Black Ghosts (8 page)

“The president realized that the intelligence community, having come in contact with such a group and used their services, would more than likely be tainted. If a formal investigation were launched, the corrupt elements within the intelligence community would naturally attempt a cover-up. Therefore, the president turned to Richard Townes, the secretary of defense and the president's trusted childhood friend. He instructed Townes to investigate and neutralize the Patriots, in as discreet yet thorough a way as possible.

“Richard Townes called on Bud Hays, a top-level staffer at the National Security Council, and asked him to run the actual operation and report directly to him. Hays, who had no field operatives at his disposal, made a formal request to the CIA, asking for me.”

“Did you know this Bud before?” Edward asked.

“We were involved in something together in Honduras and he trusted me. So I was loaned to the NSC. The official reason was that I was to handle an investigation for which my experience was needed. Since the NSC is only an advisory body, this was not an unusual request, and therefore promptly approved.

“I became the head of a one-man task force in charge of uncovering the activities of the Patriots and exposing the links they had created with the intelligence community. The final objective was to sever such ties, with a minimum of commotion and damage to the community.”

Larry paused to take a sip of water. Edward looked at Natalie. She seemed to be listening intently. Edward guessed that she had never heard the full story before.

Larry was briefed by the secretary of defense, in the presence of Bud Hays. He was given access to a bank account which held a well-concealed slush fund for just that sort of activity. He was given almost unlimited credit and as much latitude as he could ask for, as long as he was discreet.

After the first week on the job, Larry found out that the Patriots had a legitimate front in the form of a think tank, based in London, called the Wish Foundation. The name was supposedly derived from its motto: “Wishing for a better world is the first step.” The truth was that the name had a much more sinister meaning.

Requests for executive action or other terrorist-style activity would be discussed hypothetically in seminars organized by the Foundation. There would be some tongue-in-cheek negotiations, using such phrases as, “supposing such an action were legal, how much would it cost?” Then, if the subject of the discussion happened to meet with some unfortunate accident, a donation would be made to the Foundation by the agency making the “wish.”

Larry got lucky on his first dig into the Foundation's structure, when he realized he had struck gold. An old source he had once worked with in British Intelligence, a gentleman named Herbert Donoven, was now employed in the Foundation. By greasing up the man with a handsome monetary gesture and a promise of more of the same, while reminding him that the illegal activities he had once performed for Larry were still regarded as such by his former employers the British Intelligence, Larry managed to net himself a ready-made mole inside the Foundation. Unfortunately, Donoven was employed at a very low level, as a gofer, a sort of delivery man, which inevitably resulted in information which was of no real value.

It took Larry four months to map out the Foundation's structure. He then suggested Donoven have a minor car accident, hoping he would be moved during his recuperation to a desk job, which would most likely give him access to a computer. And this, Larry pointed out to Donoven, would mean more cash.

The accident was a success and they got their computer. From that point on, things began to fall into place. Even though Larry got most of the information after the fact, he was able to tie the Foundation and its thugs to several assassinations. That in itself would have put most of the Foundation's operatives behind bars for a very long time. What he didn't yet have, however, were the Foundation's friends in the intelligence community. And he realized that unless he could get rid of them, the Foundation would simply find other contractors to do its dirty work.

Then came the big break Larry was hoping for. Donoven learned that the Foundation had been contacted by someone in Russia, someone from the Soviet equivalent of the Patriots, known as the Chornia Gostia, or Black Ghosts. They had been referred to the Foundation by an American.

“How did he know that?” Edward spoke quietly, so as not to overexcite his friend.

“The Russian contact said so in his introductory communication. He also made it very clear that he was not an official with the ruling body and he requested that his contact be kept secret.”

“But I thought the Foundation was a legal front.”

“It had a legal side to it, but the clandestine activities were also carried out, or rather controlled, from the same location.”

“Weren't they concerned about security?”

“When you're doing the dirty work for the intelligence community, you're not gonna be high on their list of targets, now are you?”

Edward nodded. Larry was right. After all, the Foundation was in a way a child of the system, illegitimate but a child nonetheless.

Larry needed an operative in Russia. Because he was working clandestinely, outside the rest of the intelligence community, he was not able to draw from the regular manpower pool of operatives. Instead he called on Sarah Jones, a colleague from CIA research, who he knew was on leave from the Agency, learning Russian on her own in Moscow. She was living with a roommate, an American of Russian descent, a freelance reporter who spoke fluent Russian as well as English.

Larry turned his head slightly, looking at the woman seated at the end of his bed, hugging her legs, chin placed squarely on her knees. “Her name, as you might have guessed by now, was Natalie. Sarah told me about her and as she was extremely impressed with her abilities. I used her on several occasions to gather small bits of information—she, of course, having no idea we were not in the newspaper business.”

A short while later Sarah was killed in an accident when an elevator she was riding crashed. Larry decided to try to get Natalie—who had shown great promise in her work—as a replacement. From his point of view she had several things going for her: She was unknown in intelligence circles, she had a natural knack for gathering information, and she was in desperate need of work.

Edward thought he noticed a veiled grin on her face.

“Now there's a twist,” said Edward. “Larry trusting a newspaper reporter.” “You're making me laugh again,” Larry coughed, “and I need to go to the washroom.”

“I'll get you the bed pan,” Edward offered.

Larry looked at Natalie as if he expected her to leave the room.

“Don't look at her like that.” Edward grinned. “She changed you more than once during the last few days. And you can rest assured she made sure you didn't piss all over the place.”

Larry's complexion changed to a glowing red, a vein in his forehead thickening. His voice hoarse, he finally managed to say, “Just my luck to be out cold when I'm being handled by a beautiful woman.”

“On second thought,” Edward counseled, “I think it would be good to get him out of bed. The medic said he should get up as soon as possible.”

Larry tried to sit up, then swayed and fell back on to the pillow. “Damn,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

“Wait.” Edward put a hand on his shoulder. “We'll help you.” They led him to the bathroom, supporting him on each side. Natalie stayed outside as Edward supported him while he answered nature's call. Then Edward applied a waterproof seal on his chest dressing and sat him under the shower for a while, after which he was put back to bed for a well-deserved nap.

Edward and Natalie, regarded already as an item by the kitchen staff, went downstairs for a bite.

“So tell me,” Edward asked as they sat at a corner table, “how did that old war dog get you to work for him? I mean, I heard his story, but what's in it for you?”

“I guess I was in the right place at the right time,” replied Natalie, stirring her coffee.

“That's why you got the job. What I want to know is, why did you take it?”

She shrugged. “I guess I didn't have anything better to do.”

“Come on, Natalie. We're not talking about waitressing here. You don't do this kind of work just because it's there.”

She gazed out at the street, her big blue eyes damp as if she were about to cry. When she turned to face him, her expression had changed. Something was there that wasn't there before, something hard, something that he thought didn't belong.

“He made me an offer,” she said. “You know, the kind I couldn't refuse. He said once all this was over, I could write the story, all of it.” She leaned closer to him across the small round table, her voice low, yet very intense. “Do you have any idea what something like this could do for my career? With this story as an exclusive, I could write my own future.”

“You could also write your own obituary. Larry's a professional. He plays in the big leagues; whatever he's involved in is right up there where lives get traded for policies, and loyalty is just a tool to gain extra leverage. Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?”

Natalie's lip curled. “Don't get all parental with me.” Her tone was sarcastic. “Just remember who brought your professional friend in. I can take care of myself. And I would very much appreciate it if you would just get off my case.”

Edward leaned back, raising his hands in a mock gesture of surrender. “There I go, sticking my nose where it doesn't belong. I didn't mean to offend you. I'm sorry.”

She nodded, a hint of a smile on her lips. She had stood her ground, and he realized it was important for her to do so. She had drawn a line in the sand, a line he would not cross.

“Apology accepted,” she said. “Now, are you going to buy me dinner or what?”

“It's on the house,” said Edward, laughing in relief. With a single phrase, she had cleared the air, making him feel comfortable again. He couldn't help admiring her beauty. It was almost an uncontrollable need to look at her and, for some reason, to protect her.

Larry was awake when they got back to the apartment. Natalie brought him a glass of water and some painkillers, and soon he was sitting up in bed, ready to carry on where he had left off.

“Where was I?” he asked, trying to put on a brave smile that was no mask for the pain in his voice.

“You talked about the Russian contact and how you got Natalie to take over for . . .” Edward looked to Natalie for help with the name.

“Sarah,” she said.

“Right, right. Well, after that I tried for some time to revive various Russian sources I had used in the past, but I kept running into a brick wall. Every time I made contact, the source either dried up or died—it was as though someone was anticipating every move I made. At one point, Donoven informed me that my name had been mentioned in some correspondence. I realized I had been compromised to the Russians, which meant someone on our side had to know about it too.”

Edward could hear the anger in Larry's voice as he recounted the events that had followed. In the correspondence Donoven had unearthed, it was clear that Sarah's death was a hit, not an accident. Donoven also told Larry that another woman was being targeted—Sarah's roommate. He realized Natalie was in danger and he decided to get her out of Moscow as fast as possible.

It was about then that more pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place. Donoven, who was being instructed by Larry in the finer points of field intelligence work, was doing very well in the Foundation as a result and had been promoted. That gave him access to more information. What they learned was that the Russians were planning something big, and the Foundation was asked to use the Patriots to help them.

“Help them do what?”

“Steal a high-tech communications system.”

“I thought they'd been doing that on their own for some time now,” Edward commented ironically.

“They have.” Larry's face remained serious. “Except the Russians we are dealing with are not the official Russians. Apparently we are dealing with some rogue element.”

“I see. So what were they after?”

“The Federal Emergency Management Agency, or FEMA, developed, in conjunction with STSC at Ogden ALC and—”

“Wait, what's an ALC or STSC? For God's sakes, Larry, don't talk gibberish to me.”

Larry smiled. He knew that although his friend had spent most of his adult life in the service, he had usually worked in small units which cared very little for Beltway jargon. “Sorry. Ogden ALC is an Air Force Logistical Center, which is located at the Hill Air Force Base outside Salt Lake City. Actually it's right by Laton.”

Edward nodded. He knew the place.

“Well, the STSC is the Software Technology Support Center there and it's all part of the AFMC, which is the Air Force Material Command. Okay?”

“Whatever,” Edward said, leaning back and folding his arms across his chest.

“Well, to make a long story short, they had developed a sophisticated communication device.” Larry was now choosing his words carefully to get the most out of his limited energy. “It's called the Emergency Total Band Replacement Broadcast Array, or “Barby” for short. It's an emergency broadcast system, meant to override normal communication channels both on TV and radio. If a major emergency—hurricane, flood, earthquake, etc.—were to threaten a wide area or even the entire United States, warnings and rescue communications could be broadcast using the array. It would interrupt and block out normal broadcasts for as long as was necessary to communicate the emergency messages.”