by T C Miller
One Day Later
“My, Director, you are here early,” Justin greeted John Banner.
“I have an emergency meeting scheduled. Please arrange to have coffee and pastries brought up, and make sure it includes a selection of hot tea.”
“Certainly, sir. I will do so posthaste, and bring the cart in when it arrives.”
“Not necessary. Buzz me, and I’ll come out.”
“Yes, sir, as you wish.” Only a few people besides me prefer hot tea. He went down a mental list and narrowed it to a handful, most of whom worked overseas.
Justin ordered the coffee cart, hung his coat in a closet hidden behind wooden paneling, and turned on his computer. A search of travel requests produced nothing significant.
Twenty minutes later Nora took a cup of steaming tea from John Banner and settled into a comfortable position on the couch next to Bart. The Director sat in an overstuffed chair across a coffee table as they nibbled on warm pastries.
Banner set his coffee mug with a foil seal of the NSA logo down on a coaster, crossed his legs, and began, “I don’t have time to spare, so I’ll cut right to the chase. There is a highly-placed mole in this organization, and I need your help to find them.” “Which explains the secrecy,” Bart replied. “Whisking us from a hangar in an enclosed van and up a private elevator to your office seemed a little hush-hush for a butt-chewing.”
“You thought I called you here to chew you out?”
“Wasn’t sure, though I figured there might be more since you invited Nora.”
“I need both of you to help on a couple of critical projects. The first is discovering who is leaking classified information…”
Nora interrupted. “Most government agencies have them, but the NSA?”
“We’re not immune, and this is not new. Walter spent hundreds of man-hours and agency resources before me to find the source. Furthermore, it seems more than one section may be involved, which means I can’t trust anybody who’s worked here more than a month. I need people with administrative and senior command backgrounds to root them out, which points to you.”
“I’m flattered, but I do have the BSOG to run.”
“And you’re doing an outstanding job, but you might make better progress working here.”
“We’ve been at it twenty-four-seven….”
“I’m not casting doubt on your work, but being here with an overview might produce better results.” Banner sank back into the couch with a pensive look. “DC has been described as Dark and Corrupt, which may be a little cynical, but as long as our work is being undermined, every operation we have is in jeopardy, including BlackStar. It’s time to clean house and regain control, and I need people who are not entrenched in the DC culture. Can I count on you two?”
“I don’t see how we can say no, but how are you going to explain the move?”
“The way things gets done in Washington, by promoting you to Deputy Director.”
Half-an-hour later Bart picked at a few crumbs on the pastry tray as he read through his notes. “Okay, Boss, let’s see if I got this. You’re promoting me to Deputy Director with approval from the Senate Intelligence Oversight Committee, which bypasses the usual
politics. Should be interesting.”
“An understatement,” Banner said.
“Jake Thomas takes my place leading the BSOG, but what about Nora?”
“I haven’t forgotten her.”
“I’m glad to hear that, but where do I fit in? Am I supposed to play the doting wife who follows her
husband around like an obedient lap dog?”
“Well, you might…”
Nora’s face turned red, and Bart imagined steam coming out of her ears.
“Now wait just one minute…” she sputtered.
“I’m joking, of course,” Banner said with a smile. “People will think what they want, and the mole won’t perceive you as a threat. They may let their guard down long enough for you to flush them out.”
Nora unclenched her teeth and sat back in the chair to compose herself.
“I’ll run the agency while Bart learns his new job, and you ferret out the leaks.”
“I thought we had an Internal Affairs section,” Nora asked Banner.
“Been in place for decades, with unwritten rules carved in stone. They’re good at rooting out everyday violations, like romances with other employees, and contact with questionable characters. I need a technically oriented person to devise an algorithm-like approach. With your analytical background, you’ll be perfect.”
“What would my position be?”
“Special Assistant to the Deputy Director, a patronage position notorious for nepotism. Nobody will question Bart hiring his wife. You’ll have a job description so vague you can do anything you want, and go anywhere in the agency.”
“Since you put it in those terms,” she said with a smile. “I like a challenge I can sink my teeth into.”
“You’ll also liaison with Jake Thomas and advise him. And the move means a promotion to GS-15.”
“I never turn down promotions when I like the work.”
“Good. I’ve got a staff meeting in ten minutes, and my driver is waiting to take you to the airport.” “When do we start?” Bart asked.
“You already have. DC gossips will set the town on fire when news leaks you’re moving into the position instead of a tired old political hack. I hope Nora can use it as a starting point to track the leak. We’ll talk over the secure link in your bus in a day or two but plan on moving here a few days later. You can stay in a Georgetown condo the agency has while you look
for permanent housing.”
They stood and shook hands.
***
Chapter Four
US Highway 30/287, Laramie, Wyoming
Joanna leaned over and asked Jake in a voice barely above a whisper, “Why so quiet, and what are you watching?”
He checked the rearview mirror. “Two guys in a black SUV with dark-tinted windows back at Great America got on the interstate right behind us. I thought it might be a tail Bart put on us for extra security, but he had no idea what I was talking about. I figured they were traveling west, too, and put it out of my mind until they followed us off the Laramie exit. They’ve been trailing one or two lights behind using a food-service semi as cover, which is how I’d conduct a tail. It got my attention.”
“If hairs on the back of your neck are standing up, partner, there’s a reason. What do you wanna do?”
“A classic move, but one of my favorites. I make four left turns at the next light to see if they follow.”
“You’re the lead.”
Joanna quietly slid a 9 mm Beretta halfway out of her belt holster and pulled the slide back far enough to confirm there was a round in the chamber. She put the weapon back but left the safety strap undone. Her belt held two fifteen-round magazines, and she stashed two hundred rounds in a hidden compartment in the back earlier.
Joanna turned around and said, “Make sure your seat belts are tight.”
“Something wrong?” Licia asked.
“A safety precaution with the change in weather.”
Joanna checked her seat belt and adjusted the seat to see the side view mirror.
Jake parked in a strip mall after the fourth left turn and waited.
Joanna scanned the area in back of them through the mirror on her side. “Do you see them?”
“No. I suppose it could have been my naturally paranoid self. Let’s give it a few more minutes.”
“Hey, you guys, what’s going on?” Licia asked.
“Nothing, Sugar,” Joanna answered. “We’re checking a car out.”
“Are we being followed?” Licia’s voice had a harder edge to it.
“Ol’ Superman here is being paranoid. Probably lost tourists trying to find their way to the interstate.”
Jake added, “They figured out we weren’t going there and pulled over to check a map.”
“You�
�re not putting me on, are you?”
“Would Superman do that?”
“I guess not. Okay, I’m going back to sleep.” Licia punched her pillow, put it against the side of the Blazer and burrowed her head into it. She settled down after a few adjustments and returned to her nap.
Joanna turned sideways in the seat. “Do you believe what you told her?”
“More or less…wait, look at the black SUV pulling up to the light. It could be them.”
The traffic light turned green, and the black SUV turned north on US Highway 30/287. Jake waited a few minutes before he put the Blazer in gear and merged into the flow of traffic going the same way.
Jake flipped the turn-signal to turn north on Wyoming State Highway 487. Clicking from the dash drummed a steady beat and matched his pulse. He slowed down to watch the rearview mirror.
“Still worried about being followed?” Joanna asked in a quiet voice.
“Occupational hazard. What did my instructors call it? Oh, yeah, situational awareness.”
“See anything?”
“No, which doesn’t mean they're not there. The best ones aren’t visible till they make their move.”
“Yet, you spotted them back in Laramie, which means they’re not the best, or you’re better, right?”
“I try not to grade my job performance, one way or the other. An inflated ego will get you every time in this business. Besides, being a little nervous keeps me sharp.”
“I’ve never worked with anybody sharper.”
Jake turned to make eye contact. “Why thank you, ma’am, you’re too kind.” He followed the remark with a loopy grin.
“Hey, I’m being serious,” she shot back and gave him another playful slap on the shoulder. “You’re one of the best agents I’ve ever worked with.”
“Wait, ‘one of the best’? I thought I was the best.”
“There’s that ego thing, getting in the way of a sincere compliment.”
“Yeah, but it’s not ego if it’s true,” Jake said with another grin.
“Repeat it often enough and you might begin to believe it yourself.”
“Hey, you guys, look,” Star exclaimed as she pointed to the windshield. “I haven’t seen snowflakes like this in years.”
“Wow, they’re the size of silver dollars,” Joanna said. “And it came on fast.”
“Weathermen said the storm wouldn’t come this far east,” Jake noted.
“Typical,” Joanna replied. “I hate the way they say things like, ‘we’re gonna move this cold front here,’ or ‘we’ll warm it up tomorrow.’ Like they control the weather.”
“Wish they’d been right this time, It may make driving rough between here and Hogadon.”
“But, with any luck, we’ll be settled into our cozy condo before it gets nasty.”
“Sounds good to me,” Star added from between the seats and returned to her little nest. She was asleep in seconds.
Consortium Underground Site, Deer Trail, Colorado One Month Before
“I work hard to hold my temper, Mister Gunter Wilhelm,” Gregori Yancy growled through clenched teeth.”
“We may have gotten off on the wrong foot, Mister Yancy,” Gunter calmly replied to the red-faced man resting softball-sized fists on the conference table. “Did Tcharnovsky tell you I am authorized to negotiate a contract?”
“Yes, but not who is Bocc. I do not like secrecy of Consortium. I do not know you. Are you bocc?”
“I am Director of North American Operations. The secrecy you mention is for your protection and ours. It is the way we conduct business in a world notorious for intrigue and betrayal.”
Gregori thought of the way he dissolved his partnership with Rick Eichner by pushing him down a missile silo and slowly nodded. “You must forgive mistrust, is nature of Russian soul. So, tell me, Mister Wilhelm, how shall we proceed?”
“Please, my name is Gunter, and I hope we will become lifelong friends.” He pulled a bottle of vodka from an ice bucket and waved it at Yancy. “A toast for success?”
Yancy nodded, and Gunter poured a tumbler full. Gunter raised his glass. “Na Zdorovie.”
“Na Zdorovie,” Yancy replied, as he downed the potent liquor in one gulp.
Gunter poured another glass for each.
Yancy nodded. “Tell me what you offer.”
“We have three options.” Gunter lied since only two were acceptable to the Commission. The third was added as a bargaining point. “You can stay here with the same restrictions on movement you have….”
“Is not acceptable. My men distrust surveillance from staff. Is like gulag.”
“Very well, then, we’ll move on to Option Two, another underground site two hundred kilometers away. It has what you need, although it is not as comfortable.”
“My men endure hardship with no complaint.”
“I’m sure they do. However, we have a third site in our inventory you may find more to your liking. It is a former uranium mine maintained in good condition.”
Yancy appeared noncommittal, but Gunter saw an eyebrow raise slightly. He waited for the Russian to answer.
“This uranium mine, it will hide radiation signal from bombs?”
“Indeed, US inspectors ignore it.”
“Then I must see.”
“I can arrange a tour for you, but I am afraid there is a certain urgency to the matter….”
“What urgency?”
Gunter stared at the Russian without blinking. “We have another client who requires the space you and your men occupy here.”
“You wish to be rid of us?”
“No, but we attempt to match client needs with resources. One of your goals is to hide the crates you brought with you. We have accommodated your wishes, but the mine will be more suitable. I have photographs.”
“We drink vodka and look at pictures longer than one hour,” Yancy said. “Now is time to make deal for uranium mine, yes?”
Gunter breathed a hidden sigh of relief. “Certainly.” He relayed the terms the Commission dictated and waited for a response.
Yancy did not hesitate. “Terms are good, but not moving fee. Consortium demands we leave here, so they must pay.”
“Technically, they could evict you to conclude the matter since you have not contract.” Gunter paused a moment. “However, in the interest of our new friendship, the Commission will absorb half the cost.”
Yancy’s withdrew two Cohiba cigars from a shirt pocket and offered one to Gunter.
Gunter extracted a cigar-cutter from his briefcase and clipped the end of his cigar. He handed the cutter to Yancy, who did the same. They took turns holding a lighter while puffing on the premium tobacco.
“Gregori, my new friend, is it true you seek a young woman whose father worked in your Seawind
Bay operation?”
“Is true.”
“We have a source who can locate her, for a fee, of course.”
“Of course.” The Russian exhaled a cloud of fragrant smoke and spoke, “Then I am convinced we will be life-long friends. Is cash or wire transfer better for you?”
Russian SUV Tail
“Do you say to me you lost them?” The angry voice burst forth from the radio in the black SUV.
“Not exactly, Bocc,” Sasha replied in an unsteady voice.
“What does ‘not exactly’ mean? Can you see them?”
“Nyet.”
“Then you have lost them, fool. How does this happen?”
“I, we, uh…” Sasha shrugged as if the tinny voice could see him and thrust the microphone toward Pyotr.
Pyotr worked hard to sound confident, “Person driving target vehicle uses old maneuver to get away.
What are orders?”
There was an extended period of static before the the reply came in clipped phrases, “Is good fortune for you I hold my temper. Otherwise, your bodies would not be found. Follow plan and proceed north. Over and out.”
Pyotr returned the microphone to a cl
ip on the dash, breathed a sigh of relief and slumped back in his seat.
“You handled that well,” Sasha said meekly. Pyotr’s only reply was an icy stare.
Office of the Director, NSA
“Nora and I will be there Friday to begin work Monday,” Bart said to John Banner over the encrypted link from Eagle One. “How soon can the BSOG move back to the mountain?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. The intruders demolished the antenna grouping on top of the mountain and destroyed the generators, water purification, and waste management equipment vital to half-a-dozen other government agencies. It dealt a major blow to national security, and restoration is the highest priority.”
“Which means it won’t be ready anytime soon, right?”
“You know better than most how slowly the wheels of government turn, even in an emergency. In this case, I’d say we’re looking at three or four months.”
“Then I’ll leave Eagle One here for the BSOG to use as a command post and work area.”
“Good idea. I’ll make sure the brass at FE Warren keeps the highest level of protection on it.”
Which I already back-channeled with my buddies in Security Police. “I’ve also asked Carl Dean to keep an eye on it.”
“How is he doing?”
“Very well, considering what he’s been through. We’ve kept him on a tight leash, and he’s adapting to his new life.”
“Good news. Now, if there’s nothing else, I have another meeting in an endless stream,” Banner said with a sigh.
“Better you, than me, although, I’ll be in the same stream in a few days.”
“You ready to jump into DC politics?”
“Ready as a sane person can be.”
Underground Residence, Marston Ranch, Wyoming
“I’m glad to see you found your way back before I had to send the dogs out to fetch you,” Mary Marston said in a scolding tone, but with a smile.
“Got tied up with a case of dystocia out at Glenn McFadden’s place.”
