Chapter 25
London, England
August 29th, 1:10pm EST
The man in the gray wool suit stuffed the cell phone in his pocket and closed his eyes. It was just starting to mist, but he didn’t care. He lifted his face to the sky as he allowed himself a moment of quiet.
Finally, some good news. Jeanette Locke was safely in the Bahamas. It was the first piece of positive news he’d had in over a week. It was his job to track Chance Baxter. He’d been handpicked for the mission earlier in the year and given the field agents, four of whom were now dead, including their most important mole, Captain Weir.
He’d known Weir, had even liked him. Some people said that getting close with your sources was a no-no, but it was often inevitable. Two patriots conversing over beers, talking about the old days in the British Navy when all you had to worry about was the next cruise or the next port.
The man exhaled. Weir was gone now. He didn’t know the details, hadn’t heard a thing from Weir in the end, but he did know that Suprema was sitting on sand covered in tons and tons of sea water. If only they could get a team down there.
The Mexicans authorities promised to do what they could, but their resources were limited.
“Damn,” he cursed aloud, opening his eyes to take in the day. It was dreary. The same weather they’d had for days, centuries really. He wondered why he stayed in London. Yes, it was home, but the world was full of sunny places. He’d seen many of them during his time spent in the service, and he was already planning to ask for reassignment.
The rain didn’t help his mood, and his thoughts drifted back to what had occurred in the preceding days. A leak. Four men gone. Did Baxter know? Surely he did. If he did know, who told him?
Everyday citizens thought the intelligence apparatus was crafted to be flawless. In reality, it was anything but. When you inserted people into the equation, and worse, added their ambitions and prejudices to the jumbled morass, who knew what the machine would spit out?
He’d personally seen the same intelligence dissected three or four different ways, the output miles apart in their assumptions. Some said the solution was to rely more heavily on technology, and to allow the drones and the wire taps to gather the intelligence. It was all nonsense, really. Without the operators and analysts behind the scenes, how would the oceans of information be processed? Yes, technology did help, but getting eyes on the objective with an 80% picture of the situation was much better than watching through a television screen 2,000 miles away.
People - they were both the problem and the solution. The issue for the man sitting on the cracked park bench was that people, not machines, had upended his investigation. He’d never lost a source before and now, in a matter of hours, he’d lost four.
It was not his sense of pride or his ambition that was taking the sting but his sense of duty. He’d failed in some capacity. He had to believe that. And yet, there were other forces in play. Someone had alerted the Baxter organization to the surveillance.
If he’d been in on the operation from Day One, from the moment they’d sniffed out Baxter’s dealings, he might have a clue. But like a crime scene that had been tainted by too many passers-by, the trail of culprits was now virtually indistinguishable.
Because of the layers of bureaucracy, he had to report certain things to his boss and his boss had to report them to his. Red tape. Checks and balances.
It was a perfect way to lose a secret. The moment more than one person knew it, the chance of that secret’s survival was slashed in half. Add more people in the chain and soon it was no longer a secret.
The man in gray wished for the old days, when handlers could keep things from parliament, and they were able to treat their sources like confidential informants used by reporters.
He exhaled again. There was no use crying about it now. He had to find a way to salvage the operation. The Locke girl hadn’t turned up a thing and knew much less than Weir had reported. She’d stay under MI6’s protection for the time.
He needed help and he needed it fast. The only problem was where to get it. His own headquarters had been tapped by the enemy. He couldn’t go there. For a long moment he thought about going into the field himself. That idea fluttered away with the breeze. He was not a field agent.
Then a name dinged in his head. An old acquaintance. A friend across the pond.
In that moment he made up his mind. If his own family couldn’t help maybe the Americans could.
+++
Tel Aviv, Israel
At almost the same moment, a similar discussion was being conducted in a warehouse, far from prying eyes.
“What about the prime minister? Do you think he is involved?”
The man smoking by the window snorted.
“How could he not be? His sister just left the country with our prime suspect.”
His colleague shook his shaggy head.
“Then we’re stuck.”
“I did not say that.”
“I hate it when you’re like this. If you have a plan, tell me.”
The cigarette dropped to the floor, its last embers scattering in the dust. The man stamped it out and stepped closer to his co-worker.
“We knew from the beginning that our organization might be involved. We took the proper precautions.”
“But Osman is dead.”
The man nodded gravely and pulled another cigarette from the pack.
“And that was unfortunate. He was a grumpy old soldier but a good man.”
“Without Osman we have nothing.”
“There’s always Krygier.”
“She could be halfway around the world by now.”
The taller man lit his cigarette and shrugged.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“What do you mean it doesn’t matter? Stop speaking in riddles. Tell me, what do we do?”
After a long drag, and an even longer plume of smoke, the other man said, “We cannot go to our usual friends. We cannot go to the government.”
“What are you saying, that we just give up? We’ve been working on this for two years! I won’t just…”
His colleague raised a hand. “I did not say we should give up. I am saying our resources are limited. Now, because it is clear that one country might be most affected by this plot, do you not think said country might like to know about it?”
“You think we should tell the Americans?” the seated man asked incredulously. “You saw what their president said. If word gets out…”
“That part is inevitable. Perlstein will see to that. He and his henchmen will twist this in the worst way possible for us. I’m sick of the lies. It is time someone unravels the truth.”
His friend huffed in frustration. It was not like them to dump a problem on another team, let alone a rival country. But maybe his long-time team leader was right. Maybe the Americans did need to know. Maybe Zimmer would find that not all of Israel was conspiring against their ally.
“Okay. We should do it.”
“Do you have anybody in mind?” the taller man asked.
“Let me think on it, but yes, I believe I do. We’ve exchanged information before, and I am sure he will be happy to receive this.”
“It is just like history that we should dump this on the Americans. How many times have we taken advantage of their intelligence efforts?”
Both men chuckled. It was an old joke that rang of truth.
His friend said, “Yes, but in this case, the answers would aid both Israel and America.”
+++
Great Sale Cay
3:03pm
Another wrinkle, Baxter thought, and hung up the phone.
He did not like using the phone and he only did so on official business. So when the call came in from America, he’d been more than a little perturbed. But his contact had been clear. The CIA had received messages from the United Kingdom and from Israel, not an hour apart.
The messages were anonymous, and via different agents, but
the collection filtered through a central source. His contact deep inside Langley was tasked with monitoring incoming and outgoing messages relating to the Baxter corporations and Efraim Perlstein, just to name two filters.
“It sounded like more than a heads-up,” the man had said, “They want us to figure it out for them.”
While that might have been comforting the previous day, Baxter was no stranger to investigations, even from the FBI and CIA, but now was not the time. British and Israeli intelligence had been on his scent for months. They’d gotten close on a few occasions, most recently with the moles placed by MI6, but nothing had ever come of it. It was a new world, a world where the absence of a smoking gun allowed men like Baxter to skirt the law as long as they were careful.
And he was careful, very careful.
But now the Americans knew. It was inevitable, of course, but the timing…
The Americans...
Baxter’s thoughts went to his guests. Could their visit be merely coincidental?
Chapter 26
The White House
August 29th, 3:21pm
Marge Haines swept into the Oval Office as fresh as if she’d just woken up from a day long nap. President Zimmer was amazed by her stamina and spirit. He had to remind himself that he shouldn’t be amazed. Not only was Haines a powerful attorney but also she’d manned the helm at SSI after Travis’s departure.
He, on the other hand, felt haggard. He’d spent the day listening to droning lists of what was wrong with American aid packages.
There were the schools in Afghanistan that didn’t have any books because local bandits had stolen them in the middle of the night. Why? Who knew? In addition one school in particular hadn’t had electricity or proper plumbing for months. The infrastructure wasn’t there. The inspector who’d briefed the president was almost in tears as she recalled the students having to use the back wall of the school as a urinal.
Then there was the multi million-dollar hospital they’d built in Iraq. The institution had been shiny and new in the beginning, but the fatal flaw had been something a first-world country seldom had to think about. Now, there were barely any doctors to staff the facility, let alone trained nurses to do what needed to be done.
So, the small staff had left in search of real jobs in Baghdad. The hospital was said to have switched hands from one local faction to another every few months until finally they’d left it to the beggars and vagrants. More millions wasted.
President Zimmer had listened for hours, learned of the food that had never been delivered or the troops who had merely watched as fifteen-year-old conscripts learned how to put on uniforms and boots.
It was all so pointless. How could they fix it? Zimmer told himself it would take one step at a time and a boatload of patience.
“We have two minutes until the director calls,” Marge said without looking at her notes.
Zimmer had found in the short time they’d been working together that Haines had the ability to glance at a schedule once and commit it to memory. It was almost funny to see how put together she was. He could see why Travis liked her, maybe even loved her.
“Everyone being nice to you?” Zimmer asked.
“As nice as they should be. I’m the new kid, remember?” She didn’t seem worried, and he wasn’t concerned either. She’d have the White House staff whipped into shape even faster than Travis. Zimmer found it very comforting to have her there now. Yet another gift from Travis.
His phone rang a minute and a half later and his secretary announced that the Director of the CIA was on the line. When he was patched through, the director cut right to the matter.
“Mr. President, we’ve just received word from not only British Intelligence, but also Israeli intelligence that a plot is underway to destabilize the region.”
“And by region you mean —?“
“North America, specifically, sir.”
While that wasn’t news to Zimmer, he didn’t say as much to the director. He and Haines had decided to keep things quiet about Hannah Krygier and the Israeli conspiracy, at least until Cal had something tangible.
What did concern the president was the timing of the news.
“You said both British and Israeli?”
“Yes, sir. I know what you’re thinking and I’m certainly at a loss about the timing.”
“Do you think they could be working together?” Zimmer asked.
“I’m not positive but I don’t think so. They came in through agents in totally different divisions. I haven’t talked to them personally but the information seems legitimate.”
“And what was the information in addition to what you’ve already stated?”
“They mentioned two names, sir. A British billionaire named Chance Baxter and an Israeli named Perlstein.”
“What do they have to do with us?”
“I’m not sure, Mr. President. I have my people working on it now.”
Zimmer looked to Haines and frowned.
“Director, I’ve got Marge Haines, my new chief of staff with me. Marge, what do you think?”
Marge moved closer to the phone.
“Director, was there any indication that the Brits and Israelis wanted to coordinate efforts on this?”
It took a second for the answer to come, like the director was checking his notes.
“No, Ma’am. The two agents asked as much but were told it was just an FYI kind of thing.”
“So they want us to do the dirty work,” Zimmer said, to no one in particular.
“It looks that way, sir,” the director answered, his mood matching Zimmer’s.
“So what do we do? You said your people are working on it?”
“Yes, sir. I’m happy to stop by when I have more information to report.”
“You know me, if it can be solved with a phone call, you don’t need to waste your time coming here.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Zimmer ended the call and looked up at Marge.
“So?”
Marge stared at him for a moment, like she was thinking.
“Something’s not right here. I don’t like the timing. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was a calculated ploy to somehow knock us off the trail.”
Zimmer wasn’t about to disagree. It seemed too easy that the calls had been mere coincidence. No, there had to be something deeper going on, something they couldn’t yet see.
The president was about to say that to Marge when Bob Lundgren burst into the room. The press secretary didn’t greet either of them but grabbed the television remote from the president’s desk and turned on the TV.
It flickered to life a second later, and there was the face of the Israeli Prime Minister. He was standing behind a podium looking stern. Zimmer had met the prime minister on a few occasions and while he seemed a little withdrawn, Zimmer liked him and his platform for Israel’s future.
“Bob, what’s going on?”
Lundgren didn’t look back, but said, “My Israeli counterpart just gave me a heads-up. He said you’d want to see this.”
“Did he tell you...?”
“Shh,” Lundgren said. The press secretary had never shushed him. That made Zimmer even more curious.
The prime minster nodded to someone off camera and began. He spoke in English for some reason. Interesting, thought Zimmer.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice. This will not take long. All of you heard President Zimmer’s recent speech at the United Nations. You’ve replayed the footage ad nauseam and many of us have had conversations with the president. I, for one, was glad to see that President Zimmer is doing what I’ve called for since my election.” His voice went cold. “But I fear things are not as they seem.”
Zimmer gripped the desk and glanced at Marge. Her eyes were glued to the television.
“Just this morning, credible intelligence indicated that American agents are currently operating on Israeli soil. I have been informed that two agents have been apprehended and the
y are in the process of being debriefed. Normally, this conversation might have happened behind closed doors, but as President Zimmer so eloquently said, 'It is time to come out from the shadows. So I ask you now, President Zimmer, what are your spies doing in my country?'”
Chapter 27
Great Sale Cay
The Bahamas
August 29th, 3:45pm
Chance Baxter stared at the oversized painting of his mother, father and himself as the blade scraped up and down the hand-sized whetstone. Every so often, he would dip two fingers into the glass of water on his desk and dab the water on the whetstone. Then he would continue the sharpening.
One thousand passes per blade. It was a ritual. It was his zen. The memories of his childhood floated in the air and he thought about his mother, his poor mother. So beautiful, yet so damaged.
He’d known from a young age that she was mentally unwell. His father called her crazy to her face. She would just smile and go back to whatever she had been doing.
The younger Baxter had at first defended his mother when he was old enough to realize what his father was doing. He’d never received physical punishment for his youthful outbursts, but his father had locked him in his room for hours and he’d endured the screams and cries from his mother.
She would never cry when he was there, but the moment he left, every ounce of emotion spilled out. It got to the point where he rarely left her side. He didn’t want to see her in pain and for a while it worked.
They played and laughed, even though under her cheerful facade, the nine-year-old boy saw the sadness eating away at her. He brought her paintings and doodles from school, and he was pleased when she was delighted.
Mother and son were inseparable, and soon she kept him at home, became his teacher. There were nights he would wake to find her curled up next to him like a child.
Some people might see it as unhealthy, but there was never any inappropriate conduct.
As for his father, the elder Baxter made it no secret that he was whoring about. He traveled constantly and sometimes came home with a wench on his arm. He even went so far as to introduce them to his wife and son.
The Zimmer Doctrine (Corps Justice Book 11) Page 13