The Maverick Experiment (2 page)

Derek and the two other men made their way to a patio table and sat down.

Carlisle began to speak. “So, let's get right to the point. Jerry has been tasked to start a new program in support of our counterterrorism efforts worldwide, and he has asked me to help him staff it. The trial will be in Afghanistan, but the plans will have you going all over the Middle East, Europe—the world, really. These days, terrorists are expanding faster than we can track them, and they aren't limiting themselves to operations in Iraq and Afghanistan. You should see some new places. We have fusion cells tracking groups across the globe; you name it, they're there. But you already know this.”

“Of course.”

Carlisle continued, “With lawyers and the media in a frenzy about Renditions, we've had to all but scrap that program. It has become a standard debriefing program in most cases.”

Derek nodded in understanding. The CIA's long-running Rendition program tracked and eventually snatched major terrorist targets or those connected to them, all around the world. Once captured from their homes, public locations, or other places, these targets were taken on private planes to top-secret detention facilities all around the world. Now, however, with all the public attention being brought to bear, the agency was being forced to greatly curtail Rendition, even though it had garnered some critical intelligence about terrorist operational plans.

“Is this similar to the original Renditions? Where do I come in?”

“Well, it is and it isn't,” Jerry said as Carlisle nodded. “You will be a rover, in a sense. You know as well as I do that agency
personnel in Kabul or Baghdad are handcuffed and limited in what they can actually do. All we have there now are essentially two more headquarters facilities, and we all know nothing gets done at headquarters, except for paper getting shoved around. You will not report to station upon arrival, you will not visit station. In fact, the chief of station himself will have no idea you are in country; thus, the name of the program.”

“And what's that?”

“We're calling it the Maverick Program,” Carlisle said, “because that's what you will be: a rogue—but supported—officer conducting missions outside the laws that the agency has to follow.”

“Who does it fall under?”

“CTC, SMD, DSG,” Jerry said.

Derek shook his head as he chuckled. “This place gets more difficult to understand all the time. Who is that in layman's terms?”

“It's the CTC/SMD Defense Survey Group,” Carlisle said. “However, chief of SMD doesn't know who you are, or even that you are under him, for that matter.”

“So … I'm working in the Special Missions Division of the Counter Terrorist Center,” Derek said slowly, sorting out the alphabet soup in his mind, “but the chiefs don't know who I am or even that I exist … Which means that in Afghanistan, or anywhere, really, I have no protection whatsoever. My actions, which various chiefs may become aware of, will be unknown to them and, therefore, assumed hostile. So I can expect to be chased down by the agency and the military?” Derek gave a mirthless laugh and shook his head. “Sounds like a real picnic. Where do I sign?”

Derek set down his cup of coffee and stood, turning and walking away from the table. Before he had taken three steps, he felt someone grabbing his arm.

“Hang on a second, Derek,” Carlisle Davenport said. “Just listen, OK?”

Derek paused.

“We finally have a director who will push the envelope and, surprisingly, the president supports him,” Carlisle said. “DCI and the president are the only people outside of the three of us who know about this program. We can really get some things done here.”

“Just you, Jerry, me, the director of the CIA, and the president?” Derek said.

Carlisle nodded.

“This really goes that high?”

Carlisle nodded again. “Like I told you before—clearance at the highest level.”

Derek took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “And what, exactly, would I be doing along with all this exciting travel you're talking about?”

“Well, like I said, you will be acting outside of the law in order to ensure we are getting valuable information from our targets—and then getting rid of them.”

“How does that work? Who provides my targets, and how are we reporting the information we get? We can't do it through agency channels or we lose all deniability.”

Jerry walked over to where Derek and Carlisle were standing. “The simple answer is, you don't,” he said. “This program can never be connected to the US government, and certainly not the agency. You have to almost think of this program as its
own agency or entity. You have someone funding it and supporting it, but in the field it will be your baby. Carlisle and I will essentially sniff out the hardest target sets the agency has and utilize our access to feed you critical data. The rest is up to you.”

Before Derek could respond, Carlisle spoke up. “Derek, things are worsening fast in Kabul. Since you left, the Talibs have figured out what we long hoped they wouldn't: daily attacks. The security office has station on lockdown so frequently that even the officers who got some ops done before aren't able to contribute now. It's bad.”

Derek knew Carlisle's assessment was correct. Major bombings and attacks made headlines, but knowing how the agency feared casualties, something as simple as tossing a hand grenade into a crowded bazaar was far more effective for disrupting counterterrorism efforts. If the Talibs made even the quietest boom every morning—even if no one was injured— station would go into lockdown and locals would remain in their homes out of fear. It was that simple.

Derek chuckled. “So they finally figured it out, huh? OK, so basically, we are the only ones doing any operations in Kabul because station doesn't have the balls to let their people do their jobs. Hilarious.”

“Who else would be in this little world-justice army you're building? Any other branches or directorates here?”

“No. Just you and your unit,” Carlisle said. “We would just have one of the other special mission units from DoD do it, but we can't involve multiple agencies, or in our case, even multiple directorates.”

“So, nobody from Clandestine Service, the Directorate of Intelligence, Support …”

“Right,” Jerry said, “none of the other directorates. This has to be tight and really quiet.”

“How many people?”

“Pretty small, at least to start. There will be a team of five, including you,” Carlisle said.

Derek had his hands in his pockets, staring upward in thought and speaking quietly, almost to himself. “Lots of logistical problems … How do we get in? Where do we stay? How do we procure vehicles, weapons, communications, et cetera?”

“We have some friends who will assist with air operations but will not know about your assignment,” Carlisle said. “They will simply get you where you need to go and not ask questions.”

“Get us where we need to go,” Derek said, giving Carlisle a direct look, “but not get us out?”

“No, they will assist with that as well, when appropriate. I won't lie, though; in most instances, you will be on your own and will need to procure your own travel. That's just how it has to be. There will be packages waiting for you by the plane for each assignment. They'll contain all your operational needs, including funds. You will be responsible for vehicles, food, clothing, bedding, and any other items you will require. Of course those all fall under operational costs.”

“How about lodging? Who pays the rent?”

“You do. We can't use one of our safe houses because station does not know about this. So it's up to you to find a suitable place to live for a while. I suggest somewhere with a good basement.”

“Hasn't that been done before? The Special Forces guy who did that years ago was arrested and thrown in Pol-e-Charkhi
prison outside of Kabul. Not an ideal place for an American. Which, in light of this conversation, begs the question: Was he really rogue, or working for us?”

“No, he was rogue, like you'll be. Only you will have some under-the-table support.”

“OK, I'll bite. How do you come into play?” Derek stared at Carlisle.

“I'm here for recruiting purposes and to help you when you need it. Global Defense Solutions Inc. is just a company that provides people like you to people like Jerry. We broker spies.”

Jerry leaned in. “Bottom line, Carlisle is well connected to people throughout the agency, and he knows of people like you. Without him, we'd be unable to staff this thing. I certainly couldn't do it without him, and on top of it all, he is a good friend. We went through the Farm together decades ago after he left the Army Special Forces.”

“Fair enough. So, Carlisle, why me?”

“Well, a few reasons. You're young but have a ton of experience relative to your overall time in the intelligence community. It's unlikely you've been burned too severely yet. You've managed to keep a pretty low profile; very few people in any of the services know who you are.

“Obviously, we need an interrogator, but you've also run clandestine sources and conducted cross-border operations. You know how to operate in environments such as Afghanistan. You are clearly capable of learning and maintaining multiple foreign languages. You are well trained on weapons, high-speed driving, escape and evasion tactics, and communications, and you understand how to travel undercover. And
perhaps most important—and I mean this—we know you hate rules, and we need someone who will push the envelope with this program. The only thing you need now is jump school.”

“Excuse me? I'm diving into these places?”

“Yes, mostly. So what do you think?”

“How long until a team can be assembled?”

“We meet with the rest this afternoon. All should be finalized by the end of the week. You have a crash course in jumping this week. You up for it?”

Derek took another deep breath. “Look, guys, this all sounds good, and if you know anything about me, you know this is my type of mission. But how is the—”

“You give us an account number, we provide the funds,” Jerry said. “Monthly payments when you're working, forty thousand US per month worked. GDSI will provide you with a one million dollar life insurance policy and health benefits. How does that sound?”

“I haven't worked twelve months a year in, well, years.”

“You won't. Just when we need you, and we will deposit the money for a month regardless of whether you work the full month or not. Fair enough?” Jerry said.

“Fair enough.”

“You in?” Carlisle said.

“Why the hell not?”

Jerry handed Derek a slip of paper with an address. “Here's where you need to go when the call comes.”

The slip showed an unfamiliar address for an airfield in south Florida.

“It's a new site we'll be using for your training and our flights. It should be convenient for you, just a few hours away
from your home. Do not bring any identification. Remember, none of these guys are read in; they only know you as government. You can leave your car in the hangar. We'll be in touch.”

Sunday, December 27
Jacksonville, Florida
Stevens Residence 1637 Hrs

Derek's plane touched down at Jacksonville International Airport. The landing was a bit rough but at least they were on the ground. Compared to some of the places and situations he'd had to land in, a little bounce on the Jacksonville runway wasn't much of a distraction.

On the other hand, explaining this new assignment to Heidi was very much on his mind. Would he tell her the truth? Or would he develop a cover story, as he had so often done?

Although the agency had grown more supportive of telling family members of operatives' involvement in the intelligence community, it was still not acceptable to comment on any specifics regarding missions and, in some instances,
locations. The more acceptable and usual solution for people in the agency was, simply, to lie.

Derek pondered his decision on the drive home from the airport. As he pulled his car into the driveway, he tried to imagine how the conversation would go.

The Stevenses lived in a gorgeous golf and sailing community just minutes from the Atlantic Ocean. His hard work paid off, and Derek had been able to get away from the costs and hassles associated with living in Washington, DC. He could relax without any neighbors making any particular assumptions about his career. In this neighborhood of affluent people, Derek was just an ordinary guy—with an extremely high golf handicap.

Derek rehearsed his script: “Honey … how would you feel about being able to shop even more than you do now?” No, that's not it … “Umm, honey, we need to talk.” That never starts anything positive … “Honey, I …”

Derek paused and looked up as Heidi stood outside his car door, waiting for him. He opened the door. “Honey! Hi!”

“Hey, sweetie. How was your trip?”

“Fast. I'll tell you all about it. Just let me grab my stuff.”

Derek grabbed his small carry-on bag from the front passenger seat before getting out and shutting the door. He hugged and kissed Heidi and led her inside.

Heidi went toward the back door leading to their favorite place, the patio. They would often eat their meals outside on the recently redesigned patio and then chat far into the night as they shared a cocktail or a bottle of wine. On a good night, they could hear each and every wave crash onto the beach, just a few blocks away.

“You want a drink, honey?” called Derek from the kitchen.

“Umm, sure. I'll just have whatever you have. Thanks.”

Derek poured their standby, Johnnie Walker Gold, into two small glasses and headed out back. He had the brief thought that his line of work had moved him from two or three beers an evening to several glasses of scotch. As usual, he shoved this thought back into his mental closet and slammed the door.

“Hey, babe, shut the door fast so we don't let any bugs in,” Heidi said.

Derek closed the door behind him and sat down. “Cheers.” He handed her a glass.

“So what are we cheering? Are you leaving me again?”

“Yes, but this is a good thing.”

“So what is it? Why Afghanistan?”

“Well, the government wants me to go over and help assess some new unit's training. I'm supposed to determine what else they need in order to operate more efficiently.”

Derek was pleased with his freshly invented answer. He rarely found it wise to make something up on the spot, but in this case, the improvisation had the ring of truth; it would also provide reasonable cover for any potential future trips to other locations. Derek tried to be as vague as possible but still make plenty of sense. It was completely feasible that a skilled operator like himself would perform such an assignment as he had just described—if it in fact existed.

“Will you provide the training yourself?” she said.

“It depends. If I am capable of doing so, I'll get them up to speed. If not, I'll make my recommendations and we'll send someone else in to do it.”

“How long will you be there?”

“Still not sure. It depends on my assessment, I guess. I don't anticipate much longer than a few weeks, if that long.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“No, honey. I'll be fine. I promise.”

“Will there be other trips?”

“I think so, but I don't have any specifics yet. We're trying to roll this program out and see how it goes.”

“Are there more than just you going?”

“Yes. A small team.”

“Do you know any of them?”

“No, but I know the men in charge now, and I trust them. Everything will be fine.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Trust them.”

“Well, as much as I can trust anybody.” In the shadowy intelligence community, trust was a pretty rare commodity—especially for someone with Derek's family experiences. But it probably wouldn't do any good to share that fact with Heidi right now.

“Does it pay well?”

“I was waiting for you to get to that part,” laughed Derek. “Yes. It pays very well. How does forty thousand per month sound? And it's forty thousand per month even if I just work one day in the month. If I punch the clock one time in the month, I get paid for it. Good deal, huh?”

“Yeah. That works.” She smiled, then looked down, her smile fading a little. “I just need you to be safe. I don't know what I'd do without you.”

“Well, you could start by cashing in on the million-dollar life insurance policy they're giving me.”

Government employees were usually provided approximately $250,000 in life insurance. Derek knew he and his team were probably getting the million for good reason.

“Not funny, Derek,” Heidi said. “Just don't be stupid out there. I know you're confident in yourself, but don't be too confident. Besides, it's not you I worry about.”

“I promise I will be extremely safe. I have too much at stake here.” He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. “You are my whole world. And I am doing this for us. We can use the extra money to take some fun trips … and maybe start a college fund for our kids.”

Heidi perked up and smiled. “Hmm. I like the sound of that. Kids, college fund, travel … all my favorite things.”

“Hey don't forget me.”

“Of course not. So when would this whole kid plan start?”

Derek knew this would come up. Still, he needed to use the kid issue to gain a little slack for the amount of traveling he would be doing. If a deal regarding kids wasn't struck, then the whole deal—work and travel—would be off.

“Soon. Maybe we can start trying this year. Let's just see how all this goes for a little bit, OK?”

He leaned in and kissed her again, this time on the lips.

“I can't wait to have kids with you,” she said, kissing him back.

“Maybe we should go to the bedroom and practice. What do you think?”

“I think I like the way you think.”

Home free. A little talk about kids and the future, and now his revved-up wife wanted sex and still had no idea how bad
this might get. He smiled and held out his hand. They stood and walked hand-in-hand toward the house.

Wednesday, December 30
Everglades, Florida
1522 Hrs

Derek pulled up to the address Jerry Carr had given him. It had taken him nearly seven hours to find his destination, and it had not been easy.

He had been off highways and main roads for a while now and quickly recognized that the address given was not his final destination. Derek stared at a now-vacant gas station in the middle of nowhere. The old filling station made little, if any, sense in this location, but the address matched up. He waited for five minutes and then exited the vehicle to search the station.

Derek peered through windows, thinking someone could be waiting inside the old structure, but there was nothing. He returned to his car and waited. Nearly a half hour passed before dust started billowing down one of the adjacent roads. A black Cadillac sedan pulled up to the station, and two men exited the vehicle. They were tough-looking guys, which immediately had Derek assuming this was a survival, evasion, resistance, and escape drill.

SERE drills were often given to officers involved in extremely dangerous assignments. They involved interrogations, food deprivation, physical abuse, and a ton of mental abuse. For the training to be more realistic, officers never
knew it was coming; it just happened. Just as Derek was about to stomp on the gas pedal to get out of there, one of men spoke to him.

“You Stevens?”

“I am.”

One of them stuck his open hand out toward Derek's window. Derek shook hands.

“Good to meet you. Follow us.”

They returned to their vehicle and turned back down the same dirt road they had come from.

A mile or so down the road, the Cadillac made an abrupt right turn off the dirt road, through some brush, and onto a hardly traceable track along a marshy area. Derek barely made the turn in time.

“Oh,
this
road,” he said to himself. “Don't know how I missed it.”

The two vehicles traveled for another mile or so down the path before they reached a large open area with a small house in the distance and a long strip of pavement, which Derek figured to be a makeshift runway. A hangar and a few planes sat beyond the runway. Although the private jetliner sitting in the distance looked nice, the three old prop planes caught Derek's attention: two single-prop aircraft and a larger two-prop airplane. Derek was not sure what types they were, but he hated flying on prop planes. He had risked his life in enough ways without going up in a plan that gave him limited backup options.

“Great. Props,” Derek thought. “Can't someone just shoot at me instead, or try to blow up my car?”

The cars came to a stop near the house. As Derek exited his vehicle, Carlisle Davenport appeared from the house.

“Welcome to paradise, Derek.”

Derek stared around at the place. “Where is it?”

Carlisle laughed. “Grab your bags and come inside.”

Derek entered the old house and was surprised to see modern décor within. Flat-screen TVs showing major news channels covered one entire wall. Comfortable leather sofas were lined up to enhance the viewing pleasure. A small control center sat in the farthest corner, with one person staffing what appeared to be some radar screens, a couple of phones, and a computer workstation.

Carlisle walked into the kitchen. “You need anything? Coffee? Soda?”

“No, I'm fine for now, thanks.”

“OK. Well, if you need anything, you know where to find it. I'll show you to your room, and then we can meet in the conference room.”

“I'm a little surprised to see you here, actually. I thought you just brokered spies.”

“I do. Along with a few other things. Come with me.”

Carlisle led Derek down a hallway. At first glance, it appeared there was a string of bedrooms—four, maybe five at the most—a large conference room, some storage rooms, and a large area like a locker room.

“Here. You can throw your things in here. This will be your room for the next couple of weeks, but don't get too comfortable. We have a few trips to make in the meantime. Get settled, and I'll see you in the conference room down the hall in five.”

Derek nodded and walked into the room. Trips in the meantime, huh? This just keeps getting more interesting, thought Derek.

He set his bag down on the bed. The room also had a desk with a TV on it and a fridge full of Gatorade, water, and beer. He opened the wardrobe to find a full complement of new tactical clothing and gear: shirts, pants, hats, jackets, boots, shoes, knives, sunglasses, a new watch, and more. “A late Christmas. I like it.”

He shut the door and headed to the conference room.

Inside the room, Carlisle and two other men sat at the conference table. Fox News played in the background on a large TV.

“Derek. Come on in.”

Derek stepped in and put his hands on the back of a free chair, looking at the men.

“Derek, I would like you to meet two of the men who you will be working with. This is Dustin Grimes, your comms and support guy. Anything comms or computer related, he is your man. He will also help with equipping and providing necessary items at your various safe houses.”

Grimes was a slim but fit individual. He appeared to be in shape but wasn't the hardened-looking type Derek had grown accustomed to working with.