“What are you talking about, your theory?”
McGavran’s fingers drummed the briefcase again, and for the first time, Carter sensed anxiety in the old man.
“What’s in that briefcase, Prescott?”
“A pet project of sorts.”
“What sort of pet project?”
“After the Striker program was abolished, I continued its OVERDRIVE case file on my own.”
Carter’s eyes grew wide in disbelief. The Striker program they ran in the eighties was a clandestine operation to find Post 866, the rumored medical sharashka run by General Viktor Sokolov and his son, Evgeny. The program was established by President Reagan after various foreign sources provided intelligence that the Soviets had a secret installation that experimented on Americans, mostly soldiers captured in war zones and sold to the Soviets.
Striker had been established by the Reagan administration as a cutout CIA program because of its sensitivity. It was an off-the-books operation; no State, no Justice, or oversight committees. The money to run the operation was siphoned through offshore proxies and the only individuals who knew of its existence were Reagan’s inner circle and the CIA agents running it. Textbook for plausible deniability.
All the HUMINT and SIGINT intelligence gathered by the Striker program was consolidated into a compartmented case file, code-named OVERDRIVE. During the six years that Striker was operational, Prescott McGavran and Susan Carter updated the White House personally on the OVERDRIVE case file. And while the location of Post 866 had nearly been discovered, it had all fallen apart in the winter of 1987.
“The OVERDRIVE case file was destroyed, Prescott. Reagan saw to that personally.”
“I know.”
“So excuse me if I’m a bit lost. But how exactly did you continue OVERDRIVE on your own?”
“I made a copy before I was demoted. After the winter of 1987, I thought I was done in the agency. The fact that Director Casey gave me a desk job in OREA, where I had access to Russian intelligence, was a blessing. Yes, I would never be officially operational again, but given the resources I still had, I felt like I owed it to those who were killed.”
“You ran a private investigation behind the agency’s back?!”
“For thirty years, yes,” McGavran said. “I couldn’t let it go, Susan. After I hid Robert, after what the KGB did to those families, after we got so close to finding the sharashka, after everything that happened—”
“You understand what will happen to you if this gets out, don’t you?”
“Of course,” McGavran said. “I will lose my job and almost certainly be investigated and probably indicted for using CIA resources for my own personal gain. That being said, I think you should see what I have gathered. If what Robert said was true, if Sokolov and his Vympels have kidnapped his daughters and are taking them to the post, I believe you should look at the contents of my updated OVERDRIVE case file.”
“Why?”
“Because I believe I might have finally located Post 866 and you are not going to believe what the Russians are doing there.”
* * *
Thirty minutes later, after McGavran finished his detailing of the OVERDRIVE case file, Carter stared at him, dumbstruck. “Why wasn’t this brought to my attention sooner, Prescott?!”
“Because until I heard Robert’s distress call, I was gathering evidence based on speculation. Now we have a firsthand account.”
“You firmly believe Post 866 is located at these coordinates on the Kamchatka Peninsula, at this old Soviet missile silo, the location you’ve dubbed in OVERDRIVE as Site X?”
“Without a doubt.”
“If I take this to the National Security Council, they are going to ask for more proof. They are going to want concrete evidence that the Gaines girls are at Site X.”
“Then I suggest we give them that concrete evidence.”
“How?”
“Look at the patterns I’ve detailed in OVERDRIVE. Somehow the Russians bring Americans across the Bering and into the Kamchatka Peninsula. We don’t know the exact mode of transportation, but we do know about the increase in activity at the Russian-owned Gazprom oil rig off the coast of the peninsula.”
“You mean the Russian stealth helicopters?”
McGavran took the specific paper from OVERDRIVE and placed it before Carter. “Precisely. Somehow, the Russians get their victims across the Bering. It could be by boat or even by submarine, I don’t know. What I do know is that I have imagery of Russian stealth helicopters arriving at the Gazprom oil rig. I have imagery of them picking up packages and then flying to Site X, before returning to Vladivostok. Emily Gale was abducted eight hours ago, if we put our spy satellites on the Gazprom oil rig and Site X, I’d be willing to bet we’d see a stealth helicopter arrive at the rig, then fly to Site X. It could be in a couple hours, or it could be a couple days, but I guarantee that’s what we’ll find.”
“Do you know what that would cost, Prescott?”
“Don’t patronize me, Susan. I understand the nuances of satellite telemetry. I also know that someone in your position could order that, no questions asked. Go talk to the geospatial and imagery directors in analytics—they can get the Keyhole images we need.”
Carter wasn’t convinced. “But we still wouldn’t be able to determine if Emily Gale was on that stealth helicopter. For us to intervene, we’d have to have definitive proof.”
“Ah,” McGavran said, looking pleased with himself. “I have a plan for that, too, but we’d need to get Robert to DC as soon as possible. I don’t think it’ll be hard to persuade Robert, but the president and the National Security Council will be a different story.”
“Bring Robert to DC?”
“Of course. His presence will be crucial in persuading the powers that be that we need to take direct action.”
For the next fifteen minutes, McGavran detailed his plan to Carter. When he was done, Carter sat silent for a long beat and then stood, heading for the door.
“Where are you going?” McGavran asked, loading the papers back into the OVERDRIVE case, before following her out of the SCIF and into the hallway.
The basement hallway was flooded with Carter’s security detail and members of her staff. Jack Crowley, her special assistant, ran forward. “Ma’am, DNI Nagle is ordering you to contact him, the chief of staff is calling for an emergency meeting at the White House—”
“Chairman Bridgewater is asking to speak with you, ma’am,” Monroe half shouted.
Carter motioned for McGavran to unlock OVERDRIVE from his wrist. He took off the cuff and handed both the keys and briefcase to Carter. “Crowley, give me your hand.”
The flustered special assistant raised his arm in confusion and Carter locked the briefcase to his wrist, then said, “Monroe, I want you to get me a direct line to General Bridgewater, now.”
“What about DNI Nagle?” Crowley asked.
“Nagle can wait. After I speak to Bridgewater, get ahold of Director Connelly at the FBI.” Carter turned to McGavran. “You are going to go to Andrews Air Force Base.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to be the first person Robert sees when he lands. Go with him to the Hoover Building.”
“You’re going through with it?”
“He’s crucial for your plan, is he not?”
McGavran nodded.
“I’ll convince Connelly that Robert needs to be in DC.”
“How will you pull that off?”
“You let me deal with that,” Carter said, turning and fast-walking to the elevator.
“What about the satellites?” McGavran shouted after her.
Carter pivoted and faced the old spymaster. “I am going to speak with the directors in analytics now.”
Chapter 45
ANCHORAGE, ALASKA
FBI BUILDING
GALE STARED AT the two-way mirror in the small interrogation room at the FBI’s Anchorage building and tried rubbing the soreness out of his wrists.
The handcuffs that had been slapped on him were too tight, but he had yet to find an agent to loosen them.
After Gale had called the secure line to his past life, he’d sat down in the tall grass and broken down. Within minutes, the Coast Guard had arrived and flown him to Alaska Regional where he was examined, treated, and then released to the FBI.
Special Agent Burke was the agent in charge, and together with a slew of other agents, Gale had been taken back to the Anchorage FBI building, the same building he was talking to Earl Marks in not nine hours before.
Gale had bombarded Burke with questions of what had happened in Eagle. During Gale’s conversation with Petit before the Coast Guard had arrived, Petit had told him that Trask and Maverick had been shot and Ned’s crew and a group of men had reportedly abducted Emily.
Burke was reluctant to share information, but he said there was an FBI team on the ground investigating the events in Eagle as they spoke.
Burke was completely in over his head.
The whole Anchorage office was.
After an hour of trying to get answers out of Gale, Burke was called out of the interrogation room for a couple of minutes. He soon came back in.
“Mr. Gale,” Burke said, “I’ve received word that our DC office is sending a QRT up here to take over this investigation.” Gale knew that QRT was an acronym for the FBI’s Quick Response Team that dealt with the investigations after a terrorist attack.
Good, Gale thought. Finally some competent people on this.
“I am flying to Middleton Island to meet the QRT. I’ve also been ordered to keep you here until agents from DC arrive. I’m leaving Earl Marks here to watch over you.”
That had been three hours ago, and since then Gale had not seen a single agent, let alone Earl Marks.
Gale bided his time, going over everything that had transpired in the last week. His mind kept going over what Scarface had said that very morning.
Viktor Sokolov is looking forward to seeing you at the sharashka.
Then his mind floated to the conversation he’d had with Petit after the plane crash. Gale wondered where the old cowboy was now, how Trask and Maverick were doing. Surely, the FBI had leads on the Vympels operating in Eagle. Surely, they’d been able to track down the Northern Breeze crew.
He spent his time either staring at the two-way mirror that made up the left side wall or into the lens of the dated security camera that blinked green from its perch in the corner of the ceiling.
He watched the blinking light on the camera, counting the seconds between each blink, hoping that his emergency call to Langley had reached its desired target when the green light suddenly stopped blinking entirely.
Gale frowned and shot a glance to the two-way mirror, just as the door opened and Earl Marks came in and shut the door behind him.
He held two steaming cups of coffee and placed one before Gale as he sat down opposite him. Only then did Gale realize that Earl also held a series of orange folders under his arm.
Gale’s eyes shot to the camera.
“Don’t worry,” Earl said. “We’re not being watched. Everyone has been running around like chickens with their heads chopped off. We’ve got some time.”
“You cut the video feed?”
“And made sure nobody was behind that glass.”
“Why?”
“To talk.”
“What the hell is happening in Eagle?”
“The FBI is investigating a shooting and kidnapping.”
“Any leads on Emily?”
“Not yet.”
“What about my son-in-law, Peter Trask?”
“Your son-in-law is currently in emergency surgery in Fairbanks. They’re talking about life-flighting him to Anchorage.”
“What about what we talked about this morning? The Vance lead, the Northern Breeze—did the FBI find the van with Vance’s body? What about getting security footage of my kidnapping?”
“They’ve got the footage but aren’t letting anybody see it. They did disclose that they found Vance’s body,” Earl said, “at an airfield outside of Whittier. The van was torched, like you said it would be.”
“And what about the Voigts and their crew?”
“They are keeping information tight, but I was able to learn that two people were found dead in a truck just outside of Jack Wade. They have not been able to identify the bodies.”
“Ned and Darlene?”
Earl shook his head. “Two males.”
“What else have you found out?”
“Remember the picture of the canister you showed me? The one found in Cassie’s campsite?”
“I do.”
“The FBI have found an abandoned Chevy truck, burned like the van we found Vance in, in Jack Wade next to an old gold dredge. The dredge had a locked garage connected to it. The FBI opened it and found dozens of those canisters loaded with some sort of unidentified propellant. Inside the garage were also these strange black bags we’ve been unable to identify.”
“A stash. Probably Ned and Darlene’s.”
“It looks like it.”
“How did they know to look inside?”
“They’ve taken into custody the Eagle VPSO, a man named—”
“Max Tobeluk.”
“Yes,” Earl said. “This VPSO led them to the garage in Jack Wade and then to a makeshift airstrip behind the gold dredge.”
“They must have used the airstrip to fly Emily out. Have they been able to identify any planes coming out of the area?”
“No, but all major airports in Alaska are on shutdown. Only a small plane would have been able to take off from the little landing strip. Air traffic control is working overtime, but it’ll be like finding a needle in a haystack especially since there are thousands of landing strips in Alaska.”
Gale thought back to his own abduction. Why hadn’t the Vympels waited for their other team with Emily to show up? When Gale was grabbed and shoved into the van, he had counted eight men, plus Vance. Only four of those men got onto the jet. So where were the other four? Had they waited for the other Vympel team to meet with them, then had they gotten on another plane?
Gale voiced this concern to Earl. “Have there been any other planes, any jets that have taken off this afternoon from Alaskan airspace?”
“Not that we know of,” Earl said. “After your crash, the navy has been taking severe precautions in surveying both the Gulf and the Bering with their radar. Nothing of note has showed up. Just a—”
“Just a what?”
Earl leaned forward, his big belly bumping into the table. “A dock manager reported a boat missing from his marina. A fifty-foot power troller, called the Lady Alaina. Its captain is also missing.”
“Is that rare?”
“Supposedly, yes. The Coast Guard enforces strict rules on both captains and dock managers to keep a log of their schedules. The Lady Alaina was supposedly seen leaving the harbor last night and never returned—no paperwork was ever in the books for the troller to leave the marina.”
“Has the FBI looked into this?”
“They currently are.”
Gale motioned to the orange files Earl had brought in. “What did you want to talk with me about?”
“I’d like to continue the conversation we had this morning. I want you to know that I did find Paul Brady’s credit card statements for the week before he disappeared in Chicken.”
“And?”
“Paul Brady did stay at the Northern Breeze a couple days before he disappeared. And that’s not all, I cross-checked over six hundred missing person reports that were filed in that region in the last five years and found that nearly sixty of those persons had passed through the Northern Breeze—and these were the ones I’ve been able to track through credit card statements.”
“How many of those MPRs were investigated by Trooper Vance?”
“Thirty-eight.”
“How was this not caught before?”
“You have to understand that
there have been nearly twenty thousand MPRs filed in Alaska in the last decade.”
“So what now?”
Earl shifted in his seat. “From what I’ve been able to find, the Voigts purchased the Northern Breeze Lodge and Smoke House Bar roughly eleven years ago. So far, I’ve only been able to cross-reference five years of MPRs that coincide with the missing who had stayed at the Northern Breeze.”
“So the Voigts could have kidnapped over a hundred people?”
“Probably more than that, Mr. Gale. Again, we are only seeing those who have a digital credit card trail linking them to the Northern Breeze. Most likely many more people have fallen victim to Ned and Darlene Voigt.”
“How many do you estimate?”
“I’d put my estimation between two hundred and four hundred.”
“Jesus.”
“The only question is, where are these people being taken?”
Gale shuddered. Could it really be true that Viktor Sokolov and the Russians had taken up to four hundred American citizens to the sharashka? Were the Vympels assisting with the kidnappings each and every time?
“Have you given this information to your superiors?”
“I have, yes, but with everything going on, I’m not sure how seriously they are taking it.” Earl was quiet for a moment. “Those men on the airplane, they weren’t Americans, were they?”
“Correct.”
“They were Russians?”
Gale looked up and met eyes with Earl. “How did you know?”
“Our agents on scene in Middleton called in the QRT right after they secured the scene. The weapons, the AK-15s they found are notoriously used by Russian Special Operations Forces. The technology found, the tablets they had on them, were encrypted, but our tech guys were already able to find that they were using a Tor network connecting back to Russia.”
Gale nodded.
Earl said carefully, “You know more than you are letting on, Mr. Gale. Burke said that they took a satellite phone and a tablet from you after the crash. You called a number, a number that has since been disconnected. Who were you calling?”
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