by J C Ryan
Chris spoke into his throat mic to Budd. “Got that?”
“All of it,” Budd responded.
“Good, pass the message on.”
Budd called Sean on the secure satellite phone, “Canuck two done. It’s Delta Mike.”
“Thanks, see you later,” Sean responded and ended the call. He turned to James, Irene, Dylan, and Rick and said. “Dwayne Miller has his fingers in both pies. I’m kicking off the next stage. Any objections?”
James held his finger up, looked at the rest of the team and they responded in chorus, “Bring it on!”
The remaining three teams on standby got their marching orders from Sean and Dylan and swung into action.
In Toronto, Budd brought their car to the front door, and Chris and David, who had Stephen Byrne gagged and tied up, shoved him into the trunk of the Camry, and drove off to a farmhouse twenty miles outside the city.
***
The teams that had to snatch Mark Miller and Professor Kakos had an easy task. It was not necessary for them to extract any information from their captives; they only had to be captured and moved to secure locations where they would be kept under guard to prevent them from raising the alarm to Dwayne Miller or anyone else.
Within an hour of receiving their go-ahead instructions, they had the two men in their custody and out of the way.
Kakos was paralyzed with shock when the two masked men entered his hotel room. His heart skipped several beats, he should never have let Mr. Greed persuade him to stay in DC; he should have put his ass on the first plane back to Greece days ago. Although confident he’d done nothing illegal, it was too late to change his mind; he would have to face the music. He knew that he didn’t necessarily have to do anything illegal to piss certain people off, the only question was; who did I piss off?
Mark Miller had been out with a few friends, prematurely celebrating the discovery of the Sirralnnudam, and the $120,000 his brother was about to pay into his account. After his friends had driven him back to his apartment about 11:00 pm, Miller continued the drinking spree - solo. When the EA team picked him up about 12:30 am, he had just set a new personal record level of inebriation. It would take almost twenty-four hours before he recollected his wits and realized he was not in his own apartment.
Chapter 53 -
The second link in the chain
So far everything had worked out precisely as planned; they had double confirmation of Dwayne Miller’s complicity in the Devereux matter and had five people in custody. Despite their success, they were all painfully aware that everything they had done thus far had been entirely outside the law. American citizens had entered Canada, kidnapped three Canadian citizens, and were holding them captive. They had captured both a citizen of Greece and the United States on American soil and were holding them captive as well. None of their prisoners had committed a crime, the captors had no legal authority to arrest or hold anyone in either Canada or the USA, and kidnapping, anywhere in the world, was a serious crime.
Their only way out of the dire situation was to make sure their captives would never recognize them and to get irrefutable proof that would link their prisoners to the serious crimes they all believed were committed by Dwayne Miller and CRS. It was a big gamble with potential international repercussions; they had thought about it long and hard before deciding they had no choice. It had to be done.
When Sean got the call from Chris Jones out of Toronto, Dylan had grabbed his bag of weapons and tools, hid it in the cavity behind the back seat of his car, and drove back to Washington to meet with the team who would bring Dwayne Miller in for questioning.
Miller was married to his second wife, a fashion designer, who was currently away from home, in Los Angeles on a two-week business trip.
Dylan had about an hour’s drive to get to the gym where Miller worked out five days a week. He showed up punctually every day at 5:30 am and spent an hour on various exercises before starting his day at the CRS headquarters. Miller was about six two, no more than 200 pounds and in much better shape than ninety-nine percent of other men at the age of fifty-four.
On the way, Dylan was mulling over all the information they now had. Ben Friedman’s agents had infiltrated the forensic lab in Amman, the capital of Jordan. He’d already supplied them with floor plans, the number of workers, security arrangements, street maps, access to the computer systems and all other pertinent information.
The two former Desert Phantoms, Abbadi Haijar, and Rayan Qureshi, who were gathering information about the lab on the Southside of Mecca, in the Jabal Thawr Mountains, also had some success. The lab was called the Institute of Scientific Research and Development – ISRD. The Director of the facility was one Daiyan Nasser. It was a private organization, owned by a group of wealthy Saudi Arabian business people.
Rick Winslow’s dexterity with anything computer related provided detailed personal information along with a lot of interesting background data about the ISRD investors.
Abbadi and Rayan had learned about a section below the Institute that consisted of six subterranean levels. The surprising fact was that, as far as they could establish, no one in the above ground facility knew that anything was going on below their feet.
The two Phantoms found the concealed entry to the underground section and had been monitoring it intently, noting who was coming and going. After a few days of observation and head counting they suggested that there could not be more than 30 people working below ground.
Rayan had made contact with some of the construction workers on a site, a block away from the Institute and got the name of the architect and construction company who developed the ISRD a few years ago.
Once the two Phantoms had the name and details of the company, it was as easy as taking candy from a baby for them to get into the company’s offices late one night, and acquire the architectural drawings.
Dylan arrived at the gym shortly before 5 am and was met by John Arevalo. There were already a few fitness fanatic cars in the parking lot, so he drove the car as far as possible away from the main entrance to the building.
The other two members of the team, Bill, and Sam were busy following Miller from his home en route to the gym.
All four men maintained contact through their earpieces, so Dylan and John were alert when Miller arrived in the carpark. They saw the lights, identified Miller’s $50,000 red BMW X4 M40i, and the license plates before Dylan started the engine of the Ford Focus and waited for Miller to select his parking spot. When Miller turned into the space, Dylan put the Ford into drive and slowly approached Miller’s car, heading for the empty parking space on the driver’s side of Miller’s car. Miller was going to make it easy.
He pulled up next to Miller and switched the engine off. John got out and walked to the back of the Ford as if he was going to get something out of the trunk. Dylan waited until Miller got out of his BMW and had closed his door. When Miller started moving to the back door to get his gear, Dylan opened the driver’s door of the Ford and got out leaving his door open, thus blocking Miller’s path.
“Good morning,” Dylan said. “Nothing like an early morning workout.” Miller looked towards him, nodded, and mumbled something.
Dylan’s friendly greeting was enough distraction to allow John to move out from behind the Ford, take two steps, insert the needle into Miller’s neck and depress the plunger. Miller spun around, opened his mouth, and collapsed backward into Dylan’s arms before the sound could reach his lips.
John grabbed the keys out of Miller’s hand. Dylan tied Miller’s hands and feet with duct tape, pushed a clean piece of cloth into his mouth, and secured it with duct tape.
Three minutes after Dylan greeted Miller, he pulled out of the parking space in the Ford Focus with Miller in the trunk.
As Dylan was leaving, John phoned Sean and gave him a cryptic update before returning Miller’s luxurious BMW to his house, where he parked it in the garage and then caught a bus to his next destination.
After Se
an had shared the message with the rest of the people in the operations room, Irene called Carter and told him he could return to DC.
Before they ended the call, Carter said, “Irene, I saw the four wolf pups this morning. It was wonderful.”
“I would love to see them, Carter!” She beamed.
When the call ended, Irene told the rest of them that Kevin and Joe had arrived at Freydis with the two former drone operators and that Carter was on his way to DC.
***
Dwayne Miller woke up with the mother of all headaches and through dazed eyes, looked up from the cold concrete floor where he lay. It was a small room with white walls, no windows, a small table, two chairs, and a single light high up on the ceiling. A steel door guarded the only entrance. He was utterly confused; however, as his memory slowly returned he recalled the carpark in front of the gym, two men, one saying something, then a sharp pain in the neck.
The steel door swung open, and a man who appeared to be in his mid-fifties walked into the room. He was about six-one, had dark hair that was graying at the temples, tan skin, not an ounce of fat on his body and lively dark brown eyes. Miller recognized him – it was James Rhodes the Director of A-Echelon and it scared him.
The man looked at Miller and said. “Get up and sit your ass down in that chair.” The man pointed to the chair closest to Miller.
Miller reluctantly did as he was told.
“My name is James Rhodes. I work for the CIA, and I have a few questions for you.”
Miller held his hand up. “I know who you are and you can hold your horses’ right there mister. Who the hell do you think you are? I’m not about to answer any questions; I demand that you let me go immediately. I’m going to sue your ass, seven ways from Sunday.”
James leaned a bit forward and looked Miller straight in the eyes. It was the first eye contact Miller made with James and shivers started running down his spine as James held his gaze and spoke softly and measuredly.
“Miller, I’ll explain the rules to you once, and once only. Now, look up to that corner above the door. See that camera there?”
Miller nodded.
“On the other end of that camera is a computer screen, and in front of that screen at this very moment is one lean, mean, angry bastard of a man whom I had a hard time convincing not to walk in here and shoot you. That was the first rule; you talk to me, or you find out what it feels like to be shot. The second rule; there will be no lawyer or telephone call because this is not a police station. This is jungle justice. The third rule; I ask the questions; you give the answers. And, if you lie to me, think about rule one.”
James took a deep breath. “I know everything about you Miller, so I know you can read, write, and speak English; and that there is nothing wrong with your hearing. So I’m not going to ask if you understand the rules.”
Miller’s throat had gone dry, and he struggled to swallow. James’ eyes were shooting fire, and it gave him the creeps. He nodded.
“Okay. I’m going to sketch the scenario for you, and then I’m going to go out and have coffee to give you the opportunity to think about things. When I get back, you and I are going to have a chat like old friends. No secrets.”
Miller didn’t reply; he just stared down at the table.
“Here’s the scenario. CRS landed on the radar of the CIA and FBI a few months ago. We’ve been digging around in your networks and communications for a couple of months and discovered a few very nasty projects you have been working on. Words like espionage, treason, and murder come to mind; you know, the kind of stuff that would guarantee you a seat in the electric chair.”
Miller shut his eyes. He tried to swallow, but he couldn’t. His hands were shaking, and he placed them on his lap so that James couldn’t see them.
“Miller, listen carefully. I’m offering you one chance to get out of this alive. When I get back from my coffee break, you start talking and tell me everything. You do that and I might be able to cut you a deal; you know what the alternative is.”
James got up and left the room.
Miller was pale; sweat pearled on his upper lip and forehead. He sighed and leaned back in the chair for a moment then leaned forward again, putting his elbows on the table and dropping his face into his hands. His whole world imploded.
When James walked into the observation room where Irene, Dylan, and Sean were waiting for him, Irene said, “Excellent work, Jim. I think you got through to him; he’s going to talk without any further persuasion.” She pointed at the computer screen showing Miller sitting with his face in his hands.
Sean laughed, “Jim, who is this lean, mean, angry bastard of a man you were talking about?”
James grinned and said, “We can flip a coin between you and Dylan.”
Irene handed James a mug of strong black coffee, and they stared at Miller on the screen.
“The son of a bitch,” James muttered. “I see Mackie, Liam, 23 dead people and scores more wounded in front of me; I feel like choking the living shit out of him, not talking to him.”
Irene slowly nodded, “Those are only the ones we know about, Jim.”
James finished his coffee and got up.
Miller looked up when James walked back into the room. He had made up his mind. He looked at James and pointed to the camera and asked, “I take it everything I’m going to say will be recorded?”
James nodded.
James looked at his watch and said, “It’s almost 9:00 am. I’m going to call your office, and you’ll tell Tracey, your secretary, you’ve come down with a nasty bug, and the doctor has ordered you to stay flat on your back at home for a few days.”
“Thanks, that’s what I want, I need time to explain it all to you.”
James dialed the CRS office and when Tracey answered he handed the phone to Miller. He was brief; he didn’t have to fake a sick sounding voice. He ended the call and handed the phone back to James.
“You can start, I’m all ears,” James said.
Dwayne Miller started talking. It was as if he was unloading a burden. He had to get it all out, almost seven years of it. For the next three hours, he explained how Competitive Response Solutions was founded, how they started off as an organization that specialized in legal industrial competitive information gathering and analysis, and how they started branching out into illegal activities and arrived at their current position. He gave details of their projects and clients.
James interrupted him now and then to ask questions for clarification but otherwise allowed him to talk unhindered most of the time.
In the observation room, Sean shook his head, “All these years we fought the bad guys thousands of miles away and ignored the enemy within.”
Dylan nodded, “Why is it that I have this nauseating feeling that this guy has only revealed the tip of the iceberg?”
Irene swung her swivel chair to face Dylan and Sean, “This guy is as close to the bottom of the chain as you can get. I’m too petrified to even think what we’re going to find at the top.”
When Miller finished his narrative, James started questioning him in detail about the Devereux case.
“Who is the CRS person who deals with the Saudi’s?”
“Nate Gordon.”
James had heard the name on the Hill but had never met the man.
“Who are his contacts in Saudi?”
“His primary contact was Youssef Bin-Bandar, but he died of a heart attack and has been replaced by Ibrahimi El Fadl…”
James felt the shock waves reverberating through his body, “Youssef Bin-Bandar and Ibrahimi El Fadl the former and current deputy director of the General Intelligence Presidency of Saudi Arabia?”
Miller nodded slowly.
James was struggling to repress his shock but somehow managed to keep his expression impassive.
In the observation room, Irene felt a cold quiver crawling down her spine. Sean cursed.
James asked the question on everyone’s mind, “Does that mean the King a
nd the House of Saud are in on this?”
“No. They have no idea about Youssef Bin-Bandar’s and Ibrahimi El Fadl’s dual loyalties.”
“So who is this other person those two have been working for?”
“No one in CRS knows. Nate has a contact in the government, someone high up, and that person knows who those two men have been working for. Not even Nate knows.”
“Who is Nate’s contact in government?”
Miller shrugged. “That’s another secret that no one in CRS knows. We call him NTC, Nate’s Top Contact, and honest to God I don’t have any idea who that is. I have never tried to find out; all I know is that NTC is responsible for more than 50% of our income, including the contracts from Saudi Arabia and other Middle Eastern countries.”
“Any guesses?”
Miller shook his head. “No idea, but whoever it is, he has clout in DC. It could be the Chief of Staff, the Secretary of State, the Secretary of Defense, Director of the CIA, NSA, FBI I just don’t know, and Nate would never share that information with me.”
Sean looked at Dylan, and his lips formed the words, Nate Gordon.
Dylan nodded. “Irene, can you tell James to take five? We need to have a quick chat.”
Irene spoke into the mic connected to James’ earpiece.
James stopped Miller, asked him if he wanted something to drink, got up, and left the room.
When he arrived in the observation room, Sean said, “Dylan and I think we need to pick Nate Gordon up immediately. What do you say?”
“I thought you already had him here,” James grinned. “Get that bastard’s ass in here as quickly as possible.”
Sean and Dylan made a few calls. Compliments of Rick Winslow, they already had detailed information on all the CRS directors and senior staff. It took Rick less than three minutes to locate Nate Gordon’s position; he was at home.
Dylan had a plan. “James I think the easiest and quickest way to do this is to get Miller to phone Gordon and ask him to come over to his house. Tell him he’s sick but there is some urgent matter to discuss. I will go out there, pick up two of our operators on the way, and wait for Gordon at Miller’s house.”