Rogue Operator (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #1)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  And bring in campaign finance reform.

  Limit donations to individuals, and cap it at a low amount, like a grand or two a year, and then no one was beholden to anyone else. It had been done in other countries, and more were moving toward it. But in the United States it took over a billion dollars to win the presidency. And over a billion dollars to lose it.

  Insanity.

  Morrison looked at Erickson. “Who else is involved?”

  Erickson’s jaw slammed shut.

  Morrison shook his head. “Come on, Bill. You know we’ll find out eventually. Why not make it easier on us and yourself and cooperate.”

  Erickson shook his head. “I have a family. I don’t care what happens to me, but they’ll kill them, and you can’t protect them.”

  “Who? BlackTide? They won’t be around very much longer.”

  Erickson laughed. “Right. Those people will just scatter to the wind and take their revenge later. They’re worth billions, tens of billions, and their capital and private armies are mostly outside of the country. All you’ll do is bust up their shell corporation here. And besides, this goes way beyond them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know for a fact that BlackTide is just one piece of a very large, very powerful group that is backing this.”

  “Who?”

  Erickson shook his head. “I can’t say.”

  “What do you mean you can’t say?”

  “They’ll kill me. They’ll kill my family.”

  “Who?”

  Erickson’s head dropped and he grabbed the back of his neck, squeezing in apparent frustration.

  “The Assembly,” he whispered.

  “Who?”

  Erickson shook his head. “I don’t know who they are, but what Finch told me, terrifies me.”

  “Or that’s exactly what Finch wanted you to think.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you talk of grand plans, but Finch and his BlackTide are all that seems to be involved here. I think they’re trying to make this seem bigger than it is, too big to take down, but the reality is the companies that build the airplanes, the ships, the guns, the ammo, are all just patsies in their scheme; companies that will benefit by there being a war, but not complicit in actually trying to trigger it. I find it hard to believe that the military industrial complex, as greedy as they are, would actually try to trigger a war with China, our biggest threat. I think it’s more likely that you were convinced by BlackTide that they had more backing than they actually did. And you were duped.”

  Erickson’s face looked confused, his eyes darting about, narrowed, as he thought about what Morrison had just said. Finally he shook his head.

  “I can’t take that risk. I won’t risk my family. You won’t get anything out of me on this, and I’ll never repeat what I just said outside of this room. I don’t care what you do to me, all I care about is my family.”

  “That’s noble,” said Morrison, standing up. “But when you sold out your country, you didn’t seem to be worried about their safety. Isn’t your son in the navy? Stationed in Japan if I’m not mistaken. Kind of the frontlines of the very war you’re trying to trigger.”

  Erickson didn’t respond.

  “And as to repeating anything, don’t worry, I’ve got it all recorded.”

  Erickson’s jaw dropped and he stared at Morrison wide-eyed.

  “You-you can’t use that. It’s illegal!”

  Morrison shook his head. “I’m CIA. I’m not concerned with getting you inside a courtroom; I’m concerned with getting to the truth and stopping a threat against the United States. Whether or not a recording gets tossed out of court is irrelevant.” Morrison stepped toward the door, then pointed at the file. “You can keep that. I’ve got copies.”

  He opened the door and stepped out, closing it behind him. As he walked down the long hall, his heart was heavy with what he had just been forced to do. He knew Erickson was a good guy, and his wife, Rebecca, was a stellar woman that would be devastated when she learned the truth.

  He had destroyed a family to save a country.

  And he knew, before the week was out, he would be destroying many more families.

  A single clap of gunfire brought the entire hall to a halt, then suddenly Marine guards were bolting toward Erickson’s office. Morrison continued to walk, his chest tight, as Erickson’s secretary cried, “He’s dead!” He felt no guilt; Erickson had brought it upon himself. But he began to wonder about what his late colleague had said. Morrison couldn’t see Erickson killing himself over BlackTide.

  What was clear to him was that Erickson truly believed there was a much larger conspiracy at play, with people who wouldn’t hesitate to wipe out his loved ones if they thought he had cooperated.

  And that sent a chill down Morrison’s spine.

  Zhongguancun E Plaza, Beijing, China

  Kane squatted near an alleyway, yanking a piece of meat off a skewer that he seriously doubted was chicken. But he didn’t care. It was delicious, and he was hungry. His luggage had been forwarded to his hotel, all booked under one of his aliases unknown to anyone but him: Tom Pile, an insurance salesman from Florida who every year took one big vacation some place exotic, and posted about it and his exploits on Facebook for all sixteen of his friends to enjoy, his settings ‘accidentally’ public so it could be easily checked.

  In today’s world a cover without a social media presence was no cover at all. But too elaborate a cover wasn’t of any use either. If you had a thousand friends on Facebook, then you were expected to have an active profile. He didn’t have time for that, so a cover with just a few friends, most of them sock puppets, fake Facebook profiles he’d created for just the purpose, would make it believable that he didn’t post often.

  And posts about his vacation, coinciding to stamps in his passport, legitimized his cover.

  Which meant he had had absolutely no problem entering China and clearing security.

  A short cab ride and he was sitting across from one of the CIA’s fronts in China. Li’s Photo, specializing in the transfer of film to digital, and back. It was a tiny hole in the wall operation with just two agents manning it. One up front, dealing with the day to day customers in the cramped confines that never encouraged anyone to stay long, or repeat business, the other in the back, doing the true work of the agency.

  Waiting.

  Waiting for an operator who needed some piece of equipment, some message transferred.

  Kane pulled the last piece of meat off the skewer with his teeth, then meandered through the market, and eventually into the small shop. It was empty save for Bing, an impossibly short woman who stood on a series of crates stacked behind the counter so she could see above it. She beamed him a smile, and gave him a traditional Chinese greeting.

  His cover didn’t speak Chinese, though Kane did, a combination of Langley training, Rosetta Stone, and two months in Shanghai with a gorgeous creature who didn’t speak a word of English except ‘Yes’. It was the best way to learn a language—in bed.

  “I’m sorry, do you speak English?”

  The woman nodded, she knowing exactly who he was, but not letting on anything just in case they were being observed from the outside.

  “Yes I do, how may I help you?”

  Kane pulled a memory card from his wallet. “I have this old memory card, and it seems to have stopped working. If I can’t get it working, I’m not going to be able to take any photos of your wonderful country. Do you think you could take a look at it?”

  Bing took the tiny SD card and eyeballed it for a moment.

  “It very old.”

  “Yes it is. So’s my camera!” laughed Kane.

  “Husband!” screeched Bing, stepping off the boxes and heading into the back, motioning for Kane to follow. “Need you look at something!”

  Kane stepped through the bead covered door and into the larger back to find his old friend sitting behind a desk, tinkering with what appe
ared to be a state of the art listening device.

  Chan Chao waved his wife, for they truly were married, out with a flick of the wrist. She closed the door behind her. Chan looked at him, and in perfect English asked, “What the hell are you doing here? I should shoot you right now.”

  “Is that any way to greet a friend?”

  “We’re not friends. My friends don’t shoot agents.”

  “Your friend didn’t.”

  Chan grunted. “Bullshit.”

  “A BlackTide freelancer drew on me and I took him out, the other three, who were agents, opened fire, and I was forced to kill two of them. I don’t know who killed the third. It was the BlackTide guy who’s responsible.”

  “You still killed three agents.”

  “Two. And in self-defense. Ask the Director if you don’t believe me.”

  “You’re rogue. The word is out on you. Kill on sight.”

  Kane frowned. “Really?”

  Chan nodded.

  “So why are you talking to me?”

  “Because I don’t believe what they said about you for a second.”

  Kane sighed. “Then why are you bustin’ my chops?”

  “Cuz it’s fun.”

  Chan’s wife cackled in the front room, her husband joining her as he stood up and embraced Kane. “You should see the look on your face. You seemed genuinely heartbroken.”

  Kane dropped in a free chair as Chan returned to his own. Kane’s chair creaked painfully, and he wasn’t sure how long it would hold. He leaned forward, distributing as much of his weight as he could onto his legs.

  “Nobody likes their friends and colleagues thinking they’re a traitor. At least though I know my boss doesn’t think so, so when this is all over, I’ll be cleared.”

  “Better hope he doesn’t get killed, otherwise no one might know you’re innocent.”

  Kane’s eyebrows shot up. Hadn’t thought of that. “You’re always full of good ideas.”

  “You mean shit?”

  “Do you kiss your wife with that mouth?”

  “Kiss her, have you seen her? If I’m kissing her, the parts don’t line up.”

  “I hear dat!”

  “Of course you did, my dear,” called out Chan in his friendliest voice. “She hears everything,” he muttered.

  “I hear dat too!”

  Chan grinned. “So, what do you need?”

  “Insertion into North Korea, near Dandong, then extraction for as many as nine.”

  “Nine? Are you kidding me?”

  “Three scientists, two wives, three kids, and me.”

  “So eight. We can leave you there to fend for yourself.”

  “Ha ha. Can you do it?”

  “Getting you in isn’t the problem. The North Koreans are geared for war to the south, and don’t watch the Chinese border very hard in comparison. But getting nine people out will be a challenge. Let me think on it.” He jerked his thumb at the rear of the room. “Why don’t you grab some rack time in the back. I’ll wake you in a few hours when I have things set up.”

  Kane nodded and stood up, stretching, having forgotten how tired he was. He stepped around Chan’s workspace and into the back. A small cot with clean sheets awaited him.

  “Expecting someone?”

  “Yeah, a real man,” shouted Chan’s wife. “You want I come back there with you? Show you real good time!”

  “Shut up woman!”

  Chan flashed a grin at Kane who returned it, then dropped on the cot, wishing he was able to go to the room he had rented at the Hilton Beijing. Five star luxury that would never be taken advantage of, for as soon as night fell, he knew he’d be in the back of some truck on a ten hour journey to the border of the most closed society on Earth.

  With probably no hope in hell of rescuing everyone.

  His mind drifted to the scientists. If they were there willingly, then shooting them as traitors was a viable option. Then he’d only need to try to extract the women and children. The wives might have gone along with it out of greed or love, but the children were absolutely blameless, and he’d have a hell of a time extracting three kids without their mothers, especially if he had just killed them.

  Best to keep the wives alive and let the courts figure it out later.

  But will I need to kill the scientists?

  Sleep finally overcame him, as he pictured each of the men’s faces from their files.

  BlackTide Headquarters, Arlington, Virginia

  Brad Finch’s phone buzzed and he picked it up, hitting the button to take the call. “What is it?”

  “Sir, the front desk just called. The FBI are here! They just came through the front entrance.” He could hear the panic in his secretary’s voice.

  Finch’s chest tightened as he stood up.

  “What do they want?”

  “They said they had search warrants, and a warrant for your arrest!”

  “Activate Omega Protocol.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  He heard a beeping alarm over the intercom system, and looked at his computer screen as the hard drive began to wipe, overwritten with a series of ones and zeroes repeatedly until stopped, there being no way any data would be able to be retrieved. The building vibrated slightly as he felt the massive incinerator kick in. He grabbed all the files on his desk and walked over to the wall and opened the door to the incineration chute. Dumping the files inside, he opened his desk drawers and pulled out everything that might have data on it, shoveling it all in the chute as he knew employees throughout the building would be doing, all elevators and stairwells now locked down.

  This building had been designed for warfare, as a demonstration to foreign clients of security features that could be built into their government and embassy buildings around the world. He had never dreamed they would need to use the features here, but so be it. There was no way he was going down without a fight.

  His phone began to vibrate and he pulled his Samsung Galaxy III S out of his pocket, activating the security app. A panel of mostly red displayed, but green squares were starting to appear as each cleared office changed the status switch mounted on the wall. Red indicated the office still contained classified information, green indicated all materials destroyed. When a staff member finished their office, they were supposed to move to the next that still indicated red.

  Tossing the last of his material down the chute, he flipped the switch on the wall behind his desk, his own little square turning to green, as he stepped into the outer office and helped his secretary clear the last of her items. Finished, she flipped her switch, and they stepped out into the hallway.

  “You help with disposal,” he said, pointing across the hall to a records room.

  “Where are you going, sir?”

  “Don’t worry about me, just do your job, and you’ll be safe. They’re not here for you.”

  She nodded, tears in her eyes. He gave her a quick hug, she having been his loyal secretary since he founded the firm fifteen years ago. He kissed the top of her head, then gently pushed her across the hall.

  “You’ll be okay.”

  She forced a smile, then turned and entered the records room, where the open door momentarily revealed a flurry of activity inside. Finch spun on his heel and calmly walked two doors down, poking his head in Atticus Tucker’s office. Tucker’s secretary looked up and stopped.

  “Is he in there?” he asked, motioning toward the door.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Finch motioned with his hand. “Don’t stop what you’re doing.”

  She flushed in embarrassment, and resumed stuffing documents down the chute. Finch noticed her computer was already on its second wipe, which meant that all desktops in the building, even those powered down, were now wiped, the security system sending a signal to power up if necessary. All that was left now were the servers and the domestic offsite backup. Everything they needed that was important was backed up in a secret location, not within the Americas, and already being moved fr
om their current physical location to a secret location known only to a handful of people.

  There was no way they were going to get anything on him.

  The power went out as he entered Tucker’s office. Tucker was just flipping his switch when he spun, his trusted Glock in his hand, aimed directly at Finch’s chest.

  Finch didn’t react, knowing full well the Colonel was too well trained to accidentally shoot him. The weapon flipped up, and was quickly stuffed behind his colleague’s back.

  “What’s going on?” asked Tucker as the diesel generator kicked in, restoring power.

  “FBI raid. They’re here for me.”

  “And probably me.”

  “Perhaps. If not now, definitely eventually.”

  “Exit plan?”

  “Alpha.”

  “The tunnels?”

  Finch nodded. “Let’s go, we don’t have much time.”

  As if to remind them, small explosions erupted in rapid succession as what Finch guessed would be coordinated blasting of the locks on the sealed doors. He ducked across the hallway and into a room marked Janitorial, Tucker close behind, as red beams from the laser scopes of the FBI tactical team’s rifles shone through the dust. Tucker pressed the door silently closed behind them, then locked it, as Finch flipped three light switches up, then the middle one down, releasing a hidden clasp. He swung out a supply cabinet that was perfectly balanced to glide with ease, and in silence. He stepped into the alcove, along with Tucker, then pulled the cabinet closed behind them, the switches on the other side resetting, the door unlocking.

  Finch wrapped his arms around the fireman’s pole that stood before them, and stepped off, wrapping his legs around the cold steel. As he gained speed, passing each of the four floors, he could hear shouting and banging as the FBI quickly overran the building. He squeezed tighter, slowing his descent, and gently hit the floor, then quickly stepped back to avoid being hit by Tucker who joined him seconds later.

  Glancing at his cellphone, he saw almost the entire panel was now green, with the few reds very few indeed. The lockdown had been nearly completely successful, now it would be a matter of determining whether or not those red areas were areas where the switch just hadn’t been flipped, were partially cleared, or not cleared at all, and whether or not any of the data not cleared was compromising.