by D S Kane
She assembled a list of the overall phases of the project, and then filled in the tasks under each phase. The plan required a large team to execute it. Cassie estimated the time in calendar days and total staff required to complete each phase. She frowned and began editing it. As the afternoon passed into evening, she fleshed out her first incomplete draft.
Night dawned into day. She continued working, not eating or going to the bathroom until there was pain in her bladder or her stomach growled. She rarely got up from the chair. She took hot showers, ate, went to the bathroom, then slept until she awoke to begin anew, working until she was too numb to think.
It took Cassie another day to hone a complete draft of the plan. When she pressed the commands on her cell phone, the planning software produced a Gantt chart and a PERT chart.
The Gantt chart displayed staffing levels by activity. It showed the timeline to completion was much too long, and she guessed she could never remain alive for so many years.
The PERT chart showed the sequence of all the events in the plan—which events she needed to complete before starting others. This chart depicted her many faulty assumptions, inconsistent uses of the staff she’d have to assemble, and empty spots where she’d need more staff.
Damn. She’d have to try harder. But at least she had an entire outline, and with that completed, Cassie felt emotionally drained and exhausted. She slept through the afternoon and didn’t wake until nearly noon the next day. Finally refreshed, she had coffee, showered, and continued working to correct the multitude of faulty assumptions in her first draft.
As evening fell the next day, Cassie examined the charts and frowned. She felt like pulling out her hair, her hands clenching in frustration. It shouldn’t be this difficult to create a practical plan, she thought.
The plan required twenty million dollars and needed over 300 people, with skills ranging from hackers to intel experts to mercenary soldiers. How can I even hope to fund it?
But the most serious problem with the plan was that she’d be exposed from the time she initiated assembling her army until the operation was completed. And it was almost inevitable that word of what she was doing would leak. From then on, she would be easy prey for her targets.
To succeed, everyone involved in setting up and carrying out the military operation must remain in seclusion until the operation commenced. Keeping a secret for a year, and keeping soldiers hidden while they trained for almost two months—it just wasn’t practical.
In fact, it was crazy. Surely an act of desperation by a schizoid woman.
Of course, if a miracle occurred, she might remain alive until the plan was ready for its final execution. And then she’d either be free or dead. The overall odds of success for the massive black operation was worse than 50-50.
Cassie examined each task in every phase to see if manpower requirements could be adjusted to begin sooner or run in less time. By adding four more bodies, upping the total from nineteen to twenty-three in the “hacker” category, she reduced the time to completion from ten to seven months.
But doing so required that she partner with Lee Ainsley as one of the additional resources. Cassie pondered the implications of working closely with him for that long, the complications of her growing feelings for him, and a vague mistrust she still held, not knowing for sure if he was the agency mole. Cassie sighed. It was too late for this kind of second-guessing. She had to decide what to do about him right now.
“Either I act or I die,” she whispered aloud, remembering her dream.
The plan would need to direct blame away from her and the mercenary army she planned to raise and run. To provide her and her mercs with cover, Cassie needed to steal the ammo from the agency’s own inventory. She intended to implicate the agency in the Muslim extremist takedown, in a very public way. Her personal desire was to ensure that the US government stop subsidizing terrorism and begin fighting it once again.
There would be fallout. She expected the terrorists would be livid when they discovered the United States took such a direct role in destroying their operations.
Cassie used the thumb-drive containing intelligence from the agency to study current weapons technology, especially small arms. She researched arms manufacturers’ websites and chat rooms. For the assaults she had planned, Ruger Mini-14s modified as fully automatic weapons would be best. Killing with an unmodified Ruger took more time because each trigger press emitted one shot. But when modified, these weapons could spit over ninety rounds per minute.
If she got the agency’s standard unrifled barrels for the Rugers, they would send their bullets spinning end over end into a person, as opposed to rifling through a person. A Ruger, then, wasn’t as accurate as rifled automatic pistols, but just one hit would disable its target. Although rifled bullets did damage twisting into and through flesh, an unrifled Ruger did massive damage, removing entire limbs, compared with what would otherwise be just a bloody but clean wound from rifled weapon such as an AK-74, the updated version of the old AK-47. If the bullet from a Ruger hit someone’s bone, instead of crushing through it and exiting the body, it would twist its way, climbing up the flesh, wrapping against the bone, knotting the muscle tissue tightly for six or seven inches.
After two days of additional editing, she had a plan in final form that would take just over four months to execute, from the day she began recruiting mercs to its end with either her or the Muslim extremists dead.
Cassie thought about the enormity of her project and the role she must play in all this. Her only alternative at this point was run away forever. She shrugged. The die was cast, as Julius Caesar once said. So be it. With this thought, a chill crept up her spine.
She reviewed the plan and made her most important decision: I’ll have to involve Lee in this, up to his hip boots. I just hope I’m not making a mistake. Is he the mole?
Chapter Eighteen
August 12, 10:19 a.m.
Apartment 11A, 326 East 23rd Street, Chelsea section of Manhattan
Cassie steeled herself to the risk that Ainsley represented. Toward the end of the morning, she dialed the cell she’d given him.
Lee answered on the first ring and she heard him walking, office noises diminishing around him. “Hang on. Gonna find a less public place. Just got some coffee from the lobby vendor. If I’d been upstairs I would have missed the call. One of the lobby guards would’ve had the cell. Can’t take them past security.” She heard his footsteps and then silence. “Okay. I’m ready. Missed me much?” he asked with a smirk Cassie couldn’t see but could feel.
“Not your personality, just certain body parts which I was introduced to when I patted you down for weapons at our date.” She turned serious. “I have a request you alone can fulfill. And there’s good news and bad news. Which would you like to hear first?”
Ainsley chuckled. “Me alone? Ouch. So what’s the good news?”
“If you agree to play an active role in the operation, we might just succeed in eliminating the Houmaz brothers and their Muslim extremists. Kill them all, I mean.”
“That sounds a bit ambitious. What makes you believe ‘we’ can do this? It’ll take an army. Uh, what’s the request? And then, what’s the bad news?”
“Well, Lee, I need you personally and immediately involved in the op, like your life depends on it, or it isn’t even worth trying. They’ll eventually find and kill either you or me or both of us. What’s your pleasure?”
Lee was silent for almost a half a minute. “I guess you can count me in.”
She shook her head, anger building in her. “Not good enough. I need your absolute and immediate commitment to do whatever I ask, or the op doesn’t start.”
Silence. “Sheesh. Okay. I’m in all the way. Ever been told you can be a real bitch on wheels?”
Cassie tried to stifle a laugh and it came out more as a snort which went on for a while.
She breathed deep to steady herself, but suddenly her mind split in half. She was no longer in cont
rol of her words. She heard herself say, “Yes, almost every day. Usually by men during sex. One even tried to kill me when he raped me in Riyadh, but, just like a praying mantis, he died right after his orgasm.”
“Very funny. What can I do to get this kick-started?”
“I need a list of about three hundred names, email addresses, street addresses, and phone numbers for retired ops agents, and for militia and mercenaries the agency has had good results with. They all must be in good physical shape and want money badly enough to risk death to get it. I’ll need at least two and preferably three grade-A hackers, preferably ones from the Devcon groups or Anonymous.” The Devcons were the world’s best hackers. Anonymous was the group that supported Julian Assange’s WikiLeaks organization. “How soon can you assemble the lists?”
Ainsley whistled. “You have anything easier?”
Cassie’s breath blew out in frustration. The list of tasks was endless and the probability of success so low. Her reply was blunt. “That is the easy task. And I have a few that will be tough.”
This time the silence on Lee’s end of the line went on for a longer time. “One calendar week to ten days should be enough time for the list of hackers. And two weeks for the list of mercs, but I can deliver both in bits and pieces starting in about one week. I have access to all of the agency’s lists, but the lists only contain contact info. The hard work will be vetting them. Next?”
She felt this one would be Lee’s real test of commitment. “The bad news is I’ll need to arrange purchase of some specialty items in bulk quantities from the agency’s suppliers. And you’ll have to do this since you’re still with the agency and I’m not.” She read the list from the screen of her cell. “At least a hundred Ruger Mini-14s with 300,000 rounds of ammo, and the ammo must be traceable back to the agency, at least a hundred Kevlar vests, several satellite transponders with at least ten radio-oriented beachball antennas, and a hundred satellite phones designed for covert use. Oh, and I’ll need a covert training site in a desert setting anywhere, but not in the Middle East.”
Silence from Lee. Suddenly she heard him sigh. “This isn’t an op you’re assembling. This is an army! When did you win the lottery? You’re crazy. Who’s paying for all this?”
“I am,” she lied. She’d tell him how she was financing this later, when she’d worked it out and they were face to face. If she could think of a way, that is. “Lee, it’s a strike force. Small, compact. Certainly not an army. The voice in her head approved of what she said but she wondered if Lee would accept her logic. She waited and no sound came from him. “When can you have the stuff?”
She could hear him swallowing the coffee.
“I’ll send your website an email message from my untraceable account at hushmail.com by the end of this week, with a plan for provisions and the first draft of the hacker and attacker contact info. Good enough?”
Cassie breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes. And thanks Lee. I’m sorry I never had a chance to work with you before.”
“Yeah, well, I better start reviewing my West Point course work. Sounds like I’m gonna need it.”
She was about to end the conversation, relieved at finally beginning the long process of recovering her life, when Ainsley said, “Wait, Cassie. I have an update for you about the blowing of your cover.”
It took Cassie a few seconds to downshift. She steadied herself, worried about what she was about to hear. Maybe she really could trust him. “Okay, Lee, what have you got?”
He hesitated for a few seconds, and she heard him gulp. She wondered why he hesitated. “I traced a well-disguised message from one of the secure terminals in the agency basement to a covert ‘listserv’ in the Middle East. I tried to trace it further, but no luck. And because the message was weeks old, cleaning crews had been through the basement terminal area at least twenty times, so no fingerprints and no DNA. The message from the basement terminal claimed you were seen on television news leaving an abortion clinic in San Mateo, California. And I remember seeing that news report. It’s when I tried finding you.”
It was proof there really was a mole. The air left her lungs in a gasp, as she remembered that day with crystal clarity. When Lee uttered the word “abortion,” her thought process froze and she felt herself totally split in two. She didn’t even hear the rest of what he’d said. It was as if she had separated from herself and watched some unfamiliar person feel the panic growing inside her. The other part of her hurt like she’d been stabbed deep in her stomach. She sat stock still, unable to breath, unable to respond for a few seconds, her mouth working and no noise coming from her.
But Lee just kept going. “So someone here alerted them before the news story was more than ten hours old. When I watched that footage on television, the talking heads identified you as one of their staff. It’s how I was able to backtrace your cell phone calls.”
When she didn’t respond, his voice got louder and its pitch got higher. “Are you still there?”
Cassie’s voice sounded like a mouse squeak, coming from someone else. She heard her voice, fumbled words in a high-pitched voice. “Lee, the assassin who tried to kill me in Riyadh raped me and impregnated me before I killed him. I was there for…I was…”
She sobbed, out of control. “I had an abortion, Lee. I murdered my unborn baby.” Cassie heaved loud sobs from deep within her, a place where she was beyond self-control. “Lee, I’ll call you in a couple of days. Thanks, Lee. Thanks very much. Thanks, Lee.” She ended the call and sat sobbing, her head in her hands.
Chapter Nineteen
August 16, 12:06 p.m.
Agency headquarters, K Street, Washington, DC
When Lee Ainsley terminated the call, he was stunned and shaken by Cassie’s tone. His face went slack as he considered her emotions. It surprised him so vividly to feel her distress, but other emotions followed close behind, and he couldn’t find any way to guard himself from those.
He needed to decide now. Did he want to help her? Or help her killers? If he helped her, there was a tiny chance they’d both survive. And if he helped her killers, there was a chance they’d be satisfied. But maybe not, and then he’d be fending them off himself. No chance of survival then. He considered the outcomes, trying to let logic drive his choice.
But in the end, it was his growing feelings for her that did him in. He shook his head, thinking how he’d always been easy prey to dangerous women.
He felt confusion ruling him.
What should he do now? He dropped off the cell phone with the security guard and walked to the elevator bank. He pressed the Up button and waited.
The elevator doors opened and closed before he willed himself to move. He waited for the next one, his breath blowing out in a sigh. Sheesh.
He hadn’t realized she was so damaged. He changed his mind on eating lunch in the cafeteria. He needed to get out and clear his head. Pouring rain outside, sky gray. But first go up to my office and get an umbrella. Maybe then get a bite to eat. Sushi sounds good. And while I eat, I can think through the logistics to her demands. Where can I find the military materiel she demands?
The elevator lights blinked in the lobby. Someone was now descending from the floor of the conference room he’d sat in with other agency information technology directors before he’d left to get coffee.
He tilted his head to see which elevator would arrive next. He expected the one he’d just missed to stop at the lobby before returning up again.
But the elevator descended to the basement. Only director-level personnel now had access to the terminals there. Whoa! It was possible, but not probable. Was whoever transmitted the other messages to the Middle East transmitting or receiving a message right now?
Lee rode an elevator to his desk on the fifth floor where he activated the “Copy” program he’d installed on the basement workstations, setting them to save every keystroke made by anyone using any of the basement terminals. It might not be the mole. There are classified files stored in the basement
cabinets, and agency server hardware is there. Staff might have been sent to maintain those, or maybe just find a paper file.
But Lee hoped this was what he’d waited for.
He ran to the staircase and took the steps two at a time down six floors to the basement.
Edging the staircase door ajar just far enough for him to peek through, he could see whoever had been there had vanished. He touched each seat in the room until he found one still warm. Lee went to the supply cabinet and pulled a roll of Scotch tape from it. Then off to the printer where he pulled a few blank sheets of paper from the input stack. He headed back to the keyboard adjacent to the recently used chair. He pressed pieces of tape to the keys and pulled them off, scanning each to see if it held a fingerprint. When he was done, he had several pieces of tape stuck lightly to a sheet of paper. He placed the page within a thin stack of paper and folded it gently, putting the pages in his suit pocket. Fingerprints and possible bits of DNA. But where could he find a place to process the evidence? Who’d sold Cassie out?
He focused on his breathing as he eased the basement door closed and sprinted back up the stairs to the fifth floor. In his office, he waited another minute and the “Copy” program flashed “Done” on his screen, indicating the mole had signed off the network. Hands shaking, Lee copied the files from his desktop computer onto a 32- megabyte USB miniSD flash drive identical to Cassie’s and placed the drive into a lead-lined hidden recess within the sole of his left shoe.
But before Lee sped away he was struck by the realization this might be the last time he’d ever be in the agency’s office building.
He removed the USB flash from the shoe and hooked it back to his desktop. Lee copied all the other files he thought he might ever need. Everything, including unvetted lists of all the agency’s retired hackers and independent hacker contractors, all the retired black ops personnel and black ops contractors. The rough lists of everything he’d have to build for Cassie—over 10,000 names, addresses, email addresses, and phone numbers.
