Severe Clear sb-24

by Stuart Woods

  “Holly,” the director said, “are you still with me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Holly replied, though she was not sure about that. Now she knew what was meant by the mind reeling.

  “I chose you for two reasons,” the director said. “First, because of your outstanding record, and second, because you are the least political person I know at your level.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “I also chose you because of my high personal regard for you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I’m very grateful to you for the opportunity.”

  “Then you accept?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am!” Holly said.

  “Good,” the director said. “I wasn’t sure there for a minute.”

  “I’m just a little bowled over.”

  “All right, you go down to your office and spend the rest of the day getting ready to hand off to your successor, who will be appointed shortly. And you start here tomorrow morning.” She stood up and offered her hand.

  Holly stood and took the hand.

  “Grace will issue you new credentials before the day is out. Your new title will be-well, I’m a little torn about that. Greg was assistant to the director, but that might make you sound like a secretary, and that’s Grace’s job. I think assistant director is better. You’ll be the only person in the Agency with that title. Oh, and you’ll get a better parking space, too, right next to mine.” She made a shooing motion with her hand.

  Holly went back to her office in a daze. She stopped at Lance’s open door and looked in.

  “I heard everything,” Lance said. “This is the best possible thing that could have happened. We’re in a new ball game now.”

  Holly took that to mean that Lance felt his chances of succeeding Kate Lee had improved. “In that case, congratulations, Lance,” she said.

  “Yeah, yeah. Now get out of here. I’m reviewing candidates for your job.”

  Holly turned to go.

  Lance called after her, “And, Holly?”

  She looked back. “Yes?”

  “Congratulations to you, too.” Lance actually smiled.

  14

  Mike Freeman picked up his phone at the L.A. offices of Strategic Services. “Yes?”

  “Mike, it’s Scott Hipp.”

  “Hello, Scott, how’s life?”

  “Interesting,” Hipp replied.

  “Uh-oh.”

  Hipp laughed. “You have a point: when it’s interesting here, it’s often hairy elsewhere.”

  “That has been my experience,” Mike replied. “What is it this time? Any more mentions of The Arrington in your traffic?”

  “No, but… You still have a scrambler on that phone?”

  The scrambler was one manufactured by the electronics division of Strategic Services, and Hipp had been given one. Mike pressed a button. “Go,” he said.

  “My people picked up an e-mail sent from a cell phone in California to a Middle Eastern website we keep a watch on. It read: ‘All is well. I am fine.’”

  “Did you run it through decoding?”

  “Yes, and it appears to have been sent in the clear.”

  “Sounds like someone has completed a task,” Mike said.

  “Right. It was signed ‘Nod.’”

  “As in land of Nod?”

  “Correct. We’re running references on that now.”

  “So the only connection to The Arrington is that it came from California?”

  “So far. That and the fact that it was transmitted via a cell tower at the top of Stone Canyon, in L.A.”

  “I know the one-it would cover The Arrington’s location.”

  “Yes, but because of the tower’s elevation, it would cover a big chunk of Beverly Hills and the San Fernando Valley, as well.”

  “You have a point.”

  “A rather blunt point, I’m afraid.”

  “Right now, that’s the way I like it,” Mike said. “If it were any sharper, I’d be worried.”

  “Are you worried enough for me to pass this on to the Secret Service?”

  “If it were my call, no,” Mike said. “But that’s your call.”

  “I think I’ll hold off until I have more, if we should actually get more, which I doubt.”

  “I think that’s wise.”

  There was a brief silence, then Hipp said, “You know Holly Barker, don’t you?”

  “Sure,” Mike said. “I sold our air transport company to the Agency a few years back, and Holly ran it for a few months, until they could hire somebody who could get through the vetting.”

  “Well, Holly got promoted to assistant director at the Agency.”

  “Assistant director? I didn’t know they had those. I thought it was deputy director.”

  “That’s the way it was, until Holly got the title. She’s replacing Greg Whatshisname, who was assistant to the Director. Greg got shipped off to Rome, and Stewart Graves, who was ADDI, was packed off to London.”

  “Sounds like a shake-up,” Mike said.

  “Sounds to me like Kate is paving the way for Lance Cabot to replace her when she goes.”

  “That’s interesting, if she can pull it off,” Mike said. “But for that to happen, the Democrat would have to get elected to replace Will Lee, and it would have to be a Democrat whose ear Kate has.”

  “I think our beloved veep, Stanton, has the inside track for the nomination, don’t you?”

  “Well, yes, because he’s veep. There’ll be some competition, though.”

  “Lance has done some major cultivation in the garden of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence,” Hipp said. “Lance might get it, even if a Republican is elected.”

  “Well, if anybody could work both sides of the street, it’s Lance. I wouldn’t be upset if he got it.”

  “Neither would I,” Hipp said. “I can’t say I’m fond of Lance, but I don’t hate him, and that’s something.”

  “I’m fond of him on some days, and I hate him on others,” Mike said. “But I’m fond of Holly all the time.”

  “I don’t know her all that well, but I hear good things.”

  “She’s gotten some of the credit for the way Lance has smoothed out operations.”

  “You think that if Lance gets the job, he might pick her to replace him at ops?”

  “Nobody’s closer to Lance than Holly.”

  “Well, we’ll see what we shall see, won’t we? Gotta run.”

  “See you, Scott. Keep me in the loop, will you?”

  “Sure.” Hipp hung up.

  Mike switched off his scrambler and called Stone Barrington.

  “Hey, Mike.”

  “Just got some news, Stone: shake-up at the Agency. Stewart Graves and Greg Barton are out.”

  “I know the names, but not the people,” Stone replied.

  “The big news is that Holly is replacing Barton in Kate’s office, with the title of assistant director.”

  Stone made a whistling sound. “Big jump!”

  “I read the changes as Kate’s paving the way for Lance.”

  “I’m sure Lance would like nothing better.”

  “And if he gets it, Holly could be the next DDO.”

  “You know,” Stone said, “if Holly ever leaves the Agency, you should pounce on her.”

  “I’ve thought that ever since I saw the way she ran the air transport company. She made me wish we still owned it.”

  “Well, if Lance doesn’t get Kate’s job, Holly will be at a dead end at the Agency. That’s when you should go after her.”

  “That’s good advice.”

  “She still has a New York apartment from when she did that thing for Lance here a few years back.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Nice place, on Park.”

  “No relocation costs!” Mike laughed.

  “Where are you?” Stone asked.

  “In L.A. I had dinner last night with Rifkin, the Secret Service detail honcho.”

  “Any news
from him?”

  “If he had any news, he wouldn’t share it. They’re like that.”

  Mike told him about the cell call from L.A. to the watch-listed website. “That’s why I’m not telling him about that, or anything else. They’ve already doubled their efforts at The Arrington, and that’s all I want from them. At the moment.”

  “Does this cell call from California worry you?”

  “Not at the moment. Time will tell.”

  “Thanks for the news about Holly. I’ll drop her a note-she’ll be impressed that I know.”

  “You do that, and congratulate her for me.”

  Stone hung up, called Dino, and told him the news.

  15

  Holly Barker spent the morning unpacking her things, hanging a couple of pictures, and registering the Agency desktop to her identity. Her new office was more than three times the size of her previous one and contained a small conference table, a sofa, and a pair of comfortable chairs and more bookcases. She had indeed been given a prime parking spot, one that would cause envy among the Agency’s hierarchy, and she liked it.

  “Getting settled in?” Kate Lee said from behind her.

  Holly turned to find her boss standing in her doorway. “Yes, ma’am,” Holly said. “I’m ready to go to work.”

  “That’s good, because you’re headed to London tonight.”

  “I am?” Lance rarely sent her anywhere.

  Kate made herself comfortable on Holly’s sofa, and Holly joined her, bringing along a pad.

  “We have an operative in Europe that you and Lance don’t know about. He has always communicated with me through what is now your office. I’ve sent him a message to expect you tomorrow, and he’ll call you on your cell phone after you’ve landed.”

  “All right. Who is he?”

  “His birth name was Ari Shazaz,” Kate said, “but his passport is British, in the name of Hamish McCallister. He was born in Syria to an Algerian father and a Scottish mother. He’s in his early forties, and you will find him to be impeccably British-Eton, Oxford, White’s, the Garrick Club, etcetera. At school and university he was known as McCallister, his mother’s maiden name. His father died when he was eight or nine, and she took him to London to bring up. She’s from landed gentry-they own an island off the west coast of Scotland, appropriately called Murk.

  “Hamish is fluent in Arabic and Urdu along with French and Italian. After university, he worked in a family-owned bank, doing business in the Middle East and on the continent. He has earned his living for the past ten years as a weekly columnist for the Guardsman, a leftish London paper, and he writes the occasional penetrating article for some magazine or other on things like Arab-Israeli relations.”

  Grace appeared in the doorway. “Excuse me, Mrs. Lee, but I have Ms. Barker’s new credentials.”

  “Come in, Grace,” Kate said.

  Grace opened a large envelope and shook out the contents onto the coffee table. “First, may I have your old credentials, please? Your Agency ID, your passport, your gate and building pass, and your iPhone and BlackBerry.”

  Holly fetched her purse and produced those items.

  Grace handed her a new Agency ID and a plastic card that would allow entry through both the main gate and the Agency’s front entrance. “That card will also work at any American embassy or consulate abroad. You now have a full diplomatic passport,” she said, handing over the document. “Please sign here.” She held the passport in place while Holly signed it. “Here’s another card to keep with you,” she said, handing over another piece of plastic. “It states that you are a federal agent and licensed to carry firearms anywhere in the United States and its territories and possessions. It can also be useful with foreign police, though it carries no official weight abroad. Here are your new American Express card and Visa and MasterCards. You may use them for all official expenditures and you may withdraw funds from any ATM in the world with no daily limit. Your PIN number is the last four digits of your Agency employee number.”

  Holly picked up the American Express card, which was black. “It seems to be made of titanium,” she said.

  “Yes, it’s called the Centurion card. Here’s a packet listing the various benefits and services accruing to it, including a travel agent. Here’s something else made of titanium,” she said, handing Holly a small, light semiautomatic pistol. “It was designed and developed by the Agency and is currently in use by only high-level officers. It will later be issued to all those expected to travel armed.” Grace handed her a box. “Here is a shoulder holster and a belt holster for your use, as well as a box of nine-millimeter ammunition, four magazines, and a small but very effective silencer. You should familiarize yourself with the pistol on the range as soon as possible.”

  Grace also handed her two new phones. “This iPhone and this BlackBerry already contain all the information in your old phones. They contain a GPS chip not found in commercial phones, which allows the Agency to track you anywhere in the world to a distance of one meter.”

  “I’ll never be alone again,” Holly said.

  “Removing the SIM chip will disable the GPS function. If you don’t want to be tracked, pull out the chip. If you lose a phone, there will be hell to pay.” Grace raked all of Holly’s old credentials and equipment into her envelope and left the room.

  “Where was I?” Kate asked.

  “Ari Shazaz, or Hamish McCallister.”

  “We’ll always refer to him as Hamish, since it is important that his Arab name remain unknown, except where he needs to use it.”

  “Understood. Why am I seeing him in London?”

  “Two reasons: First, since you will be his main contact here, you should know each other. Second, I want you to speak with him about an upcoming event, about which you may have heard-the grand opening of a hotel, The Arrington, in California in a couple of weeks.”

  “I’ve read about it,” Holly said.

  “And of course, you know its namesake through Stone Barrington.”

  “No, we never met, but I certainly know about her.”

  “I’ve received word that an NSA computer picked up a cell phone conversation between someone in Afghanistan and someone in Yemen, during which the words ‘The Arrington’ were spoken. This is of concern to us because, as you may know, the president and the president of Mexico will be in residence at the hotel just prior to and during the grand opening.”

  “I can see how that would cause concern.”

  “I’ve also heard that an e-mail was sent from somewhere in California to a website that the NSA keeps watch on. The message was, ‘All is well. I am fine,’ and it was signed ‘Nod.’ I want you to instruct Hamish to take whatever contacts are available to him to learn if anyone else anywhere has heard anything at all concerning the hotel or anything about the Nod message.”

  “How long will I be in London?”

  “Long enough to meet Hamish and get a first report from him after he has made his contacts. After that, he will phone or send encrypted e-mails to you, using equipment we have supplied to him.”

  “Should I make travel arrangements?”

  “Not necessary. You will be flying in an Agency aircraft, along with Stewart Graves, who is taking up his post as deputy station chief at the London embassy. Greg Barton will be along, too, and after dropping off you and Stewart, the plane will continue to Rome to deliver him there. The aircraft will then return and collect you as soon as your business is done. If it’s needed elsewhere, we’ll send another aircraft or have you fly home commercial. Be at our facility at Dulles at eleven P.M. tonight, and pack for a week, just in case. You’ll be staying at the Connaught Hotel, which is near the embassy. By the way, Stewart is aware of Hamish’s existence, but make no mention of him.”

  “I understand.”

  “No need to contact me while you’re gone, unless it’s urgent. In that case use the communication facilities at the London station. Oh, by the way, one of your jobs will be to travel with me, so you a
nd I will be attending the opening of The Arrington with my husband, and we’ll travel on Air Force One.”

  Kate shook her hand and went back to her office, closing the connecting door behind her.

  Holly continued putting her things away, then she noticed her iPhone vibrating on the coffee table. She picked it up and found an e-mail waiting.

  “Congratulations on the new job,” it said. “Stone.”

  “Now, how the hell did he know so soon?” she asked herself. She e-mailed him back: “Thanks, see you in L.A. for the opening of The Arrington.”

  16

  Holly arrived at Dulles half an hour before flight time, parked in a reserved spot, and unloaded her luggage. The facility looked like any other Fixed Base Operator, or FBO, on the field, though the reception area was smaller than most. Her pass card allowed her through the door.

  “Good evening,” said a young woman behind the front desk. “Your name, please?”

  “Holly Barker.” She produced her Agency ID.

  “Your flight is the Gulfstream 450 parked on the ramp. You may board whenever you like, and your luggage will be loaded into the cabin.”

  “Thank you,” Holly said. She left her two bags and took her briefcase and purse with her.

  A stewardess greeted her at the door of the airplane. “We’ve made up three seats as bunks, Ms. Barker,” the woman said. “You may choose any other seat, and when you’re ready to sleep, a bunk. May I get you anything to drink?”

  “Thank you, I’ll have some fizzy water, please.” Holly found a seat at the rear of the airplane and checked her e-mail. There was one from Kate Lee, announcing her appointment to a list of Agency executives. She forwarded that to her father, Ham, in Florida. “Thought you’d like to see this,” she wrote. “Kiss Daisy for me.” Her workload had been so heavy that she had left her Doberman pinscher with her father and his wife, where there was room for her to run. She missed Daisy but knew she was in good hands.

  Stewart Graves and Greg Barton arrived together, chatting like old friends. She got a perfunctory greeting from both, then they sat down and buckled in. The stewardess closed the cabin door, and the engines started. At the stroke of eleven the airplane began to taxi, and five minutes later they were roaring down the runway.