Aim And Fire r5-3

by Cliff Ryder

  Taking a deep breath, she drew the pistol in one smooth move, cupping her right hand around her left to brace the weapon securely, lined up the three-dot tritium sights on the target’s center mass and squeezed the trigger repeatedly, riding the recoil up and back down to empty the magazine as quickly as possible. When the slide locked back on the empty chamber, she set the pistol down and hit the button to bring the target forward, examining her handiwork.

  Beside her, Herbert nodded approvingly. “Nice grouping.”

  And it was, with most of the bullet holes in the bull’s-eye and 9-ring. “You did well enough at the academy, but nothing like this.”

  Kate smiled, remembering her disdain for the pistol range all those years ago, although she had tackled learning to shoot with the same intensity she did everything else.

  “I find it a lot more enjoyable shooting now than with a CIA instructor barking at me. Jake also taught me a few techniques to sharpen my shooting posture and aim.”

  Herbert had brought his own weapon, as well, a SIG

  Sauer P-229 9 mm, and they spent the next hour doing a variety of target shooting.

  After they were finished, many of the other shooters had left, and Kate was able to bring up the real reason for her visit. “Have you heard anything about warnings of loose nuclear devices in the United States?”

  With a wariness born of decades in spycraft, the older man put his weapon away while checking all around them for anyone who might have been eavesdropping. “That’s a rather sensitive subject for a public place, don’t you think?”

  Kate grinned as she stowed her pistol. “On the contrary, I can’t think of a better place than this. Besides, we’re just talking hypothetically.”

  “Hmm. What type, specifically, are you referring to?”

  “Not dirty or waste. Suitcase.”

  Herbert regarded her over the rims of his glasses. “Kate, you know as well as I do that the Russians have never officially acknowledged that any of their small-yield devices are missing.”

  “Yes, but we also know that in the nineties the army officers were selling anything that wasn’t bolted down just to survive. Some of them, like General Kryukov, apparently liked it so much that they decided to go into business for themselves.”

  Her mentor’s eyebrows rose. “He’s still around, eh?”

  “Yes, and doing what he does best. Recently he’s been busy in Pakistan and India. However, on one of his recent deals, someone managed to outfox him and switched a ten-kiloton device with waste. So it’s loose, and I think it’s either headed here or already inside our borders.”

  “My dear, surely with your resources, you’d have far more access to this sort of information than I.” Tucking his case under his left arm, he offered his right to Kate, who linked hers through it as they walked to the lounge, Jake trailing them like a very solid shadow.

  “Herbert, what’s the first thing you taught me?”

  “Analysis and secondary data never equals information gained firsthand.”

  “There you are. Don’t worry, I’ve got folks sifting through everything they can get their hands on, but there are those sources that simply cannot be accessed with computers. Now, since I’ll be getting this from you, it’s not the firsthand info that you always preferred—” Kate smiled again “—but I’m willing to take that chance.”

  “You are, are you?” Herbert sat down at a table and set down his gun case. “When I headed the CIA, we estimated there were anywhere from fifty to one hundred portable tactical nuclear devices that had been moved out of Russia, both before and after the Curtain came down.

  The majority of those are either nonfunctional due to deg-radation of the various power or detonation systems, or have been lost around the world.”

  “But?”

  “But, in a no-limit, table-stakes Omaha poker game I was in with an ex-KGB general last month, he may have alluded to the fact that there are still a dozen viable devices floating around out there, and if any of the fundamental-ist Muslim groups get their hands on one, they’d either try nuclear blackmail, or take it a step further and carry the jihad to our very shores.”

  “The simulations we’ve seen never look good. A detonation near a city puts casualties in the tens of thousands.

  Considering that once it’s in the country, there’s very little to prevent a cell from transporting it to a major metropolitan area and setting it off, the best bet is to stop it at the border. But again, that’s a problem in and of itself, given the still-porous state of both the north and the south.

  “Did you hear about the incident near El Paso?” Kate slid her BlackBerry over to him, but he waved it off.

  “The twenty-plus illegals killed? Yeah, it trickled into the news even up here, then got pushed aside just as quickly. You think there’s a connection?”

  “I can’t think of much else anyone would kill so many over, unless they were hiding something. Even drug smugglers usually aren’t that ruthless—why kill their mules? It sounds like it’s linked to something bigger. It’s my next appointment in town. I’m sending someone down to look into it.”

  “You’re sending a Washington person down to the Tex-Mex border to look into the slaughter of illegal immigrants? That’s what I would call counteranalysis indeed.”

  “I’m not worried. This young woman is very capable.

  Besides, she’ll be assigned to an experienced Border Patrol agent who will keep an eye on her. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

  Herbert folded his hands over his trim stomach. “Any asset in a storm, right? From what I hear, it’s still the Wild West down there. I’m sure you know what you’re doing, but be careful.”

  Kate leaned over and took his hand. “Don’t worry. The second lesson you taught me was to do everything in your power to make sure an agent or asset comes back alive.”

  Herbert fixed her with his blue eyes, and for a second, he looked like the steel-hard director she had known fifteen years ago. “Yes, but sometimes everything you do still isn’t enough.”

  Kate just nodded. There wasn’t anything to say to that truth. After a moment lost in thought, she said, “I’m afraid we have to get moving if we’re going to get there on time.

  It’s been a pleasure, Herbert, as always.”

  “When you get that all taken care of, you should come down to our Hilton Head cottage for a few days, take it easy. You look tired, Kate.”

  Rising, she shrugged. “No worse than you when you were in the thick of it—pots of coffee and thirty-six-hour days. It’s the life we chose.”

  He rose with her. “That we did. Good luck with this— and for all of our sakes, I hope you’re sending that analyst on a wild-snipe chase.”

  “So do I, Herbert, so do I.”

  Tracy had finished her actionable tasks, and was closing the last files on her desktop. Just a few more minutes, and she’d be home free. The soft trill of her phone froze her in the midst of her efficient maneuvering. Oh, no, not now.

  Any other time but now. “Yes?”

  It was Gilliam. “Tracy, a situation has come up that needs your immediate attention. Someone is waiting to brief you in Conference Room B. You are to extend them every courtesy, understand?”

  “I…” She trailed off, knowing the futility of any protest.

  “Yes, sir, I’ll be there in just a moment. I’m just finishing up at my desk.”

  She dialed Paul’s cell phone, knowing what his reaction was going to be even before he answered.

  “Hi, Tracy, you on your way?”

  “Paul, I—something’s come up at work. I hope it won’t take long, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She hated the pleading tone in her voice. “It’s beyond my control.”

  “Tracy.” Paul’s voice was a mix of resignation and controlled anger. “You know how important this is to Jennifer.”

  “Of course I do. You think I want to be here instead of there? You know as well as I do that these things happen— remember our one-year
anniversary? I’ll try to make it as soon as I can.”

  “Well, wish Jennifer luck, will you? Hold on.”

  She heard muffled voices, and silently cursed again. I didn’t think she’d be next to him.

  “Tracy?”

  “Hi, sweetie.”

  “Daddy said you might not make it.”

  “Sweetheart, they need me at work just a little while longer, but I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?”

  There was a long silence, every second breaking Tracy’s heart. Then Jennifer’s small voice replied, “Okay. I have to go backstage now.”

  “I’ll be in the audience by the time you make your entrance, okay?” Although her tone was light, part of Tracy’s mind was aghast at what she had just promised.

  The school was a half hour away in light traffic, and afternoons usually doubled the travel time. “Bye, sweetie.”

  “Bye, Tracy.” There was a click as the connection was broken, and Tracy took a moment to get herself under control again. Deep down, she had known it was too good to be true, that something would come along to sabotage the outing. For a moment, she wondered if Gilliam had or-chestrated it, but dismissed the idea. He thought he was Machiavellian, but this didn’t sound like him, especially since he wouldn’t be there to see her squirm.

  She got up and headed for the small conference rooms used for breakout meetings and group briefings. All of them were dark except for the second one down. Resigning herself to an afternoon of monotonous briefing, she took a deep breath and knocked.

  “Please come in.”

  Opening the door, Tracy walked in and closed it behind her. The room was its usual barren self, with an oval table surrounded by ten wheeled swivel chairs. Sitting in one of them at the head of the table was her appointment, who looked nothing at all like Tracy had expected.

  Instead of a harried, rumpled, middle-aged Washington bureaucrat, she faced a trim, well-dressed woman she estimated was in her late thirties. Her platinum-blond hair was cut stylishly short, closely framing her face and making her appear even younger. As she looked up, her eyes seemed to shift from gold to green, unsettling Tracy even more. Dressed in a navy blue suit that accentuated her short frame, the woman rose and extended her hand. Her FBI badge, with its matching blue letters against a white background and the woman’s picture in the lower half underneath her signature, was clipped to her lapel.

  “Ms. Wentworth? Nice to meet you. I’m Stephanie Cassell, with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, National Security Branch, Weapons of Mass Destruction Directo-rate. Yes, it’s quite a mouthful. I’m sorry to have to interrupt your workday like this.”

  Tracy disguised her momentary surprise at the other woman’s politeness and humor, and shook her head. “Not at all. I’m happy to assist the FBI in whatever way I can.”

  “And we appreciate that.” Stephanie checked her watch.

  “Have you been briefed as to the subject of this meeting?”

  Oh, great. Tracy hated these kinds of questions. If she said she hadn’t been briefed, and it got back to her boss, she’d be in even more trouble than she was now. If she said she was briefed, and couldn’t tell any pertinent details, then she’d look like a fool in front of the analyst. Just another intelligence catch-22.

  “I haven’t been informed as to any recent details, ma’am,” she bluffed.

  “That’s fine. Your superior seems like the type that doesn’t give up any more information than necessary.”

  Tracy made a noncommittal noise in her throat, neither confirming nor denying the statement.

  Agent Cassell fixed her with those peculiar eyes. “I mean, he seems to be the type that if you shoved a lump of coal up you-know-where, you’d have a diamond in a month,” she said with a laugh.

  Tracy was startled, but recovered quickly. “I’d never quite thought of it in those terms, ma’am.”

  “Please, call me Stephanie.” The FBI agent checked her watch. “This is going to seem a bit strange, but my schedule has gotten a bit jammed, and I’m supposed to be heading to the station to catch my train. Would you mind coming with me? I can drop you wherever you like, within reason.”

  Tracy stared at the women in disbelief. Had she stumbled upon the Holy Grail—a government agent who didn’t have a stick up her ass? Would she actually take her to the school? She could catch a ride back with Paul—

  Blinking, she wrenched herself back to reality. The federal government didn’t run a taxi service—at least, not for GS-10 personnel. “Ma’am—Stephanie—as I’m sure you know, classified, top-secret or eyes-only materials cannot be discussed off the premises in nonsecure loca-tions,” she said, relieved she hadn’t fallen into the trap.

  “Don’t worry, Tracy, my ride is probably more secure than this building. Come on, let’s go.” With that she rose and picked up her soft-sided leather attaché case, which, Tracy realized, she had never opened. She was planning to leave the entire time, she thought. Who is this person?

  They headed out of the office, with both Mark and Gilliam giving them puzzled looks. Tracy responded with one of her own and a shrug. With Stephanie leading the way, the two women passed through security and out the main doors, where a black Navigator with tinted windows awaited them, its engine purring softly.

  “Let’s talk in the back, shall we?” Stephanie walked around to the far side, leaving Tracy to climb into the rear passenger seat. As soon as she was settled, she fastened her seat belt and looked up at the driver, a tall man with military-issue hair and a stone-serious demeanor. He screamed ex–elite forces and was obviously a bodyguard, which jangled Tracy’s senses even more. Although his eyes were hidden by mirrored sunglasses, she had the feeling he had glanced at her and assessed her threat capability in an instant. Even through the silvered lenses, she had felt the dispassionate coldness of his gaze before he turned to check the street all around them. Compared to him, I’m probably no threat at all, she thought.

  “Let’s go. Shields up.” Stephanie smiled as the SUV pulled away from the curb. “I love saying that.” She waited a few moments until the driver nodded at her. “Okay, you may now talk freely in here. Also, he is cleared for all security ratings, just like I am, so pay him no attention. One more thing before we begin—where did you want to be dropped off?”

  “I can catch a ride back from the station.” A part of Tracy’s mind screamed at her to take up the other woman’s offer and head to the school before it was too late, but she didn’t.

  “Very well. The reason I’m here today is that we believe there is a high probability of a nuclear device having been smuggled across the Mexican border into the United States, and that it will be used against our country in the next few days.”

  Tracy frowned. “How did you—did you get a copy of my report?”

  “Among other things. You do good work, by the way.”

  Stephanie pulled out a thick envelope and rested it on her lap. “We’d like you to go down to El Paso and investigate this incident.”

  “Me? Excuse me for asking, but wouldn’t this be better suited for the domestic nuclear detection office?”

  Stephanie’s expression turned, if not sour, then definitely not approving, either. “We’re coordinating the investigation with them, as well. However, they’re not equipped to handle a field investigation at this time, and are handling things on the research and theoretical-response side of things.”

  A bit of hostility there, Tracy thought. Apparently the interdepartmental cooperation only went so far.

  “Since a Border Patrol agent initiated the message that started all of this rolling, we feel that pairing that agent on scene with an outside analyst is the best course of action at this time. And after reading your report on the subject and the potential threat, we believe you are the best-qualified person to carry out the assignment, rather than starting someone cold. That is, if you accept. It is, of course, strictly voluntary.” Stephanie held out the large envelope. “Everything you’d need right now is in here,
in hard copy and also on a flash drive.”

  Tracy automatically reached out and took it while trying to parse what had just happened. Of all the various possibilities that could have come up, this one was not among those she’d anticipated. “So you’re treating this as real— that al-Kharzi isn’t dead?”

  “If we weren’t, I wouldn’t be sitting here. Al-Kharzi was supposedly killed attempting to use a WMD against the U.S., and we have every reason to believe that, if he is back, he’ll try again.”

  Tracy drummed her fingers against the envelope. “If I accept, when would I leave?”

  “We’d need you on a plane tomorrow morning. That’s one of the issues, the time frame we’re up against. If the agent down there is correct, and a device is in play in the U.S., then it may be a matter of weeks or even a few days, depending on how they intend to use it.”

  Tracy nodded as she weighed the package in her hand. “This is all so sudden—I mean, I’m an analyst, not a field agent.”

  “Some of the best work for our country has been done by analysts working in the field. Often, people like yourself bring a new perspective to an operation, looking at things from a new angle or finding what others have missed.”

  Stephanie leaned forward. “I understand if you need to think about this. However, we need an answer from you as soon as possible.”

  “Of course.” Again, Tracy was torn. She wanted to accept the assignment immediately. On the surface, there was no reason to turn it down, since it could only help her career. However, the logical part of her mind urged her to think it over more. “If you wouldn’t mind, can I let you know before the end of this evening? If my answer is yes, I could be ready to go early tomorrow morning.”