“From the Foreign Office intelligence fund?”
“Of course. Jesus Christ, Bob. Do I need to do it myself? I need it done now.”
His face flushed. “Yes, Madam Secretary.” He walked back out. The woman insisted on being called Madam Secretary. “Ma’am” was somehow an insult. He had never met anyone with a bigger ego. Her plans for the White House were the only reason he stayed on. Robert Clemmons had his owns plans for his future, and hooking on to her coat tails would get him there, but damn she was getting more impossible to be around each day. The fact that he had sent over three million dollars to an unknown contact in Lebanon worried him, of course. But this was above his pay grade. If she had a confidential informant or was working some classified mission he wasn’t privy to, so be it, but this sure seemed different than any of her other calls or procedures for sending money. He returned to his desk and began the arduous process of wiring the money.
Back in her office, Secretary of State Danielle Reynaud walked around her desk and shouted out to the adjoining room, which was full of staffers. “I’m not to be disturbed until I tell you otherwise.” She closed her door and pulled her private cell phone, hitting the contact for Jeff Dennis, her senior political advisor and one of her most trusted allies. When she was president, he would have a cabinet post.
“What have you got?” she asked, skipping the “hello, how are you” time-wasters.
“Your biggest problem has been taken care of,” he said quietly.
“Do I get to know how?”
“I’m sure you’ll be reading about it in the paper in another few days. Those damn Chinese are most likely behind it, but one never knows. Perhaps Holstrum really is the monster the public will read about.”
She paused. She wanted to ask more, but knew better. “Anything else?” she asked.
“Working on some support from a few overseas friends. Some sizable donations.”
“Carefully, Jeff.”
“Of course, Madam Secretary. I’ll let you know if anything else comes up.”
She hung up and sat at her desk with her arms folded across her chest. She and Jeff had pulled a number out of thin air the year before. A billion dollars. That’s what she would need to win the White House. It was an intimidating number to raise without ending up on the front page for the wrong reasons. If anyone could do it, though, it was Jeff Dennis. She decided she needed a distraction and began looking through more pictures of antiquities and artwork from the Middle East that had been stolen from national museums and galleries, as well as historic landmarks. The treasures would be lost or destroyed if not purchased by someone, so it might as well be by someone who had an actual appreciation for such things. In another ten years or so, the sale of those same artifacts on the black market would fund a few homes around the world.
The piece she had just purchased for a cool two hundred thousand was a sculpture that would go in her home in Virginia. It was Greek, and one of the loveliest statues she’d ever seen. The face seemed to glow in its soft white marble, with delicate features that seemed perfect in their anatomy. While two hundred thousand dollars was a lot of money, it was fair for something like this. Besides, it wasn’t like the money was coming out of her personal checking account, anyway. Ali Sawaad was listed as one of her confidential informants that provided great assistance to her office on Middle East affairs. His only real assistance had been in turning her homes into magnificent art galleries, with the cash ultimately ending up in the hands of ISIS, who purchased weapons and ammunition with the funds to continue their massacre. In a sea of never-ending violence in that region, the secretary merely waved it off in much the same fashion as she waved off the folks that worked for her.
***
Back in Langley, CIA officer Cheryl Cook got an automatic e-mail. Her sophisticated computer system alerted her whenever money hit the account she’d been watching for the last five months. Ali Sawaad just got another two hundred thousand dollars US. She ran the routing numbers and shook her head. What balls.
Chapter 6
Langley
Director Wallace Holstrum sat behind his desk with seven different files all open in front of him. It was nine in the morning. This was usually the part of the day when he was at his best. Not today. Seven different high-priority situations came in almost simultaneously—all unrelated, all equally sensitive and distressing.
The director had been scanning the files and trying to prioritize his day, which was obviously going to be a long one that included some briefings at the White House. His phone buzzing in from his secretary made him jump.
“Mr. Director, I have FBI Director Gallo for you . . .”
“Tell him I’ll call him later, Susan.”
“No, sir. I mean he’s here in the office. Now.”
Holstrum’s face showed his surprise. Bill wasn’t one to just pop in unannounced.
“Okay, send him in.”
The door opened and Director Gallo walked in, looking ashen. The normally outgoing man looked so grim that Holstrum immediately asked, “What’s wrong, Bill?”
Gallo walked in and sat in the chair across from Wallace. He crossed his legs and smoothed his slacks as he tried to find the correct words.
“How long have we known each other, Wally?”
The CIA director sat back in his chair, still puzzled. Bill was one of a handful of people on the planet other than his mother who could call him Wally. “A long time, Bill. What’s up?”
“I don’t know how to say this other than to just say it . . .”
His secretary buzzed again. “Sorry, sir. Your wife in on line three, says it’s urgent.”
Bill nodded. “Yes, it is. Call her back in two.”
Wallace folded his arms and told Susan to have her hold on. “Bill? You want to clue me in?”
“At this moment, there are FBI agents in your home, removing your personal computer.”
“What?”
“I’m really hoping that it’s the Chinese or some other source, Wally.”
“What are you talking about, Bill?”
“Over a thousand images of kiddie porn have been downloaded into your hard drive over the past few weeks. Agents were doing a regional sweep. Your name came up in the net.”
Wally’s face turned red and he leaned forward, seething. “Bill, you know damn well I didn’t download any kiddie porn!”
“I would very much like to believe that. It’s why I’m here personally, and not some agent you don’t know.”
“Bill! I’m the goddamned director of the CIA! You think I’d be downloading kiddie porn? Hell! Any porn? This is ridiculous!”
“Wally, I want to believe you. I do, actually. But I’m required to follow this up and investigate. You understand.”
“I do not understand! This could be a matter of national security. Someone wants me taken off my post, even temporarily! If it’s the Chinese, then they’re up to something bigger.” He held up two files from his desk, now closed. “You see this? This is the goddamned Chinese trying to start World War III! I don’t have time for this bullshit!”
“Wally, my team is going to have to search your work computer . . .”
“And you know damn well that won’t happen! I have top secret files on here that even you aren’t allowed access to!”
“I know it’s going to get complicated. The director of homeland security will decide how to proceed.”
“Bill! Are you hearing anything I’m saying? I’m in the middle of a shit-storm over here! I don’t have time for an FBI investigation into some crap someone put on my hard drive! Hell, I barely even use that computer. I spend so much time on this one, I don’t even want to see a computer when I get home.”
“We have all the log-in times. Most downloads occurred at night or weekends. We can cross-reference that against your log-ins here at work. You can’t be two places at o
nce. It could help clear you.”
“Bill! No one is getting into my work computer. No one.”
Director Gallo shrugged. “I’m sorry, Wally. That’s going to be up to Homeland Security. I’ll have to tell the White House, too, you understand.”
Susan buzzed in again. “Sir, I’m very sorry, but your wife is still on hold and she sounds upset.”
Wallace shook his head angrily and picked up the phone. “Hey, I know what’s going on. It’s not a problem. Just let them take whatever they need, okay?”
Director Gallo stared at his shoes, feeling uncomfortable. He tried not to listen to Holstrum’s wife yelling from her side of the phone. Wally hung up and stared at Bill.
“So now what?” he asked, angrily.
“Now my team runs their computer checks and tries to see where all this came from. The Chinese are good, Wally. It won’t be easy, if it’s them.”
“Well it sure as hell wasn’t me! And you know that!” He was pointing his finger at Gallo, wishing he was poking him with it.
“It’s not my call, but I’m guessing DHS may want you to step aside until this is cleared up.”
“And that’s exactly what whoever put that crap on my hard drive wants, Bill! I’ve got the Chinese air force buzzing ships in the South China Sea, the Iranians playing bumper boats out in the Strait of Hormuz, Mexican drug cartels, ISIS, a half dozen new terrorist threats, and you want me to take a week off?”
“I’m not sure we can wrap this up in a week . . .”
“Bill! This is ridiculous! I’ll call DHS myself!”
“I’ve already called. Sorry. The director is on his way over now.”
Chapter 7
Interglobe Oil Exploration
Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada
Apo and Bruce “Batman” Wang were sitting in a small office that had been set up for them by the staff at Langley. It looked like a Hollywood set dresser had staged the office, right down to the office plants. A lot of time had been spent creating a fake background on the company, and then backdating it so it looked to the world that Interglobe Oil had been finding oil all over the world for the last fifteen years. Hacking and cracking into Facebook and LinkedIn had been complicated, but anyone who researched the company would find years’ worth of news, connections, and commentary from all over the globe.
Bruce sat reading one of the many dossiers on the company that the two of them had to learn. He looked up and smiled at Apo. “Hey, man, congratulations on that find near Australia. Looks like a few hundred million in reserves. I didn’t really have you pegged for an oil man. Figured you’d have a silver belt buckle or something. Maybe a cowboy hat.”
“I look taller in cowboy boots,” said Apo.
“You and me both,” replied the small Asian. “I think combined we’re maybe ten feet tall and three hundred pounds.”
“Then you’re skinnier than you look,” said Apo, rubbing his belly. “I keep wondering what we’ll say if anyone walks into our office and actually wants to hire us.”
“Pay’s better than the current company, you can be sure.”
“True. Probably less risk on an offshore oil platform in a tsunami than our current line of work as well.” He paused. “You spend a lot of time in the field?”
Bruce leaned back in his chair and laughed. “Ohhhh,” he exclaimed with a sinister smile. “I get it. The little Asian dude should be a computer geek or a number cruncher, right? You profiling me, man?”
“Absolutely. I bet you make great fried rice, too.”
“Okay, that is actually true. Best fried rice you ever had. But yeah, I’ve been in the field for six years. You?”
“I’m older than dirt. Was probably in the field when you were still in grade school. Just got back from Mexico. You?”
“Singapore, by way of Kowloon and Laos last year.”
“See? The boss profiled you, too.”
“Yeah, well, it’s easier to blend when you’re Asian and speak the languages.”
Apo surprised him by speaking in Chinese. It wasn’t perfect, but was still pretty impressive for a Westerner.
“Hey, that’s pretty good,” said Bruce, surprised.
“Farsi, Arabic, Pashtun, Spanish, French, and a little Chinese, here and there. Oh, and Kurmanji. Also fluent with profanity and sarcasm.”
Bruce smiled. “Profanity and sarcasm are required for basic training at the Farm.”
Bruce, like Apo, couldn’t discuss specific operations, but he was a busy man. Being of Chinese descent, Bruce was in high demand in the American intelligence community. Finding Americans who could speak fluent Mandarin or Cantonese, and were willing to risk their lives for America, wasn’t always easy for the CIA. Bruce had been recruited out of nearby American University in DC and excelled in every task he was given. As his spy-craft improved, so did the complexity and danger of his missions.
Only two months prior, Bruce had spent a few weeks in Hong Kong, meeting with Chinese intelligence officers who believed he was ready to spy on the United States for China. Bruce had credentials that placed him at the Pentagon, where they wanted him to send secret documents related to the latest American weapons, aircraft, and radar systems in exchange for large amounts of cash—not an unusual trade. When he returned home, he did send them files that included both fake weapons systems as well as a computer bug that would allow access into their computers. Before it was discovered by the Chinese, the CIA successfully hacked over ten thousand top secret Chinese military files. The file was also designed to wipe the drive when any attempt was made to remove it, thus causing additional damage to the Chinese military community.
Bruce, at thirty-five, still found the adventurous lifestyle of a spy exciting and rewarding and, as a result, was an excellent agent with almost no social life. Like most of the men on the team, the job consumed him, leaving very little time for the niceties in life such as a companion or family. His parents thought he was a successful computer programmer in DC, and his occasional visits or surprise checks in the mail kept them satisfied that he was doing very well for himself, although they constantly told him he needed to find a nice Chinese girl and settle down.
A quiet ding on the only computer in the office made them jump up. They had sent out only one e-mail in the last two weeks, and the only e-mail they would be getting back would be from the Brunei National Petroleum Company. Brunei Petroleum had holdings in a shale-to-gas facility in British Columbia, which is why the CIA had set up the office there. The e-mail invited Interglobe to come and meet with the its head of operations in BC and, if all went well, potentially attend a second meeting back in Brunei.
“That’s it,” said Apo with a smile. “Foot in the door. We make them an offer they can’t refuse, sell them on the offshore oil platform where we want to work, and go find our nukes.”
“It’s always fun to seal a billion dollar deal when it’s not your money,” said Bruce.
“Now you sound like a Washington politician,” said Apo.
Bruce smiled. “The director warned me about your outspoken political commentary. I guess you aren’t looking for a leadership role in the Company anytime soon, huh?”
“Hell no. I like being out in the field where I make my own rules. Running a company of employees who all act like me would be a punishment assignment. No, thank you.”
Bruce typed out a formal reply and set up their meeting. “Dust off your best suit. We go tomorrow.”
Apo threw his arms up in victory. “Excellent. You’re lead for the meeting. I’ll just sit back and try to look like a tycoon. Stress the importance of immediate action. These deals typically take months. We need to be out there in days. Let them think the Chinese and Malaysians are pressing us hard, but our geologists want to work the area right next to their new artificial island.”
“Right. And because we’ve been dealing wi
th the Chinese, we have equipment ready to roll if they give us the green light. We can start mapping immediately, and have the platform moved out within a month. Just one thing . . .”
“What’s that?” asked Apo.
“What if they say no?”
Apo scowled. “Kill everyone in the room?”
Batman smiled. “I knew I’d like working with you.”
Chapter 8
Near Ka’ula Atoll, 50 Nautical Miles West of Kauai, Hawaii
The Naval Special Warfare support ship Tornado was used to transporting SEALs for covert ops. With a crew of thirty, the 179-foot aluminum-hulled ship had sped from the base in Hawaii to an area northwest of Kauai at a little over thirty knots. Once they arrived at their location, the ship cut its engines and dropped anchor in five hundred feet of water. The heavy chain links crashed through the surface, where they collected at the bottom and their combined weight held the ship in the calm sea.
The team was out on the rear deck watching CWO Gautreau supervise the set up of the ADS 2000. The heavy suit was standing in its metal frame, attached to cables that would hoist it up and over the side, where some lucky sailor would begin a very deep voyage.
Moose made a sad face as he watched. “Sucks,” he mumbled to Ripper. He and Ripper had both wanted to try out the suit and be the ones to retrieve the nukes; however, they were both too big to fit inside the apparatus. As large as it looked from the outside, it wasn’t designed to be used by men the size of Moose or Ripper. Instead, Jon Cohen was selected from the team. An avid fish geek, Jon was ecstatic to be given the chance to deep-water dive in the most beautiful blue water he’d ever seen. Forget the nukes—he just wanted to see the sea life.
Jon emerged from the ship wearing something similar to a dry suit, which he would wear inside the ADS 2000. It would get very cold at six hundred feet below sea level. Although the air temperature was almost ninety degrees in the strong sun, and the surface water temperature was eighty degrees, at six hundred feet, the water would hover around forty degrees. Even with the heavy insulation of the suit, the thermal layer was a requirement.
Dangerous Ground: The Team Book Five Page 3