Bob instantly put his hand in front of Rick’s arm, preventing him from giving the secret strangers the finger.
“There’s some of your homies, Company men. Why aren’t they over here hailing you, the intel master? Riddle me that, Batman. Oh yeah, stand tall, act cool. Wait, ready? Jag offs, arriving.” Rick assumed a loose position of attention and watched as a number of military in uniform arrived. Two Generals, two Colonels, a Lieutenant Colonel, a female Captain, and two Sergeants Major. Rick broke his mock position and headed straight for the Captain.
Bobbie Mac was too slow going after him, getting intercepted by his fellows from the CIA.
“Captain? I’m Rick Banik, and I worked with Bobbie Mac, um, Bob McClendon on the original analysis. I have to ask, why did the military send such a group?”
“I’m sorry, you’ll have to ask the General that question,” she said coldly.
Rick nodded for her to step aside, give them more room without intruding ears too close.
“I’m not after your skirt, Captain. This is US soil and really, the FBI and maybe Secret Service ought to be leading this. They can keep us within the law while we go after these scumbags. From your group, I figure you’re the only one who really knows what’s going on. Everyone else carries too much rank. I expect their heads are too far up their asses to see anything but their own rectums.”
“Aren’t you brash, but somehow I believe you. If you were trying to get in my pants, there’s no way that would have gotten you there. You really shouldn’t tear other people down. It makes you look petty. What’s your point? What do you think you know where these fine officers won’t listen to you, won’t be able to help you?” She shot back. Her name tape said “Sargent.”
“Don’t even…” She said with a harsh look at Rick.
He held his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry. It’s not my intent to denigrate anyone. I’m only frustrated at the lack of analysts here, the folks who we’ll need to dig through everything this nation has to find the trail of crumbs the bad guys have inevitably left behind. They always do. Sometimes we find them in time, sometimes we don’t. In this case, we can’t afford to miss anything.”
She waved the Lieutenant Colonel over. He approached with a broad smile. Both Bob and Rick assumed he was new to the Beltway. No one had a smile like that for very long. The naivete of youth, Rick thought as he smiled back and accepted the proffered hand, giving it his best squeeze. The military liked vigorous handshakes.
Lieutenant Colonel Strong was no different. Rick wasn’t a small man, although older than the LTC, he held his own. The military man appreciated the effort and let go. “I’m Travis Strong, currently committed to the Pentagon. My sentence is three years hard labor. You?”
Rick instantly liked the man. “Rick Banik, an analyst with EPEC, a private contractor. We did some work with Bob McClendon here,” Rick nodded to his elder counterpart. “From the Agency. I guess you can blame us for starting all of this.” He swept his arm across the wide variety of people from any governmental organization with letters. Rick noticed an old Army peer who currently worked at the National Security Agency, NSA. They nodded to each other. The other man protected a chair for himself against the wall.
Maybe there were more worker bees here than he initially thought. Rick held out hope that the Tiger Team wouldn’t’ be a total cluster.
“We represent the JCS J-2.” The Joint Chief of Staff, Intelligence. “We’re here to see if there’s anything we can add. I don’t think so from stateside, but if you need anything in theater, we have more boots on the ground there than anyone.”
Bob looked away quickly. Company men never gave away the location of CIA agents, both internal and assets, in the field. Bob probably didn’t know. He was in the Intelligence Directorate. Ops was the other CIA. The two didn’t talk as much as outsiders assumed.
“JCS? Aren’t you the guys who don’t have any people? You mean CENTCOM has people on the ground there?” Rick punched Travis in the shoulder. It was important to get the jibes out of the way early so they wouldn’t interfere with the real work. That was coming soon.
“You sound like a man who’s done time.”
“Staff Sergeant Rick Banik, long departed of the United States Marine Corps, at your service.” Rick clicked his heels, inclining his head toward the Lieutenant Colonel. “I’m equivalent to a GS-14 now.”
According to the General Service schedule, 15 was the highest and comparable to a full Colonel, while a 14 was about the same level as a Lieutenant Colonel. Rick was a private contractor so he received all the pay with none of the drawbacks of his government counterparts. Anywhere else in the world, Rick wouldn’t have shared his pay rate.
But here, it mattered, and it mattered a great deal. GS-14 got him in the door while a Marine Staff Sergeant ran down the hall to get coffee for those on the inside.
“Well Rick, a pleasure to meet you. Looks like we’re going to start soon. I’ll probably be standing against the wall somewhere, trying to look important.” Travis excused himself and headed for a chair behind the two Generals.
“Rick, Bob, nice to meet you. I’m sure we’ll talk again. I have that feeling that once the doors close, we’ll be trapped here for quite some time.” Becky Sargent took a chair next to Travis, both ready to support their Colonels and Generals. The Sergeants Major, the senior enlisted of their organizations, stood by the wall like two bulldogs.
“I’m sorry Rick, I couldn’t get you a seat at the big table. I don’t have that kind of pull, but I’m giving the main presentation, which means that you’re giving it. I’ll defer to you at the start, and you take over. All good?” Bob asked.
Rick turned his head to the side as he looked at Bob. Rick was going to get the credit after all, but if this went south, Bob just extricated himself from the worst of it. Rick appreciated the sly move by the man so close to retirement.
“Slides?” Rick asked, expecting them as every intelligence meeting had slides. He was a PowerPoint Warrior, Expert Level.
“Just some happy snaps of your raw data, then the causal link to your conclusion. I didn’t even bother printing out a packet for you. You’ll be better not trying to read ahead. You’re good off the cuff. No one will realize that you’re winging it.” Bob gave a curt nod, slapped Rick on the arm, and walked like a champion to his chair, next to The Man at the big table.
The Man was the DDI, CIA’s Deputy Director of Intelligence, Charles “Race” Banyon. He sat at the head of the table. The presentation screen lit up the wall opposite him. The others at the big table turned their chairs to watch as Bob McClendon stepped to the podium.
“Welcome to you all. None of what we talk about will leave this room. At this time, you’ll get copies of your read-in to a Special Access Program created to control all information generated by and relating to this Tiger Team. Welcome to Thorny Rose. Once we collect everyone’s forms and security has ensured that everyone here is read-in, we’ll begin.” Bob sat back while the Special Security Officer, the SSO wearing her other hat as SAPSO, the Special Access Program Security Officer and a couple of her people collected the forms, confirmed that signatures and names matched ID cards, then politely excused themselves.
Thorny Rose? Rick thought. I’m supposed to brief slides that say Thorny Rose on them? He reviewed and signed his SAP Access packet. It was just another program that he wouldn’t talk about. At the end, he’d be read out, signing below the line he just signed saying that he was read-in. It was all bureaucracy so they could crucify anyone who leaked classified information. Well, anyone at his level, maybe even the level of the highest ranking in the room, but never the serial leakers, the ones held accountable by no one.
He meant politicians. Rick did his duty. He signed and didn’t talk about it. He held himself to the highest standard. He wasn’t responsible for anyone else. He learned long ago not to lose sleep over things outside his control. If someone else leaked it, that was on them.
He shook himsel
f from his descent into an internal rant and looked around. The briefing was about to begin and he’d soon be on stage.
“Thank you and welcome again to Thorny Rose. The DDI has a few words.” Bob stepped aside, expecting the Deputy Director to take the lectern.
He didn’t, from his seat, he spoke. “This information came to light only yesterday. We’ve already lost a couple days from the time of the original conversation. I need everyone here to bear down, and dig out those nuggets. I don’t need to tell you how important this is. There’s a real threat to our nation’s capital by a group that has shown it isn’t afraid to kill innocent people. Da’esh is here, ladies and gentlemen. We’ve let them into our country. That’s not on anyone here, and that’s not our job. What we need to do is find them, root them out before they act. This is for God and country!” Half the people in the room craned their necks trying to hear what he said.
Most people in the IC are introverts. The DDI could glad-hand with the best of them, but his natural tendency was to stay in the background. If he didn’t have to get up in front of a group of people, he wouldn’t. Rick studied the man. Had the DDI stood and looked at the people as he talked, his speech would have excited the crowd, brought them on board for the hard work ahead. As it was, it sounded canned. Beware the boogeyman. The other government let them in, but we’re the good government, so let’s clean up their mess and make sure no one knows.
The first rule of leadership was to sell the people on your vision. So close, Rick thought. With a couple small tweaks we could turn you into someone people would follow out of more than idle curiosity.
Rick was in introvert as well, but his job demanded that he stand in front of people. His personal pride drove him, probably ego, too. When he was up front, he made it about his position and nothing about himself.
After the DDI ended, silence greeted him. This was the Intelligence Community. They generally didn’t clap for anybody. It’s the way of the introvert. They were all doing as Rick was, second guessing his speech, making critical comments, agreeing with certain points, and doing it all in the comfort and convenience of his own mind, while reviewing their personal schedules, seeing how an increased workload would affect them.
“Thank you, Deputy Director. Now let’s get down to business.” Bob brought up the first slide with the Special Access Program seal and the Thorny Rose title. “Let’s start with the background information that led us to our current conclusion. The person who first identified it is Rick Banik and he’ll take it from here.”
There it was. Rick got his credit and people were trying to do the right thing, protect DC from the evil that called itself Da’esh.
“Good afternoon everyone. I’m Rick Banik, former Marine and current senior intelligence analyst for Emerson Partners Enterprises Corporation, a mouthful to be sure. We go by EPEC. I’m happy to be a member of this Tiger Team. I expect you, like me, have your families right here in DC. There is nothing more important to me than their safety. Nothing. To help them, we help everyone. I personally won’t rest until we find these people and dismantle their effort to attack us where we live.
“I’m sorry, but I’m kind of isolated in our offices away from the Beltway. I don’t know many of you. Let’s go around the room and please introduce yourself and who you represent. And if you have sunglasses on, please take them off.” A number of people snickered. The two men bristled, but as all eyes were on them, they removed their sunglasses.
“Thank you.” Rick pointed to a person at the far left to start. CIA, NSA, CIA, DOD, FBI, DHS, CIA, NSA, the White House, NSC, DOJ, and the string of letters continued through the room. All in all, twenty five people were committed to the effort. Rick counted seven who would probably do the work. Everyone else was high-ranking and had people working for them. Since this was SAP, they couldn’t task their people with anything uniquely related to it.
Once the introductions were over, Rick looked at the DDI directly. “How many more people will be read-in to Thorny Rose?”
The DDI held up his hand making, pointer finger touching his thumb. Zero. Rick nodded, but didn’t believe him. He knew there’d be more. A lot more.
“White House? The National Security Council is here, too. Who do you represent in the White House?” It wasn’t Rick’s place to ask the question, but he wanted to know in case he needed to temper his presentation or appeal to a certain person’s vanity.
The person hesitated before answering. “Public Affairs.” The blood raced up Rick’s neck. He thought his head was going to explode. He stood, mouth agape, looking at this person. The DDI personally stepped in to save Rick from himself. Race Banyon turned his chair to face the individual.
“Nothing can be released about this program. We’ll find them. We’ll neutralize the threat, and no one will know there was ever a threat,” the DDI said clearly and evenly, in a low, but firm tone.
“We’re going to have to tell the public something!” They young man said in a higher pitch than he probably intended. Everyone looked at him with disdain. Whoever sent this man here had made a mistake, but as was typical inside the Beltway, the messenger was going to be shot.
“SSO?” The woman in the back stepped forward. “Debrief this man, get his credentials and prepare a note for my signature, the usual about jail time for disclosure.” He looked at one of the FBI representatives, then to the individual from the Department of Justice. Can you get a tap set up on all his communications?” They nodded noncommittally.
This was how the IC played hardball. The DDI was certain that the individual would pitch a fit with his boss at the White House, who then would go to the President. The President would call the DCI, who’d call the National Security Council, who would then tell the President that they would tell him everything he needed to know. If the President wanted anything released from Thorny Rose, he had the authority to release it, not his Public Affairs Officer.
That’s how the game worked. Had the DDI any aspirations of becoming the Director of Central Intelligence, he would not have kicked the young man out of the Program.
After the representative from Public Affairs had left the room, the DDI turned back to Rick, who hadn’t moved during the whole exchange. Sometimes it was best to follow the Jurassic rules of engagement. The T-Rex sees movement, so when he’s stomping around a conference room and killing people, just stand still.
The DDI said in a low voice, “Sometimes, I like being me.”
Everyone who heard laughed. At least the poor man was out of the room, freshly executed before the firing squad of injustice. The DDI beamed and nodded to Rick to begin again. Rick beamed back. He’d done right by the DDI, who took care of him.
Maybe now he’d get his pay raise?
D Minus 20 – Making the Hard Choices
Mohammed was convinced. Clay was not an agent of the unclean. The next question was would he become a warrior for the cause?
Mohammed sat in his hotel room and looked out the window. He stayed at Hilton properties and had a rewards card tagged to a PO Box in Los Angeles, even though he’d never been there. A passive supporter collects the mail once a month and forwards it to various addresses given him at the last moment, never the same one twice.
The television was off. It was a quiet Saturday, no one roaming the Embassy Suite’s halls, no construction noise outside. The trees were starting to change. It was Fall in Northern Virginia, and Mohammed appreciated the beauty of it. His window opened to trees and a residential area. It was serene, even though traffic was starting to pick up.
It would look serene after he did what he had to do.
Afterward, people would stay indoors, afraid to go into the world. He smiled at the panorama beyond his window. You shall all be afraid as you should be, he thought. You need to believe that we are coming for you, for your children, for your very way of life. We will freeze you in your tracks. And you will leave us alone so we can bring the Caliphate to fruition.
Mohammed stood. He was to meet Cla
y soon. The young man had worked the night shift and finished only an hour ago. They’d meet shortly, in yet another park in another of DC’s many suburbs. From there, they’d head west, into the country where they could talk freely, and if Clay wasn’t receptive, Mohammed could kill the man and dump his body.
He wore his nondescript clothes, put his wallet and passport in his front pocket, a trick he learned to survive Rome, and he took the Escalade’s key fob with the switchblade-type key inside. He decided that he liked the large young Kenyan. It would be a shame to see him die, but he said he wanted to make a difference. This would matter a great deal, and all of Da’esh would take a moment to honor his sacrifice. He would make a difference that would matter. He should take solace in that.
And next month, Mohammed would search out another recruit somewhere else to do something at least as spectacular. Martyrs and their sacrifices were always celebrated.
There was an endless parade of the willing, but few quality recruits. Mohammed was gifted at finding the right ones. He considered himself lucky, blessed by Allah. Mohammed’s wise nudge loaded his recruits into the chamber, and when he pulled the trigger, they were delivered right on target.
He always had to play the shell game first, not being seen, moving from one place to the next, hiding in plain sight. Like now, driving a Cadillac Escalade inconspicuously to a park to a meet a large man who stood out in any crowd.
Mohammed couldn’t turn off the vehicle’s GPS, so he had the generic map on the Cadillac’s large screen. He followed it to the park in Fairfax. No sense making it easy on them by typing in addresses. When he needed specific turn guidance, he’d use Google Maps on his phone. The latest technology was his friend and his enemy.
People Raged: and the Sky Was on Fire-Compendium (Rick Banik Thrillers Book 1) Page 4