by Bob Mayer
His desk was large and flat, without anything on it. To the left of the desk, eight chessboards were set on a marble pedestal. Each board had different motifs for the pieces, ranging from the traditional, through a Napoleonic motif, Civil War motif, and a World War II one. Seven of the eight had games in progress on them, the pieces frozen in the midst of their combat. Hancock stopped and stared at the Civil War board for several moments. The game was in the early stages, only a few pieces moved.
With a sigh, Hancock turned. Just before he left his office he paused and looked at the cluster of framed pictures on the wall to the right of his door. There were several of him in the White House War Room with Presidents from Nixon through the current administration. Never the Oval Office, where publicity shots were taken—that was for the director and the chief of Operations. The chief of Direct Action only went to the White House through the underground tunnel from the Vice President's office building and only met with the administration officials in the secure War Room, three hundred feet under the White House. And the CDA only went to the White House when dirty work needed to be done.
Hancock's eyes paused on a particular photo—he was seated at the War Room conference table; standing behind him with a hand on Hancock's shoulder was former National Security Adviser Hill, now currently awaiting trial for his role in the Red Flyer teams and other purported abuses of power.
Hancock's gaze continued to another photo. A much younger Hancock was on a deep-sea fishing boat with another man. A muscle on the left side of Hancock's face jerked. The other man had the same angular face as Hancock, the major difference being the other man's hair wasn't yet burned white—nor would it ever be.
Hancock left his office, retracing his steps to the main corridor, the sounds of the taps on his highly polished shoes echoing off the walls. He crossed the main hallway and entered the other department that took up the third sublevel of the basement.
Night or day, the Operations Center at Langley functioned at the same level of intensity and manning. That was because the section was responsible for the entire globe, and while it was night over Washington it was daylight over half the world.
Also, despite all the advances in technology, night was still the preferred time for covert operations. Hancock kept walking while he took in the massive status board—an eighty-foot- long-by-thirty-high electronic map of the world. Anything of significance to the intelligence community was highlighted on the board with a briefly noted box.
Right now, the largest box, indicating its relative importance, and backed in red—indicating it was vital to U.S. interests—was hovering over Bosnia-Herzegovina. Hancock walked over to one of the terminals. He brought up a smaller image of the one on the screen, then clicked over the box. He read the summary, then closed the box.
Hancock pushed open the door to one of the sound-and bug-proofed conference rooms off the main action center. A younger man was seated at the end of the conference table.
"What do you have?" Hancock asked. He was in his late forties and he looked trim and fit in his three-piece suit. His voice held a tint of finishing school or perhaps a lot of practice in front of a mirror. As chief of Direct Action, CDA, a classified section answerable only to the director and the President, Hancock held the greatest non-visible power inside the CIA. The CDA did what Operations used to do before Operations became subject to public scrutiny and congressional censure. The Oversight Committee didn't even know the CDA existed.
Welwood worked in Operations, the strongest visible part of the CIA. As such he was answerable to the chief of Operations. But the C/O was a new appointee, the first woman ever to hold such a high rank in the old-boy Agency, and there were many in operations who feared for their careers working for a woman who was going to be scrutinized for every decision she made or failed to make. If she went down, they'd all take a hit, and Hancock knew Welwood was smart enough to know he needed to cultivate friends elsewhere in the Agency's bureaucracy.
Welwood's voice was rich, developed in boarding schools and the Ivy League. "My desk received an electronic flag from the NSA referencing an unauthorized computer search that was conducted into the Department of Defense personnel database yesterday," Welwood said. "Normally, such a matter is no big deal. Some clerk checking something for a buddy. However, this one was a little different. This search triggered a flag instigated by our Agency."
Hancock had not taken a seat and was still standing, his posture indicating his impatience. "Why did you notify me?"
"A second, please, sir," Welwood said. He knew that information had to be presented in a certain order and he also knew Hancock's reputation. He had to impress Hancock the first time because there would be no second time. "The computer inquiry was a search for young women, military family members, who had disappeared in Germany over the past two years."
Hancock's face was an inscrutable mask. "And?"
"And," Welwood said, "the person making the inquiry was an army major named Mike Thorpe."
Hancock pulled out a leather chair and sat down, steepling his fingers together under his chin. "Mike Thorpe?"
Second hit, Welwood thought. "Yes. He's in the army reserves now, working an active duty tour for the Special Operations command at Fort Bragg."
"Why should that or this search interest me?" Hancock asked.
Welwood continued with the rehearsed presentation. "I checked on this Thorpe fellow. He was involved in both the Omega Missile incident and a covert operation off the coast of Lebanon involving nuclear materials."
Hancock leaned back in the seat and crossed his ankles. He was looking at Welwood with what might be described as mild interest. "So?"
Welwood knew Hancock's reputation too well to expect more than that on the surface.
"I checked the logs for the Lebanon operation. I believe it was called Operation Delilah. Something to do with keeping the balance of power in the Middle East by providing the Israelis with raw materials for nuclear weapons. An under-the-table deal that was an outgrowth of the original classified rider appended to the Camp David Accord. Updated when the Palestinians were given autonomy in the West Bank."
"According to what I could find, Operation Delilah was an operation run by Direct Action." Welwood was on thin ice now. He had guessed the objective of Delilah from the little information the computer had yielded and some discrete inquiries on his part from other personnel in the building.
"Seems our man Major Thorpe was working with a Special Operation Nuclear Emergency Search Team that picked up word of a transfer of fissionable material from Russia to an unknown group in southern Lebanon. Naturally it was assumed this transfer was to a terrorist organization. When he went in to check it out, turns out it was, shall we say, unsupported elements, giving material to Israeli forces. Sounds like it was a bloody mess."
For the first time, Hancock showed emotion. "A bloody mess? Three of my men were killed by Thorpe. Killed while doing their duty to our country."
"Well, Thorpe thought he was also—" Welwood cut off what he was going to say when he saw the flash in Hancock's eyes. "Subsequently," Welwood continued, "another aspect of the classified rider became, shall we say, active? I believe it was called the Samson option?"
Hancock's mask was back on. He crossed his legs at the ankles and leaned back in the chair. "Do you know what the Samson option was?"
Welwood nodded. "A nuclear weapon emplaced by the Israelis in a house in Washington, D.C. With one of their agents babysitting the bomb with a direct Sat-link back to Tel Aviv. One call from Tel Aviv and he would fire the bomb."
Hancock nodded. "You know the what. Do you know why that was allowed?"
"A contingency to the classified rider to the Camp David Accord subsequently acted out during the Gulf War to keep the Israelis from responding to the SCUD attacks out of Iraq."
"Balance of power," Hancock said. "Everything is power. And it has to be balanced or else extreme action is taken. That is why my office exists. To take direct action if
a balance is threatened. To maintain the balance. Do you understand that?"
Welwood nodded. "Yes, sir. But the Omega Missile terrorist strike upset many balances," Welwood concluded with more confidence than he felt. He had never been in the field and although he tried to appear casual about it, talking about such operations made his stomach churn, especially talking with someone like Hancock.
Hancock tapped a finger on the tabletop. "What was the result of the Omega Missile incident?"
"The terrorists who took over Omega Missile used it to launch two nuclear strikes. One against the Pentagon, one against Tel Aviv. Both were stopped. But before they could be stopped, the Israelis gave the go-ahead to their man in Washington to implement the Samson option."
"The Man Who Waits," Hancock said.
"Excuse me?"
"That's what we called him. The Man Who Waits. He was locked in a basement with that bomb for a year—no way out. His only mission in life was to activate it. My section had a team who waited on him."
"Yes, sir, and they stopped him before he could complete activation."
"Continue with the results," Hancock prodded.
"The head of the CDA, your predecessor, was retired early."
"Fired," Hancock corrected.
"Fired. Operation Delilah was exposed along with the Red Flyer teams, which were Special Operations teams designed to covertly insert a nuclear weapon overseas. Such an insertion was designed not to be traced back to the United States. Sort of our own Samson option. The National Security Adviser, Mr. Hill, was fired and is currently under indictment on an array of charges including attempted murder."
Welwood turned a page in his folder. "I also found it most interesting that the CIA liaison to the Special Operations NEST at the time this happened was a female agent. An agent named Kim Gereg. Who also happens to now be my boss, chief of Operations. It appears initially her career was damaged by the incidents, but it turns out she was never informed of any of this."
"So she got promoted for being ignorant," Hancock said.
"It appears so, sir. Actually I would say she was promoted for not being involved."
Hancock nodded. "Very astute. The best damage control sometimes is ignorance."
"You should have been the next chief of Operations." Welwood threw his cards on the table.
"But I wasn't ignorant," Hancock replied.
"Yes, sir. And now Ms. Gereg has a shot at becoming the director." Welwood also knew that Hill had been Hancock's mentor.
"And I don't?" Hancock asked.
"To go from CDA to director would require a review before a congressional panel. Since Congress is not aware of CDA's existence, they would wonder what you've been doing. Not getting the C/O's job cost you that."
"You have a good grasp of the politics of our organization," Hancock said. "Back to the computer search?" he asked. "Why's Major Thorpe doing it?"
Welwood had spent some time on that one. "Apparently one of the young women who has disappeared in Germany is named Dublowski. Terri Dublowski. She disappeared two months ago. Thorpe must be checking on it for his friend, now Sergeant Major Dublowski assigned to Delta Force at Bragg."
"Why was that search flagged for our attention?" Hancock asked.
"I don't know."
"What in the search specifically was flagged?"
Welwood looked at the file in Hancock's hand, then met the CDA man's eyes. "I don't know."
"Then—" Hancock began, but Welwood cut him off, playing his cards aggressively now.
"I don't know, but you should, sir. The flag was under a code name. Rather strange one, if you ask me: Romulus? Someone a Star Trek fan? I looked in the directory. There was no propagator listed, so that means the code name was propagated either by Direct Action, your office, or by Operations, my office."
"What makes you think it wasn't your office?"
"I've never heard of a file called Romulus," Welwood said, "and I have clearance for all files in Operations."
Hancock raised an eyebrow. "Have you considered the possibility your boss may be keeping things from you? That you don't know everything in your department?"
Welwood looked worried. "Well, it was filed PF1. There's only one paper copy of the file under the title Romulus in existence. That means it's possible someone in Operations has the only copy and I don't know about it."
"If there's only one paper file, how could this have been tagged in the computer?" Hancock asked.
"I assumed someone tagged all file names and pertinent information."
"You assume a lot." Hancock leaned back in the chair and steepled his fingers. He considered the other man in silence for so long, Welwood began fidgeting. Finally he spoke. "What do you think is going on?"
"I don't know, sir."
"There's much you don't know," Hancock agreed, "but with the information you have, what is your best guess?"
"This Major Thorpe is digging into something connected with whatever is in the Romulus file," Welwood said.
"And you came to me with it, when it might well have originated here." Hancock abruptly stood, tucking the file under his arm. "Thank you. You are very thorough. I'll remember it."
Chapter Eight
Thorpe did exactly as Lieutenant Colonel Kinsley had ordered him. He knocked on her door at 0900, marched to a point two steps in front of her desk and reported as ordered. Then he got his first surprise of the day.
"Sit down, Major Thorpe," Colonel Kinsley said, her tone almost pleasant.
Thorpe carefully moved over to the chair in front of her desk and sat down, not quite sure how to take this departure from the previous time he had reported to her, especially in light of what had happened last night.
Kinsley pointed at a map of the world behind her desk. "SOCOM presently has troops deployed to forty-two countries around the world and I am responsible for filling every single personnel slot for every single assignment, from three men on a medical training mission in Belize to the deployment in Bosnia."
"The operational groups are stretched beyond their own personnel capabilities. Up to a month ago, Tenth Group could barely keep up with the operational demands of supporting the Bosnia peacekeeping mission while at the same time running Operation Provide Comfort to the Kurds in Turkey on the border with Iraq. First Battalion of Tenth Group, stationed out of Stuttgart, is one almost hundred percent deployed. Fourteen of fifteen A-teams, two of three B-teams, and the battalion headquarters are all currently deployed."
"Second and Third Battalions, out of Fort Carson, Colorado, are over eighty percent deployed. The peacekeeping mission has overwhelmed Tenth Group's resources. If you add in trying to make sure that soldiers get to their necessary schooling, such as O & I, and specialty training when required, such as scuba and HALO, there will always be some gaps. Plus there is the natural turnover of duty reassignments and soldiers who are finishing their time in service and getting out."
There wasn't much new here, Thorpe thought. When he'd been on a team it was standard to be deployed the majority of the year. It was hard on families and it was hard on the soldiers, but it was what Special Forces was all about. Special Forces wasn't a pure wartime asset, sitting around training, waiting for the big one. Its active missions crossed the spectrum from peacetime through all-out war. A Special Forces soldier expected to be away from home most of the time.
"As a stopgap measure," Kinsley continued, "we have brought in individuals such as yourself from the reserves to supplement the active duty forces. At best it's been a Band-Aid solution. At the recommendation of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the President is considering activating parts of the Nineteenth Special Forces Group, which is National Guard, to supplement the Tenth Special Forces Group in its missions. Unfortunately, Nineteenth Group is behind the power curve in terms of personnel also. Instead of deploying the group intact, the SOCOM commander, General Markham, my boss, is considering using the members of Nineteenth Group to fill out the deployed Special Forces units. Allow them to giv
e some of their people a break for a couple of months, before going back."
Thorpe was following this discourse with half his brain while the other half was wondering what had happened to her attitude from the previous evening.
"I have to travel to Europe to gather information for that activation to make sure, if it does occur, we can support it and how the deployed groups would like to rotate their personnel and use the reservists. Because you are in the reserves, I would like you to come with me to provide me with that perspective."
"With all due respect, ma'am, I've only been in the reserves a couple of months. I may have spent a long time on active duty, but this is my—"
"Major Thorpe," Kinsley said sharply. "Need I remind you that you conducted an unauthorized search into the Department of Defense database yesterday?"
"No, ma'am, but I don't see what one has—"
"Major Thorpe, I recommend you do whatever I tell you to do without the slightest question. You are going with me to Europe. That is all. Quite frankly, given your record, I don't particularly want you along, but on the other hand I'd rather have you where I can see you than leave you behind here to run amok. You can get our travel information from Sergeant Christie."
Thorpe knew when he was dismissed. He stood and saluted.
"By the way," Kinsley said, stopping him at the door. "Don't use the computer again. That's an order. Clear?"
"Clear, ma'am."
Thorpe exited her office. Christie didn't say a word; he simply held out a packet of papers. Thorpe took them back to his office. He checked the flight information. He would be departing in two days out of Pope Air Force Base.
"Heard you're leaving us for a while," Takamura said as Thorpe sat down.
"Small world."
"Heard also that you did something to piss the colonel off," Takamura said. "I hope it didn't have anything to do with our work on the computer yesterday."