by JT Sawyer
Far from being a one-shot kill from a distant sniper rifle by an agency operative, Shepard instilled in Burke that killing enemy combatants involved a wealth of skills, including hand-to-hand combat, knife-fighting, explosives, hand-formulated poisons, and IEDs, to name a few, and that the successful execution of a mission was supported by a network of deskbound intelligence analysts, indigenous assets, satellites, drones, and air or amphibious assets to insert and extract the covert action teams.
The emphasis on logistical support was stressed repeatedly, and Shepard tried to inculcate in Burke that neutralizing a terrorist abroad wasn’t a lone wolf activity like in the movies. A .50 caliber bullet sent downrange to snipe a target probably had a cost of $50K or more, given what it took to get that shooter in place at a particular moment in time on foreign soil while covering his tracks for a safe exfil and avoiding any geopolitical repercussions in the aftermath.
But covert action was still far less costly than a small ground war, and Burke and Shepard both wondered if the Perseus technology would make men like Shepard a relic from another era.
As he exited the door on the eighth floor, he rounded the corner, pausing by the desk of a petite brunette who was hammering away on her laptop.
“Morning, Becky, how are you doing?”
“Just fine, but I’ll be even better once this report is finally typed up. Mr. Burke has us working double-time to get things finished before the end of next week.”
“Looking forward to moving on to another research project?”
“That would be nice, but I’m sure bummed you’re not coming back. Did you get another consulting gig somewhere else?”
“Thanks. I appreciate that. And you’ll be missed as well. It’s just time for me to move on. Government contracts are like that—feast or famine.”
“But we’ll see you at the party tonight, right…and your wife?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, planning to only make a brief appearance at the celebratory gathering at Burke’s estate outside the city. Giving high-fives amid champagne toasts was something unfamiliar to him. After a successful mission, he and his team debriefed then took a shower and got a solid night’s sleep before awaiting orders for their next target. Though there was relief and gratitude for a mission that unfolded according to plan, celebrating and backslapping were outside the norm for an SAD operator.
“Yeah, Cassie and I will be there. I wouldn’t miss your famous pineapple upside-down cake, after all.”
He thrust his chin at Burke’s office across the floor of open cubicles. “Better get in to see the boss before he summons me on the overhead.”
She smiled, returning to her computer screen as Cal meandered past the other staff, exchanging brief pleasantries along the way with the rest of Burke’s cyber-security personnel, whom he had grown attached to during his employment.
In their eyes, he was a subject-matter expert in high-risk security, having previously worked for the State Department on providing protection details for embassy personnel and ambassadors. His identity came with a full cover story and fabricated background complete with a comprehensive work history he had committed to memory. It wasn’t hard to pull off the ruse since he had perfected it, with a guilty conscience, on his wife during their time dating. Once they were engaged and she had been further vetted by the agency, he was given the go-ahead by Patterson to divulge that he worked in covert affairs for the CIA, but that was the extent of her knowledge of what he did.
Such was the schizophrenic way of life that permeated every SAD operator’s psyche. He remembered the first time he called home on a satellite phone after a grueling mission near the Pakistan border, where he and his team had dispatched a notorious bombmaker and his crew. Cassie did all the talking, about her work as a paralegal at the Pentagon followed by her Pilates class and pasta dinner on the back patio of their home as Cal stared down at the droplets of blood on his dusty boots while the odor of dried animal dung wafted through the wind coming off the mountain pass behind him.
As he entered Stephen Burke’s office, the scene began to play out like it had during the past nine months, with the shrewd older man typing away on his laptop and, without looking up, reciting a quote from one of the literary classics and seeing if Cal would respond with recognition. Whether it was Dante, Poe, or Homer, Cal usually surprised Burke with his knowledge of literature, and he was grateful for his mother’s background as an English teacher.
Cal stopped beside Burke’s desk as the older man leaned back, interlacing his hands behind his wavy silver hair and smiling.
“I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love. If you want me again look for me under your boot soles.”
Burke gave a wolfish grin, flexing his eyebrows after reciting the old quote. “Ha, I’ve got you at last.”
Cal’s eyes darted along the tiled floor then up to the well-stocked bookcase beside the large window. “Resist much, obey little.”
The older man clapped his hands, smiling. “Bravo. Walt Whitman would be proud, my boy.”
“How’s it coming?” He pointed to the man’s laptop, which was connected by ether wires to a massive central processing station that occupied much of the back wall. That was the heart of Perseus, the mainframe that Burke had spent the past two years building and then the past nine months teaching. It was also the reason why Cal was standing in the room and not on some windswept battlefield four thousand miles away.
Burke rested his furrowed hands upon the edge of the desk as if he was a proud parent peering over the edge of a crib. “Soon…very soon, then he will be on his way from walking to running.”
“You really know how to redefine being a nerdy scientist, Stephen.”
Cal figured his circuit and cloud-based creations were the only children the man would ever father given his propensity for his work and the fact that he logged more hours in this office than at home with his wife, who was usually traveling abroad on fundraising activities for their various charities.
“True enough, but one cannot remain a lion on the prowl forever. Sometimes, you have to find that perch over the river and settle down to enjoy the view.”
“You talking about me now or you?” Cal waved his hand around the room. “You’ve been at this game a long time and can have anything you want in life given your wealth, so when are you going to find that perch?”
“Soon.” He rocked his head to either side. “Or maybe never. There’s too much to learn still and so much to discover. When you stop learning you die, in one form or another, Cal. I’ve seen it with the colleagues I started out with years ago.” He got up, arching his back then walking to the bookcase, removing a small, elongated box covered in blue wrapping paper.
He handed the gift to Cal. “I’m not sure where you are headed after this—and not even sure I’d want to know—but I wanted you to have something to remind you of your time here.”
Out of habit, Cal almost reached for one of his two folding blades to slice open the package but instead slid his thumb along the edge. Given Burke’s lack of dexterity from too many years behind a keyboard, Cal suspected it was his secretary Becky who had performed the neat wrapping job.
He lifted the white lid, his eyes settling on a glimmering gold watch. Cal gazed at the Rolex then at the fine details in the hour and second hands. “God, Stephen, this is incredibly gracious, but I can’t accept something like this.”
“With the meager salary our government is paying you for the risks you take, I implore you to accept. Besides, I already had it inscribed on the back.”
Cal turned over the watch to read the words etched in cursive.
It was the best of times.
It was the worst of times.
“Dickens.”
Burke grinned. “Not bad for an economics major.”
“I had a minor in English, but don’t let that go beyond these walls.” He ran his fingers over the inscription then looked up at the man. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“You showed me a realm I was unaware of and impressed on me just how close the monsters of the world have come to destroying what we hold dear. It spurred me on in my work like nothing else ever has. To create a device like Perseus that could save lives and circumvent catastrophe on a grand scale. And to prevent men like yourself from constantly going into harm’s way in some godforsaken tar pit on the other side of the world.
“Then there are some things I wish I didn’t know about the horrors of life in the trenches that are easy to overlook from an office on this side of the globe…the worst of times.”
He stepped closer, shaking Cal’s hand. “But your friendship and knowing the kind of man you are and the sacrifices you’ve made that few will ever know about…your presence and quiet strength, well, the best of times is an understatement.”
Cal gripped the older man’s hand firmly, acutely aware of the mutual respect between them. “It’s been an honor to work with you, Stephen. You are light-years ahead of anyone in the scientific community, and I’m grateful to have been a miniscule part of anything you’re connected with.”
Burke returned to his desk, grabbing a laptop bag then sliding in his computer. “I regret to have to head out so soon, but I’ve got a meeting at the Pentagon before our staff get-together this evening.”
He patted Shepard on the shoulder as he walked to the door. “I’ve got something to discuss later with you as well over drinks. An interesting development out of Venezuela that will dovetail in nicely with my presentation on threat-assessment software at Langley next week.”
“Anything of concern?”
“Not sure yet…an anomaly that Perseus detected in one of the districts outside of the capital. I will hopefully know more after this meeting.”
Burke grabbed his ringing cellphone from his pocket. “Reggie’s in the parking garage waiting. I gotta run. See you and Cassie tonight.”
“Sure thing.”
After the door closed, Cal felt like the spacious room was contracting in Burke’s absence, as if any space he inhabited was imbued with the man’s dynamic energy. Cal glanced down at the watch again, stroking the face then unclasping the gold latch and sliding it onto his wrist.
Gonna have to lock this one away at home or I’ll have a target painted on me for sure overseas.
He thought of Burke’s giving nature and his sincerity, knowing the man was driven more by his intellect and loyalty to his staff than his status as one of the most successful men in the software industry.
His eyes drifted over the photos on the wall, showing Burke at various White House functions, scientific awards ceremonies, and educational fundraisers, where the man always had one hand waving out to the participants beside him as he stood almost out of the frame.
The best of times, indeed. You are one of a kind, my friend.
The day flew by as Shepard finished typing up the last of his notes on recent meetings with Burke, then he made the rounds, saying his goodbyes to several of the senior cyber staff who were heading off on business flights and wouldn’t be attending the after-work party. When he was done, he packed up the few meager belongings on his desk—a photograph of a beach in Phuket where he had proposed to Cassie; an orange-and-white ceramic figure of a koi from a trip to Tokyo after a grueling mission in the Philippines; and a small Slinky with a handwritten tag on it that read:
Remember to take time to have fun!
Burke had given it to him after a long discussion between them about how humans, from cavemen to the modern world, would always find a way to invent something to distract themselves from reality, if only temporarily, with Burke reminding Shepard that the more advanced the mind, the greater the need for fun, a rare luxury in the world of covert ops.
He let the Slinky fall end over end in his hand, chuckling, then slid it into the box on the desk.
His eyes widened with delight upon seeing Cassie round the corner of his office door. She was holding a slender gift-wrapped box in her hands.
“Package for Mr. Shepard.”
Cal hopped up, shuffling forward and putting his arms around her waist. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you until the party.”
“I was on my way home from work and thought I’d drop by since it’s only a few blocks out of the way.”
He grinned, looking down at the visitor badge on her red blouse. “Geez, Reggie will just let anyone in here these days.”
“Hey, be nice or I won’t give you my gift.” She moved closer, sliding her hand around his neck and kissing him.
“You are my favorite gift of all, don’t you know that.” Cal closed his office door and kissed her neck. “And just so you know, since this is a top-secret office, whatever happens in here will be kept in strict confidence.”
She giggled, pushing him back and shoving the box into his chest. “This gift. The other kind you’ll get later tonight…at home…maybe.” Cassie took a step back, flinging her golden hair back off her shoulder. “Plus, working here has been a huge milestone for you, finishing up this big contract—of which I hope there are more in your future.”
“Thanks, beautiful.” He took the box, shaking it lightly. “Feels like Christmas around here today.” He held up his arm, showing off the Rolex on his right wrist.
“If that’s from one of the women in this building, there’s going to be trouble.” She gave him a coy smile, her eyes narrowing upon reading the brand name on the face. “God, where’d you get that?”
“I lifted it from a guy on the elevator. Rich dude in an Italian suit…I doubt he’ll even miss it.”
She punched him lightly in the arm. “I’m serious.”
“A gift from Stephen.”
She flared an eyebrow. “Some gift. Wonder what his Christmas bonuses look like?”
Cal removed the blue wrapping paper, plucking off the lid. Inside was a single cigar ornately enveloped in green-tinted cellophane. “I remember you always saying how you and your guys would smoke a cigar like this after the completion of a long mission, so I had Neil help me locate one. This is a Fuente Opus cigar that’s only made every couple of years to commemorate special occasions.”
She was referring to Patterson, and Cal knew the man had probably used one of his sources down in the Dominican Republic where this unique brand was made. “Wow, I’m not sure if I should smoke this later or put it in a showcase on our mantle.”
She put her hand on his face, stroking his cheek. “I’m so proud of you. I know working a 9-5 job in an office isn’t you, but I sure have loved having you at home for so long.”
He closed the box, setting it on the desk then pulling her close. “That’s been the highlight of this whole assignment for me…knowing I would be seeing you every night and waking up to those beautiful eyes of yours. I love you, Cass.”
She hugged him, resting her head on his shoulder. Cassie pulled back, seeing the digital clock on the wall. “Yikes, it’s later than I thought, and I told Stephen’s wife that I’d help her get things ready at their house.”
Cassie kissed him then turned and opened the door. “Don’t forget, I need you to pick up those pies from the bakery. You know I would’ve baked if I had the time, but it’s been a crazy week.”
“Don’t worry. I even set an alarm on my phone to remind me. I’ll be about two hours behind you.”
“Remember, three pecan and two chocolate. That should be plenty of sweets.”
“You’re plenty sweet for me.”
“Aw, such a charmer. I can’t wait to have you to myself this weekend.”
“Me too, beautiful. Catch you this evening.”
Cal settled back down into his chair, watching her disappear around the corner but still entranced by the lingering aroma of her peach-scented hair. He still felt like his arms were wrapped around her, and he wanted to crystallize this memory, one of many he’d come to cherish during his time away from the rigors of combat.
3
Pentagon
&nb
sp; Burke took the elevator down to the second sub-floor, passing through a security checkpoint then proceeding to the conference room at the end of the hallway. Pausing before the double doors, he took several deep breaths then entered.
Burke saw the familiar face of Deputy Director of the CIA Neil Patterson. Sitting to his right was Director of National Intelligence Jason Begley, who oversaw the sixteen other organizations within the U.S. intelligence community, including the DIA, NSA, CIA, and Office of Naval Intelligence.
Prior to 2004, the CIA director was responsible for all of the U.S. intelligence agencies but had little authority due to lack of budget control for each organization. With Begley now serving as the head of DNI, he was in charge of implementing the yearly budgets and managing the harvesting, examination and dissemination of intelligence.
Burke had met Begley three years earlier during a special operations expo open to civilian contractors at Fort Bragg. He had found the man to be as arrogant as he was intelligent. Burke always found Begley’s statements to the press darkly comical, as he was a master of double-speak on the war on terror. When asked by a throng of reporters last year about a drone strike on a militant leader in Afghanistan whose outcome was uncertain, Begley replied:
“Most likely, he’s not a threat any longer. Either he died or he survived and crawled into some cave. And if he’s not alive then he’s not doing very well, but it’s an unknown amongst unknowns that goes with this line of work.”
Seated beside Begley was a balding forty-something man named Tim Rourke, the assistant director of the NSA’s covert electronic surveillance program. Rourke had previously worked with the Special Collections Service, the joint CIA-NSA office that conducts electronic surveillance in embassies throughout the world. The man was as pale as the sterile white walls behind him, and Burke wondered how often he saw daylight.
