by Camden Mays
“We can’t go off half-cocked after ever leader that is ‘down on America.’ If we did two-thirds of the world would be blown up by now.” She paused to compose herself.
“Your email is waiting for you. It’s a ‘flash’ priority. It will require you to move a little more quickly and even work a little later than you’re accustomed to in the corporate world.”
Cameron cringed and fancied telling her to shove it while walking out. What the hell did she know about running a business? He argued to himself. He knew she wasn’t a fan of his, but he didn’t know why.
Instead, of the dramatical exit he fantasied about, he took her last words as his dismissal.
He nodded and then turned to leave her office.
“Oh, Officer Cameron.”
McCune stood and walked around to the side of her desk near the window.
“You know Grant Ramsey, right?”
McCune’s question startled him. She had never shown the slightest interest in his personal life. He tried to gain composure, as he turned back toward her.
“Yes, Ma’am. We went through some training together. Grant and I worked together on a couple of assignments but after his dismissal," Cameron caught himself talking too much.
McCune was now standing, with her backside leaning against the edge of a table near the window. She folded her arms.
“Have you heard from him lately?”
What the hell is going on? He wanted to shout, but instead answered, “As a matter of fact, I did, last Friday afternoon he called me and asked if we could meet for coffee to catch up.”
After a brief pause, he stepped toward the door.
“Will there be anything else?”
“No, that’s all for now.” She gestured as if to shoo him off while returning to her desk.
Cameron moved quickly down the hall to his desk and opened his secure email from McCune. It was another typical assignment for him as he worked to synthesize analytical and operational information on terrorist groups.
Cameron wanted to get a handle on the background information available to him. Various sources were used to collect intelligence of this sort, such as the FBI, Homeland Security, or INS and CIA’s field operatives. A system of analysts would filter the information he received.
Cameron’s responsibilities usually entailed working with a team of expert analysts to fit the different pieces together to identify potential threats. Field agents were called upon to acquire additional information as needed.
Cameron was a capable field agent, but over the last two years, following Grant Ramsey’s dismissal, McCune had tied him to analytical work, and he rarely was let off leash. For the most part, he had to be content with working from the office.
He scrolled through the computer screen, viewing the scanned copies of documents such as shipping manifests, material data sheets, and transcripts. Some of the documentation still needed translating from Arabic to English. Cameron was busy; pecking the keyboard, clicking the mouse, sending selected items to his laser printer. He felt like he was solving a giant jigsaw puzzle, but with only a fraction of the pieces.
After capturing an overview, Cameron reached over grabbing the papers ejected from the printer. He placed them in his shoulder satchel with the legal pad, stood up and straightened his jacket. A glance at the clock told him the day was moving along too fast. He needed to pick up the pace.
He walked away from his desk, and down the hall, to meet Amy Wiggins, a communications expert, who served as a logistics coordinator. He enjoyed working with Amy. She had a great demeanor and got things done.
Cameron could see the top of her blond head over the cubicle wall as he approached her desk. He smiled, as he considered her a scent of fresh air in the otherwise stale environment. Most everyone seemed conservative and wore dark tones around the office, but not Amy. Her constant changes in hairstyle and sense of fashion matched her energetic and individualistic personality.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cameron approaching and responded to his smile with one of her own.
“Hello, Amy.”
“Hey, Cole. When are you going to give me a real challenge?” she asked with a grin.
“Just the usual, I’m afraid.”
Cameron pulled file folders from his satchel. Amy sat back down in her chair and closed a couple of the windows on her computer screen. She moved the mouse over and popped open a new window.
“We need a copy of the chain of custody for this shipment of hydrogen cyanide that’s shown on this shipping manifest.”
He rested his left hand on the back of her chair while holding a copy of the shipping manifest in the other.
“When we’re done here, I’m running a couple of data sheets over to Gagnon for chemical analysis.”
Cameron thought aloud. “Someone around must think I can read Arabic; there are still four or five documents that need translating.”
“You don’t?” Amy asked, turning to look at Cameron’s face.
“Don’t what?”
“Speak Arabic.”
“Yeah whatever, neither do you.”
Cameron had finally recognized her humor. It was timely. He felt the tension ease. Amy was one of his favorites at work. She reminded him of the kind of people he had enjoyed working within the private sector.
“I thought I showed you how to use the translation software? Amy said with a raised eyebrow signaling her disapproval.
“Twice actually,” replied Cameron, “I prefer the human touch, you know. I think you techies are just too trusting of all of this artificial intelligence stuff.”
Amy just shook her head at her colleague’s resistance to adapt. She sorted various documents and images on the computer and sent them to a language analyst. Cameron leaned on her desk and sorted through some of his notes.
“So how are you and Richard doing?”
“You mean Robert,” Amy replied, rolling her eyes in disgust at Cameron’s forgetfulness. He didn’t forget. He just enjoyed eliciting a reaction. She continued working on the computer, denying him the satisfaction of his mischievous efforts.
“He’s at a business conference in Chicago. And to answer your question, we’re doing great…” Amy hesitated “…this month.”
Cameron continued scribbling notes and working with Amy to wade through the documentation. She had begun a background search on a corporation listed as the shipper on one of the manifests. He grew impatient, as he watched the stream of data flow across her screen.
“May I?” Cameron asked pointing to the phone stationed at her desk.
Amy nodded.
He picked up the receiver and dialed an extension, looking over the cubicles, as he waited for an answer. Cameron could see Amy looking in his direction, as he dialed another analyst’ extension. Getting no response, he let out a deep sigh.
“You know we Millennial’s don’t answer the phone, right?” Amy jabbed, as she continued working through her tasks.
“Let me know when you get that chain of custody.”
Cameron waved as he left her cubicle. Just as he turned down the hall, he looked over the cubicles to the glass wall of McCune’s office. McCune was standing and talking to an attractive brunette, in her early thirties, that Cameron did not recognize.
I hope she can handle McCune, Cameron sympathized. He saw their meeting interrupted by Raymond Hernandez, an assistant director with Homeland Security. What a pair. McCune and Hernandez, Cameron mumbled. I feel safer already.
The day marched along at the usual rapid-fire pace. He had promised Grace he would get with the Realtor to set up a time for another open house, but finding any personal time today would prove difficult. The thought remained as a slight distraction throughout the day, but Cameron had grown accustomed to pushing aside his own concerns and focusing on the task at hand.
He and Amy worked together to prepare another Intelligence Report on the Arden Islamic Jihad Brotherhood (AIJB), a group with ties to ISIS and new radical leadership.
Cameron was becoming the in-house expert on the extreme Islamic terrorist group that was gaining influence and power. The intelligence gathered suggested they were looking for alliances to sponsor potential nuclear or chemical attacks.
A competent field team leader, Darryl Capps, had gathered intel. Cameron smiled when he saw his friend’s name on the report. He and Cameron had served on a few operations together and seemed to hit it off well.
Darryl Capps had taken Cole Cameron under his wings to teach him the ropes and sharpen his field game. Cameron was learning new skills from Capps, especially when it came to self-defense and weapons.
Over the last few years, Capps worked with Cameron to improve his marksmanship with his standard issue Glock 22 and the Colt M4A1 assault carbine. Every now and again during their get together at the shooting range, Capps would surprise him by pulling out a different exotic firearm. Since Capps was one of those elite officers for the Military Special Projects (MSP) and Special Operations Group (SOG) he had virtually any weapon available at his request.
MIT, the Intelligence branch of Turkey, had captured an AIJB member in a plot against some political figures in their country. Capps worked with MIT in Turkey to interrogate the terrorist. The operation had yielded some valuable intel that raised red flags at CTC.
The information Capps had obtained had warranted elevating the AIJB up the CIA watch list, but McCune demanded additional analysis.
He and Amy spent that afternoon sorting through documents and reviewing transcripts. Amy was in the middle of making a point when Cameron recognized the brunette he had seen earlier in McCune’s office.
The brunette walked with confidence down the hall, dressed in a neat black pantsuit and white shirt. She passed right by their workstation. She noticed Cameron’s glance, both of them. She smiled at him as she walked past him. Cameron cracked a sheepish smile and tried to follow Amy’s point.
“Are you blushing Officer Cameron?”
Amy had caught him.
“What are you talking about?”
Cameron tried to play it off.
“Special Agent Hannah Jacobs, with the FBI. She’s thirty-four and single, just like me. Single that is. Oh, make that divorced, part of the interagency ‘Can’t we all just get along’ program sponsored by our ever-efficient federal government.”
“Well aren’t you a wealth of useless information.” Cameron chuckled.
“OK, back to these tasks.”
It was late when they marked the final task off the list. While most of their findings were inconclusive, the report nevertheless reinforced what Cameron had already reported. The AIJB was gaining influence and working to acquire large-scale destructive capabilities. And they had some human intelligence data (HUMINT) reports that suggested the AIJB were holding hostages in Al Mukalla, Yemen. But nothing concrete and the AIJB had made no public demands, and the identity of the hostages was unknown.
More information was needed, and Cameron recommended a covert operation in Yemen. The report was packaged and submitted to McCune for review.
After completing their project, Cameron and Amy left the CTC office together. Cameron thanked Amy for her help. She searched through her purse for her keys as they left the lobby.
“Hey Cole, do you want to get something to eat?”
“Some other time maybe,” Cameron replied. “I’ve got to get home tonight. Don’t you ever get tired?”
“I’m exhausted.” Amy said, collapsing her shoulders, “but I’ve got to eat.”
“Have Richard pick you up something,” Cameron suggested as left the lobby, still within shouting distance.
“It’s Robert!” she shouted back, “And he’s in Chicago!”
CHAPTER 3
McLean Virginia
Cameron took a seat with his bottled water at a small round table outside the coffee shop, positioning himself with a view of the entrance. The warmth of the sun reminded him of the weather he grew up with in Southern California, but never fully appreciated until he left there.
But this was McLean, Virginia with colder winters and humid summers. My God, how he hated the humidity. But the moisture in the air was not a concern on this pleasant day that hinted of springtime. The temperature was approaching a comfortable seventy degrees. He took his suit jacket off and neatly laid it over the back of the chair next to him. Ah, just right.
As Cameron perused his surroundings, he wondered why he always found himself meeting at a coffee shop. I don’t even like coffee, he thought. A quick drink of the bottled water he had bought and a glance at his watch let him know that he should see Grant approaching the entrance soon.
Cameron wasn’t sure why Ramsey was so insistent on meeting with him. It had been nearly two years since they had seen each other.
As he sat at the open table, Cameron could feel the sun heating his white dress shirt. A glance to his right revealed two college-age women sipping lattes and chattering about nothing. At the table in front of him were a couple of middle-aged men, smartly dressed, with a laptop on the table in front of them.
Unable to see the screen, Cameron was intrigued by their intense expressions. He had half a mind to get up, walk over to the trashcan stationed just beyond them, merely to get a glimpse to satisfy his curiosity.
One more table down sat an attractive young woman around thirtyish, reading a book with her cup of coffee. The sun seemed to reflect off her light brown hair that went just past her shoulders. Her navy-blue skirt moved slightly higher up her thigh as she crossed her legs. Her white blouse was unbuttoned low enough to cause Cameron to be self-conscious.
Don’t stare; he had to remind himself. Where the hell is Grant? Cameron thought as he moved his gaze from the young woman back to the entrance.
Cameron saw some of his brother Jack in Grant, who had come to the Agency after serving in the Marine Corps and with Naval Intelligence. They had only worked together on a few operations before Grant was dismissed by the CIA nearly two years ago. His thoughts drifted to his younger brother, Jack.
Growing up together in Southern California, the Cameron brothers were inseparable. From little league to playing running back for the Torrance Tartar’s football team, Jack seemed to follow in Cole’s footsteps.
After graduating high school, Cole was excited to be accepted as one of the twelve hundred incoming cadets at the United States Air Force Academy in Colorado and expected his younger brother to be right behind him in two years.
Instead, Jack joined the Marines and never missed an opportunity to heckle Cole that ‘if he’d had any balls, he’d join a real fighting unit.’
Cole landed a role as an Intelligence Officer while Jack was more comfortable being the ‘tip of the spear’ as he called it.
The brothers’ paths also diverted when it came to family. Cole had married his high school sweetheart, Grace, while at the academy and Jack made no effort to settle down. Just a few months into their marriage, Grace presented Cole with the surprising news that they were expecting. Soon after daughter Jessica was born, Cole’s worldview changed forever.
After graduating from the USAFA Cole Cameron went to the Officer Training School (OTS) at Maxwell Air Force Base in Montgomery Alabama to complete his required ten-week officer training while Grace and baby Jessica remained in Colorado waiting for Cole’s assignment. The OTS was designed to develop the necessary skills of teamwork, discipline, leadership and military management.
Following OTS, Cole was assigned to the 10th Intelligence Squadron in Langley Virginia, which teamed with the 30th Intelligence Squadron of Air Combat Command (ACC). There with the 10th Cameron learned how to conduct information operations and harmonize and synthesize intel from multiple sources and correlate them in near real-time to combat command elements. It was there where he acquired the skills the Agency sought to utilize.
Another patron bumped into his table to squeeze by the crowded outdoor seating and brought Cole back to his purpose. Just as he lifted his eyes, he saw Grant Ramsey meande
red his lanky six-foot-four-inch frame through the door of the coffee shop, looking around the indoor seating area, then squinting through the glass walls and waving to Cameron. He gestured with his hand his intentions to get a cup and then head over.
The coffee shop reminded Cameron of his ex-wife’s annoying obsession. Grace could roll the window down and smell her way to her favorite coffee shop. Cameron thought to himself.
According to Grant Ramsey, his dismissal for the CIA was due to faulty intelligence and indecisive leadership. There was a blown mission that resulted in civilian casualties.
He believed that he became the scapegoat for McCune’s mistake. But Cameron knew Ramsey’s story was just one side of it but also, he couldn’t completely discount what he had asserted. He considered that the Agency may have unjustly put the pinch on Grant.
In a different way, Cole Cameron also felt pinched in the Agency. He was as a career switcher, caught in the middle of the two dominant groups in the Agency’s operations group. There was the old guard of seasoned officers, most of them in their fifties or older, who knew how to navigate through the bureaucracy while cleverly ensuring their interests. There was also the younger, up and coming group of highly recruited professionals, bent on making rapid career ascent at any cost.
Cameron had often felt patronized by both groups. Although not a novice, he lacked the experience of the old guard and the highly specialized expertise of the younger career climbers.
What a crock! Cameron thought to himself, as his mind wandered trying to find something of significance to validate his decision to join the Agency. He was a man weary of hacking through the jungle of red tape only to have the policymakers of the upper floor impede progress with poor management.
He saw Ramsey approaching. Grant had his own set of problems. He was living in New York and came down to DC on rare occasions to see his kids. Cameron took a deep cleansing breath, hoping to remove the toxins of his negative thoughts.
As Grant made his way to the table, Cameron stood up.
“Grant, good to see you. Man, how long has it been?” Cameron offered with a grin, looking up at the four-inch taller Grant.