by Tom Carroll
Sara considered what the colonel had just shared. She was eager to learn the details he had hinted at, and she knew the promised promotion was intended to motivate her as well. She also knew that failure would lead to an equally significant negative consequence.
“I understand the gravity of the mission, and I will not let you down, Robert,” she assured her GRU superior as she stood without looking behind her and walked back the way she had come. While instinctively Sara’s eyes scanned the landscape for suspicious-looking cars and pedestrians, she was barely aware she was doing it.
NCIS Offices, the Reagan
Afloat Special Agent Kevin Orr quietly sat in the one comfortable chair in the cramped office he had called home for the past two years since reporting aboard the Reagan. As part of a program to provide investigative, counterintelligence, and force protection support to deployed commanders, the NCIS Special Agent Afloat Program sent agents aboard aircraft carriers and other large ships (e.g., hospital ships, amphibious assault ships). The special agents were individually selected for the independent duty, and the tour gave them first-hand experience with Navy operating forces that would help them throughout their career. A fully credentialed federal law enforcement officer, Kevin was responsible for investigating suspected felony violations. The latest challenge on board was the increased use of Lysergic Acid Diethylamide (LSD), anabolic steroids, and psilocybin mushrooms. The Navy had been using random urinalysis screening since the late 70s to discourage Sailors from using illegal substances. Those who were found to have substances in their system were promptly removed from the service. But since the American Revolution, Sailors had been inventing ways to circumvent Navy policies, and today’s Sailors were no exception. LSD, mushrooms, and steroids had now become increasingly popular options with very short half-lives making them challenging to detect. In late 2018, more than two dozen Reagan Sailors had faced charges of possession and distribution of a controlled substance, and Kevin Orr knew he was just getting started. This was only one drug ring, and he was certain there were others still in operation.
Afloat special agents also focused their efforts on counterintelligence recruitment activities. Kevin Orr spent the majority of his time conducting threat assessments of each port the carrier visited and then providing a series of threat awareness briefings for the ship’s crew. A forward-deployed force was continually susceptible to threats while ships were in-port, primarily in bars and entertainment establishments Sailors would frequent. But an increasing and more direct recruitment tool used by foreign intelligence operatives was the commercial Internet, which crewmembers had access to while in-port and underway. Special Agent Orr knew that the wide range of social media platforms and interactive games available to the Sailors offered unlimited opportunities for foreign intelligence operatives to create relationships that might develop into something more nefarious. He had access to all Internet traffic coming in and out of the ship, but the vast magnitude of electronic signals he picked up made his counterintelligence efforts perfunctory at best.
Across from Kevin Orr, Special Agent Anna DeSantis sat in an exceptionally uncomfortable chair and looked at the wall behind Kevin’s desk. There were six framed silhouettes of heads with red question marks on each one. Hanging above the six silhouettes, a sign said, “Kevin’s Most Wanted,” and beneath the title in a smaller type, the question, “Which One Is You?”
Anna motioned to the wall and asked, “What is the purpose of that?”
“Usually,” Kevin explained, “people sitting in that chair are here because they have done something very wrong, or because they are answering questions in a security clearance investigation. In either case, my wall puts them on edge a bit, and I’ll take any advantage I can get.” Just as Kevin thought he had answered the question pretty well, Anna commented, ”Well, I think it’s stupid and offensive.”
“See? It’s even working on you!” Kevin retorted, then then smiled to himself. “Okay, what can I do for you, very Special Agent DeSantis?”
Anna looked intently across the desk at her fellow agent, knowing she had to get Kevin’s full cooperation while retaining direct control of her protection assignment.
“Since Mr. Garrett has been appointed SECDEF,” she began, “he has been occupying a permanent Level 1 Protection High-Risk Billet. As you probably know, Army CID has primary responsibility for the secretary of defense. But since Army CID is not here, and we are, and so is Mr. Garrett, this is a Navy mission until or unless the Army relieves us. I’ve been designated by our headquarters as the personal security advisor for this protective service detail, which from this moment on, will be providing full-time, 24/7 coverage. This is the full meal deal, Kevin, same as what POTUS gets from the Secret Service. I think it’s going to be easier while he’s on this steel fortress, but there are thousands of people on this floating city, and it’s going to be our job to make certain that none of them can harm Garrett.”
Kevin looked at Anna with a sly smile. “Gee, thanks, Anna,” he responded. “I really appreciate your explanation of what Level 1 protection looks like. I must have missed that day at very-special-agent training. Do we get to wear guns and badges and have radios, too? Very cool!”
Anna DeSantis felt her pulse quicken as she considered whether to storm out or throw something. Instead, she abruptly stood and said, “Look, Kevin, I’m just making sure you know what has to happen here. I’m going to rely on your help.”
Kevin raised his hands in mock surrender and said, “Okay, okay! Don’t get your shoulder holster in a knot. I promise I’ll do my job. What do you need from me?”
Anna took a breath, thought for a moment, and sat back down in her chair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you don’t understand protection operations. To be honest, I’m nervous about being personally responsible for the new secretary of defense, and I don’t want to screw it up. I think we need to divide up the work. I’ll run the detail and manage the protection schedule, but I need your help selecting master-at-arms Sailors to form our protection team. You know the ship and crew, so you’re in the best position to select the detail.”
“I can do that. But only if we can outfit them with black suits, dark glasses, and secret decoder rings!”
Anna almost took the bait but decided to play along with the jokester. “That sounds perfect! And trench coats too!”
Both agents had a good laugh. “I’ll start working with the ship’s executive officer to find the right people,” offered Kevin. “It shouldn’t be a problem. Anything else I need to do?”
“Just one other thing. Although SECDEF automatically gets Level 1 protection, I think it’s a good idea to do a vulnerability assessment to determine the actual level of risk while he’s on board. Again, your familiarity with the ship’s crew will give us a leg up on creating a shortlist of people who might have an issue with PATRIOT.”
Anna stood once more, but this time she smiled, offered her hand, and said, “I appreciate your working with me on this, Kevin. I’m guessing this will only be for a few days, and then PATRIOT will head back to D.C. and I’ll go back to Tokyo.”
Kevin shook her hand. As he watched Anna leave his office, he thought to himself, I actually hope it lasts more than a few days.
Mountain View Apartments, Bremerton, Washington
When she returned to her apartment after meeting with Colonel Petrov, Sara refilled a small plastic bowl with cat food. She had been leaving food out for the old black cat for several months as she wasn’t sure where he lived when he wasn’t laying on the mat in front of her door. She knew she shouldn’t be feeding him, but she enjoyed the company, and his occasional presence made her feel less isolated. Being a deep-cover operative meant she couldn’t develop any real or lasting relationships. It was too complicated to compartmentalize one’s life and guard private thoughts while trying to share an intimate relationship and space with someone else. The cat, on the other hand, was the perfect companion for her. He didn’t ask questions and she co
uld tell him anything.
Sara made herself dinner, poured a glass of merlot, and then turned on her laptop. Moscow’s tasking was clear. She was to make contact with her agents on the Reagan and work with them to develop several options for eliminating the new secretary of defense. It sounded straightforward enough, except that her agents were not assassins — and far from it. For two years NIKITA and VADIM had provided Sara and her GRU superiors with exceptional information regarding American defense capabilities and operations. Their information was graded by Moscow as highly valuable and reliable, a combination not typically attributed to stolen material. The most important information they provided involved state-of-the-art avionics and weapons systems — information Russia could use to develop competing weapons systems and counter a threat from the U.S. But now, Petrov was asking Sara’s agents on the Reagan to take an active role in the assassination of one of the most senior members of the American government. It was a role for which they were untrained, and a task which they might be unwilling to accept.
Communicating with agents onboard a U.S. Navy ship at sea was made possible through the Internet, which was available on most ships. Crew members corresponded regularly with friends and family via email and video conferencing, making multi-month deployments somehow more bearable. Sara knew that the American counterintelligence forces monitored crew members’ emails and video calls, so the best way to covertly communicate with NIKITA and VADIM was via the personal messaging tool within an interactive online game. She logged into Channel Defence, a first-person World War II game where players assumed roles as either British or German fighter pilots battling one another over the English Channel. On a pre-arranged schedule, Sara would enter into a battle and then look to see if NIKITA or VADIM were online. She would then initiate a private message with one or both of the agents and exchange coded information. Before logging into the game, Sara had previously written out her intended instructions in detail and then laboriously encoded them into a series of words associated with the game. Even if someone monitoring the game were able to hack into her private messages, they would only see words and phrases communicating air-to-air tactics and strategies between game participants.
After launching the game, she searched for a battle in which her Reagan-based agents were participating. She was pleased to find them both online and sent them individual invitations to message her privately. As she began to relay her instructions to the two Americans, she wondered how they would react to this new mission, and whether she would need to use the leverage that Petrov had offered.
Seattle Field Office, The Federal Bureau of Investigation
Clay Taylor thoroughly enjoyed the view from his office on Seattle’s Third Avenue. It was a panoramic vista of Elliott Bay and Seattle’s vast and active waterfront. Regardless of the dreary winter weather, he always looked forward to his daily ritual of grabbing a double tall mocha from the coffee shop across the street and spending the last few minutes of his day watching the busy harbor 30 floors below. He became mesmerized as tug boats, ferry boats, container ships, tour boats, Coast Guard cutters, and even an occasional pleasure craft sailed back and forth before his eyes. As Special Agent in Charge of the FBI’s Seattle Field Office, Clay Taylor had ascended as far as he could go in the Bureau, and that was fine with him. A native Washingtonian, Clay was raised in West Seattle and attended Chief Sealth High School, named for a Suquamish and Duwamish tribal head. The city of Seattle was also named for the same chief, but the settlers slightly altered his name to avoid the tribe’s belief that if a person’s name was mentioned after his death, he would roll in his grave. Clay smiled as he remembered his high school classmates rapidly saying the school’s name over and over, thinking they were causing the dead chief to roll in his grave. Cruel, but typical of teenagers.
This evening’s magical moment was interrupted by Clay’s assistant. “Excuse me, Clay. Greg is here.” Clay turned to greet Greg Cassidy, Special Agent in Charge of NCIS’s Northwest Field Office, located in Silverdale on the west side of Puget Sound.
“Hi, Greg. Have a seat!”
An impressive figure, Greg Cassidy stood 6’ 6” and was an athletic 250 pounds. He and Clay Taylor had been working closely together over the past 18 months in a joint agency counterintelligence surveillance of a suspected Russian illegal operative based in Bremerton. The FBI had primary jurisdiction for counterintelligence operations within the U.S., but since the attacks of 9/11, all Federal law enforcement agencies closely coordinated their efforts to thwart foreign intelligence collection. The Bremerton case was of high interest to NCIS because the Russian agent was targeting Sailors, Marines and military contractors. The surveillance operation had established that the Russian was a GRU officer named Yelena Ivanova who was using the assumed identity of Sara Olson. The GRU agent worked as a barista at a Bremerton coffee shop and had stolen the identity of the real Sara Olson who had died as an infant in Boise, Idaho, 20 years earlier. In addition to gathering evidence of Sara’s espionage activities, the primary purpose of the surveillance was to identify her GRU controller, who presumably had responsibility for an entire network of other GRU operatives in the Pacific Northwest. Only by identifying the GRU control officer would the joint FBI/NCIS team be able to identify and then locate the entire Russian intelligence collection apparatus in the region. Then there were the Americans who may be providing those Russian operatives with highly classified military intelligence, information technology, and valuable intellectual property. Yesterday, the surveillance team had been lucky.
“Clay. I almost fell off my chair when heard that the team observed Sara making contact in the park with someone who appears to be her GRU control officer. It looks like our surveillance team was not detected, and they were able to follow this new guy to Poulsbo. What do we know about him?”
Clay put his coffee down. “His name is Robert Jordan, and he’s a professor at the Poulsbo branch of Kitsap College. He runs the computer information security program there. I’ve got the folks at the Hoover building working now to find out who he really is. Our bugs in the coffee shop caught a bit of the conversation between him and Sara, and the team was even able to catch a majority of their conversation in the park using the new acoustic gear. The names Vadim and Nikita were overheard, and we are assuming these are codenames for other deep-cover GRU operatives, or maybe even for covert assets working on your Navy installations.”
“Where do we go from here?” Greg asked. “It’s clear Jordan’s tasking her with something out of the ordinary. Why else would he risk a personal meet?”
The FBI man stood and walked to his office window. Looking out at the sound, he responded, “I agree that it must be something major to be worth him taking the risk. I’m glad the search warrant includes Sara’s laptop and everyone with whom she communicates. The keyboard recording software is working great, and they tell me its undetectable. I think we’ll need to have another team just to keep an eye on Professor Jordan, and that’s going to take more resources. I’ve already requested that D.C. provide six more agents, and I’ve received authorization to place an agent undercover at the college. Operating on a college campus is politically challenging, and getting a warrant to place equipment there is probably a non-starter. We’ll try it the old-fashioned way first: Our guy can watch their guy. Our agent can wear a wire and if we get anything close to probable cause, then we can talk to the assistant U.S. attorney to get the electronic surveillance approval.”
“I know I can get more resources based on this new development,” Greg said. “I’ll formally request four more NCIS counterintelligence types to flesh out the team to improve our coverage, particularly if we need to get creative. If Jordan is Sara’s control officer, he’s probably more experienced and will be much better at spotting surveillance than our young Bremerton barista.”
The FBI man walked back across his office and said, “I appreciate the Navy’s help, Greg. This time, I think the GRU is up to something unusual, and it could ta
ke everything we have to find out what they’re planning, and then to prevent it!”
Defense Secretary Cabin, the Reagan
The ship’s commanding officer, Captain Solari, had spared no effort arranging for the video conferencing system Colt Garrett had requested to be set up in his cabin. Garrett was sitting at a small conference table looking at a 65 inch, high-definition video monitor showing the new deputy secretary of defense, Steve Holmes, in his Pentagon office, on the other side of the world. Holmes was slightly built, but his 172-pound body was in exceptional shape because of his almost fanatical love of swimming, running, and bicycling. He had an eye for detail and was reputed to be one of the most intelligent analysts in the Pentagon. Garrett was more than pleased that the president had appointed Steve as his deputy.
“How’s the weather in the capital, Steve? You look like you’re cold!”
“I suspect your chair is a bit warmer than mine, Mr. Secretary.”
Colt Garrett smiled at his friend’s joke and looked down at his notes. “I’ve got a few things we need to go over while we have this great video link.”
“Okay, I’m all ears, Boss!” answered Steve.
“Well, first, why didn’t Harrison appoint Webb as secretary? They’ve been grooming him for years, and I’ve always assumed he’d just slide right in if anything happened to O’Kane.”
“Some pictures surfaced of Webb in blackface from years ago, and the press is having a field day with others who’ve been similarly outed. Seems the president doesn’t want anything to distract from getting his budget approved. And I know you think Pat O’Kane when you think “defense secretary,” but you better get used to being called that yourself. By the way, Army CID is more than eager to implement their protection detail surrounding you. When are you planning to return, to D.C., sir?”