Targets of Opportunity

by Jeffrey S. Stephens

  The possibility of sabotage by foreign nationals was less common and more serious. In almost ten years as head of his department he had only dealt with three credible terrorist threats. One fizzled, the other amounted to a series of overseas communications that were intercepted at the source, and the third, the most frightening of the three, resulted in four arrests in Mexico. That last one was just a couple of years back. Janssen still shuddered at the memory of how close those men came to actually launching an attack.

  Janssen was proud of his work. He was confident in the complex internal and perimeter defense schemes at the refinery, but he would never agree with the executives in the hierarchy of the company who regarded them as fail-safe. Janssen had spent too much time in the military to believe anything in life was foolproof. As long as people were involved, mistakes were possible.

  There were automated systems such as the antimissile shield, high-powered sprinklers, and irrigation pipes that ran throughout the 2,400-acre plant in the event of fire; screens and sloughs in the event of a hurricane; mechanisms that segregated the numerous holding tanks to prevent the inflammation or explosion of one large reservoir from leading to a chain reaction igniting the others; and any number of structures and protocols to stop breaches of the property.

  Nevertheless, this was the largest refinery in the United States, and as such it was a time bomb filled with crude oil and processed petroleum products. Safety was always the principal concern, every minute of every day.

  “You’re sure someone hacked into the program?” Janssen asked the head of the IT department.

  “Not hacked, Pat. I think someone with a lower level of clearance hit it internally.”

  They were seated in Janssen’s office, an austere room on the second floor of the administration building, with large windows overlooking what appeared to be an endless sea of circular tanks and enormous cylindrical conduits. “And you think that’s possible.”

  “Anything is possible. Since you gave us the alert we’ve been checking every conceivable permutation.”

  “I don’t get it,” Janssen said. “If someone got into this data, wouldn’t that come up in the normal course of your security checks?”

  “Not necessarily. Whoever this was had the authority to enter the network without leaving a virtual fingerprint. I’m not sure how far they got beyond that. We’re working on it.”

  “Well work on it quickly,” Janssen told him, then sent the man on his way.

  His next interview concerned Peter Amendola. The director of refinery operations had been present for the previous discussion. Now it was his own turn.

  “I thought you said this Amendola is a solid citizen.”

  “He is. If he was going to take some time he would let us know. Amendola is not a spur-of-the-moment kind of guy.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “And then we got a call from his wife.”

  Janssen gave him an impatient look that said, “Get on with it.”

  “She called yesterday and asked if Amendola had to work the night shift or something. Seems he never got home.”

  “Maybe he has a girlfriend.”

  “Could be,” the operations director admitted, “kind of guy who keeps to himself, no telling what he might be up to. But she hasn’t heard from him since and he doesn’t answer his cell phone.”

  Janssen thought it over. “She been to the police?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “Have we?”

  “Not yet. Thought it best to start with you, Pat.”

  Janssen nodded. “All right. I want you to catch up with them at IT, see if it’s possible this Amendola was our man on the computer.”

  “I can tell you for certain he had Level Four clearance.”

  “Which means it could have been him.”

  “Yes.”

  Janssen was sitting straight up in his chair, a posture learned during years in the military service that he was not apt to forget. He laced his fingers together and placed his hands on the desk. “We need to meet with his wife. Anyone see her yet or has this all been on the phone?”

  “On the phone. Just me. Again, I figured this was your area.”

  “Uh huh. Well, leave me the info, I’ll call her.”

  “That’s what I hoped.”

  “His co-workers notice anything odd about this guy lately?” Janssen asked.

  “Not that anyone has said. Bit of a loner, is all. Always has been.”

  The director of operations stood up to leave, then hesitated.

  “Something else?” Janssen asked.

  “Maybe it’s nothing, but the way Amendola’s wife sounded. I don’t know the woman, met her once at a company outing, nothing to compare it to, no past behavior if you know what I mean.”

  “Go on.”

  “When your husband doesn’t come home that’s cause for serious concern, but there was more to it than that. She sounded worried, but she also sounded guarded. It’s hard to explain, but it was there in her tone.”

  “All right,” Janssen said, “I’ll get with her right away.”

  ————

  Adina trusted no one. None of his men were provided his full and final plans. Even Antonio Bastidas was being intentionally misled. The necessity of engaging the assistance of Dr. Eric Silfen was a potential problem that could easily be remedied in the endgame.

  His two men in Texas, Francisco and Luis, were well under way with their assignment. The team in Houston, which had received the information from Amendola and then disposed of him, was also in place.

  As the Misty II dropped anchor outside the Isla de la Juventud, off the southwest corner of Cuba, Adina readied himself for another briefing session. This time it would not involve Bastidas, who was already en route to Caracas to make his report. This time he would meet with the team of seamen who would program the submersible crafts that would be launched outside the Yucatan Channel and sent on their course up through the Gulf toward Galveston.

  These were the North Korean hybrids that had been designed as something between the American Scorpio and a primitive SPSS narco sub. They were on board a freighter from Venezuela that was sitting at anchor nearby.

  As the men gathered on deck, Adina studied the television monitor in the main salon. It was tuned to track Hurricane Charlene as it made its way northwest.

  Everything, he told himself, was falling into place.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  AN ESTATE OUTSIDE LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

  AT BYRNES’S INSTRUCTION, Agent Fitzpatrick had phoned the main security line at the safe house and, after providing a series of passcodes, reported the shooting incident about two miles southeast of the estate. The security systems had already monitored the incident and four vehicles were immediately dispatched to the scene.

  Less than two minutes later the convoy came screeching to a halt in a circle around the bullet-riddled Town Car.

  Sandor turned to Fitzpatrick. “The proverbial barn door,” he said.

  Byrnes stepped forward and identified himself to the agent in charge, who then hustled Fitzpatrick, Sandor, and the Deputy Director into the first Suburban and had them taken away. A second SUV rode shotgun in case there were any other hostiles still in play. Two panel vans stayed behind to mop up the situation.

  ————

  After arriving at the front gate they were passed through two checkpoints and escorted to the main building. Byrnes and Sandor did not take time to clean up, making their way directly to the lower floor.

  Jaber had been brought to the comfortable study where Byrnes conducted most of their interviews. Jaber got to his feet as the two Americans entered and asked the Deputy Director, “You have news of my wife?” When he received no response he looked from Byrnes to Sandor. “What happened to you?”

  Sandor’s sport coat was torn at the shoulder and his pants and shirt were soiled from his roll on the ground. There were also bloodstains on his sleeve from his search of the two men they had left behind.
“My dry cleaner is on vacation,” he replied.

  “We were followed here,” Byrnes interrupted, “or at least intercepted on our way. We believe the men were Iranian.”

  “Of course,” Jaber responded, as if that were to be expected.

  “We assume they were trying to reach you. Or at least obtain information about you or your location.”

  “Yes,” Jaber said impatiently. “And what did they say when you captured them?”

  “They weren’t in the mood to talk,” Sandor said.

  Byrnes gave him a disapproving look. “They were both killed at the scene,” he explained.

  “It would have been helpful if you could have spoken to them,” Jaber said.

  “I’m sure it would,” Sandor agreed, “but since they were trying to blow our heads off, we decided it would be even more helpful if we put an end to that bullshit before we tried to have a chat.”

  Jaber uttered a long sigh. “What about my wife, please?”

  “She’s here, in Washington,” Byrnes told him.

  “I must see her.”

  “There are some things you need to know first. Sit down.”

  The three men took seats around the cocktail table and Byrnes patiently described the circumstances of Rasa Jaber’s arrival. They were sure she was being followed. They had found two homing devices in her luggage. Any meeting between Jaber and his wife would put both of their lives at risk, and the American government would not be responsible for their safety.

  “Bring her here.”

  “This isn’t a hotel, pal.”

  Byrnes said, “Sandor is not wrong. This facility is designed for a specific use. Your wife is not a person of interest to us. It’s also clear that any such attempt is likely to be tracked again, which would compromise my men as well as the two of you.”

  “What do you plan to do with us, then?”

  “As we’ve discussed, the information you brought us has been, shall we say, a bit thin. To be perfectly candid, my government feels as if we’re being played.”

  Jaber’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You think I have placed myself in your custody as a ploy?”

  “Not necessarily,” Byrnes answered calmly. “We believe the fears you had for your safety were real, and that they caused you to defect. What we cannot understand is how a man as highly placed as you are in the IRGC can have so little information to give us in return for asylum.”

  Jaber sank back in his chair without speaking.

  “Now your wife has arrived and we are convinced she was only released as part of an IRGC plan to bring you into the open. Until she is candid with us on her instructions, which she has not been up to now, we intend to do nothing. The risk of taking you to see her is too great.”

  “But it’s my risk, and it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  Byrnes stood up. “Is there anything else you have for us, anything you’ve withheld?”

  Jaber said nothing, so Sandor also rose. “This is done,” he said.

  But Byrnes persisted. “If you have any information you have not yet shared, this is the moment. There is no time left to bargain.”

  “Promise me I will see my wife.”

  “This is not a negotiation, Jaber.”

  The Iranian looked up at him, his dark eyes as intense as Byrnes had ever seen them. “Promise me,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

  Byrnes stared at him, not saying a word.

  Jaber stood and faced them. “I told you what little Seyed knew, that the strike will be along your coast in the Gulf of Mexico. He truly did not know where, nor do I. But he believed there was a secondary target. He was not sure if they would attempt both or only proceed with the alternative plan if the first was not viable.”

  “Where?”

  “He did not know.”

  Sandor shook his head. “Are you making this up as you go along or did this Seyed really tell you this?”

  “On my life,” Jaber told him, looking directly at Sandor now. “And my wife’s.”

  “Be assured,” Sandor said, “those are precisely the stakes you’re playing for.”

  ————

  “What did you make of it?” Sandor asked after they left Jaber and hurried down the stairs to the basement level.

  “Not sure, but I tend to believe him. I’ve come to know this man over the past couple of weeks. I can see how he would have tried to hold back one final piece of the puzzle.”

  “Maybe he’s still holding out. It’s not much of a lead.”

  “I think that’s why I believe him,” Byrnes said. “He could have invented some detailed story about an attack on Miami or Dallas or whatever, sent us running all over the map.”

  Sandor uttered a frustrated sigh. “If you’re convinced he’s not doubling on us we’ll have to start looking for this second target.”

  In the basement they were vetted by the guards on duty, then a door was unlocked and they were passed into an area with several holding cells. A second door was opened and they entered Hwang’s room.

  The North Korean had been held here since his arrival in the States. Interrogation had yielded no more than the information Sandor had elicited in Pyongyang, the revelations Hwang had shared only because he never believed the Americans would escape. Hwang regarded this misjudgment as a weakness and a complete disgrace to his country, refusing any further cooperation. He was a true believer, or so he insisted, and would rather go to his final reward than disappoint the Great Leader.

  It was also quite possible that what he had told Sandor was the extent of his true knowledge. Whatever deal had been made between the Venezuelans and the North Koreans, it was becoming increasingly apparent that the former were in charge of the operation, while the latter were not involved in the execution of the plans.

  “How’s the shoulder?” Sandor asked with feigned cheerfulness. “No gangrene I hope.”

  Hwang treated Sandor to his best scowl, then directed himself to Byrnes. “Why have you brought him here? Do you expect to frighten me with his barbaric tactics?”

  “Hey,” Sandor said, “your English is getting better. Rosetta Stone?”

  Byrnes said, “We are in discussions with your country regarding your release.”

  “Ah. I will have the opportunity to face my Great Leader and make reparation for my failings.”

  “You would be exchanged for the two men who are being detained by your country.”

  “Two spies, you mean. I would rather die than see them released.”

  Sandor felt the blood rush to his face, but he said nothing.

  “And what of the girl?” Hwang asked. “The Great Leader does not suffer traitors. I am sure she will be expected to accompany me on my journey home.”

  Now Sandor stepped forward and, before Byrnes could utter a “Stand down,” he had kneed Hwang hard in the groin, grabbed a handful of the man’s hair, and, twisting his head to the side, slammed him against the wall and pressed his left forearm against his larynx. “You miserable sonuvabitch,” Sandor hissed into the Korean’s face. “I’ll kill you first.”

  Byrnes called in the two guards. They pried Hwang loose from Sandor’s grip, helping the breathless man to take a seat on his cot.

  “Kill me,” Hwang gasped, as he rubbed his neck, “and you will never see your men again, Mr. Sandor. Oh yes,” he added as he saw the look of surprise. “I know who you are, and our acquaintance will not end when I am returned to my homeland.”

  The guards were standing beside Sandor now, looking somewhat equivocal over whether to intervene if Sandor decided to have another go at breaking the Korean’s spine.

  “Threats are not helpful,” Byrnes warned. “Our arrangements have not been finalized. I would be careful if I were you.”

  “So,” Hwang said, still panting, “you have brought Mr. Sandor here to intimidate me.”

  “No,” Sandor said, “I’m here to tell you that there’s no deal involving
the girl. You want to go home, you’re going to have to tell your pals you’re coming alone.” With that, he spun around and left the room.

  ————

  Upstairs on the main level he used one of the bathrooms to clean up. Best he could manage was to wash his face and run a comb through his dark, wavy hair. His clothes really were a mess, which he hadn’t even noticed until Jaber mentioned it, but there was nothing to be done about that now. He needed to speak with Hea.

  She was staying in one of the guest rooms on the second floor, where she was free to roam the house, except for the high-security areas on the lower levels, and to stroll a large fenced-in area of the beautiful grounds that sprawled over several hundred acres. He knocked on her door and she let him in. She was looking much better than the last time he saw her.

  She had gotten a little sun, and they were feeding her well, or so it appeared, because she was shapelier than he recalled. Maybe, he thought, he just hadn’t noticed before.

  It was not in her culture to greet him with a hug. As Hea stood there with an uncertain look she prepared to make a demure bow, but he stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms. It took her an instant before she warmed to the moment, then drew him closer, and they held each other without speaking. Then he backed away and said, “You look great.”

  “Thank you. You look as if you have been fighting again,” she said with a smile. “Is this what you do all the time?”

  “Not all the time,” he replied with a grin. “Just most of the time.”

  “You are all right, though?” she asked as she pointed to the dried blood on his sleeve.

  “Not my blood, so I’m fine. But we need to talk. Want to go for a walk?”

  They headed outside into the darkness, the cool night air bracing him for what he had to say. After the attack by the two Iranians and his assault on Hwang, it felt good to wander the grounds and collect himself.