by John Sneeden
“Apparently Chinese intelligence knew that Parsons worked for the CIA. He was under deep cover, and we still don’t know how they were able to determine who he was. Unfortunately, that gave them a leg up.”
“This doesn’t sound like it’s going to end well,” Zane said.
“It doesn’t. She managed to drug Parsons in his condominium then accessed virtually all of the electronic information stored on his agency-issued tablet.”
“So what happened to Parsons? Is he dead?”
Zane could see Hathaway squirming in his seat, clearly uncomfortable that the agency was being placed in a bad light. No wonder he’d let the Oracle take over.
“No. Wu drugged him while they were on the couch, and after he passed out, she planted a Trojan in the tablet. The malware then copied all of the information contained in Parsons’s files and transmitted it to a server used by the Chinese military. Anyway, after planting the Trojan, she stuck around until Parsons woke up. They’d been drinking heavily at a restaurant earlier that evening, so he figured he’d simply succumbed to the alcohol.”
Zane shook his head. “In other words, he never realized he’d been compromised.”
“Exactly.”
“Then how did we find out?”
Hathaway cleared his throat and said, “We discovered it using sophisticated antivirus software developed by the NSA. It didn’t pick up the Trojan when it was loaded but was able to place it in quarantine after a full scan was run the following evening. Unfortunately, by then the damage was done.”
“And Wu?” Zane asked.
“She disappeared off the face of the earth,” the Oracle said. “We were going to play dumb, leave the Trojan in place, and feed the Chinese bad information through Parsons’s tablet, but apparently they were able to get everything they wanted and pulled out.”
Zane remained silent for moment. Finally, he looked up and said, “This is all quite interesting, but what does it have to do with an audio transmission from the Amazonian rainforest?”
“I’m glad you asked, Watson,” the Oracle said. He turned and motioned for Brett to bring up the next slide. It was a picture of Garet Slater, CIA field agent and owner of the Idaho lodge Zane had just visited.
Zane leaned back and rubbed the stubble on his face. “Okay, now I’m even more lost than before.”
The Oracle stared at the operative for a moment. It was as though he was waiting for him to put it all together.
Suddenly a few fragments of understanding pierced his thoughts. “So, the information grab in Taipei is what brought the Chinese to the lodge?” Zane asked.
The Oracle nodded slowly. “Correct. Slater had just sent Parsons a correspondence, one that Parsons hadn’t even read yet. In that email, Slater said that he would be at the lodge the following week, and he asked Parsons to join him to discuss a new operation.”
Zane frowned. “So they were coming after Parsons? They had their information. Why kill him?”
“They weren’t after Parsons,” Hathaway said. “They were after Slater.” He began to pace. “Garet made a big information grab in Taiwan a few years ago, one that did considerable harm to the Chinese military. They have a long memory and saw this as an opportunity to exercise some payback, so they triggered a sleeper cell operating out of Los Angeles.”
Zane nodded. “Okay, that makes perfect sense. I’m with you. But I repeat, what on earth does a Chinese hit team operating on American soil have to do with a sound transmitted from the depths of the Brazilian rainforest?”
“A lot,” said the Oracle.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE NEXT SLIDE displayed an email. The print was difficult to decipher, so Brett zoomed in on the image. The Oracle took a long sip of water, giving Zane a chance to read it.
The email was from Garet Slater to David Parsons. Its content seemed innocuous, giving the details of a family vacation. In fact, it was so innocuous that Zane guessed it was likely sprinkled with coded language employed by the agency.
The Oracle used the laser pointer to highlight the sender, receiver, and subject line at the top. “As you can see, this is an e-mail that Garet sent to David. Brett, please move to the next slide.” The next image was a typed Word document. “Even though they were using a secure channel, the language was coded because it included details of an upcoming operation. It’s a double layer of protection that was meant to prevent the kind of breach that took place in Taipei.”
The Oracle hovered the laser dot over the first translated sentence, and Zane’s eyes widened. “What Garet was actually doing was letting David know that he was being called off of his work in Taipei in order to lead an operation in Brazil.”
“We had to get him out of Taipei anyway, so we figured why not send him to the other side of the world,” Hathaway added.
Zane leaned forward. “So, let me guess… they were both going to hunt down the source of the signal.”
“Precisely,” replied the Oracle. “Parsons served as our station chief in Brazil for seven years. He knows the country like no one else in the agency and has contacts throughout the region, even in the north.
“The operation was to be spearheaded by the agency, with assistance from a Special Operations task force.” Brett brought up the next slide. It showed the bodies of the five Chinese agents killed in Idaho. Zane had been there when the photos were taken. Three sustained gunshot wounds. The other two showed no outward sign of injury. Zane had watched one of them take a cyanide pill and discovered later that the sniper at the barn had managed to free a hand and do the same thing. “Which brings us to the Idaho hit team. As you already know from our final report, we were unable to identify any of the bodies.”
“I still find it hard to believe we don’t know who they are.”
Hathaway scowled, apparently perturbed that the agency’s work was being questioned. “Watson, their fingerprints didn’t show up in any database, and they arrived in a sport utility vehicle that was stripped of any identifying marks, including VIN. The license plate was stolen a couple of years ago in California. At this point our best guess is that they were a sleeper cell that had been tucked away in the greater Los Angeles area, waiting for just such an opportunity.”
“But here is the little bow that ties all of these things together,” the Oracle said. “Because the Chinese were able to decode the location of the lodge, we can only assume that they are now also aware of the operation that was planned in Brazil.”
Zane pointed at the slide. “In looking at the translated code, I see that there are vague references to a possible alien outpost and the search for alien technology. It’s possible they took alien to mean foreign or hostile. If I were looking at this, the true meaning would be a bit murky.”
“Perhaps, although it’s equally possible that they have a clear understanding of what’s going on,” the Oracle pointed out. “We still don’t know how much, if any, of this they were able to translate. But we have to run on the assumption that they know everything.”
Zane nodded in agreement. “So, you’re thinking there is at least a small chance they’ll send in their own team?”
“We believe it’s possible, yes. Remember, it’s also very unlikely that Chinese intelligence officials got any information from their hit team in Idaho.”
“Why is that important?” Zane asked.
“Since it’s likely they never heard back from their hit team, it’s also likely they now believe Garet Slater is still alive. And if he’s still alive, then they may be running under the assumption that he’s on his way to Brazil.”
“Which means they’ll see it as a second chance to kill him.”
The Oracle nodded. “Precisely.”
Hathaway looked at Zane. “Not only did they take it personally, but they probably believe that a successful hit will discourage future attempts to gather intelligence on Chinese soil.”
Zane had to admit they had a point. If the Chinese were brazen enough to attempt a hit on American soil, then
they certainly wouldn’t hesitate to take someone down in the rainforests of Brazil. The only question was how much information they had been able to glean from the coded email.
“Is it really worth sending a team down there anyway?” Zane asked. “Are we really expecting to find something?”
The Oracle and Hathaway exchanged glances. “Watson,” the Oracle said, “as crazy as it may sound, we believe that transmission, which some have called a signal, may indicate the presence of some sort of alien outpost. There is even talk of a downed ship.” He looked at the operative as though trying to discern his reaction. “Look, do we know for sure there is something down there? No, we don’t. We’re all a bit skeptical about it, but there is no way the director is going to just drop this. The DRA stands by their declaration that this is some sort of intergalactic communication.”
Zane rubbed his chin, something he did reflexively when deep in thought. Even if something had been there before, he doubted it would be there now. If these were highly intelligent beings who had previously been able to cloak their presence on earth, then it was doubtful they’d just wait to be found. On the other hand, he knew they had to go look.
“Garet is a tough cookie and can take care of himself,” Zane said, “but if it were me, I’d double the military component of the team.”
“Garet isn’t going,” the Oracle replied, “so he won’t need protection.”
Zane frowned. “I know he’s a target, but you said he was the perfect man for the job.”
“The agency isn’t even going.”
Zane raised an eyebrow. Suddenly everything knit together in his mind, including why he’d been called to Arlington.
“The agency was completely prepared to take on this operation,” Hathaway explained. “In fact, as I mentioned earlier, it’s part and parcel of what we do. But too much has been exposed. We’re going to keep Garet where he is now. To be honest, we’re actually going to have him communicate with his superiors through what you might say are semi-secure lines.”
Zane nodded slowly. “You’re basically going to broadcast that he’s not in Brazil and that it’s business as usual at the agency.”
The Oracle nodded then paced just outside the circle of chairs. “They could’ve put together another team, but we all decided that it was best handled by a group that as far as we can tell isn’t known to the Chinese.”
“Delphi.”
“Yes,” the Oracle said. “Despite all the fireworks in Switzerland and France, we still believe that Delphi operates in complete anonymity. If we’re known to any foreign government or organization, then it hasn’t shown up in chatter yet.”
“Won’t the Chinese still be on the lookout for an American team? Does it really matter who goes? Don’t get me wrong, I’m looking forward to the opportunity, it’s just—”
“To use the vernacular of our times… the agency is a little freaked out right now,” Hathaway said. “This might surprise you, but I agree with everything you just said. I argued that we should press forward and the Chinese be damned. However, I was the minority voice.”
Zane wasn’t surprised. Hathaway always believed the agency could conduct operations better than any other branch of government, including those under black budgets. He did have to admire the man’s willingness to go head-to-head with the Chinese.
“So when do we get started?” the operative asked.
“Almost immediately,” the Oracle said. “Our intelligence is scant right now, but we believe the Chinese may already be assembling a team to travel to Brazil. Based on reports from our watchers, we don’t think they’re down there yet, but we do think that if they’re going, they’ll be there soon.”
“There is one thing that doesn’t seem to add up,” Zane said as he stood from his leather chair. “Where exactly do they think they’re going? Based on what I read in the email, the only thing they know is that we’re investigating a strange signal in northern Brazil.”
“Brett,” the Oracle said, looking at the chief technology specialist.
Brett opened his laptop again and said, “If you’d had more time to read the translation of Garet’s email, you’d see that he did give a somewhat precise location.” He brought up a final slide. “Here is a map we put together with help from the DRA. It’s a bit more precise than the description in the email but not much. The bottom line is that the Chinese probably know the general area we’re focused on.”
“So basically we’re starting on a level playing field?” Zane asked.
“Pretty much. Although the DRA is trying to pin things down a bit more.
Zane looked at the Oracle. “I guess that means I need to start putting together my team.”
Brett and the Oracle exchanged a quick glance before the Oracle looked at Zane. “Your team has already been assembled.”
Zane frowned. That’s not what he wanted to hear. “Who are you sticking me with?”
“Some familiar faces,” the Oracle replied. “And a few surprises.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Washington, DC
ZANE TURNED AWAY from the window of the private room at the Old Ebbitt Grill, a look of surprise spreading across his face. “Amanda Higgs?”
The Oracle signaled the waiter to bring more drinks before turning back toward Zane. “Yes, Amanda Higgs.”
Brett looked up from his laptop. “He told you to expect a few surprises.”
The three had arrived at the famed Washington restaurant twenty minutes earlier. Not surprisingly, it had been filled with an overflow crowd of tourists and regulars. Thankfully, the Oracle had called ahead, which meant that a pretty blond hostess pulled them aside when they entered and lead them to what had become Delphi’s unofficial social retreat.
Zane smiled. “Interesting.”
“How so?”
“I just remember how adamant you were that she be taken off the team in Switzerland.”
“I’ve always been one of her biggest fans,” the Oracle said. “I’m sure you remember how glowingly I spoke of her prior to your meeting in London. But that was then and this is now.” The Oracle drained the last of his brandy and set the snifter on the table. “Besides, I think you’ll understand more fully once we’ve had a chance to discuss the operation in greater detail.”
Zane turned and looked out of the window once again. The rain was beating mercilessly on the sidewalk outside. Two women rushed by, their arms locked around each other as they huddled under a shared umbrella.
The waiter reentered the room with their drinks. After taking the fresh snifter of brandy, the Oracle gestured for Zane to take a seat.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Zane said as he sat down. “I’m a big fan too. I’m just a little surprised that you changed your tune so quickly.”
“I think you’ll find this is going to be one of the most unique operations we’ve ever taken on,” said the Oracle. “And because of that, I’ve had to think outside the box.”
“Any other surprises?”
The Oracle held Zane’s gaze for a moment. “I have some good news and some bad news. First of all, Brooks insisted on having final say in the team’s makeup, and I didn’t want to push back too hard since they agreed to hand us the reigns.”
Zane’s mouth twisted into a smirk. That didn’t surprise him at all. “That’s obviously the bad news. What’s the good news?”
“The good news is that after all was said and done, we put together an outstanding team. In fact, I think you’ll be thrilled.”
Zane let a line of bloodred Bordeaux run into his mouth then lowered his glass and smiled. “We’ll see about that.”
“Let’s put it this way,” the Oracle said. “I was pretty much able to get everyone I wanted. Brooks seemed satisfied with being a part of the process. He didn’t really override any of my choices.”
Zane raised an eyebrow. “I’m impressed.”
The Oracle nodded at Brett. “Let’s take him through the team.”
Brett turned his laptop a
round so that the screen faced the other two. He reached over and used the touchpad to initiate a series of slides. After a brief pause, the first image appeared. Zane’s eyes narrowed as he studied the details. Four soldiers dressed in camo were standing in a field, M4A1 carbine rifles slung over their shoulders. Behind them was the green swath of a longleaf pine forest.
“Green Berets?” Zane asked, staring at the rifles.
The Oracle nodded. “This is your muscle. Seventh Special Forces Group. Eglin Air Force Base, Florida.”
Zane couldn’t be more thrilled. Although he was a former Navy SEAL, he had nothing but respect for his US Army counterparts. “Eglin? That makes perfect sense. Western Hemisphere specialists, if I’m remembering correctly. South America, Central America, the Caribbean.”
The Oracle took another sip of brandy. “They’re still at Eglin but will be leaving for Manaus tomorrow morning,” he said, referring to the largest city in north-central Brazil. “We thought about sending more man power—”
“No, four is perfect,” Zane said. “The smaller the footprint, the better.”
“That was our thinking as well. Counting you, we’ll have the equivalent of five Special Ops soldiers on the ground. We realize the Chinese could be there, but due to the vastness of the search area, we think the likelihood of engagement is slim.
“That being said, if you get the slightest whiff of trouble, then our liaison at Eglin tells me he can have as many as fifty boots on the ground within a few hours.”
“That quick?” Zane asked.
“He wouldn’t say how, and I didn’t ask. I’ve been told we have ships in the area, perhaps off the coast of French Guiana or Brazil. It’s possible there are a few detachments on one of those vessels. It’s also possible they’re deployed somewhere on land.”
“If the Green Berets say they will have boots on the ground in a few hours, then they will,” Zane said.
