Bloody Truth: A Granger Spy Novel

by John J. Davis

  “What in the hell is she talking about?” Hodges asked.

  “That’s all bullshit,” Ryan added. “The warehouse was full of wooden pallets, nothing else.”

  “So what does this mean?” Franks asked.

  “It means,” Leecy answered, “the Russians not only rigged that building to blow, but they also released the false intelligence about pro-Ukrainian forces operating in the area which was the basis for bringing NATO inspectors to the region in the first place. Our taskforce took the bait, sending us here to stop what was going to happen regardless of what we did or didn’t do.”

  “Maybe so, but we were sent here to prevent the explosion, and I hope we didn’t actually cause it,” Wakefield said, interrupting Leecy. “Quiet,” she added, “Putin’s coming to the podium.”

  Wearing his customary dark suit, light gray shirt and blue tie, standing behind a podium, nodding and looking grim, Vladimir Putin began speaking in Russian.

  “Valerie?” Wakefield asked. “Will you translate?”

  “Sure,” Val said. “He’s saying the unfortunate event in Sevastopol should be viewed as an act of war by the Nationalist Ukrainian government, justifying the need for the troops he’s amassed at the Eastern Ukrainian border, and allowing him to move those troops deeper into the region. But he says he’s instead calling for calm and asking the media not to rush to judgment. And though he feels it’s justified to strike back, he is willing to give the peace process time to work. He understands the frustrations the Ukrainian people have with their government and the results of recent elections, but Russia is not to blame for their problems. Russia is here to help its Ukrainian neighbor, not harm it. The proof of that pledge lies in the burned remnants of humanitarian aid that lie scattered across the grounds of the Naval base and floating in the dark waters of the Black Sea, rather than in the hands and mouths of the people in the Eastern Ukraine. And that’s why he’s calling for an emergency session of the UN Security Council in Geneva.”

  “So now Putin is a statesman?” Ryan interrupted.

  Valerie continued, ignoring Ryan’s outburst.

  “Putin is sending his newly-appointed Deputy Chairman of the Government to Geneva. He insists this is not a slight to the process that he himself is calling for, but simply that the Chairman of the Government, Prime Minister Medvedev, has taken ill. He’s assuring the world that Mr. Medvedev’s second is a more-than-capable substitute. Now the reporters are asking questions about the qualifications of this newly-appointed member of the government.”

  “Okay, Zach,” Wakefield said, standing to face her team, “that’s it. Shut it down.” She walked toward the aft section of the plane. “A little more than three hours ago I stood here and conducted a pre-mission briefing. I remember it very clearly, and I came away thinking each of you knew your roles and mission objectives. Yet here we are dealing with the fallout of this colossal failure. Who wants to tell me what went sideways out there?”

  Silence.

  “Okay, that’s how you want to play it? Then let’s go at the issue from another angle. Let’s run it down. We’ll take it from the top.”

  “Is that really necessary?” Ryan asked.

  “You’re damn right it is! Didn’t you just hear the news report? Furthermore, don’t you realize the incalculable size, immeasurable weight, and unyielding force of the pile of shit that is coming down on our collective heads when we arrive back at Langley? Screw ups like this one are career enders.”

  “Yes I did,” Ryan said, “and I get it.”

  Looking down at him, reaching the tail section of the plane, she continued. “Then we obviously need to run it down again, don’t we? Don’t you think we need to find out where we screwed up?” Wakefield asked, pacing in the aisle of the plane. Suddenly, she stopped, choosing instead to grip the headrest of an unoccupied seat with such force that the veins in her forearms began to throb visibly beneath her skin.

  “I see your point,” Ryan said, dropping his eyes from hers, looking instead at the floor of the plane.

  “Zach!” Wakefield barked. “You’re up!”

  “I hack the Federal Air Transport Agency in Moscow,” Zach said, “and change our plane’s tail number to the one they’re expecting the NATO team to arrive in, so we’re in the clear and expected at Sevastopol airport. We’ll be early, but that can be explained as a surprise inspection, which is very common.”

  “Ryan, what’s our cover?” Wakefield asked walking toward Ryan.

  “Our cover is that of a NATO peace keeping delegation inspecting the region. We’re following up on Russian troop movements along the border and the Russian claims of pro-Nationalist Ukrainian forces active in the area during the cease fire.”

  “Good,” she said, nodding in agreement. She turned and walked toward the front of the plane, placing a hand on Leecy’s shoulder. “Leecy, tell me the mission objective.”

  “Our mission objective is to find and disable the bomb and/or bombs the joint taskforce—consisting of NSA, DIA, and our own CIA intelligence officers—believe pro-Nationalist Ukrainian forces have planted to destroy a warehouse located on the Naval base. The intelligence reports indicate the warehouse being targeted is a staging area for smuggling weapons to the rebels in Eastern Ukraine. If we can disable the bombs, preventing the attack on Russian controlled soil, we can avert a possible escalation of Russian troops in Eastern Ukraine and preserve the cease fire agreement.”

  “Hodges and Franks,” Wakefield said, stopping next to their seats, “Game plan?”

  “After we land, we drive off in one NATO-marked sedan,” Hodges said.

  “Yep, that’s right,” Franks agreed, finishing the thought for his partner like an old married couple might do. “We’re using the plan provided by the joint taskforce officers. We’re to deviate from the preauthorized, in-country travel route submitted to the Russians and the Ukrainians by NATO, and instead of inspecting the region for signs of troop movements, head directly for the military base.”

  “We hide the NATO vehicle inside a vacant barn,” Hodges said, picking up the story, nodding his head as he often did when he talked. “It’s located on Ukrainian government-owned land. An abandoned farm.”

  “The farm,” Franks finished, “shares a property line with the Military base.”

  “So far, so good,” Wakefield said, turning to face all of us from the front of the plane. Looking down at Valerie, seated next to me in the first row, Wakefield continued. “The team will be short on time. We need to be in and out so as not to overlap with the real NATO plane. From the moment our wheels hit the tarmac, you’ll have just two hours to locate and dismantle the bombs. Now, Valerie, you’re up. You’re at the target location. Walk me through what happens next.”

  “The joint taskforce intelligence reports indicate one of four buildings as being the possible target. We clear each one with half the team through the front entrance and the other half through the rear entrance. If we encounter any explosive devices, we disarm and remove, then we double-time it back here.”

  “And double-time is exactly what you’d need to do.”

  “Roger that,” I said, getting into the spirit of the reenactment.

  “You bet your ass roger that,” Tammy Wakefield said, fully immersed in the rehashing of the pre-mission debrief. “If we’re still on the ground when the real team arrives, all hell will break loose. No amount of explaining our unauthorized presence on Russian-occupied soil will save us. So,” she paused, just as she’d done earlier, mimicked confirming the time on her watch, then continued. “Get in, get the job done, and get back to the plane ASAP. And remember: don’t, under any circumstances, use lethal force. Zero body count on this. We need to be like the Army Rangers and leave no trace we were ever here. Are you hearing me, Ron and Valerie?”

  “Roger that,” I said again.

  “Copy,” is all Val offered in reply. She wasn’t as enthusiastic about this little song and dance of Wakefield’s as I was.

  “One
last reminder before we land,” Wakefield said taking her seat and going as far as buckling her seatbelt, “Val’s in command.”

  I recalled the groan that emanated from Ryan’s seat in the rear of the plane when Tammy said that the first time, but I didn’t hear it this time.

  “Is that a question, Agent Ryan?” Wakefield asked replaying the moment I was thinking about.

  “No, just exercising my God-given right to be displeased about the unit’s command choice,” Ryan answered.

  “You’ve spent the past year making me aware of your constant displeasure, Ryan. Maybe you should give some consideration to seeking reassignment.”

  “‘And leave the agencies premiere Actionable Data Deployment Team,’” Tammy said in her best Ryan impression. “‘Not a chance.’”

  “Then I suggest a change of attitude,” she continued in her own voice, “’cause it’s long overdue.”

  “‘Working on that, Ma’am,’” she finished, adding Ryan’s last words for him. Then standing and breaking from the past, she asked, “Is that about how the pre-mission briefing went, Leecy?”

  “Yes, it is,” Leecy answered.

  “Then what?” Wakefield asked before answering her own question. “Oh, yes. We landed, and you drove off in the NATO-marked sedan wearing your coordinating black UN uniforms and carrying identical black backpacks. Just like clockwork. So what happened? Where’d this all go south?”

  “I think knowing we might have to handle explosive devices,” Val answered, “may have put some team members under stress. Add to that, we were really pressed for time on this one.”

  “Valerie,” Wakefield said, easing up beside Val’s seat on the plane, “really? You guys were under stress? Let’s go to the recordings from your earpieces and hear exactly just how stressed everyone was. Play it, Zach.”

  The overhead speakers mounted in the plane’s fuselage hummed and cracked to life. Ryan’s voice came in loud and clear.

  “Don’t worry about that, Old Man,” he was saying, addressing me in his usual way. “This is an easy in and out.”

  “Easy?” Valerie was heard questioning. “Best guard against that type of thinking; it only leads to lapses in concentration. This is just the type of mission that can go sideways on us.”

  “Yeah, I hear you,” Ryan’s recorded voice said. “But why don’t we worry about that when we get where we’re going, and see if we have anything to worry about before we get all worked up over nothing.”

  The playback ended.

  “That’s all we’ve got before you guys were out of effective range for the earpieces,” Wakefield said, “and it doesn’t sound like anyone’s under stress to me. Sounds to me like you were all as relaxed as seasoned operators should be, if not a little complacent.” She paused, looking each one of us over, then asked, “What happened next?”

  “Right,” Val began again. “I remember saying we were about one kilometer away. I reminded Hodges and Franks to keep a lookout at the front and rear entrances after we breached a building. And I reminded the entry team that if one of them located an explosive device to hold and advise me before attempting to defuse it.”

  “Leecy, take me to the arrival at the barn,” Wakefield said.

  “We parked the sedan in front of the empty barn the taskforce had located for our use,” Leecy answered, “and switched out our UN insignias for the Russian Military Police insignias. We armed ourselves with the standard issue weapon for Russian Military Police, so if we encountered anyone on the base we’d look legit, as long as no one looked too closely, that is. Once we were ready to go, Val said to move out.”

  “I don’t see the reason things went so badly,” Wakefield began. “It’s clear each of you knew what your role was and what to do. Your commander reminded you of a few last minute details that might slip your mind in the heat of the moment. So what the hell went wrong, Valerie?”

  “I don’t know,” Val answered. “We were clearing the inside of the last building, having found nothing inside the first three, and… I don’t know.”

  “I don’t know?” Wakefield asked. “Is that right, Leecy, you don’t know what happened?”

  “I heard Mom, I mean Val, give the all hold, then…” and her voice trailed off because she, like her mother, wasn’t about to burn a teammate. As new as she was to this business, she knew the team took the fall together and the team got the glory together.

  “Is anyone going to tell me what went down out there?” Wakefield asked, her tone intensifying with her ever quickening pacing, “Hodges, how ‘bout it?”

  “Yeah, fuck it. I’ll tell you what happened,” Hodges said, nodding his head. “Now, I didn’t see it, mind you, because I was keeping lookout at the rear door, but I heard Ryan say he’d located a device. Val gave the hold call. Then, I heard Ryan say the bomb was active. Next thing I know, Granger is being catapulted through the door of the building like a human torch.”

  Wakefield stopped pacing in front of Ryan and asked, “What do you have to say?”

  “Look,” he said, standing to address his boss, “the building was full of wooden pallets. The other three buildings consisted of a machine shop, office space, and empty barracks. Someone rigged that Quonset hut to blow because they knew we were coming.”

  “No one knew we were coming,” Wakefield said.

  “Well that’s my guess. I mean it’s not that hard to fathom, is it?”

  “That’s a load of crap, Agent Ryan,” Wakefield barked. “And you know it is.”

  “Whatever. I located the bomb and did what we’d been trained to do. I followed Standard Operating Procedure. I did exactly what our commander would’ve done, and had she been the one to cut the wire, the results would’ve been the same. I don’t see the problem here.”

  “Oh, I see. You think you’re in charge of the team, and not Valerie. You think because you received a ninety-minute refresher course on disabling bombs before this mission that you know all there is to know about bombs. Is that it?”

  “We all received the same refresher course, yes.”

  “That’s right, you did. But riddle me this, Batman, were you trained by the Mossad in how to build and disable bombs? No? Valerie was. And that’s why I put her in charge,” Wakefield said. “But it’s a moot point, and it doesn’t excuse the fact that you walked through a direct order from your unit commander to hold your position, does it? Had Valerie’s order to hold been obeyed, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, and I doubt you’d have a busted lip, and Granger wouldn’t have broken ribs.”

  “Yeah, my busted lip is something else I…”

  “Not interested in hearing it, Agent Ryan,” she said, cutting him off before turning and walking toward the front of the plane. “I’ll make sure to note your bonehead mistake in the report I need to file with Langley. Meantime, I suggest you guys get to work on team chemistry and find a way to work with each other more effectively. Like it or not, Ryan, Val will continue to be in charge in the field. This is your last chance to get onboard with the program or find yourself out on your ass.”

  Wakefield retook her seat and I stood up. Every muscle in my body ached. Walking toward the bathroom at the rear of the plane, I caught Ryan’s eye, but he just looked away from me and neither of us said a word as I walked past him.

  Washing my face and hands clean of the smell of smoke and patches of dried blood, I watched the soot-colored water fill the small sink and thought about how lucky I was to have escaped with only minor injuries. Drying my hands and face with paper towels, and combing my hair with my fingers, I stared at the reflection of my bandaged torso, remembering the last time I’d been wrapped up like this. It was my last official mission as a CIA agent. The only difference between that time and this was that I’d been shot twice back then, not blown up.

  Exiting the bathroom and hearing Wakefield calling the team to attention, I leaned against the closed bathroom door to listen.

  “Good news and bad news, people,” Wakefield began.
“Good news is the taskforce agrees with Leecy’s assessment that the bomb Ryan activated would’ve exploded regardless of our actions. They believe Putin or someone in his administration planned to blame pro-Nationalist Ukrainian forces all along. To what end, we don’t know yet for sure, but the thinking is it’s to justify any Russian action in the region that can defeat the continuing Nationalist resistance to the Russian incursions.” Pausing, she dropped her head, exhaling a deep breath before continuing, “Now, the bad news. We’ve been dropped to one step above taking temperatures for Ebola screenings at Ronald Reagan International airport. We’re tasked with offering assistance to an Interpol operation in Brussels.”

  “You’re joking,” Ryan said.

  Ignoring him, Wakefield finished. “Seems Interpol’s budget cuts have left them short-staffed, and in this new age of law enforcement cooperation, we’ve been volunteered.”

  “Brussels,” I said, intrigued by the idea of returning to familiar stomping grounds. I asked, “What’s the operation?”

  “Arresting a team of hackers.”

  “Ouch. We’ve officially hit the bottom of the barrel,” Franks said.

  “No, we haven’t,” Wakefield countered. “Ebola screening is next if we screw up again.”

  “For real?” Leecy asked. “You’re serious?”

  “Yes, I am,” Wakefield answered. Turning toward the cockpit, she continued. “I’ll update the pilots on our new destination. Run your gear checks and get some rest. We’ll be on the ground in two hours.”

  Closing the cockpit door behind her, Wakefield retook her seat, and I slid into the seat next to her.

  “You know what we should do while we’re in Belgium?”