Black Flagged Redux (53 page)

"The CIA is investigating a German medical supply company in Frankfurt. The company was identified by Reznikov as a possible distribution point for the canisters. This is our only direct lead at the moment. There was something else mentioned, which is why the two of you are here."

Director Shelby nodded at Carol Whitman, head of the National Security Branch, who stood up to address them.

"Reznikov told interrogators that he heard the Al Qaeda operatives mention a domestic terrorist group within the United States. This was a one-time conversation overheard by Reznikov in the laboratory. Unbeknownst to his benefactors, he speaks fluent Arabic. He told Sanderson's team that Al Qaeda had arrived at some kind of agreement with American ultra-nationalists. We think Al Qaeda might have entered into some kind of partnership with one of our domestic terrorist groups, which is why we want to appoint the two of you to lead a task force with the express purpose of investigating this possibility. Do we have a domestic terror organization that would consider working with Al Qaeda? It sounds like an awful stretch," she said.

"I'd start with True America. They have the most extensive physical network, and wouldn't have any religious objections to using Al Qaeda to achieve their goals. We haven't scratched the surface of their network, but they're rumored to have penetrated every level and walk of life in the U.S. We can start by focusing on known members employed in the Public Works sector, specifically anything having to do with state or local water systems. We might get lucky."

"If this shipment is inbound or already here, we'll concentrate on known fundamentalist cells near the True America members you initially identify. They'll have to come together at some point," Mendoza said.

"I assume that the canisters will be shipped to the Al Qaeda operatives. They wouldn't trust anyone outside of their own network to receive the bioweapon. If the CIA can get a shipping manifest soon, we might be able to intercept the shipments and roll up Al Qaeda operations in the U.S. before they make a handoff," Sharpe said.

"Sounds like we picked the right people to head this team. Pick your personnel from both sides. Finance and Operations. This has the highest priority, as agreed by everyone in the room. The task force will fall under the direct control of Carol Whitman. Any questions?"

"You mentioned that we might be working with Sanderson's people?"

"I was hoping you had forgotten that comment," Shelby said.

"It's hard to forget considering what he did two years ago," Sharpe said.

"Sanderson has operatives trained specifically to penetrate Arab fundamentalist groups like Al Qaeda. Arab-Americans capable of complete immersion…"

"It's too late to try and insert a deep cover operative," Mendoza said.

"I understand that, but they could be used to interface with True America. Possibly mimic one of the Al Qaeda cells. Our capacity to do this is extremely limited," Shelby said.

"Sanderson's people aren't exactly the kind you can restrain. We'll have to weigh this option carefully," Sharpe said.

"Maybe a little less restraint is necessary in the face of this kind of threat. This is ordered by the president, so let's figure out how to use them constructively. If you start to lose control of them, Carol needs to know immediately. I need to know. Don't think this isn't distasteful for me. We won't be parading them around headquarters or any of the field offices. This will be the most secretive aspect of the task force. Are we clear on that?"

Everyone sounded their agreement.

"Let's get the ball rolling. This is a twenty-four seven investigation, starting right now. Sharpe and Mendoza, start assembling your team," Shelby said.

"Forward your requests to Assistant Executive Director Gilmore. They'll be processed immediately. I expect this task force to be up and running by tomorrow morning," Carol Whitman said.

"That'll be all for now. Good luck, Agents. You're going to need it," Director Shelby said.

Mendoza and Sharpe left the conference room and didn't say a word until they were far outside of the executive wing of the J. Edgar Hoover Building.

"Looks like we're going to be up all night piecing this together," Mendoza said.

"I'm looking forward to it. We'll have to buy another leather chair for you. I foresee many long nights ahead of us," Sharpe said.

"I'll see about dragging a couch into your office. Damn, Sherry's gonna kill me. I'm supposed to be on a trip to the Mayan Riviera in two weeks," Mendoza said.

"Hope you bought trip insurance," Sharpe said and slapped him on the back.

"I always do," Mendoza replied.

Chapter 61

5:35 PM

Nuequen Province

Western Argentina

General Terrence Sanderson stared out at the HH-60H Rescue Hawk sitting in the middle of the dirt road outside of his headquarters lodge. The matte black helicopter was shadowed from the setting sun by the pines blanketing the foothills to the west. The grounding of this helicopter had pushed the president over the edge. Most of Sanderson's plan had been a bluff, with the exception of his threat to expose the helicopter and video evidence of the raid. Even that had been a bluff on many levels, since it would have achieved nothing for his organization. The helicopter was his trophy for now, until the U.S. government figured out how to insert a team to repair it. He imagined they would fly out using the same route and land it on one of their radar invisible destroyers. What a pain in the ass that would be for the U.S. Navy.

His satellite phone rang inside the lodge, and he opened the screen door to walk back inside. The plate of cookies still sat on the table, with one missing upon their return to the compound. He had found his note turned over, with a scrawled message at the top:

Expect resume shortly, LCDR Daly.

Parker knew Daly well from his time in the SEALs and said he'd make an excellent addition to their training or headquarters staff. He could possibly serve as a recruiter for more direct action operators. Now that Sanderson's people could come and go as they pleased, he was only limited by his imagination. He might even consider moving the training compound, though he was very comfortable on
señor
Galenden's property. He picked up the phone, recognizing the number.

"Bob's Used Helicopters…lightly flown and gently landed," he answered.

"Clever. I was going to wait a little while to get back in touch, but apparently we'll be working together, effective immediately."

"I heard the news about an hour ago. The rest of my group is on their way to catch the next available flights to Germany. Including the four already in Europe, that'll give them fourteen operatives to shake things loose over there. What a day this has been. I can't thank you enough for all of your help over the past couple of years. I'll buy you a proper drink when I get back to the States."

"I'll take you up on that. Until then, I'm working on a plan to find your organization a permanent home…or at least an official slot on someone's organizational chart."

"Don't do anything that's going to jeopardize your career. You've done enough for me already," Sanderson said.

"This is different. There's some serious talk about permanently assigning Special Operations assets to our spook friends. Langley has their own people, but the group is fairly small and highly compartmentalized. The National Clandestine Service has started to informally ask the Pentagon for help. Naturally, there's a lot of resistance from SOCOM. They don't like to give up operational control of their units, especially to the CIA…the two barely function together as it is. This might be a nice fit for you, and a chance to expand the program."

"This sounds exactly like the service we're already providing," Sanderson said.

"My thoughts exactly, and SOCOM wouldn't have to give up control of any assets. If things go well in Europe, you might just slide into this role without any help from your fan club in D.C."

"Thank you again for everything. I'll never forget this."

"It was my pleasure, though your number one fan didn't look very happy. I'd think twice about accepting an invitation to the J. Edgar Hoover Building."

"I'll stick to videoconferences for now," Sanderson said.

"Sounds like a wise plan. Rotor failure on that helicopter, eh?"

".50 caliber rotor failure," Sanderson said.

"Works every time. I'll be in touch shortly with more details. You might consider acquiring some more satellite phones. You're going to be a busy man."

"Already in progress. I'll have a mobile communications suite here by midday tomorrow. Full satellite coverage, high speed bandwidth…the works. No need to keep this place a secret any more. Just keep me posted if anyone has a change of heart over there," Sanderson said.

"I will. Just make sure you take a lot of pictures of that helicopter. I'd like to see one with you in the pilot's seat. I'll pass it on to remind everyone."

"Take care, my friend. Thanks again for betting on an old horse," Sanderson said.

"I only bet on winners. See you shortly."

Sanderson hung up and walked into the kitchen to find a strong drink. He stopped halfway, with a better plan already forming. There was no sense in drinking alone, when it was clearly time for a celebration at the compound. He just wished everyone could be here for it.

Chapter 62

10:18 PM

Falls Church, Virginia

Karl Berg started to fade away into a long overdue slumber. He'd finally been ordered by Audra to catch a few hours of uninterrupted sleep before Europe awoke. His alarm was set for 1:00 AM, which gave him a few hours to enter a deep restful sleep. Petrovich's team would still be on the road, which was the only reason he had been allowed to leave. A few of the offices adjacent to the Operations Center had been converted to sleeping quarters for duty personnel. He needed more than a few broken hours of institutional sleep on a thin mattress more suitable for a state penitentiary inmate.

His cell phone rang, lifting the heavy blanket of unconsciousness and jarring him back into the world of the living. The phone continued to ring, and he slowly moved his hand over to the night stand, homing in on the light from his BlackBerry screen. He lifted the phone above his face, still lying flat on his back, and read the caller ID. He didn't recognize the number, but knew who it might be based on the foreign prefix.

"Karl Berg," he whispered.

"You sound like shit, my friend," a deep voice said in Russian.

"I'm trying to catch a few hours of sleep, no thanks to you."

"I don't sleep very well anymore. Old age, they say."

"Are you sure it's not the nicotine coursing through your veins all day and night? What time is it there? Four in the morning? I thought old people slept in," Berg said.

"I decided to take an early morning walk. You know…to make sure I don't have a fan club. I'm at a pay phone halfway across the city. I haven't used one of these in years. Kind of reminds me of the old days."

"In the old days, all of the public phones were bugged," Berg said.

"They haven't monitored these phones like that in years. Cell phones ruined it for them. Still, they electronically troll the lines for certain phrases. I hear they even do that in your country now."

"I wouldn't be surprised. So, how did it all play out on your end? Will you be taking a trip down the lovely Moscow River?"

"I don't think so. Our insider removed any possible trace of her work. There will be a witch hunt soon enough, but we've been careful. Oddly enough, they think our Russian friend was responsible for his own abduction. They're convinced that he defected with the help of your Special Forces team. Your team left quite a mess on the streets, which was impressive given what they were up against. We have twelve bodies to recover."

"Two of them are ours," Berg said.

"Interesting. I don't think anyone here knows that. Twelve is the number I'm hearing. And how is the grand prize holding up? I assume he'll be given political asylum and a nice townhouse in the Midwest?"

"He didn't survive the interrogation, but we managed to make a few connections with the information he provided. We're working on them right now."

This wasn't true, but the less Kaparov knew about the fate of Anatoly Reznikov the better. Less than a dozen people knew that Reznikov had survived the brutal interrogation outside of Stockholm. Petrovich and Farrington understood the implications of an active Russian bioweapons program and did their best to keep him alive while producing immediately actionable intelligence. Technically, they had killed him four times in thirteen minutes during the course of their interrogation, but the high tech equipment and medical staff somehow kept him alive. In this case, the ends justified the means.

"I assume that my office will be the first to hear of any impending biological threats to the Russian Federation?"

"Of course, though I didn't realize your career needed a boost."

"It didn't, but I can't be outdone by one of my old adversaries. Congratulations, Deputy Assistant Director."

"I'm not even going to speculate on how you garnered that information. Thank you, Alexei, for everything. We're on the right path to stopping this threat. Give me a call if you need to make a quick getaway."

"I appreciate the offer, but I have a hefty pension coming my way and I plan on collecting it in rubles. Plus, I hear that smokers are discriminated against in your country."

"They most certainly are, though I'm sure we can find you a nice spot down south, where you can smoke all you want."

"I'll keep it in mind. Well, I don't want to steal away any more of your beauty sleep. I have a feeling the upcoming days are going to take a toll on your good looks."