Black Flagged Apex (11 page)

Berg noticed that Reznikov's heart rate had almost returned to normal, which struck him as pure irony given the fact that he could feel his own heart through his throat. This confirmed what one of the Edgewood scientists had suspected, but only hinted about. There was no way that Reznikov had genetically modified basic encephalitis samples in a makeshift laboratory on Kazakhstan soil. The laboratory site discovered in the middle of the former Semipalatinsk nuclear testing grounds had been used to grow a virus Reznikov had stolen from VEKTOR. No wonder the Russians seemed willing to stop at nothing to kill Reznikov and keep samples of the virus out of western hands.

Berg suddenly felt exposed in the private jet. The Russians hadn't hesitated to shoot down the last private CIA charter to depart for the United States. He fought the urge to look out of the small oval window over Reznikov's head. They were as safe as possible over the United Kingdom, escorted by two Royal Air Force Typhoon fighter jets. The high-performance fighter aircraft would accompany them as far as possible over the Atlantic, before returning to their base. They would fly unescorted for several hundred miles until met by a pair of F-15 Strike Eagles launched from Langley Air Force base.

He looked down at Reznikov, who wore a smug look on his pale face, wondering if they could torture this out of him. He certainly deserved to endure some serious discomfort for engineering the tragedy in Monchegorsk and exposing the rest of the world to his madness. Unfortunately, Reznikov was right about the details. Just knowing the basics about the Russian bioweapons program wouldn't be enough. They needed actionable intelligence, the kind of information that would require a comfortable setting and legal assurances.

"I have an idea that might agree with you," he muttered.

"No prison cells," Reznikov stated.

"No. This is a very different kind of place. More of a house arrest type of situation with a view. Small population. Clean air. If I swing this, you have to give me everything."

"You might not want to hear everything. How about that drink? Vodka is more of my drink, but I'm not feeling picky right now," Reznikov said.

"Sorry. I need to deliver you alive. Doctor's orders. Plus, I have no intention of sitting here and putting a cup to your lips like you're a nursing home patient. If the right people buy off on what I have in mind, you'll be swimming in vodka."

"I expect the good stuff. Smirnoff doesn't count."

Berg returned to his seat without acknowledging Reznikov's comment. He moved next to the window so he couldn't see the man's disgusting face while he tried to process the next move. Foley continued to stare out into the darkness, giving him a moment to himself. He'd have to contact Audra immediately to see if the Agency would trade a "retirement package" at Mountain Glen for Reznikov's information. He couldn't imagine the director turning down the deal. Until moments ago, even the CIA had no idea that the Russian bioweapons program still existed. He let his mind wander for a moment, performing an "all possibilities" assessment of the situation. A faint smile began to form as he delved deeper into one of the ideas. He grabbed his glass of whiskey and downed the contents. He felt the burn in his throat, followed by the warm rush that spread upward to his head. Maybe Ms. Foley had the right idea.

"That's a dangerous-looking smile," Foley said.

"You have no idea. You speak fluent Russian, right?" he said.

She barely nodded.

"I need to make a private phone call," he said, suddenly getting up from his seat.

He walked toward the front of the jet and took a seat in a small alcove designed for privacy. He wished it was enclosed, and briefly considered taking a seat in the lavatory. The thought of sitting inside the cramped space for this phone call didn't last very long. He had enough privacy here, as long as he kept his voice low. He used the cordless phone to dial a number he had memorized and waited for the Gulfstream's MCS-7000 Satellite Communications System to connect the call. He purposely did not utilize the CIA's secure channel to route the call. He liked to maintain plausible deniability until the very last moment, and what he was about to suggest would require an incredible amount of deniability. Until the time was right, he didn't want any record of this call to exist. The line connected.

"Karl. I hadn't expected to hear from you this soon. Everything proceeded according to plan in Frankfurt. I just spoke with Farrington, and they were able to extract a working list of shipping addresses for the virus canisters," General Sanderson said.

"That quickly? Maybe I should recommend that we send a few of our interrogators down to Argentina for some training. I expected this to take a few days," he said in a hushed tone.

"They got lucky. Let's leave it at that. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call? I have a feeling this isn't a social call."

"I wish this could be a friendly chat between two veterans of the war on terror, but I've just been told some very disturbing news. Reznikov claims that the Russians never really stopped their bioweapons program at VEKTOR. He alluded to the fact that he had been a part of the program before he went rogue. We had it all wrong. We thought Reznikov had been banned from VEKTOR for trying to informally revive the bioweapons program. I think he stole fully weaponized viral encephalitis samples that he helped them create. He said this was just the tip of the iceberg at VEKTOR labs."

"Jesus. Is there any way he might be bluffing? I assume he's looking for a deal in exchange for information," Sanderson said.

"Of course. We can't let him walk, but I have something in mind that should be acceptable to him. He won't give me any more details until the deal is finalized. If what he says is true, I might need you to loan us a few more 'Russians.'"

"How many are you thinking?" Sanderson said.

"Enough to penetrate VEKTOR, permanently destroy their bioweapons program and kill everyone directly involved in the program."

"This is going to take time. I'll start assembling a team on my end. I have two deep-cover operatives within Russia that can start surveillance in Novosibirsk. They've been with me since the beginning. I can send five more trained 'Russians,' in addition to Farrington. I gather that Farrington's current team will do us little good on this job?"

"Unless they speak perfect Russian and can blend into the population. I don't think Novosibirsk is a melting pot of Europeans."

"Then I can send some of my greener operatives to augment the team," Sanderson said.

"It might not be necessary. Let's get a report from your operatives in place. Eight operatives might be enough. Plus I have an agent that I can loan you. She's proven herself to be quite resourceful and deadly. She might be an asset for taking down laboratory personnel outside of the facility," Berg said.

"Sounds like a plan. I'll get everyone moving in the right direction. The Russians have really served us a shit sandwich here. The investigation stateside is about to intensify. The addresses acquired by the Frankfurt team will likely correspond with the assassinated Al Qaeda cells, and maybe give us a few that nobody has uncovered. We're working behind the scenes to augment the FBI's intelligence gathering efforts."

"Are they aware of your behind-the-scenes help?"

"Not exactly. Some of our methods are not on the approved FBI tactics list," Sanderson said.

"I don't envy your tightrope position over the FBI. One wrong step and you could find yourself back on the shit list," Berg said.

"Who's kidding who? My name is still on that shit list. They just won't admit it to my face. I just hope our covert assistance will be enough to help them stop this nightmare plot before it becomes a reality like Monchegorsk."

"Well, you're not on the CIA's shit list, I can guarantee that. Without your help, I'd still be trying to push a crazy theory up the chain-of-command, while our government remained blissfully unaware of the looming terrorist threat. Be careful with the feds, you can't afford a misstep with them. None of us can afford that misstep."

"Thanks for the warning, and the kind words. I'll watch my back with the FBI. Apparently, I've made the FBI director's personal enemy list again."

"Not a good list to be on. That man has a long memory," Berg said.

"Tell me about it. I'll keep you posted on our progress. Will you be able to leverage any more help from your contact in Moscow?" Sanderson said.

Berg didn't like hearing Sanderson casually reference his contact. It was no secret that someone on the inside had given them Reznikov's location, but he didn't like to hear any speculation or assumptions regarding Kaparov's identity.

"I'll reach out and see what they can do for us."

"Understood. One of these days, I hope we can sit down and sip a good scotch. We both lost good people in this fight," Sanderson said.

"I look forward to it. Watch your back, General," he said and disconnected the call.

He returned to his seat and met Erin Foley's suspicious gaze.

"How would you feel about taking a trip to Russia?" Berg said.

"I was afraid you'd ask me that. Do I have a choice in the matter?"

"There's always a choice, but I really need your help."

"What happened to the Zaslon group that would stop at nothing to find and kill me?" Foley said.

"We'll have to drastically change your look and give you a false identity. I think the work I have in mind will suit you," Berg said.

"Dare I ask?"

"You have no idea exactly how critical your actions were yesterday. Killing that Zaslon operative enabled a chain of events that could prevent one of the most devastating terrorist attacks in history. If you agree to help me with this, I'll give you the whole story. We still have a long flight ahead of us," Berg said.

"I'm in."

Chapter 8

4:27 PM

National Counterterrorism Center (NCTC)

McLean, Virginia

Special Agent-in-Charge Ryan Sharpe stood ready to address Task Force Scorpion on the ground level of the National Counterterrorism Center's watch floor. NCTC's director, Joel Garrity, had made significant changes to the floor's configuration for the purpose of accommodating Sharpe's task force. Garrity integrated his own personnel into the task force to ensure a smooth transition for the multi-agency team working under Sharpe's direction, but still retained enough space and manpower to carry out the terrorist intelligence and analysis functions assigned to him by the director of National Intelligence. Given the scope of the potential terrorist threat posed by the Zulu virus, most of the center's energy and resources would be committed to Task Force Scorpion.

Sharpe looked up at the second-floor scaffolding that ringed the entire watch floor. The second floor mostly contained offices that would be occupied by the various liaisons assigned to the task force, giving each separate agency a reasonable modicum of privacy. Despite the overall spirit of cooperation and transparency fostered by the open NCTC layout, each liaison would be given the privacy to communicate freely with their parent organization. In addition to a massive FBI contingent, his task force was comprised of representatives from the Department of Defense, CIA, Homeland Security, White House, Department of Energy, Department of Health and Human Services, Centers for Disease Control, National Security Agency and the Department of Justice. Garrity had run out of offices to house each separate entity and had modified a few of the smaller conference rooms to suit their purposes.

Keeping this task force focused would prove difficult at best, but Director Shelby had made it clear to him that the president wanted "all hands communicating" for this one. "No secrets." Sharpe had been kept in the dark about the attempted raid on Sanderson's compound; however, he now understood how close the raid had come to possibly derailing the CIA's efforts to track down the Zulu virus in Europe. As much as he despised Sanderson and didn't trust the CIA, their work had uncovered and stopped the first phase of Al Qaeda's twisted plan. But had it been Al Qaeda's plan from the beginning? Information passed to him minutes ago by Phillip Duncan, the task force's CIA liaison, suggested otherwise.

"Do we have everyone? Mobile HQ?" he said to Special Agent Mendoza.

Mendoza nodded and pointed to an immense projection screen to their right, as they faced the group assembled in the middle of the watch floor.

"Mobile HQ is up. Everyone is present."

The screen showed a grainy, live image of the Task Force Scorpion's mobile HQ leadership team. The screen was one of several mounted to the second-floor decking. The largest screen, twice the size of the others, loomed directly above and behind their heads. It contained a map of the east coast, featuring the New York tri-state area to the far right. All of the known Al Qaeda cell locations within the tri-state area were mapped in red, along with several yellow markers indicating locations of interest. He'd explain these to the group. A lone red marker suddenly appeared on the far left edge of the screen, in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.

Sharpe was about to begin, but instead focused on an admiral standing to the far right of the group. Next to him stood an intense-looking blond woman wearing a dark gray suit.

"Who's the pair on the far right? The admiral and…"

"They just arrived. The woman is Sanderson's liaison to your task force. Callie Stewart. The Navy SEAL is Rear Admiral Mark DeSantos, director of the DIA's Strategic Services Branch. He's accepted full accountability for the integration of Sanderson's people into the task force," Mendoza said.

Sharpe kept his gaze focused on Admiral DeSantos, receiving a quick nod from the SEAL, which he returned.

"Damn it, I'm not comfortable with Sanderson's people on the task force. Especially someone right in the nerve center," Sharpe muttered.

"How do you think O'Reilly feels? She nearly lost an arm thanks to these assholes," Mendoza replied.

"Keep O'Reilly and Ms. Stewart as far apart as humanly possible. You know how O'Reilly can get."