by T C Miller
They watched people hurrying into the Base Gym. Some wore civilian clothes and others were still in uniform from the workday.
She finally spoke in a small voice that he could barely hear, “Been doing a lot of thinking about Seawind Bay. You know, pretending to be married and all...Kinda sorry it’s over.”
“The op?”
“No, I’m glad we broke up the smuggling ring...” She paused and looked out the side window and continued without looking back. “I meant about being a couple and...”
“And what? I’m confused...Like you said, the op’s over and things are about as normal as they can be...considering we’re still chasing after stolen nukes.”
“Never mind...Guess I don’t know what I’m trying to say...or how to say it. Six months ago we saw each other...what, maybe once a day at guard mount? Now it’s everyday...and I’m wondering if you’re getting tired of me.”
“You’re joking, right? Told you before you’re one of the few people I could do this with and I mean it.”
“Well, you know...the old thing about familiarity breeding contempt and all that.
“Ain’t gonna happen...More I see of you...the more I want to see.”
“Really?”
“Wait, I don’t mean it the way you’re thinking...”
“You don’t know what I’m thinking...Maybe I don’t mind if you see more of me.”
“Are you flirting with me?”
“Feel like it?”
“A little...”
“Good.” She winked at him. “Let’s go workout.”
“Thought you wanted to talk.”
“We did.”
The figure in the khaki maintenance uniform left Room 214 after ten minutes and used a handheld radio as he strolled down the hall. “Done.”
There was a double-click acknowledgment. The heavy smell of government-issue spray disinfectant used in place of cleaning reminded him of a reform school he spent time in as a youth.
He bounced down the steps with hands in his pockets and whistled as he left. The contractor said there would be more need for his unique skills. He walked outside and sucked in the fresh Rocky Mountain air.
SUNSET MOTEL
COLORADO SPRINGS, COLORADO
Mary Benson sat at the motel bar on a stool and silently fumed. A wannabe cowboy with a goofy grin on his unshaven face was standing behind her breathing down her neck. She had already told him she didn’t need another drink, but he apparently decided that persistence was the key.
“But, darlin’,” he intoned in a growl he thought was sexy. “How we gonna get to know each other better if we don’t have a drink and talk?”
“We’re not...And I’m not your darling...Leave me alone, before your buddies have to carry you out.”
“Come on, sugar...You’re just playing hard to get.” He draped his arm over her shoulder and leaned in close to her ear as his hand squeezed her left breast.
Mary gagged at the cloud of cigarette smoke and beer-breath that surrounded both of them. She reached up and grabbed both his little and ring finger, twisting them over as she stood. Applying pressure backward on the knuckles caused him to rise up on the pointy toes of his boots like an awkward ballerina.
“Oww, oww, owww...Damn, girl...I’m all for a little rough play...But that hurts...”
Mary turned him sideways and kicked the back of his right knee. It collapsed at the same time she brought his hand down in a painful arc. His head naturally followed and slammed into the bar with a sickening thud.
“When a woman tells you no, Hoss, maybe you should listen!”
She swallowed the last of her beer and headed for the door. The three men at the cowboy’s table laughed as he stumbled back with blood streaming down his face.
Mary glanced over her shoulder as she pushed through the door and saw him reverse direction and move toward her. A wry grin spread slowly across her face.
She left the door slightly open behind her and waited for a count of two before kicking it inward. A crunching sound was followed by a yelp of pain and a thud.
A quick glance showed him sprawled out trying to hold his forehead and busted nose at the same time. His buddies rushed over and dragged him back to the table, laughing all the way.
“Gonna get that bitch,” he exclaimed through clenched teeth.
“Not tonight, Slick,” said one of his friends. “Better sober up and quit while you’re behind.”
One of the group yelled to the barmaid, ‘“nother round, Shirley...gotta console our heart-broke buddy here...Not to mention his broke nose.”
That set off a noisy roar of laughter from the table. Slick grinned and accepted his fate. “Oh, well...There’s other fishes, right?”
OFFICE OF THE DIRECTOR, NSA
FORT MEADE, MD
“Justin, could you come into my office, please?” the Director’s weak voice came through the intercom.
“Certainly, sir.” He stepped through the door to the inner sanctum with a note pad and engraved pen. “What do you require, sir? Your meeting with the budget director to review overseas operations funding is in twenty minutes.”
“Oh, almost forgot.” He stared at Justin. “What do you need?”
“You asked me to step into your office.”
“I did?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you say so...Why?”
“You did not say.”
“I didn’t? When is my meeting with the budget director?”
“Twenty minutes, sir.”
“What’s the subject?”
“Funding for overseas operations...Are you not feeling well?”
“Maybe not...Feel a little weak.”
“Would you prefer that I cancel the meeting?”
He got a puzzled look on his face. “What meeting?”
“With the budget director.”
“Good idea.”
“Then I will make the call...Will there be anything else?”
“Don’t think so...Give me a minute to clear my head...Do I have a meeting?”
“No, sir. You asked me to cancel it and I was about to handle the matter.”
“Thanks...Don’t know what I’d do without you, Jason.”
Jason was the Director’s assistant before Justin. Guess the drugs are working.
Justin finished talking with the Budget Director’s aide when the door to the Director’s office opened.
The befuddled figure that stepped through the door wore a long gray-charcoal overcoat. The familiar fedora was slightly askew. The leather satchel clutched to his chest had not been snapped shut and a few papers hung out.
“Think I’ll go home and rest, David...Don’t feel like myself.”
David was also a previous assistant.
“As you wish, sir. I will alert Timothy to pick you up at the front door.”
“Who’s Timothy?”
“Your driver, sir...Perhaps I should have him meet you in the lobby.”
“How will I know him?”
“Don’t worry, he will know you. His name is Timothy.”
“Would you write that down?...Must be this damned bug. Feel like I have a blanket over my head.”
“There you go, sir.” Justin handed the note to him and fastened his satchel after pushing the papers back in. He took the liberty of straightening the hat and took the Director by the elbow.
The elevator arrived and he led his boss in, pressed the button for the lobby and waited for the doors to close.
“You’re going home, too?”
“No, sir...I am going to accompany you to the lobby. I will notify your housekeeper and have your personal physician come by to see you.”
“Who’s sick?”
“You have contracted a bug of some sort.”
“Then I suppose I should see a doctor.”
“I will take care of it, sir.”
“Don’t know what I’d do without you.”
The elevator doors opened into the lobby and Jus
tin escorted the old man over to Timothy. “The Director is a little under the weather. Please take him home and ignore most of his comments...He is taking some medication and experiencing some unfortunate side effects.”
“Yes, sir, Mister Todd...Will there be anything else?”
“No, that will be all.”
Justin watched the tired old man shuffle through the security doors.
He pressed the call button for the elevator. Justin stepped inside and smiled as the doors closed.
LEIPSIG ALPINE RESORT
LEIPSIG, SWITZERLAND
“I am here for the Consortium Master Accounting Conference,” the tall, black-haired man in the dark suit said in flawless English.
The rail-thin, middle-aged desk clerk with a poor attempt at a comb over and a pencil-thin mustache offered a wan smile in return. The smell of cheap cologne hovered around him like a cloud of angry wasps. “May I see your papers, sir?”
“Certainly...Have the other attendees arrived?”
“I believe most of them are here, Mister Wilhelm. Dinner is served promptly at eight.”
“No before-dinner drinks?”
“No, sir.” He shuffled through a list on a clipboard. “All parties are staying in rooms on the main floor, per the usual custom.”
“I would prefer a direct view of the valley.”
“We have only one style of room available on the first floor. The resort is built against the mountain on a narrow ledge...there is only a hallway and one row of guest rooms.”
“That will have to suffice...Which room is mine?”
“Room 112...I will have your bags taken to the room.”
“I have only a briefcase and this rolling bag.”
“As you wish, sir. Please read this instruction sheet and destroy if after you do. Ring if you require anything.”
Room 112 was pleasantly appointed with modern, although not obnoxious furniture and a large bath. Gunter Wilhelm felt most at home in somewhat Spartan surroundings that were tasteful and simple. The Consortium’s scheduling staff was aware of that and had taken care to place him in 112.
The most striking feature of the room was a built-in bookcase along the back wall. The Consortium owned the resort through a holding company and hidden features that were exclusive to the building had been incorporated into the original design.
Gunter placed the bag on the folding stand, carefully double-locked the door and read the instruction sheet in the folder. He pulled an engraved silver cigarette lighter from his pocket, flicked it open and applied a flame to the edge of the specially-treated flash paper. There was a bright puff of smoke and the sheet disappeared.
He walked over to the bookcase and appeared to be scrutinizing a small sculpture of Pre-Incan design when, in fact, he was allowing a retina scan to be performed. A gentle whirring sound emanated from somewhere in the wall. The bookcase slid back far enough to allow access to a passageway carved into the mountain. He stepped through the opening and the bookcase slid back to its original position.
A slender blonde woman in her early thirties seemed to glide down a brilliant white hallway toward him. Thick, shoulder-length hair was combed with a slight wave. Conservative makeup and jewelry gave the impression of a young businesswoman, which was enhanced by the simple beige two-piece suit she wore. She held a program folder against her bosom with one hand as she extended the other.
“Gunter, so good to see you again...It has been entirely too long.” Her accent was Swiss with a hint of French.
“I agree, Marta...How long has it been?” The subtle scent of a very expensive perfume carried reminders of a pleasant evening they spent together while on assignment.
“I’ve lost track...After Majorca I went to Bulgaria to resolve a nasty little incident with the Minister of State. Then there was the transfer of material to the Islutene faction in Turkey...Where does time go?”
“Indeed. So, what is the purpose of this conference? I have other projects I should be devoting time to.”
“Haven’t changed, have you? A bit of reminiscing and then right to the business at hand...”
“Sorry, I have a lot on my mind...Dozens of minute details and the transfer of the stolen material from North America has been stymied, at least temporarily.”
“I read the summary in the weekly update...Who or what is this ‘BlackStar Ops Group’? I’ve never heard of them.”
“It appears to be a recent creation of the head of the NSA. They seem to be very sophisticated Tier One counterintelligence operatives led by an Air Force Colonel named Bart Winfield.”
“Military CI’s can be formidable foes.”
“There’s even more to this man than first meets the eye. His team is new to us and we are still gathering information. There are rumors that at least two of their people were part of the old STEADFAST Strike Force.”
“Specialized in personnel and equipment extraction from hostile territory, did they not?”
“Yes, but also performed other clandestine duties, including assassinations.”
“So, which two?
“We are not positive...Based upon old records of STEADFAST, I would think most of them are retired or dead.”
“You know how old operatives have an unpleasant habit of popping up years later.”
“True. I’ll continue to dig into old files and the latest intel to ascertain who they are and what their mission might be.”
She took his arm in hers. “Let me show you around...You have never been here before?”
“No reason to be here as an agent.”
“Which means you were never called on the carpet...”
“Thankfully, no.”
“Your promotion speaks volumes about your abilities, although, I must say, you are now at a level that demands total concentration. There is little possibility of hiding mistakes and repercussions are significantly higher.”
He paused at her subtle warning and chose his words carefully. “As always, I will do my best.”
“I’m sure that will be more than adequate.”
“I intend to dedicate myself entirely to the success of the Consortium.”
“We will continue to be successful, especially with the people and resources we’ve brought together.”
They walked down a brightly-lit, stark-white corridor with passages branching off until they reached a set of double-doors guarded by two men in suits carrying H&K MP5 machine pistols tucked snugly in shoulder rigs.
One of the guards stepped forward. “Good afternoon, Madam. Would you please say the code word for today?”
“Good afternoon, S-32. Eagle Strike.”
“And the numerical sequence?”
“Fourteen, eleven, six.”
“Thank you, and the gentleman with you?”
“US-35...Become accustomed to his presence.”
“As you wish, Madam. Now if you will step through the security screen...” He pointed to a standard metal detector.
Marta stepped through and the machine issued a gentle beep.
“And now you, sir.”
Gunter stepped through the portal and it buzzed.
The guard reached under his coat and drew his firearm, as did his assistant. “Step back and place your hands on your head, sir.”
Gunter complied. “Sorry...forgot...I have my service weapon on me.”
“C-31, has he been briefed on security protocol?”
“Not yet.”
“We will need to summon a supervisor to...”
Marta interrupted him, “That will not be necessary...I will vouch for him.”
“My apologies, Madam...I cannot allow you to enter with...”
Gunter glanced back and forth, and was about to tell him it was okay.
Before he could, Marta moved to within a few inches of the guard’s face. “Get out of my way, you spineless idiot! I am your superior...Yield.”
The guard clenched his jaw and replied with clipped words in as courteous a tone as he could muster
, “Pardon me, Madam C-31, my orders are quite clear. I must call my supervisor.”
He keyed the microphone that was clipped to his shirt and requested assistance.
“Stand by, S-32, SS-2B is on the way.”
They held their positions in a rigid standoff for a few minutes. A well-dressed man finally stepped through the inner door and addressed them, “Thank you, Madam C-31, for assisting us in conducting a test of our security.
He turned to the guard. “Congratulations, S-25, your actions were exemplary. You will receive a commendation...plus fifty bonus points.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Gunter smiled at the supervisor. “It is reassuring to see such tight security...I must apologize for not leaving my firearm in the room.”
“Understandable, since you are new here...May I have your weapon...I will see that it is placed in your room.”
“Certainly.” He reached carefully behind him and withdrew the H&K P7, as well as two magazines for the 9mm pistol. “Shall we continue our tour, 31?”
“Certainly,” she replied, taking him by the arm and leading him through the bullet resistant, double-door entryway. “Right this way.”
He strolled beside her and thought of the surveillance devices hidden in the seams of his coat. Now that they were past the innermost security of the headquarters complex, it was just a matter of time and opportunity until he found strategic places to plant them.
***
CHAPTER 4
NORAD SECURE BRIEFING ROOM
PETERSON AFB, COLORADO
“I don’t care what the hell kind of flimsy excuse they’ve come up with...I want them out of my area no later than close of business Friday...Understood?” Bart spoke the words in clipped tones and barely raised his voice as he addressed Lieutenant Colonel Jim Oglesby.
“But...but...Colonel...We can’t just throw them out in the street, now, can we? Their new space won’t be ready for another three weeks.”
“Then put their stuff in storage and give ‘em some time off...Don’t care how you handle it, but get them out of my area by the end of the week, hear?”
“I’ll need to call General Smithson...see how he wants me to handle it.”
Bart rolled his eyes. “By all means, call him...or the Chief of Staff, or the President...I don’t care. But keep in mind the only thing I want to hear is they’ll be out by Friday.”
