Standing up, he walked over to a small closet behind the door and took out a black leather bag containing his shower essentials and a non-descript three-piece suit in a bureaucratic shade of gray, a look so stereotypically C.I.A that it was almost a parody. Nothing like a nice long walk to the basement showers to wake you up.
Somehow Tucker managed to navigate his way down the hallways. With his eyes only half open and his brain only half functioning, he proceeded to walk straight into someone stepping out of the elevator, sending an armload of documents and his shower bag tumbling to the floor. Ah hell. “Sorry about that,” he said as he bent down to help recover the papers which, of course, seemed to have scattered across the entire hallway.
As he stood up, he realized that the person he had run into was Ramona Xuxa, Senior Analyst for Technology and Weaponry. And it was not her title that made him nervous around her, but maybe the fact of knowing that she was an M.I.T graduate that the agency promptly recruited from NASA to head up the technology department that did. The agency figured she was a valuable asset after she had helped to launch a new series of state of the art satellites into orbit that ultimately increase America’s global surveillance and ensuring it throughout the next decade.
Ramona was slim and well-toned with long silky black hair and caramel skin. Today she was wearing a stylish but businesslike jacket and skirt, with tan-brown pinstripes.
Ever since he first saw her in the building, Tucker had been fascinated. He had spoken with her a few times, mostly exchanging morning greetings or other routine pleasantries; however he had always struggled to start a conversation with her. Not that she seemed uninterested but that he usually became tongue-tied, and awkward like a teenager’s on his first date.
And now, he was face-to-face with her after nearly knocking her flat. Uhhh…OK, you can salvage this. Just think of something smooth to say. After retrieving the papers near her Ramona stood up to her 5’8” height and looked up at Tucker that towered over her at 6’6”. With a graceful motion, Ramona brushed loosened hair behind her right ear that had fallen on her face. It was an ordinary movement, but it was enough to make Tucker twitch. Her hazel eyes looked straight into his. Tucker went to speak, but his brain could not compute what to say next, as his mind was like a computer that had been shut off. Oh yeah, you’re real smooth.
“Morning, Mr. Tucker,” she said with a smile. “Late night again?”
“Morning to you too, Ms. Xuxa,” he said as he placed the stack of papers he gathered from the floor beneath his arm. Pressing the button to call for the elevator, “Yeah, well you know me, a regular night owl.”
“I have to admit; I’m a little curious as to what you do here just about every night. Most people around here kill to leave this building,” she asked nearly flirtatiously, holding his leather bag that she picked up.
“Well,” he said slowly, dragging it out to give him a few seconds to think of a response. “You know how things are? It seems that just about every day the Director puts more cases on my desk.” It was not exactly true, but Tucker figured a woman like her was not going to be interested in a guy who had no life. “So what brings you up to my floor?” he asked quickly changing the subject.
“I came to use the copier. The one in our department has kicked the bucket; it’s been down all week. Seems even the mighty C.I.A has to get its copier repaired by the lowest bidder and who knows how long that will take. So here I am.”
“Ah, the joys of working in the public sector. Well, feel free to use ours whenever you like,” he said, trying to hide his excitement.
He pressed the call button for the elevator again, which had already arrived and its doors open. The instant ding seemed to scold him saying “I’m already here, dummy!” Dang it. “Well, I guess that’s my ride. Time to go clean myself up.” Dear God, did I just say that?
Clearing her throat, “Mr. Tucker, you forget something.” She extended her arm handing Tucker his shower bag back.
“Oh, yeah, my shower kit. Thank you.”
Ramona laughed.
“What’s so funny.” Do I have something on my teeth?
“That’s not what you’re forgetting,” she replied. “My folders?” she said pointing with the bag. She smiled, her eyes fixed on him. “We don’t want you running around with C.I.A intelligence do I?”
A few seconds passed while he wondered why she always locked eyes with him. Why does she look at me that way? Is it professional respect or something else? Am I missing something? “What?” He responded as if he just came out of a day dream.
“Youuuu still have my folders.”
Tucker looked at his arm and saw the folders. He felt like a total jerk and tried to summon up some dignified manner as he handed them to her, not realizing that Ramona found it cute. “You must forgive me again; I’m not fully awake yet” Wonderful! You just told the woman you’ve been chasing that she doesn’t even get you started!
“No problem, Mr. Tucker,” she responded dragging out her words softly.
“What did I tell you about that? Please, call me Dante.” Finally, something close to being smooth.
A small smile dawned across her face, again. “Well, I need to get this day started. See yah,” she said, turning to walk away. Alright, maybe it was not that smooth.
“See you, Ms. Xuxa.” He stepped onto the elevator and as he pressed the button for the basement she turned around.
“If I’m to call you Dante, you need to start calling me Ramona,” she said as she continued to walk away as the doors closed in front of him.
Not a bad way to start the morning.
۞۞۞۞
Standing on the agency’s airport grounds several hours later Tucker waited for his military liaison to arrive.
The man who stepped out of the car stood at just under six feet and wore a fitted t-shirt, dark blue jeans, with reflective shades on his face. From the trunk, he pulled an enormous backpack that looked as though it weighted a few hundred pounds which he easily slung over his shoulder.
“Sergeant Pierce,” Tucker greeted extending his hand.
“Morning, sir,” Pierce said as he shook Tucker’s hand. Tucker was impressed by the firmness of the sergeant’s grip. The little man got some strength.
“Morning. Do you have anything else?”
Pierce adjusted his pack. “No sir, got everything I need right here,” he said, patting the strap. “I like to travel light.”
Light? Tucker thought. That bag could hold a small person from the looks of it. “Ah, huh. Well, I am glad you could make it. How was your trip?” Tucker continued as he directed Pierce to one of the CIA’s planes in the hanger. It wasn’t anything luxurious, just a mid-size jet with comfortable seating for eight and a small refreshing bar in the rear.
“Very nice sir. I’m used to getting shuttled around in the back of cargo transports, so an executive chopper was a nice change.” As Pierce boarded the plane, which was even more upscale than his last flight, he thought What’s with all the accommodations? He dropped down into one of the chairs and felt the comfy padding and the cool leather on his arms. Everything but a hot stewardess.
As Tucker talked to the pilot, Pierce took a moment to scan the passenger compartment, noting exits and any others escape paths.
“Pilot says we will be taking off in a few minutes,” Tucker said emerging from the cockpit. While Pierce looked at him through his reflective glasses, Tucker sensed that he was looking not only at him but also at their surroundings. For he had worked with the Secret Service enough to recognize when someone was on mental high alert.
Sitting down in the chair across from Pierce, “I don’t know if you recall, but we worked together on ‘Operation Nightwolf’ some years ago.”
Pierce slid his glasses atop his head and looked at Tucker with an expression that neither confirmed nor denied his association with the mission. “I heard it was successful.” Most of Pierce’s missions had been deep black, ops so secret that, once completed, they w
ere not to be spoken of again except amongst selected few. Tucker expected the sergeant’s reticence, understanding that he was not going to talk easily about secret operations.
Tucker opened up his briefcase and removed a file. “I’ve been checking on your record. Since then you’ve been busy with operations in Beirut, China, Germany, and Africa.
“I’ve been told they are nice places to visit.” Pierce had recognized Tucker the moment he saw him in the hanger; he also took note that this was not the same timid Tucker from years prior. The person sitting across from him now carried himself with authority and self-assurance. His face showed the stress of being with an agency like the CIA, but it was a look of intensity, of things needing to be taken care of.
“The only one I haven’t gotten to read fully is that mission you did with French intelligence in Paris.” Tucker looked at Pierce as he closed the file.
With that statement, several things began to click into place for Pierce. To even know about the Paris mission meant that Tucker was no mid-level organizational drone but someone who had access to some of the most sensitive information in the intelligence community. It also meant that this mission was not going to be the “simple consulting job” his commander had said. Pierce looked at Tucker. “Sir, why am I here?”
Tucker pulled another file from his briefcase with the typical words “Top Secret” written on it in bold red letters and handed it to the sergeant. “Read this and then we’ll talk.” Pierce took the file as the pilot announced their departure over the loudspeaker.
His eyes flew over the file. Pierce had read – and written -countless files like it. He knew what it contained and how to extract the maximum information from the pages in the minimum amount of time. After a quick scan of the document, “So Gamze Nezaket was taken out? Man, I cannot count the numbers of missions we undertook to get intel on that guy and his operation.”
“A lot of people are going to be very upset when this information gets out. As of this moment, only one or two dozen people know that this has happened, and not all of them know his name or understand who he is. We think it wise to keep it that way for as long as we can. You can understand the reason for this to remain very closely held?”
“Well, whoever whacked Gamze knows and whoever they are working for or with also knows, so we don’t have a handle on how many people know,” Pierce replied while he skimmed through the file one last time, then slid the folder back across the table to Tucker. “But, the fallout from this is going to be enormous, way more than just his organization, and adding to the feeding frenzy won’t make things any better, I guess.”
“Now you’re the CIA,” he continued, ” so you’re concerned with what will happen in the future and with what is happening now that might cause something to happen in the future. The fact that you’ve brought in an ops guy says you think that something is underway that may require covert action to neutralize.”
Tucker had to chuckle. “You’re very subtle, and very much correct. We have a feeling that whoever killed Gamze got rid of him because he fulfilled some purpose and they were cleaning up loose ends. We have no idea what’s next, but we are damn sure that this isn’t over.”
“No, it isn’t,” Pierce agreed. “Killing him says that their planning is horizontal and is fairly short and that they expect to accomplish their goals soon, probably in a single, violent strike. They will also need to move quickly before any of Gamze’s successors fills the vacuum. I’m still mystified as to why they killed him,” Pierce said. “The file doesn’t mention any power struggles that come anywhere near him, so it seems likely that it was some organization that he was working with. Gamze was so powerful and so connected I can’t imagine a scenario where he wasn’t worth more alive. Why wouldn’t they keep the connection open for other things down the road? .....Unless,” he continued, thinking out loud, “There was no ‘down the road’ but that doesn’t seem right either. Gamze was a big-picture guy; he thought regarding the sweep of history. He wasn’t the type to get involved in something narrow and short-term. That says that whoever got him hooked up with this group must be someone of substantial influence himself, so we may have more players than we think.”
Pierce recalled several missions where the key to stopping an attack was to identify the key person who put together the master plan and get to him just before his co-conspirators demonstrated how expendable he was. In this case, however, that key person was already dead, a clock was ticking, and this so-called simple consulting job was beginning to feel like a hundred-yard sprint with the minor added inconvenience of a brick wall at the starting line. Working with the CIA always gets messy. “But, enough speculation. Besides, you’re the analyst, and this has all probably occurred to you already. It still doesn’t explain why I’ve been invited to the party.”
Tucker smiled. “As you said, covert action may be necessary. I think we are way behind the curve on this and that we will be reacting to events rather than being able to plan. I need you because of your abilities to make good tactical decisions on the fly.”
“That’s why you need someone like me, sir, but not why you need me. You have plenty of agents working for you, with wet teams that are just as skilled as my team and me. I know many of them, and I have been on missions with them but always with field agents as leads, not analysts. So why me?” Pierce inquired again, his misgivings about working with the CIA increasing by the minute.
“I have never forgotten the way you pulled off Operation Nightwolf. Even though we haven’t worked together since many of your operations have come across my desk, and I have in fact made a point of following your missions and reading your reports. I’ve seen how you work, seen you take missions that were in chaos and brought them to successful completion.”
Tucker felt that Pierce was the best of the best. He had complete confidence in Pierce’s abilities, a level of trust he did not give lightly, and he needed Pierce to trust him in return. He knew that getting that trust was going to be difficult: spec ops’ opinion of the CIA’s honesty and straightforwardness was not the highest, and that was just a fact of life.
“Sir, you look like a smart man. You’ve got the clearance, and if you’ve read my files then you know that the outcomes were not a result of me alone, they were a team effort. My brothers are just as instrumental to completing an objective as I am…”
“That is all true and yes I know the team factors in but, when you look at the underlying cause of those successful outcomes, it is your leadership, quick decision making, and knowledge of combat that brings them about. I need your mind, your skills, your insight, your magic, whatever it is that you do. However, it’s what you do that we might need in case there’s a major terrorist attack in the offing and, God forbid, we can’t stop it. That is why I brought you here and not someone else,” said Tucker with all the finality he could muster. He hoped that what he said did not come across as flattery because he knew that if Pierce got even a whiff of insincerity a reciprocal trust would never develop.
Pierce sat, his face impassive and unreadable, for a moment. He then leaned forward in the chair to place his elbows on the table. “All right then, sir, fill me in on our enemy.”
Tucker sighed and looked down at his hands. Pierce assumed he was fabricating the usual content-free BS response. Just like I thought. He’s going to tell me only part of it, and I’m going to have to fill the blanks on my own. I wish for once these dang suits would just be upfront and honest so that mission could get done correctly.
After a moment Tucker spread his hand's palms up, shrugged in the universal gesture of unknowingness and said, sheepishly, “We don’t know anything about this group, where they are located, or their motives.”
Be careful what you wish for I guess. Pierce sat back and looked at Tucker. “Sir, have you ever considered that statements like that could be the reason no one likes working with the CIA?
“It’s Tucker,” said Tucker.
“Sir?” replied Pierce.
&n
bsp; “Tucker, not ‘sir.'”
“OK, and ‘Edge’ will do for me.”
“Thanks. And by the way, I usually do like a stronger foundation, myself.” Tucker stated as he got up from the chair and made his way to the back of the plane.
“I’ve seen a house of cards with a stronger foundation,” Pierce replied. Tucker took a bottle of water from the small refrigerator by the bar and gestured to Pierce, who nodded. “So if you don’t know anything, why are we heading to Florida?”
“We may not know much about them, but there is someone who I’m hoping can point us in the right direction.” Tucker returned with the water and went through the folder to a picture.
“Gamze’s son?”
“He may have seen who shot his father. If we can get any direction from him, it’ll be better than nothing.”
“Alright, say the kid does give us a lead. What resources do we have to find this group?” Edge asked, still bothered by the fact that it seemed to be only him and Tucker.
“DHS has some agents that will be assigned to us. You know how it goes with secrets. Our ability to keep Gamze’s death under wraps is inversely proportional to the size of our force. The fewer people we have working on this, the easier we can keep it a under-wrap.”
“So, we are going after a group that we know nothing about, hoping that a kid can give us a lead, and are working with limited resources. Am I right?”
“That sounds about right. How’s it work for ya?”Tucker had asked before he took a swig of water.
“Well, leave was getting boring anyway.” With a twist of the wrist, Edge broke the seal of his water bottle and took a sip. “Let’s go hunting.”
Chapter 7
As he stepped out of the car, Tucker was impressed by the DHS building in Homestead, Florida. Unlike the sterile bureaucrat box he worked in, it looked more like a college campus, with wide lawns, curving walkways, and trees with large, well-maintained beds. He knew that the stylishness would end at the front door, however, and that the inside would be the same mixture of cubicles and offices as any other government office.
Rise of the Phoenix Page 12
