by Todd Turner
“So far that’s it, yeah . . .”
“And we know he drove that load of cars to the port, showing up a few minutes later than expected, and the company’s GPS had recorded that the truck had stopped for precisely fifty-one minutes on its way to the port. And then he called for service just short of the port, due to a flat tire. OK, so the cars go on to the port for shipping. We know the gas tanks were changed out and assume the explosive devices were already installed in the replacement gas tanks,” said Scott.
“Yeah, that’s right so far,” Craig replied, rolling his eyes at calling a nuke an “explosive device.” Analysts, he thought, can be so dispassionate as to sound absurd at times.
“You are in possession of one car, have defused the bomb, and are in the process of finding out where the nuclear material was sourced from, if it’s in our databases. So … what do you need me for?” asked Scott.
“What do you think?” asked Craig. “You don’t do a job like this on a budget. Everyone looking at this device says it’s top-notch. There was nothing crude or rudimentary about it. This was clearly the work of someone with serious resources.”
“Ah, so you need to figure out who bankrolled a multimillion-dollar plot, and how they paid the many experts that would have been involved?”
“Yeah, but I have a feeling this was limited to very few experts. This was so clandestine, it never came up on anyone’s radar until a car showed up in one of our ports capable of annihilating a city. This had to be tightly controlled. You can only do that by limiting the number of people involved,” said Craig.
“Unless you simply kill them when you are done with them,” Scott grumbled, “something right out of the KGB playbook.”
“That would be another logical option. Besides the money, we better look into missing scientists in the fields of metallurgy, electronics, and nuclear technology. There’s still a lot we don’t even know about this device. The detonator, for example, seems as though it was designed to be radio controlled, perhaps with a cellular signal; or some other signal would most likely arm it, making it go live.”
“OK, I’ll get the ears on. You thinking we need to keep a lid on this still?”
Craig pursed his lips, knowing his boss was weighing the risk of the public getting wind of this against the risk of speeding the investigation. “Our first priority is to confirm if we are dealing with multiple devices. We’re reasonably confident our information on that is good, but I want to know for sure, and if there are more, where they are. Once we know this threat is contained, we can get the lid back on it. There won’t be a public need to know.”
Ever the pragmatist, Scott interjected, “And if it’s not the only device? How the hell do we get a lid back on it then?”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” said Craig. “If there are more, public hysteria will be the least of our problems. We’ll be fucked.”
“I’ll put out a blanket dispatch then to all friendly investigative operations worldwide, including Interpol. I’ll keep it vague and nonspecific, saying we’re trying to root out a massive money laundering scheme. Also, I’m going to get clearance from the top for you to stay lead on this,” said Scott.
“I understand, but what the hell am I supposed to do if someone up the ladder relieves me?”
“Once I have the authority I intend to get, there’s just one person who can relieve you and that would be my dad. And be careful. If this has the conspiracy aspect you suspect, someone might be interested in doing whatever they can to impede you and your investigation.”
“You worry too much,” said Craig.
“Well someone has to seem like they are worried,” Scott shot back, “and you usually give me plenty to worry about.”
June 27, 17:08 PDT
Benicia, California
That last statement was still resounding in Craig’s ears. While it occurred to him that he’d become a target if he got too close to the source of the conspiracy, the reality that someone might come gunning for him wasn’t a comfortable thought. Shaking his head clear, he decided to focus on the things he could control for now.
As far as trusting that the president wasn’t involved, Craig just couldn’t give anyone a free pass in the investigation, even someone he considered to be a father. Trust wasn’t something Craig believed in. He neither expected others to trust him nor trusted anyone else, even people he worked for; just because you were higher up the food chain didn’t mean you’d earned this officer’s trust.
As for his feelings, those had changed since being with Scott. He realized that he wanted to believe the president wasn’t involved. That was new. Now he had to hope it didn’t turn out to be a weakness.
◆◆◆
Something about the Secretary of Homeland Security always gave Craig the willies—even from when he was a college student. Bonner had come onto the political scene pretty much out of nowhere; as a result of the disastrous response to Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans by the previous administration, he had been appointed to replace one of the many incompetent cronies qualified for his position solely on the merits of being a good ol’ boy.
Coming in, Bonner gave off an arrogant air, of being Teflon coated; you could read it in his eyes: If they only knew what I am capable of. To Craig, it seemed, here was a guy more than comfortable with deception, well-rehearsed in its arts, who appeared to be operating in a state of avoidance with the tacit approval of those who had hired him. His actions, as well as those of the new DHS, were anything but transparent.
After 9/11, people demanded action and looked to the government for leadership. The administration’s response early on had been to create the Department of Homeland Security, bringing different agencies together under one umbrella, agencies that historically didn’t get along and rarely shared information. Clearly, it was felt that culture had to change, lest the country suffer further catastrophic attacks. Deterrence now depended on a level of interagency and interdepartmental cooperation previously unknown and never before tried. Law enforcement was to enter a new phase.
Compared to Europeans, Americans are not familiar with the pain of war, the real pain. Most only know that fear from images on TV and stories in books. Even Pearl Harbor, as devastating as it was, happened far away, preventing most Americans from seeing it firsthand. It wasn’t until September 2001 that Americans were witnesses on an epic scale to how an attack can feel—and that was only one day.
What happened after that is well known. A long time has passed since the American Revolution, what was fought for and won, and what patriots did to protect it. Meanings change, especially the meaning of words. A patriot, for instance, at one time meant a fighter who fought against tyranny, against an unjust system of government. This often meant fighting to the death, for liberty and what was then known as the common good. More than one war was fought toward that end.
After September 11, that meaning changed, and the word was deployed toward a different end, one that redefined freedom and what that might entail. Overnight there appeared the Patriot Act, alongside the newly empowered Department of Homeland Security. A calculation was made in the name of the American people by which “a certain amount” of liberty was traded for the appearance and allure of safety. The irony that Patriots gave their life’s for our liberty, was not lost for critics of the Act.
Michael Bonner, in any case, was onboard.
June 27, 18:41 PDT
Benicia, California
“I know I am in California! Do you forget I’m the one who about killed myself getting here?!” Craig yelled into the SAT phone, something not ordinarily said to the boss, especially not the director of the CIA—but nothing was ordinary about this case. “I am going to Detroit. There is nothing more for me to do here.”
“You have to trust that someone else can get the answers,” explained Director Richards. “You can’t do everything yourself. There are other capable people you can count on!”
“Don’t turn this into that. I am no e
gomaniac, you know that. I let Preston conduct the interrogation of the North Korean. I know my limits and know what’s best in this investigation, too. Right now, I am the closest person to Detroit I trust with this!”
“All right, then get your ass there. What do you want done ahead of your arrival?”
Craig thought a moment. “Get a good guy, but someone junior. I don’t want people with connections in the agency, we need to keep a lid on this. A by-the-book rookie. Get him into General Motors headquarters, have him meet with the CEO, and get anyone and everyone responsible for distribution of vehicles from the port to dealers in a closed and locked room. No bathroom breaks that aren’t supervised. I want them on suicide watch, total isolation, until I get there. I’ll take this SAT phone with me. Have the agent you assign call me for more specific instructions while he is en route to GM. Will you take care of the CEO?”
“I’ll call him right now. I hope he’s in Detroit,” said Richards.
“If he is anywhere near Detroit, get him there immediately. We’ll need his authority to keep this as quiet as possible.”
“He’s not going to be pleased with this.”
“Before this is over, he won’t be alone,” groused Craig. “Do me a favor and pull some strings at Travis Air Force base. Get me the fastest plane they have to Detroit. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
June 27, 19:17 PDT
Benicia, California
This was Craig Stout’s second no-frills flight in fewer than forty-four hours. Sleep was not even in the equation, but maybe he could nod off for a few minutes. The noise-canceling headphones and microphones on the Air Force jets are the best such technology in the world. Bose charges close to $300 for the consumer version frequent fliers use on commercial flights. The Air Force version cost nearly twenty times that, and it was worth every penny.
By the time Stout climbed into the rear first officer’s seat of the long-range F-18, it’d been eighteen minutes since he’d spoken with Richards. It took him two minutes to put on the insulated flight suit, a godsend at the altitudes they were going to be flying, to take advantage of the thinner air for maximum speed.
He no sooner got the helmet on when the SAT phone began to ring. The canopy was lowered and they would be airborne in minutes, reaching g-forces that would make speaking impossible until they leveled off.
“Stout here. You are on a secure line.”
“It’s Richards. Your agent is Zach Thompson. He’s with the FBI in Detroit. They have more judicial power within our borders. Don’t worry. I know him. He’ll report to you exclusively. It’s bad enough we’ve got you and a half-dozen other CIA officers now doing what amounts to illegal ops inside the country.”
“Yeah, yeah, OK, fine,” Craig couldn’t be bothered with politics. “Have him call me in twelve minutes. We’re about to take off.”
“Fine. I’ve not been able to reach the CEO of GM yet. He’s harder to get on the phone than the president. I’ll give Thompson his contact info.”
“Our flight plan is one hour forty-two minutes.”
“Yeah,” Richards admitted, “I doubt we could’ve gotten someone else there much sooner, but you need rest soon, too.”
“I’ll rest when I’m dead, and if we don’t get this in hand that may be very soon for us all.”
Richards ended the call. He wasn’t worried. He knew Stout was as alert after forty-eight hours of nonstop ops as any other man after a good night’s sleep. He didn’t put the phone in the cradle, though; rather, he asked the operator for a secure line and waited for a dial tone. Once he had it, he redialed the office of GM’s CEO, Robert Smith.
“Hello, you’ve reached Mr. Smith’s office. He’s not available. Leave a message and your call will be returned as soon as possible,” stated the professional yet tough recorded voice of Sarah Cohen, Smith’s executive assistant. At this time of night, there would be no point in leaving a message. Richards next called the NSA and asked for Smith’s cell phone number, retrieved in less than a minute.
After several rings he heard, “Robert Smith. What is it, Sarah?” expecting his loyal assistant.
“Mr. Smith, this is Director Steven Richards of the CIA.”
There followed silence, then, “Sorry for the pause. What can I do for you?”
“First, I need to impress upon you that this is a matter of national security. You are not to tell anyone you’ve spoken with me. You are not to tell anyone the real reason for the actions I am about to ask you to take. I hope you are a convincing liar, Mr. Smith.”
“I am the CEO of a major corporation, Mr. Richards, so probably as skilled in that regard as a senator.”
“That qualifies.” Richards was glad someone still had some humor, but in a moment that would change, maybe forever. “Your company is involved in a national crisis the scope of which I can’t fully disclose to you. But I can tell you someone in your distribution department is an enemy of the state.”
The silence on the line was broken by Richards asking, “Are you there, Mr. Smith?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m here, sorry … I don’t know what to say or even how to react right now, I’m stunned. I think I need to know more about what’s happening.”
“Mr. Smith, trust me when I say you don’t want to know a thing about what’s happening, the less you know the better off you will be.”
Another short silence. “Well, I can’t say that eases my mind at all!”
“It’s not my objective to ease your mind, Mr. Smith. I’m sorry, but that’s the brutal, unvarnished truth.”
Smith exhaled a sigh. “I don’t need any details. In fact, I guess this is one of those occasions when there are advantages to ignorance in terms of, what do you people call it, plausible deniability?”
This and other reminders that top CEOs are the same political animals as those with whom Richards has to deal in Washington wasn’t lost on him. Here, though, the balance of power was much more in his court.
“Can we depend on the full cooperation of your company?”
“Within limits, of course,” said Smith, keen to maintain control.
“No, sir. With all due respect, this situation demands the full cooperation of you, General Motors, and its entire staff. This is not a negotiation. It is to our advantage and I daresay yours as well that we come in under the radar, get what we need, involve as few people as necessary, and disrupt your organization as little as possible.”
Smith realized it was time to be a patriot and be able to claim he in no way hindered the investigation, and to be helpful to the government in every way imaginable. “My assistant will greet your people on arrival and provide them with whatever access they need.”
“That’s not going to do it. You know as well as I do that top executives and middle managers will be reluctant to leave their desks at the demand of your assistant. I am sure they respect her but I need you there by morning.”
“That’s not going to be easy. I’m currently at our factory in Silao, Mexico. Even if I left right now, we have customs, and my pilot has to get a takeoff slot; then there is the twenty- to twenty-five-minute car ride to my office,” Smith explained.
“Don’t worry about customs. You’ll be met at the airport in Detroit and escorted through. I’ll see what I can do with the Mexican authorities as well. So, if you please, leave right now,” directed Richards.
Smith had lingering doubts. Could this be a well-organized, elaborate hostage-taking plan? Only someone high up in the government can circumvent airport security and U.S. Customs; still, he felt some trepidation.
“I also need you to think about how you will get the entire distribution department away from their desks without them alerting one another they have been summoned. They must be isolated in one room, ideally with internal restroom facilities, so we can secure their movement entirely while we investigate. Most critically, they must be—with no notice—shut off from their computer access: no way for them to issue any kill command that would wipe their ent
ry history,” Richards said.
“We do have a robust security team and sophisticated I.T. department. I’ll work with those teams on my flight to Detroit. It might be best to work with the I.T. department first, to see if they can cut off access to that department. I’ll ask them to investigate for any hidden automatic wipe code and their ideas about how to protect the system.”
Richards thanked him and added, “Good thinking. Maybe they can create a restore point before shutting off the department, just in case?”
“I’ll explain that it’s critical we preserve any data as it is at this moment. They’ll know the best way to accomplish that,” Smith said.
“That may all be well and good,” said Richards, “but I don’t want anyone hearing about anything until we have people there. Someone from the FBI will be there before you arrive, and that person will need to vet the personnel in I.T. We’ll need access to your personnel files, to get that going ASAP.”
Faced with the enormity of what he was being asked to do, Smith considered for a moment. “You’ll have access to anything you want within the company,” he said.
“Thank you” said Richards, “that will certainly help. A lot.”
June 28, 07:36 EDT
Detroit, Michigan
Smith’s plan was to send an internal message to each of the five women, including the department supervisor, responsible for the allocation of vehicles to dealers. Prior to that, however, security officers would be stationed in sight of each of the women, by which time I.T. would have done what it needed to do.
