Targets of Revenge (12 page)

Sandor nodded without speaking.

“I think it’s only fair that I find out what actually happened before I explode into a homicidal rage. Would you agree?”

“Yes sir.”

Byrnes drew a deep breath, puffed out his cheeks, and let out a long, unhappy sigh. “So, let’s see if I’ve got this right. Without permission, without so much as a how-do-you-do, you flew to our Air Force base in Curaçao, infiltrated the jungles of Venezuela, sought out Rafael Cabello for the purpose of assassinating him, wound up in the middle of a narcotics operation, took out several foreign nationals, blew up a boat in foreign waters and almost got yourself and two other agents killed. Is that a fair summary?”

“You left out the anthrax lab.”

“Ah, yes, the anthrax lab. Which you never actually saw, as I understand.”

“I was inside the laboratory, but I never got into the area where they’re manufacturing the anthrax, that’s correct.”

“Mm hmm. And when you organized this SMU with Raabe and Bergenn, you felt you had some special authority to do so, some mandate I’m not aware of?”

Sandor knew, of course, that he did not. Special Mission Units had to be authorized by the top echelon of the Agency. He also realized that his intention to keep the mission covert had gone up in flames with the explosion of the Fountain speedboat in the Lago de Maracaibo. “Not exactly, no.”

“Not exactly? Do you recall the discussion you and I had last week, the one in which I refused you permission to hunt down Adina? You do recall that, I presume.”

“I do, but I came across new information when I was on R&R in St. Barths. I got a lead on his whereabouts and I felt I was justified to act, sir. I was in hot pursuit.”

“Hot pursuit? What kind of nonsense is that, Sandor? You weren’t a state trooper chasing a bank robber down I-95. You planned and carried out an entire operation without sanction from or notice to this office. You even took a Mexican national into custody along the way.”

“A drug runner, sir.”

Byrnes stared at him as if they were speaking two different languages. “Do you have any idea what sort of trouble you’re in? Do you know what kind of damage you’ve done to your career? In a best-case scenario you could be riding a desk in a cubicle on the third floor of this building until your infamous sense of humor is an ancient memory. Am I clear?”

“Completely, sir.”

Byrnes shook his head. “God almighty, Jordan. What the hell were you thinking?”

“May I speak freely, sir?”

“A little late to play the ingénue, don’t you think? Say whatever you want.”

“I was thinking about the team that died when that bomb was ignited north of Baton Rouge. I was thinking of the people who
were incinerated at Fort Oscar. I was thinking about the airliner they sabotaged as nothing more than a diversionary tactic. And then I was thinking about that bastard living under the protection of a scumbag like Chavez. When I got a lead on Adina’s compound, my career was not even a consideration.”

“You should have applied for authorization to proceed.”

“Come on, sir, you know the Potomac shuffle. Getting permission for an incursion into Venezuela? Who was going to approve that? Even if I did, by the time we went up and down the chain of command where would Adina and his anthrax have been by then?”

“I understand your feelings about this man, I truly do. But there are protocols, damnit. And what about Bergenn and Raabe? How do you think it’s going to go for them? And your pal down at the base in Hato Airport? Come now, don’t look so surprised. You think we don’t know Doug Carlton arranged your transportation in and out of Venezuela?”

“He had nothing to do with this. He thought we were acting on orders. And so did Bergenn and Raabe.”

Byrnes almost managed a smile. “Sell that song and dance somewhere else.” He stood up. “The Director wants to see us. All of us.”

————

The reception they received in Director Walsh’s office made the discussion with Byrnes seem positively congratulatory. Sandor, Bergenn, and Raabe had already been formally debriefed on the details of their rogue mission, and the Director had the report in front of him as they sat around his conference table. Walsh began by assuring each of them that they were in a world of trouble.

“You risked a serious international incident, which may yet bite us in the ass, and the totality of what you accomplished was to delay a shipment of narcotics that by now has likely been delivered anyway, despite your harebrained scheme.”

“I don’t think that’s accurate,” Sandor disagreed. “We gathered intelligence about Adina’s operation, including a facility manufacturing anthrax and a multinational cocaine operation.”

“Which leads you to what conclusion?”

“That this team should be permitted to travel to Sharm el-Sheikh to follow up on the information I gathered.”

“Egypt? It’s not enough that your escapade into Venezuela may ignite a melee with our most potent enemy in the Western Hemisphere. Now you want me to send you to one of the most volatile regions in the entire world to stir up trouble there?”

“That’s where the trail leads, sir.”

The Director shook his head in disgust. “That would be a definitive no, Agent Sandor. Meanwhile, what am I supposed to do with the Mexican you shanghaied?”

“Protective custody?”

“May I remind you, Sandor, this is the Central Intelligence Agency. Our primary objective is to gather intelligence in the defense of our country. We try to do our best, in that pursuit, to act covertly and not provoke wars all over the map.”

The Director was interrupted when his assistant walked in and passed him a slip of paper.

“Well, gentlemen, in case you did not believe that these problems have already reached the highest levels of our government, the report of your exploits has been shared with the office of the National Director of Intelligence, and the NSC has arranged to join us for this discussion.”

Walsh picked up a remote control and activated the videoconference screen on the wall. They all turned and waited until the image of the President’s National Security Advisor, Peter Forelli, glowed to life.

Introductions were followed by the customary diplo-speak and expressions of concern over what Chavez might do in response to the shooting incident in the Lago de Maracaibo. Given Sandor’s less than flattering opinion of the Venezuelan tyrant, he found himself wishing the hatchet-faced dictator would actually make some sort of retaliatory move. He remained silent on that as the others tossed around the usual back-channel options, with Walsh never missing the opportunity to make clear how the entire problem had been caused by blatant insubordination.

Sandor did not actually see a problem, which was why he was viewed as insubordinate. Fortunately, there was someone in the
administration who agreed with him. As the NSA droned on about what needed to be done, the door behind him on the large screen opened and in strode the President of the United States.

Even though this was a videoconference, all five men around Walsh’s table instinctively stood.

President Henry Forest responded with his familiar grin. He said, “At ease gentlemen,” then sat beside Forelli as everyone else took their seats. “I got the headlines on this from Peter, fellas, so you’ve got two minutes of my time. What’s the situation?”

Peter Forelli quickly reiterated the issues and Director Walsh chimed in with his concerns. It did not take long for the President to show them all the palm of his hand. Despite the carping of his worst critics, Forest was a deceptively quick study.

“So you’re all bent out of shape because one of our boys blew up a drug smuggler’s boat in the middle of Venezuelan waters, that the bottom line?” When no one replied, the President leaned forward to have a better look at his screen. “That you, Sandor?”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“You behind this mess?”

“I am, Mr. President. The mess is all mine.”

The President nodded. “Never got to shake your hand after your work in Baton Rouge. I’ve got to be sure to do that real soon.”

“It would be an honor, sir.”

The President sat back and crossed his arms across his chest. “Look, men, they didn’t capture Sandor, so they can’t prove who did what. They can’t even prove he was an American, am I right?” He did not wait for an answer. “Frankly, I’ve got bigger issues on my plate than worrying about that blowhard Chavez or some narcotics dealer in South America. So what say we skip all the State Department crap and let’s hear what the man saw when he was down there?”

He was staring directly at Sandor.

“The narcotics operation was coupled with the manufacture of anthrax.”

“I saw that in the report, son. Unfortunately, people are trying to make anthrax all over the world. What do you figure is special about this situation?”

“Rafael Cabello, sir. Adina has proved himself an avowed enemy of this country and an extremely dangerous man. I figure if we follow the narcotics we might find out what he intends to do with the anthrax. And hopefully we’ll find him as well, Mr. President.”

Forest nodded. “Anybody got a better idea than that, let’s hear it.” The President only allowed the clock to tick twice before he said, “Okay then, Sandor makes sense to me. What do you think, Mike?”

Director Walsh nodded at the large, flat screen. “Yes sir, I see the point.”

“Good. Peter and I will talk it over, then he’ll follow up with the NDI and get back to you all tomorrow. Meanwhile, if Chavez has a problem with a drug runner’s boat getting blown up, let him take it to his leftist friends at the UN.” The President stood, causing all the other men to scramble to their feet. Then he leaned forward and stared into the camera. “You’re a good man, Sandor, and you do a helluva job for your country. But you know damn well that the business you’re in is not about yesterday, it’s all about today and tomorrow. So don’t count too much on your past exploits to cover your ass, know what I’m saying?”

“Yes sir,” Sandor said. “I do.”

“Good, because if you go off the reservation like this again, I’ll personally hand Mike the rope when he asks to string you up.” Then the President smiled and, without another word, turned and headed for the door and out of the room.

S
ITUATED ON THE
southern tip of the Sinai Peninsula, the beautiful resort town of Sharm el-Sheikh has a storied and unusual history. Often referred to as the City of Peace, it was once a part of the Ottoman Empire. More recently, it became an Israeli-occupied territory. Then, in 1982 it was restored to its rightful inclusion in the nation of Egypt.

It has been the site of several Middle Eastern peace conferences, the location of a series of deadly shark attacks in 2010, the place where President Hosni Mubarak issued his resignation in 2011, and, tragically, the target of a vicious terrorist attack in 2005 by Islamic extremists who sought to destroy the Egyptian tourist trade, leaving eighty-eight people dead and more than two hundred wounded. Fortunately, this lovely seaport setting is graced by a surprisingly resilient population and, despite the turmoil in the region, it continues to flourish as a destination for foreign vacationers.

Sandor was familiar with the town, having used it on a couple of occasions as his exit point when heading home after completing missions in the Middle East. Famous for its long stretches of beach and world-class scuba diving, it is also a perfect location for nationals from different countries around the world to rendezvous. This is a place where Europeans, Asians, Hispanics, and Arabs regularly convene, and where meetings among and between them go largely unnoticed.

Unless one is looking for something or someone in particular.

————

Before he left Washington, Sandor had to endure another lecture from DD Byrnes, who picked up where Director Walsh and President Forest left off. Sandor did his best to appear chastened as Byrnes finished his tirade, which was not easy since the President himself had sanctioned the mission.

“Make sure you don’t leave any footprints this time,” was Byrnes’s final admonition.

“I’ll do my best.”

“As for Bergenn and Raabe, try not to create any more problems for them, all right?”

Sandor insisted again that the idea and planning had been all his, explaining that the other men had merely come to his rescue when his exfiltration route was compromised.

Byrnes responded with a cynical stare. “You’ve got a better chance convincing me the Easter Bunny is real.”

“Shall I give that a shot?”

“Zip it.”

“Right.”

“I’ll deal with any of the diplomatic backlash here, you just keep a low profile.”

“Will do,” he said as he stood and headed for the door.

“Sandor!”

He spun around to face the DD.

“You let me know where you are. At all times.”

“Of course.”

“And what you’re up to.”

“Right.”

“And I mean before the shooting starts.”

“Of course, sir.”

Byrnes fixed him with a stern look. “No vigilante nonsense. You got that?”

“Loud and clear.”

Sandor left the DD’s office and headed straight downstairs for an update on the interrogation of the Mexican drug runner he had
escorted back from Venezuela. Bergenn reported that the man had been cooperative from the start, acknowledging he could never return home. His friends down south would assume he had given them up and would welcome him with an appropriate round of torture followed by an unceremonious burial somewhere deep in the jungle. He wanted asylum from the Americans and was willing to tell them everything he knew in exchange for that.

What he knew, unfortunately, was limited. The large drug cartels were careful about limiting the information shared with their rank and file—what the Agency famously referred to as a “need-to-know” chain of communication. He had learned enough along the way, however, to confirm some of what Carlos had told Sandor about the movement of the goods from Cabimas to northern Mexico, near the Texas border. He reported overhearing discussions about financial transactions in Egypt, just as Carlos had said, and heard Sharm el-Sheikh mentioned more than once, along with some banks there. He also gave them the names of two men that might prove helpful. One was a notorious drug lord who would almost certainly be involved in a shipment of this size. The other was a Russian financier. The Mexican was long on factoids and short on detail.