Rogue Empire (Blake Carver Series)

by William Tyree

  It had been almost 12 years since Eri had left the apartment they shared in D.C. together. After their relationship hit a rough patch, she had moved back to Tokyo to take a job with Japan’s Public Security Intelligence Agency. Banged up as Carver was, traumatized as he felt, the mere thought of Eri still caused a palpable chemical reaction.

  In a section of the multiplex theatre in his mind, home movies of Eri were always showing. If Carver was being honest, she was more than just an ex-girlfriend. He had come within a few weeks of popping the question. Even now, when he thought of someday having children, it was still Eri that he imagined having them with.

  But contact with Eri was infrequent these days. The last message had been 93 days ago, and it had contained just three businesslike lines:

  Blake,

  Hope you are well. I have a colleague headed to Washington on business. Can you recommend a good American soul food restaurant?

  XOXO, Eri.

  This new message was even shorter:

  Call me. Need your professional opinion on something. Tried your phone — looks like your number changed again. XOXO

  That was odd. It wasn’t like Eri to ask for advice. She was far too competitive to ask his opinions on career topics. Maybe she was finally going to be promoted? He hoped so. Even after they had broken up, he had always rooted for her.

  Carver connected his phone to the satellite and dialed the last number he had for her. A twinge of nervousness rattled through his chest as he heard the phone start ringing. It had been more than a year since he and Eri had an actual voice conversation. The last time, she had asked him to look up some federal travel records for a Yakuza leader who had flown to Los Angeles to buy a kidney.

  Before Eri could answer, Carver received an inbound call. It was Julian.

  Speers got right to the point: “Whatever plans you had today, cancel them.”

  “The debrief. I know. Ellis told me.”

  “Debrief? No. That’s not going to happen today. I need your every waking moment focused on finding out who blew up that embassy.”

  “Fine by me. But you might want to talk to Ellis. I got the impression she’s out for blood.”

  “She can get her pound of flesh later. You two are going to crack this together.”

  Just like old times, Carver thought. But he didn’t believe it. Ellis had changed. And way down deep, he knew that there was no going back.

  Washington D.C.

  At half past five, Speers’ driver pulled the car up to one of his boss’s old Adams Morgan haunts, The Diner. He shook his head in dismay as he peered out the window at a couple of chubby patrons exiting the 24-hour eatery. “You promised you were through with this place, boss. What if your trainer finds out?”

  Before becoming a father of twin girls the previous year, Speers had eaten here four nights a week, usually after leaving the White House between midnight and three a.m. It had been one of the only places in the city where he wasn’t bound to run into someone from the Hill. At that time of night, Speers just wanted to eat a plate of French toast bread pudding, surrounded by tipsy strangers, and maybe watch stupid cat videos on his phone.

  The Diner visits had stopped on the insistence of his new fitness trainer. Late night restaurant visits, in particular, were off limits. Speers had negotiated an exception in the case of business meetings, arguing that food was a central component to getting anything done in Washington.

  So far, he had lost 18 pounds. That was still 60 pounds short of his goal weight, but it was something.

  Now Speers’ driver cleared his throat. “Mister Director?”

  Speers gestured to the car behind them, which contained his security detail. “Tell the others to wait outside. I’ll be quick.”

  A frigid wind caught him off-guard as he exited the vehicle. Global warming my ass, he thought. It isn’t even October yet.

  Inside the restaurant, he spotted the blond boy cut worn by Haley Ellis. As Speers had asked, she was seated in the back of the room, near the kitchen, away from windows. In Speers’ estimation, she was a little dressed up for government work, in a black sleeveless dress, stockings, two-inch heels and pearl earrings. A persuasion outfit. And Speers had to admit that Ellis was infinitely more persuasive when she looked like she did now.

  Lately, he hadn’t been able to shake the sense that he had given Ellis too much responsibility. He had never thought of her as brilliant, but she had been relentless and loyal. He had texted her just a half-hour ago, when most sane people were still asleep, and here she was. What more could he ask? Still, since the brain injury, something had been a little off. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

  Speers sat without taking off his coat. “The week that won’t end.”

  “I ordered the French toast bread pudding and coffee for you,” Ellis said. “When’s the last time you were home?”

  “Three days ago.”

  “Your wife must love that.”

  Speers shrugged. “She knew what she was getting into. So did you look into that China lead?”

  “I did. And it’s interesting. He’s a third-year FBI analyst who thinks he found the Pink Dragon.”

  Speers leaned back and folded his hands, tapping his index fingers together. The Pink Dragon was the codename for a spy rumored to be working for China’s Technical Reconnaissance Bureau. Her ongoing mission was, allegedly, to steal technical documents from American defense contractors that would enable China to match America’s military capabilities without going to the expense of research & development. Her target seemed to be anything and everything related to the defense industry. Through an intermediary, the Pink Dragon had paid a dockworker $15,000 for some photographs of a nuclear aircraft carrier under construction. Weeks later, the assistant to the Defense Secretary had been offered $10,000 to disclose her boss’s travel itinerary. She had once managed to seduce a DIA engineer, and while he was sleeping, used his phone to introduce vulnerability into a key Pentagon firewall.

  The secret to her success? As far as they could tell, she lived a remarkably low-tech lifestyle. In an era in which the NSA had access to every conceivable communication from each man, woman and child in America, the Pink Dragon rarely sent or received anything electronically. She wore an analog watch. When she did use phones, they were disposable handsets tossed within 24-hours. She always paid in cash, and in turn received hard copies of data and files.

  Ellis powered up her phone and pushed it across the table. “The Pink Dragon may have bought information on the drone’s weapons guidance system from this man.”

  Speers regarded a photograph of a white male in his late 30s. “Who is he?”

  “His name is Jack Brenner.”

  “Brinner? As in breakfast for dinner?”

  Ellis smirked. “Someone’s hungry. It’s Brenner, with an E. He’s a senior engineer working for LithiumXI. They’re a boutique defense contractor specializing in weapons guidance systems”

  “Like the one we had in the drone over Tripoli?”

  “Exactly.”

  Speers sighed. If this was true, Brenner would have been the latest in a long line of defense contractor employees to have sold information to the Chinese. The FBI had made seven so-called insider arrests in recent months.

  “Did Brenner have financial motivation for doing this?”

  “We don’t know. These are all just allegations. Nobody’s dug deep into this yet.”

  “Look, maybe Brenner did it, and maybe he didn’t. But can we just admit that this is a crazy theory? Can we do that? This is China we’re talking about. They don’t want a war. They’ve got plenty of land, money and resources. They just want to steal all our intellectual property and then take the kids to Disneyland.”

  Ellis held up her hands in deference. “You’re preaching to the choir. But we know that there are factions in the communist party that want to cut ties with the West. Every time they wake up, there’s another Starbucks in Beijing, another kid who’s found out how to acc
ess Google, another washed up NBA player dominating the Chinese Basketball Association.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “If you wanted to stoke enough anti-American sentiment in China to change foreign policy, can you think of any better way than staging an American attack on a Chinese embassy?”

  Speers shook his head. “I’m skeptical. But since this is the only thing we have at the moment, I’m going to give you the resources to chase this.”

  Ellis stopped just short of grinning, but looked triumphant nevertheless. “Thank you. I appreciate your confidence in me.”

  “Blake Carver lands in a few hours. You two will team up on this.” As soon as he said it, he could see that all the wind had left Ellis’s sails. “Is there a problem?”

  She paused, choosing her next words carefully. “If you don’t mind, Julian, I’d like the opportunity to choose my own team.”

  There it was. The reason she had put on pumps, perfume and the dress. Speers reached into his pocket and unwrapped a lollipop. He did so slowly and purposefully, letting the silence build until Ellis could no longer stand it.

  “Considering what happened in Tripoli,” she said, “I can only assume Blake’s debrief will be exhaustive.”

  Speers shook his head. “We don’t have the luxury of time. Besides, with Carver’s memory, the team could question him 10 years from now and get the same answers.”

  “What about disciplinary action?” she said, searching Speers’ face hopefully for some confirmation. “Carver disobeyed a direct order. He’s going to have to answer for that, right?”

  “He questioned your directive, Haley. And thank God he did. He’s the only reason Kyra is still alive.”

  “Carver is toxic. Trouble follows him. And I for one am sick and tired of getting caught up in it.”

  So that was it. Ellis was referring to an ongoing investigation by the House Intelligence Oversight Committee into Carver’s operation to disrupt and destroy a secret society called The Fellowship. In Speers’ judgment, Carver had eliminated a substantial threat to domestic and international security. But left in the operation’s wake were 29 bodies in Rome, including an MI5 operative and the worldwide leader of the Jesuit Order. He had also, in committee-speak, “Made unauthorized use of a fugitive asset.” That asset was Nico Gold, a notorious hacker who was still wanted in a dozen countries.

  Ellis had been Carver’s partner on that operation. She herself had barely escaped death, requiring months of rehab for a traumatic brain injury before being reactivated. After recovery, she had to deal with a very nosy task force put in motion by the House Intelligence Oversight Committee.

  It had all taken a toll. Despite Ellis’s recent medical clearance, Speers knew there were still doubts about her mental health. That was just one more reason why he wanted Carver on the case.

  “So you’re going to give Carver a pass again,” Ellis said. “No offense, Julian, but do you even realize how many times you’ve saved his ass?”

  “Haley, I’m going to say this just once so you’re clear about my view on this. Carver is the best we have, and I have nothing but confidence in his judgment. And if anyone asked me about you, I’d say the same thing.”

  He stood and buttoned his coat.

  Ellis looked up. “What about your French toast?”

  Speers plucked a 20-dollar bill from his pocket and laid it on the table. “You eat it, Haley. You could use a little sweetness in your life.”

  Joint Base Andrews

  Maryland

  The Learjet carrying Blake Carver and Kyra Javan touched down and taxied toward its hangar, wings gleaming in the mid-morning sun. Two black SUVs and an ambulance were on hand to whisk them to their respective destinations. Julian Speers stepped out of the lead vehicle and waited as the plane was secured for disembarkation.

  Speers had a smidge of scrambled eggs in his beard. He watched as the door to the Learjet popped open. Kyra emerged first, leaning on a medic for support as she descended the stairs. Carver came down right behind them.

  “Glad you made it back safely,” Speers told them.

  It was a line he had actually given a lot of thought to. Congrats was out of the question. Welcome back seemed far too celebratory given the circumstances. Thank you for your service sounded final.

  But it was Kyra, not Carver, who replied first. “Mister Director, I’m flattered that you came in person. But do you mind telling me what the hell happened over there?”

  The quiet outrage in her voice caught him off guard. Nobody spoke to him that way. But given all she had been through, he decided to cut her some slack.

  “We’ve got all hands on deck trying to figure it out. But I want you to know that your sacrifice won’t be in vain. We’ll have another shot at the Butcher, and the things you learned about him and his operation are going to help us do it. “

  She sobbed violently and uncontrollably. Speers went in for a hug, but the paramedics that had been waiting to take her to Bethesda Naval Hospital were faster. They led her to the ambulance three abreast, where she would no doubt get something for her nerves.

  Now Carver was beside him, watching as the ambulance pulled away. “I don’t envy her. They’re going to want to be sure she wasn’t the leak. I’ve had some pretty hostile debriefs in my time, but this is going to be one for the record books.”

  Speers sighed. “At least she can rest assured that Mohy Osman is dead. You made damn sure of that.”

  Minutes later, the black SUVs – Speers’ vehicle and his security detail – merged onto the Beltway. Speers sat opposite Carver, relaying the finer details of what some were calling The China Theory – the idea that fringe elements within China’s communist party had in fact hacked into the American drone and destroyed their own embassy.

  “So,” Speers said at last. “What do you think?”

  Carver pulled no punches. “Dead wrong. There are all kinds of problems with that logic.”

  “I tend to agree, but we have to consider the possibility. In a few minutes, you’ll meet up with Haley Ellis. I believe she already sent you a dossier on a defense contracting engineer named Jack Brenner.”

  “Already read it.”

  “Just curious. You don’t have a problem working with Ellis, do you?”

  Speers’ phone buzzed before Carver could respond. The intelligence czar absorbed the message with a grimace, and then lowered the vehicle’s privacy glass.

  “Turn on the radio,” he said to the driver. “Any news channel will do.”

  RADIO BROADCASTER: “I just received word from our New York bureau. We have confirmation that the markets are back online after approximately 18 minutes of unexplained dead time, where the NASDAQ and the New York Stock Exchange were effectively knocked offline. This is looking a lot like the flash crash of 2010 that caused an estimated trillion dollars of damage to the U.S. economy, so it will be very interesting to see who or what has actually caused this.”

  Speers turned to Carver. “I’ll tell you who or what caused this. It’s payback for Tripoli. And it’s just the beginning.”

  The East Room

  The White House

  The broadcast producer stood next to the teleprompter, checking to make sure that the last-minute additions to the president’s speech had made it into the live script. She turned to President Hudson, who stood behind the podium in a blue dress, going over her remarks.

  “We’re live in 15 seconds, Madam President.”

  President Hudson cleared her throat and sipped hot lemon water from a silver thermos. Then she turned toward the camera and remained standing with her hands gripping both sides of the podium. A practiced posture that conveyed the right balance of power and determination.

  An aide patted her brow and moved off screen. The producer put up his hand and initiated the silent five-second countdown. Then he pointed, indicating that she was broadcasting live.

  “Good morning. Today, the world woke up to the news of a tragic accident in which one o
f our drones struck the Chinese Embassy in Tripoli. I have already extended our deepest apologies to the Chinese president, as well as to the Libyan prime minister.

  As you may know, Libya is a nation experiencing extreme instability, including an ongoing civil war. It’s no secret that it has also become a hotbed of terrorism. Our intent today was to protect a group of brave Americans operating in the area from a known threat. Obviously, that operation did not go as planned, and we’re still working to identify exactly what went wrong. As of this morning, we have ruled out pilot error. We have not ruled out cyber attacks as a possible cause.

  Now I want to take this opportunity to personally apologize to the people of China for the grave loss of life. However, I must caution President Kang against taking retaliatory action. Just hours ago, our embassy in Beijing was sacked by protesters, and one of our own diplomats, whose name has not been released out of respect for the family, lost his life. I urge Beijing to do everything in their power to ensure that the situation does not spiral even further out of control.

  About an hour ago, the NASDAQ and the New York Stock Exchange were effectively knocked offline in what we believe to be a cyber attack. The American people and the world can rest assured that we are taking all possible measures to minimize our vulnerability and prevent another attack of this magnitude.

  While our investigation is in its early stages, know that we will consider any deliberate state-sponsored attack as an act of war. Out of respect for the tragedy in Tripoli, I am effectively grounding the American drone program pending a full investigation into the incident. I have every expectation that the program will resume in due course.

  In the meantime, the American military is on high alert. Any threat on the ground, on the seas, in the air, on the Internet and even in space will be dealt with swiftly and without hesitation. We will protect American citizens at all costs, whether they are at home or abroad, using the full power of the American arsenal.