Days of Rage (9 page)

W
aiting on a SITREP from Decoy, I watched Jennifer walk across the square to a convenience store that looked like it had been built into a closet.
Walk
was probably the wrong word. More like
glide
. She had an economy of motion and understated strength that reminded me of a jaguar I’d seen at the Singapore zoo.

Strength she needs, carrying that leather duffel bag around.

She called it a purse, but the thing was larger than some carry-ons I’d used. I’d made her stow the Stiletto EMP gun because of it, but I had no idea what else she had buried inside. Makeup? Ninja kit? It was another female mystery.

She bought a bottle of water, then turned and held it up. I shook my head with a smile. She’d asked if I wanted water before she’d crossed the plaza, but she still wanted to make sure.

Always wanting to help out the other guy.

Even when we’d first been thrown together, at a time when I was just as likely to punch someone as talk to them, she had shown her altruism. In fact, it was quite possibly the reason I was still alive. And I mean
literally
alive, not some metaphorical thing. If we hadn’t collided—which is probably the best way to describe that first encounter—I would more than likely be dead.

She sat back down on our bench and took a pull of water, surveying the crowd. She felt my eyes on her and said, “What? You want a sip?”

Embarrassed, I realized I’d been staring. “No, no. I’m good.”

She caught my eye again and raised an eyebrow in a theatrical way, making me laugh. She smiled back and it was hard to remember we were on a mission. Sitting in the warmth of the summer sun, kids playing with the fountain to my front, I felt like a teenager, wanting to take her out for ice cream.

Dangerous thoughts.

We
were
on a mission, and this type of bullshit was
exactly
what Knuckles had warned me about. A distraction that could cause me to screw the pooch on a decision. I needed to get my head back in the game and forget about our relationship. Somehow, I needed to figure out a way to switch between team leader and partner, and do it in such a way that I wasn’t making decisions precisely
because
I was making a switch.

Something must have flitted across my face, because Jennifer said, “What?”

I said, “Nothing,” then changed the subject. “What else do you have in that duffel bag besides the Stiletto? A bicycle?”

She leaned over and held it open, and underneath the EMP gun I saw a mini folding grappling hook attached to a spool of 8mm kernmantle cord, causing my face to break into a grin.

It
was
ninja gear.

I said, “What the hell are you toting that around for?”

“You guys are always telling me to climb stuff without any warning. After yesterday I decided to start bringing some help along.”

I said, “Hey, that was your damn decision. I was going out the front door. Anyway, I’ll give you an A for effort, but an F for cover. Someone sees that there’s no way to explain it. You should know better.”

She rolled her eyes. “Like I can explain this EMP gun anyway.”

Touché
.

Before she could continue, Decoy came on. “I’m in. Place is about empty. I had to show my passport, which they ran through some type of scanner, and I’m sure they’ve taken about forty photos of me. Moving to a table.”

Jennifer closed the purse and I said, “Roger. No sign of Chiclet?”

“Not yet, but this place is a little dark. Let me get inside. A lot of focus on me, I’ll tell you that.”

I waited a few seconds, then heard, “I’m claiming this gambling money.”

I said, “Fine, but if you win, it goes to the government.”

I heard a low whistle, then, “Man alive. Sorry I bitched about coming in. The blackjack dealer is a hammer. And she’s driving with her headlights on.”

I grinned and Jennifer mouthed,
What does that mean?
Probably thinking it was some arcane Taskforce surveillance code.

Decoy said, “Boy, oh boy, does she have some
big
headlights.”

I saw the realization dawn on Jennifer’s face, her confusion replaced by a scowl. I became all professional. Instead of saying,
Send me a picture
, like I wanted, I said, “Get me a lock-on for Chiclet.”

He said, “I don’t see him, but I can’t wander around in here asking everyone if they’ve talked to a black man. Give me a minute.”

I heard him playing a few hands and talking to the dealer, plying his man-whore ways, and wondered if he was really trying that hard to locate Chiclet. Fifteen minutes later, he said, “Got him. He’s coming down from the second floor. He’s a singleton, so no make on who he was talking to. He’s headed straight out the door. Want me to pick him back up?”

“No. We got him. Keep your cover. I’m sure that won’t be too hard. Just don’t get blinded by the high beams.”

“Roger all. Pike, everyone in here is Bulgarian and white. He sticks out like charcoal in the snow. Whatever he’s doing, it isn’t with other members of Boko Haram.”

I saw Chiclet exit, thinking about what Decoy had said. Trying to piece together the connections by reviewing all of the intelligence summaries I had read. And coming up empty.

I got a status on Knuckles, Retro, and Blood, then began working the surveillance again, following Chiclet to the parking lot adjacent to the Princess. When I was sure he’d committed to his car, I folded them in, and we began a mounted surveillance effort. Something that was both easier and harder. Easier because the guy we were following was now in a large, distinct hunk of metal that was locked onto paved roads—unable to dart into a store or crowd, for instance—but harder because we were also locked onto the road, and would by necessity end up chasing him in another large, distinct hunk of metal that was easier to identify over time and distance. Easier to unveil the surveillance effort.

I let Knuckles take the lead, driving by himself in a Hyundai sedan. For backup he was followed by Retro in a Ford and Blood and Decoy in a Bongo truck. Including Jennifer and me, that gave us four vehicles—two with the ability to launch dismounts if that became necessary. We took trail, driving a Volvo C30. Since I was the team leader, I’d made damn sure we didn’t get the Bongo truck. The Volvo was a strange little two-door hatchback, with the hatch made completely of glass, but it was comfortable. I probably could have made it fly if I could figure out all the electronics inside.

I gave Knuckles, as the eye, a chance to clear the area, then left the parking lot myself, saying, “Lock on, Knuckles. Still south?”

“Yeah, he’s two cars up and headed straight down Highway 86. I’ve got Retro to my rear ready to pass.”

“Roger all. We’re to your six, dragging anchor. Let me know when to commit.”

We went maybe ten kilometers without a change, hearing Knuckles’s monotonous recital of the same thing every few seconds: “Chiclet still southbound on 86.”

Thirty seconds later we heard, “Intending left, intending left. Chiclet headed toward Plovdiv airport. I’m off.”

Like clockwork, Retro said, “I got him. I got him. This is Retro, I have the eye.”

Still out of sight of the action, I wondered what he was doing. He couldn’t be getting on a flight. He’d never gone back to the hotel room for his luggage.

Retro said, “He’s pulled into a gas station. I have the eastbound road to the airport. Knuckles, can you take the southbound Highway 86?”

I heard, “Got it,” then keyed the mike. “I’ve got northbound and the trigger. I can see the gas station.”

Retro said, “Good to go.”

The entire exchange had taken seconds, but like a well-oiled machine my team had just laid a blanket over Chiclet, with every man plugging a hole he could use. It gave me a great amount of satisfaction. We were clicking. I came back on. “Knuckles, when I trigger, I’ll pick up the eye. I don’t want to commit you again.”

He gave me a “Roger,” and after a five-minute wait, Chiclet exited the store and reentered the highway, heading south. I pulled in behind him, and Jennifer said, “This is the same profile he used with Turbo. The same actions.”

Staying behind him, I realized she was right. I keyed my radio. “Decoy, Blood, pull off and check that station. This is the same thing he did when Turbo’s team was following. I’m betting it’s a dead drop or a load signal for a dead drop. See what you can find.”

I got an acknowledgment, passing Knuckles on the side of the road. He pulled in behind us and Chiclet left the highway for a slim ribbon of asphalt heading into the mountains. I saw a sign reading
ASEN
’
S
FORTRESS
and felt déjà vu.

Jennifer said, “This is the same road he took when Turbo was on him. This is the road where Turbo and Radcliffe died.”

W
aiting on Kurt Hale and the principals of the oversight committee to arrive, President Warren reflected on what Bruce Tupper had divulged. It was volatile, no doubt, but Warren wondered how much of Bruce’s motivation was protection of the United States and how much was simply protection of himself.

In the end, he supposed it didn’t matter. It wasn’t a zero-sum game, and Bruce had accurately predicted the fallout. Trust in the US government was at an all-time low, and hovering at the bottom of the bowl, right around the IRS and Congress, was the Intelligence Community. The last time there had been such a groundswell of skepticism and outright hate had been 1974. That year had culminated in the Church Committee, which eviscerated the CIA for various misdeeds that they had been involved in throughout the previous decade. Had the revelation come out then that the CIA could have prevented Munich two years before, there would no longer be a CIA.

If it came out today, no matter what the extenuating circumstances at the time, it might do the same thing. Especially when it was revealed that the man the president of the United States had personally chosen to act as the overarching leader of all intelligence was the one who could have prevented the massacre. They’d all look like collaborating liars. There would be no way to spin it. No way to overcome the hysteria in the press. On top of that, Congress, smelling something that would take the heat off of them, would pile on as “champions” of the American people.

He saw his national security advisor, Alexander Palmer, glance at his phone, then stand up. He said, “Kurt’s at West Wing security. Apparently he’s not on the list.”

President Warren said, “Go get him.”

After he’d left the room, the president surveyed the three remaining men. While it took all thirteen members of the Oversight Council to make any binding decisions regarding the Taskforce, these men were usually the driving force due to their expertise and experience. Over the past few years they’d been unofficially dubbed the “principals,” and the president had taken to consulting them on situations that were a little in the gray area.

President Warren said, “So, what’s the take? Is this going to be contentious? You guys want to pull Pike’s team?”

Jonathan Billings, the secretary of state, said, “Colonel Hale really should have asked permission before launching another team. This sets a bad precedent. It dilutes the authority and leadership of the Council, delegating it to the commander, which is
exactly
what the Oversight Council was set up to prevent in the first place.”

Mark Oglethorpe, the secretary of defense, snorted and said, “I don’t think it’s that big of a deal. We gave permission for a Taskforce team to deploy to Bulgaria and develop the situation. We gave Kurt Hale Alpha authority, but
he
picks the team. We wouldn’t even be talking about this if that accident hadn’t occurred. He could have rotated people left and right.”

Billings said, “That’s precisely the point. When the environment changes so drastically, we need to reassess the mission. Reassess the risks of exposure.”

The SECDEF just shook his head, telling President Warren he thought it was a bunch of chicken-shit excuses. Warren tended to agree. He nodded at the last man, the director of the CIA. “And you, Kerry? Where do you stand?”

“All these decisions should be judged in light of the mission. You can’t just look at the action in a vacuum, and in this case there was no real urgency to deploy. We don’t have anything at all on Akinbo other than his affiliation and some random chatter, so the potential risk wasn’t worth the deployment without prior analysis. Kurt acted out of emotion, and he knows it.”

“So you think we should bring them home?”

“That’s up to you, sir. At this stage, we don’t know the potential downside because we haven’t analyzed the impact of Turbo and Radcliffe’s deaths. Was there an investigation by the police? Is their cover solid, or are Americans under greater scrutiny? Will pulling the team cause even more interest since they just got there? Answers we won’t have without analysis.”

The SECDEF said, “Well, hell, why don’t we spin ourselves into the ground with potential what-ifs? Maybe they’ll get hit by a meteorite if we don’t pull them now.”

Billings started to protest, and President Warren held up a hand. A thought had flashed in his head. A compromise that might kill two birds with one stone. He said, “What about a change of mission? Order the team to do something else? Let Kurt know we’re pissed about him sending the team, but since he did we have a real mission for him.”

Billings said, “Like what?”

President Warren laid out what the DNI, Bruce, had disclosed, finishing with the idea of Pike’s team recovering the thumb drive. Kerry Bostwick, as the director of the CIA, understood the threat the information posed and warmed up to the idea immediately. Billings, the secretary of state, wasn’t as confident. “I’m not so sure we want to redirect Pike’s team. Remember, he was chosen because of Grolier Recovery Services’s cover ability in Bulgaria, but I’m not comfortable leaving a civilian in charge. He’s not even in the government anymore. Maybe we should think about replacing him completely since his cover is no longer necessary.”

The SECDEF said, “You sure you’re not just skittish about Pike?”

“Well, yeah, that’s part of it. He always ends up in the center of the cyclone, but I think I have a valid point. Anyone here feel the same way?”

Kerry said, “Once again, measure the action with the mission. Boris had the heart attack in Bulgaria. Pike’s already there. It makes less sense rotating the team out.”

President Warren nodded and said, “So it’s settled. When Kurt gets here, we’ll redirect the team to the Boris thread. Get them off Boko Haram.”

He saw the shadow of a smirk on the D/CIA’s face. He said, “What?”

“It’s just ironic. We’re going to use an illegal organization to steal intelligence from an ally so that we can prevent the loss of trust and confidence in our intelligence community. In effect, we’re doing exactly what the public is afraid of in order to prevent them from thinking we’re doing what they’re afraid of.”

Kurt Hale, entering just in time to hear the statement, said, “Should I be worried about something?”