"You have to answer."
Conor angrily fished the satellite phone from his pocket and took the call on the fourth ring. "Conor."
"I was afraid you weren't going to answer me," Browning said, a degree of amusement in his voice. "You sound like shit. What's going on?"
"Well, Mr. CIA Man, you of all people should understand that there might be times on a recon op that one can't hold a conversation. As far as my voice, I got my nose flattened today and it's still a little swollen."
"Former CIA man," Browning corrected. "And it's a good thing you were ugly to begin with. At least a broken nose isn't going to hurt your appearance."
Conor didn't take the bait. "Sorry, Browning, I'm just going to sit here and take it today. I don't have the energy to go back and forth with you."
When Browning replied, Conor could hear the loathing in his voice. "I'd always heard the Mad Mick was tough. I guess I heard wrong. Anyway, I need a status update. I'm tired of playing games with you. I need this done."
"The status is undetermined," Conor shot back, clearly short on patience. "The mission is ongoing."
"Undetermined? What's that supposed to mean?" This wasn't the answer Browning wanted. "I've given you plenty of time to wrap this up."
"The last few days have been inconclusive. We tried to get closer and verify some things, but they run tight security—hence the broken nose. We're going to try again tonight." Conor choked and spat.
"This is all you've got? Basically nothing? I'm not sure what Ricardo saw in you. I'd never have kept someone so inept on the payroll. "
"Sorry, that's all I've got. I'll need a few more days." Conor waited through nearly a minute of silence for the blistering reply he was certain would come, but it didn't. "Hello?"
When there was no response, he pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the screen. Browning had ended the call. There had been no threats, no cursing, and no demands. He'd just hung up on him. Conor shoved the phone back into his pocket.
"What happened?" Barb asked. The water had started boiling and she was pouring some in each pouch.
"The bloody muppet hung up on me."
"You weren't very convincing," Barb replied, sealing each meal so that it could rehydrate.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly what I said. It sounded like you were blowing him off. No wonder he hung up on you."
Conor took a slug of his water, washing out his mouth again. "He'll call back."
Barb cast him a doubtful look but kept her thoughts to herself. She wasn't so sure about that. She had a gut feeling that their relationship with Browning had just gone to the next level and that was not a good thing.
43
Catalyst Security Training Facility
Front Royal, Virginia
Browning angrily tossed the satellite phone onto his desk. He grabbed one of the radios they used to communicate on the Catalyst facility and keyed the mic. "Browning for Riddle, Browning for Riddle." He slouched back in his chair, feet on his desk, and bounced the radio off his thigh while he waited impatiently for the reply.
"Go for D.O. Riddle."
"I need to see you in my office please. Immediately."
"There in two minutes. D.O. Riddle out."
Browning placed the radio back on the desk and got up to stare out the window. It irritated him how Riddle always insisted on putting the D.O. in front of his name whenever they were on the radio. It was pure territoriality—Riddle's attempt to mark his territory. The Catalyst Security facility at Front Royal had been Riddle's domain until Browning showed up and booted him out of his office. Yeah, he understood that Riddle had been the Director of Operations at Catalyst for twelve years, but this was bigger than Catalyst. This was a national fight against an insurgency. They were trying to secure the homeland. Browning didn't care who he had to step on to get the job done. He didn't care who he pissed off or who he pissed on.
It was right at two minutes before Riddle showed up, walking through the door without knocking. That was another thing that irritated Browning. Since this had previously been Riddle's office, he refused to knock before entering. Browning wasn't exactly a stickler for protocol, but he demanded respect. Riddle insisted on toeing the line.
"What's up?" Riddle asked.
Browning turned away from the window and glared at Browning. "Conor Maguire is jerking my chain."
Riddle looked confused. "You'll have to remind me again who Conor Maguire is. Is he one of our people? A competitor? An insurgent?"
"No, and don't play coy with me. You know who he is. He's the operator Ricardo put aboard the Shandong to take out a big chunk of our leadership."
"But he failed," Riddle reminded him. "That's the important part. And now Ricardo is dead so Conor's link to the Macallan Collective has been severed."
Browning returned to Riddle's desk to take a seat. He like the psychological edge little things like that gave him. Sitting in Riddle's chair, his feet propped carelessly on Riddle's desk, while making Riddle stand before him like some new hire clutching onto the lowest rung of the ladder. "There were still casualties on that ship. Some of them were important people within the new government. The loss of those people caused a shake-up. Other players scrambled for new positions of power. So yes, overall Conor's mission was a failure, but there was a lingering psychological blow. Don't forget that."
"I haven't forgotten that. You were the one who threw Conor Maguire back after he landed in our laps," Riddle said, the comment almost an accusation.
Browning's mouth tightened. He refused to defend himself to this man. Riddle was a nobody. Browning knew Riddle had aspirations for a role in the new government, but Browning would do his best to make sure that never happened. He hoped to be the person handing out those assignments and he'd be damned if he was going to let Riddle have one. The man just didn't grovel enough and that was not how advancement in government worked. You had to kiss the ring.
"I thought Conor would be useful. The man isn't a thinker, Riddle, he's a hammer. A hammer doesn't give a shit who's holding the handle, it just bangs whatever nail you put in front of it."
"You intended for Conor to keep banging nails?"
"Yes. Nails that I put in front of him instead of Ricardo. I saw no reason the arrangement wouldn't work as planned."
"Except now your hammer isn't working as expected," Riddle concluded. "Is that what you're saying?"
Browning frowned as he turned the situation over in his head. He'd thought he had Conor just where he wanted him, but he'd been wrong. "Conor is messing with me. I gave him a very specific assignment as a test. Something small and relatively inconsequential. I told him exactly how I wanted it done and he keeps stalling me. In the end, I don't think he's going to do it. He's just stringing me along."
"Why are you telling me this?" It was a question Riddle was nearly afraid to ask, certain that Browning's problem was about to become his problem. That it would be up to him to catch this very dangerous fish that Browning had so recklessly thrown back. That was not a position he wanted to find himself in. As far as he was concerned, this was Browning's mess and Browning needed to be the one to clean it up.
"I told him I'd take out his compound if he didn't do as I asked. I told him I already had a missile targeting his place and I'd turn it into a smoking crater if he didn't comply."
Riddle nodded slowly. "I think you overpromised."
Browning glared at Riddle. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"There's no way you're going to get approval for a domestic missile strike. Even a small one. It's easy to cover up gunfights and skirmishes with resistance fighters, but the American people can't stomach missile strikes against their fellow Americans. That's painting with too broad a brush. It reminds Americans of the terror attacks that put us in this position to begin with."
"I got approval to take Ricardo out," Browning noted.
"You got approval for the military to take Ricardo out with a gu
nship using a rocket. Ricardo was an active part of a conspiracy taking direct action against the government. I doubt you'll get the same kind of military cooperation for a strike against a civilian target that far away from the center of government. You'd have to explain your reasoning. You'd also have to explain that you had him once and then let him go."
Browning's face clouded with anger. "What about a drone? Better targeting, less chance of collateral damage, smaller payload."
Riddle shook his head in doubt. "We don't keep anything like that, Browning. You can request something from the military but it's the same deal. You're going to have to submit a request and they're going to require higher approval. There's no guarantee you'll get it."
Browning pounded his fist on the desk, overturning a foam cup half filled with cold coffee. Riddle watched tight-lipped as the coffee spread through the stacks of papers—his papers—and then began to run into an open desk drawer.
"Dammit, Riddle, what can you give me that doesn't require congressional approval?" Browning demanded. "I assumed the government partnered with Catalyst because of your capabilities but so far you're not showing me any. All I'm getting is a list of the things you can't do. Maybe the government needs a new partner with more capabilities? Maybe I need to put that wheel into motion?"
Riddle was silent for a moment. There was a lot he could explain to Browning about why the things he asked for were difficult to obtain but, in the end, why bother? He didn't like the guy. He resented the way Browning had come in and taken over his facility. He resented the way Browning treated him and everyone else. As far as he was concerned, this was Browning's mess. Let him clean it up.
"I can give you a chopper and an eight-man team. That's as big as I can go and keep it quiet."
Browning looked like he'd been slapped. "One chopper? One team? That's the best you can do?"
"Browning, he's one guy. How many people do you need? Land the damn chopper and sweep the facility. If you find him, kill him. When you're done, plant some charges and blow the place up. Then you're back in the air and you've disposed of all the evidence. Conor Maguire will be nothing but a bad memory. I don't see what the big deal is."
"You actually have explosives?" Browning asked sarcastically. "Or do I have to get written permission from the ATF?"
"We have explosives."
"Can you have the chopper and team ready for me at 04:00 tomorrow? With the explosives?"
"Absolutely. Do you need an explosives guy?"
Browning considered the question. He had extensive experience with explosives but he'd like to devote his attention to tormenting Conor. Perhaps it was best if he did have someone else to handle that task. "Yes. Do you have someone?"
"I do."
"Then make it happen. I'll be at the hangar at 04:00. I expect to find my team waiting on me."
"They'll be there," Riddle assured him.
"Dismissed."
Riddle silently fumed at the dismissal before giving Browning a nod and leaving the office. As he shut the door, Riddle was determined that this would be the last time Browning ever dismissed him from his own office.
44
Catalyst Security Training Facility
Front Royal, Virginia
Director of Operations Riddle wasted no time carrying out Browning's wishes. He hadn't ascended to his position with Catalyst by procrastinating. He excelled at making things happen and he was only too happy to organize Browning's mission to the far southwestern corner of Virginia. Of course, Riddle probably wasn't going to plan things exactly as Browning would have done, but that was a chance you took when you delegated responsibility. Especially if you delegated that responsibility to someone who despised you as much as Riddle hated Browning.
Riddle didn't use the radio for communicating with his Deputy Director but tracked the man in the accounting office. He was going over some budgets with the Chief Financial Officer. He stuck his head in the door and waved Deputy Director Null in his direction. "I need you. Immediately."
With a questioning look on his face, the Deputy Director left the CFO's office and fell in behind Riddle. "What is it? What's going on?"
"What's the most private room on this facility?" Riddle asked. "A place where we can speak in private without being seen, overheard, or recorded on security cameras."
Null considered the odd request for a moment before his eyes lit up. "I'd say it's the elevator mechanical room in the basement level. The building code requires the room to stay locked at all times and there are only a few people with access. We didn't include the room in the camera array because no one is ever in there."
"Let's go. Lead the way."
Curiosity was burning a hole in Null. This had to be good if Riddle was intent on discussing it in the most remote section of the building. They descended several flights of stairs, then used Null's master key to access the basement level. Stark LED strip lighting illuminated the mechanicals of the building—HVAC units, valves, monitoring panels, and piping wrapped in thick layers of white insulation.
When they reached the elevator room, Null used his key to let them inside. The tiny room reeked of hydraulic oil from the large tank that fed the elevator lift. Null felt around the wall until he found the switch, then flipped on the light. Riddle scanned the room to confirm there were no cameras that might capture the content of this conversation. When he'd verified that there were none, he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.
"How much do you dislike Browning?" Riddle asked.
"Probably not as much as you since I still have my office, but pretty damn bad,” said Null. “I don't like the way he treats people. As much as the company benefits from the contract with the government, it's not worth it to me on a personal level. I'd like to see him gone."
"When we got the contract to be the lead security provider for the recovery, I didn't know that we had to work under Browning. I don't think anyone understood that."
"If I can cut to the heart of the matter, why are you asking all this? What's going on? We've dealt with some sensitive crap around here over the years and you've never pulled me into the basement for a conference."
Despite the privacy of their surroundings, Riddle lowered his voice as he replied. "There might be an opportunity here, but I can't do it alone. An opportunity that would get rid of Browning and potentially advance our careers."
"I'm in," Null replied. "I don't even need to hear the rest. If it gets rid of Browning, I'm onboard."
Riddle smiled at Null's enthusiasm. This was exactly the response he'd expected. "Well, you're going to need to hear the rest because I need help putting it in motion." Riddle went on to explain the meeting he'd just had with Browning. He explained how he'd told Browning that if he wanted Conor out of the picture, he was going to have to do it in person. No missile strike, no drones.
Null laughed. "Was he pissed?"
Riddle grinned. "Oh, he was livid, but I threw him a few bones. I told him we could give him an eight-man team and a chopper. We're also going to give him an explosives expert to wire Conor's compound so he can blow the place up when he leaves."
Null was confused. "How is this going to help us? You're giving him everything he wants. When he comes back, things will just be the same as they were before he left."
Riddle gave a slow shake of his head. "Only if he comes back, and he's not coming back."
"Just him or the whole team?"
"No one is coming back. As quietly as possible, I need you to put together a team of our worst people. Tell them you have a special assignment for them and they're not to discuss it with anyone. Isolate them in quarters by themselves for the night to make certain they don't talk, then have them at the hangar at 03:30 with combat load-out."
"What about the explosives guy?" Null asked.
"Send our worst. Make him one of the eight."
"And actually give him explosives?"
"Set him up with basic charges and equipment. He'll never have a chance to use them. I d
on't plan on Browning or the chopper making it back here." Riddle watched as Null's eyes flickered back and forth, examining the plan from all angles. "You are good with this, right Null?"
"I am," Null replied. "Just...processing. How exactly are we going to assure Browning doesn't make it back?"
"Browning has been to this compound before. The location should be in the flight logs. Can you do a GPS-enabled detonator?"
Null shrugged. "I can't, but I have someone who can."
"Put someone you trust on it. Tell him we need it tonight and he'll get ten thousand dollars if he can make it happen. Don't give him any details on what we're doing, but make sure he understands that secrecy is required. I want that chopper to blow when it sets down on Conor Maguire's compound."
"Easy enough. Do you want the explosives hidden on the chopper?"
"No, I don't want to make the flight crew suspicious. Just include the device in the explosives kit you put together for the mission. Seal all of it up in a hard case and tell the bomb guy to stay out of it until he's on the ground. By then, they'll all be vaporized."
Null sighed. "Listen, Director Riddle, I don't have any problem with any of this. I agree it's a small sacrifice for a greater good, but I'm not clear on what you meant about this advancing our careers. Surely there will be an investigation if Browning is killed. Are we going to blame this on local insurgents? This Conor Maguire you're talking about—are we going to lay it in his lap?"
"I don't think there's any need to blame Conor Maguire for this. You've heard the stories about how Browning became so powerful, right?"
Null bobbed his head. "By using his CIA connections to smuggle cocaine into the U.S.?"
"Exactly," Riddle replied. "When Browning doesn't return, I'm going to put in a call to Homeland Security. I'm going to tell them that I just learned that Browning had been using his position to steal cocaine from high-volume dealers around the country so he could resell it through his network. I'm going to explain that he was out on one of his drug operations when he somehow managed to blow up a chopper and get himself killed, along with his entire crew. During that same call, I intend to plant the seed that I am the man best positioned to replace Browning. You, of course, will rise to fill my seat at Catalyst. You'll need board approval eventually, so it will only be Acting Director of Operations until we're able to convene a board meeting, but that might take several years. By that time, you'll have been doing the job for so long that you'll most certainly get board approval."
Ultraviolent: Book Six in The Mad Mick Series Page 32
