't think you understand this woman's capability with computers. As smart as you are with everything, with computers, this woman is infinitely smarter."

  "What is it about her that makes you so nervous?"

  Myra Banks couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Haven't you been listening to me? I'm telling you flat out, this woman is dangerous. I have no doubt whatsoever that this lady can do things with a computer that I can't even dream of, and I'm damned good. I think we are playing with fire here. I'd rather spy on the president himself. I'm only offering you what I believe to be reality. What you choose to do with that information is up to you. I'll do whatever you ask, but I am warning you, we are on very thin ice with her."

  Backersley was quiet for a moment before he straightened up in his chair. "Myra, I can't see how anyone could be that far above you in computer skills. That's why you're where you are. I want to know as much about this Phillips as you can find out, specifically what she does with the DPO. Be careful, but do it."

  Banks got up to leave. As she headed for the door, she retorted, "Maybe they'll give us adjoining cells."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" Backersley snapped.

  "It means that this is going to end up biting us in the ass. Just you wait---I'll remind you of this conversation," she said, storming out.

  Backersley waited a few moments and then picked up a secure phone. After dialing a number, a computer-generated voice answered, "Yes?"

  "I want you to do a search for me. Darlene Phillips. She worked for us up until a while back when President Williams snatched her from me to work for his new Department of the Presidential Office. Find out what you can. Be careful---she's supposed to be some real wizard with computers."

  "I don't expect any problems," the voice replied.

  "Good. Get back to me ASAP. I've got my girl on it, but she's scared of this woman. I want you to work on it also."

  "My usual fee, of course?"

  "If you get me the info I want, I'll double it."

  "Consider it done." The call ended.

  Backersley then placed a call to the president. The president's secretary informed Backersley that the president was in a meeting and would call him back shortly. Backersley hung up angry. He did not like being called back. He considered himself the president's most important asset and always assumed that his calls should be taken immediately. What he did not know was that President Williams was pacing in the Oval Office and simply didn't want to take his call. He knew that Backersley would not have any information that he did not already know and wasn't in the mood to listen to his complaints.

  Starr boarded the elevator, pushed the button, and headed for Phillips's room. She had scheduled a meeting for 6:00 p.m., and he had ten minutes to spare. He wondered if she had come up with anything. He had an uneasy feeling in his stomach, and that was bothering him.

  One at a time, Starr, Styles, and Christman discreetly arrived. They found her with three laptops open on the coffee table in her room. "Grab a seat, guys. Be with you in a minute," she said with a surprising look in her eyes. "There's bottled water in the fridge."

  Styles walked over and grabbed four and handed them out. The room featured a dining-room-style table with four chairs, and each grabbed one. Phillips joined them in about three minutes.

  "Okay," Starr observed, "what's with the smirk?"

  "Oh, just something I was expecting," she said with an unusual grin.

  "Want to let us in?" asked Christman.

  "Well, Myra Banks has been doing a search on me. In fact, she's doing one as we speak. She's starting to probe deeper, and she is specifically targeting the DPO." She paused as she took a drink of water and then continued, "I also got an e-mail notification from one of my special alerts. Remember I told you about some, uh, programs I installed in the CIA's mainframe when I was tasked with trying to find a mole? There is one other thing I didn't mention." She took another drink of water.

  Sta
rr, wanting to discuss what they had found at Northern Hunting Expeditions, was anxious for her to get to the point. "So get to it already."

  "Patience, Starr, patience. It seems that Backersley has someone else also doing a search on me, probably trying to either verify what Banks can find or, as he probably hopes, find out more," she answered.

  "And you know this how?" Starr asked.

  "Obviously, one of my programs," Phillips answered, grinning.

  "Can you find out who he's got doing the second search?" Christman asked.

  "J. C., please ... I set this program up three years ago, and this is the fifth time that Backersley has gone to this individual for help."

  Styles had been sitting quietly at the table, listening intently. Then he started to chuckle.

  Starr, getting more impatient, snapped, "And what in the hell is so funny?"

  Styles, ignoring Starr, looked at Phillips and nodded. "Good one, Darlene." Turning to Starr, he said, "Don't you see? Backersley has Darlene Phillips looking for Darlene Phillips."

  Phillips looked at Styles and said, "You know, there just may be hope for you yet. That is exactly what he is doing."

  Now, Starr was suddenly interested. "How are you doing that? I mean, what's going on?"

  "I set up a fictitious character. I don't need to go into all the details, but he was introduced to this person by Mossad, although Mossad has no idea they did this. Every once in a while, Backersley has used this person for various tasks. I've fed him information, usually backing up what someone else has found out. He uses this asset mostly for confirmation purposes. Now before you even ask, I have never given him any info that was not available from other resources. If I had, it could have been construed as treason. That was a line I was extremely careful not to approach, much less cross."

  Styles continued, "I assume there is financial compensation involved?"

  "Absolutely. Quite handsome, actually. All the monies are placed in a secret CIA account. The CIA has so many unknown accounts I can assure you that no one knows how many and exactly where they are. I seriously doubt Backersley knows more than, oh, maybe 75 percent of them. I don't even know how many there are. It'd take one hell of a long time to try to find them all, and I've got better things to do."

  "So what are you going to tell Backersley?" Starr wanted to know.

  "That depends on what Banks comes up with. I'll confirm what she finds, maybe throw a small, innocent bone into the mix, and call it a day."

  The table was quiet for a moment, and then all of them were chuckling aloud.

  "I've got to hand it to you, Phillips. Every time I think I might have you almost figured out, you pull one hell of a surprise out of your hat. That's something else," Christman added.

  Starr interjected, "So what did you two find out at the hunting place?"

  Christman looked at Phillips and nodded, so she took the lead.

  "From all appearances, it seems legit. They've got a hell of a celebrity client list, just your basic office computer gear, and no one there that we saw seemed suspicious to me. Of course, it could all be just a front. I'm going to dig deeper and see if I can find anything. I'll check their computers and see if they are aligned with any others. I'll go through e-mails, correspondence, and the usual stuff. What about you guys?"

  Starr answered, "We got the name of the chopper company they deal with up in Alaska, and Marv spotted an Iraqi working on one of their three floatplanes. Guess he was watching us pretty closely."

  "What do you think?" Christman asked Styles.

  "Don't ignore the obvious. We're looking into a terrorist activity, and we have an Iraqi in the mix. There's a connection somewhere, or it's one hell of a coincidence."

  "If that's your conclusion, it's good enough for me," Phillips threw in. "I've learned not to question your intuition. What's their name? I'll dig into them."

  "Inland Helicopter. Location is Bethel, Alaska."

  Phillips was headed back to her computers before he finished the sentence.

  Starr asked Christman, "So what kind of place was this Northern Hunting Expeditions?"

  "Pretty nice. Had a lot of stuffed trophy animals on display. Don't think PETA would approve. Lots of photos of celebrities. Like Phillips said, it appeared legit."

  "Looks like Bethel is our next visit," Styles said. "Might be a good idea not to land the jet there; we'll fly in close and drive. The plane might attract undue attention. Have a feeling it's a small town. We don't want to stick out."

  "Good idea," agreed Christman.

  Starr asked, "Anybody besides me hungry?"

  "Yes, but no damned pizza," answered Christman.

  Within minutes, four cheeseburger plates were on their way up to room 422.

  After finishing a quick dinner, with Christman looking at a map, he suggested, "I have an idea. Why not fly the jet to Nome and rent a plane to go to Bethel? That way we won't be drawing nearly as much attention. Remember, this is small-town Alaska, and our jet will draw attention that we don't need."

  Styles nodded, "Good one, J. C. That works for me. Be sure to rent something that we can haul some gear with. I'll go for a Cessna Stationair or Caravan. Either one will work fine. Those are common as mosquitoes up there, so we'll blend in. Hey, Phillips, you got a laptop to spare?"

  "Sure. Use the one on the far end."

  "Thanks."

  Phillips came back to the table. She had eaten her dinner without ever taking her eyes off her computer screens.

  "Myra Banks is definitely investigating the DPO. She's doing it under the guise of relations between the CIA and us overseas. She's fishing everywhere she can throw a line."

  "Has she found out anything damaging yet?" Starr asked

  "No, not really. She's confirmed J. C.'s identity, but you and Styles are under the radar. She got J. C.'s by a copy of his transfer orders. When there's time, I'm going to find out how that leaked. For now, she has little more than the official reports. Backersley must be on her ass pretty hard; she's gotten more brazen in her search. She has to know that I'll be onto her at some point. It appears as though she doesn't care. This has to be Backersley. She hasn't got the balls to do that on her own."

  Styles allowed himself a small smile. Phillips was definitely one of the boys. A real feeling of satisfaction came over him as he realized just how well this team had jelled, especially after the rough start.

  "You going to do anything or just let her fish?" he inquired.

  "Let her fish. She's good, but not good enough. She'll never break through any of my programs, which are the only way she could ever connect any dots. Other than one of us getting caught and spilling our guts. And that won't happen."

  "No, it won't," Starr said emphatically.

  "Are we ready to head up to Alaska?" Styles asked impatiently.

  "I suppose so," Starr replied. "J. C., how long will it take to get up there?"

  "Flight time, maybe an hour---that is, if we don't want to draw attention," he answered while on hold on his cell phone. "That will do fine," the three heard him say. "We're all set on the Cessna out of Nome."

  Styles looked at his watch. "Okay, let's go. We should be there a little after dark if we leave now. We won't bother to check out. Just leave the key cards on the table. Everybody okay with that?"

  The other three nodded.

  Phillips interrupted. "I've got something here. One of my programs intercepted some chatter on an underground website, and it's saying that an attack will take place here on Labor Day."

  Styles swore under his breath. "Well, we don't have much time. Let's move!"

  12

  Ryyaki Ali was holding a meeting with Jamil Abdul-Nasir, Rijah Ellhad, and Imad al-Bin. "I have given much thought to where we should strike. I would like your opinions on each. I have contemplated a public water supply; however, the timetable o
f the agent may not work to our advantage. I have considered a holiday spot involving water. This American holiday they refer to as Labor Day seems to bring these infidels out in celebration. There are many locations they flock to. One is Lake Mead in Nevada. Thousands of people will go out in their decadent lack of clothing on their boats. It also is the water supply for the center of these Western degenerate infidels, Las Vegas. We may also be able to infiltrate that source. Regardless, thousands will die along with everything in that lake. I believe it would make a very strong statement of our hatred for these depraved people. I will now listen."

  The three men were silent. They knew better than to oppose any idea he suggested. Agreement was mandatory. All three nodded. No words were spoken.

  "No one has anything to say?" Ali asked, feigning surprise.

  Rijah Ellhad spoke. "It sounds like a good plan. I would suppose that you have worked out the timetable, the method of delivery, and the rest of the operational plans."

  "I have. Now listen closely."

  Bernard Backersley had decided to go ahead and investigate this new suspected terrorist activity on his own, despite the CIA's edict of only working outside the borders of the United States. Not like it hasn't been done before. If he found something out that he felt needed sharing, well, then he'd cross that bridge. If he got called on the carpet from the president, he would claim he was only performing investigative research in an attempt to be helpful. He knew the president wouldn't buy it, but as long as he didn't initiate any physical action, he felt he'd be safe.

  Ever since he'd had questions about the Department of the Presidential Office, he had changed his routine slightly. For this particular action, he'd begun using simple burn phones for communication rather than the official CIA phone lines. He'd already made several calls on one, so he decided to ditch that one. He grabbed a second unit and dialed a number. Everything discussed now with regard to what they were doing was outside normal channels. He didn't want anyone, including his own agency, to know what he was doing. Only the team operating under his direct control was aware. He was calling that team leader now.