by Brad Thor
Carlton joined him, taking the chair opposite his in front of the fire. “It shouldn’t have been so easy to get to you. You’re a creature of habit. That’s dangerous.”
Banks nodded. “I like my morning walk.”
He lived on his own in a small town house in Georgetown, and his morning walk took him past many of the dead drops he’d used during the Cold War. They were the same drops the old spy had used to train Carlton and his young CIA colleagues years ago. “Lucky for me I know your route.”
The older man was momentarily transported. “Seeing that chalk mark really took me back. At first I thought it might have been a mistake, or maybe a new bunch was using my route for training, but then I checked the drop and found your message. I figured you were either jerking my chain or this was serious.”
“I’m not jerking your chain, Tommy. This is serious. You’re the only one I could come to with this.”
“If I’m the only one you could come to, then you really are in trouble. What’s going on?”
“The long knives are out. Somebody has killed all my operators, and they tried to kill me too.”
Banks’ eyes widened. “Who? How?”
Carlton relayed everything he knew. He told the old spy about the fire at his house, his inability to access his Skype account and his inability to reach any of his operators via any of the established protocols set up for just such an emergency, as well as the multiple articles he found online about several of their deaths.
When he was done, he leaned back and held the gaze of his former boss. The wheels were already turning in the old man’s mind. He could see it.
“I’m going to ask a stupid question,” said Banks. “Any chance a Muslim terrorist organization could have penetrated your group this deeply?”
Carlton shook his head. “No way. They not only don’t have the sophistication necessary to pierce our network, they don’t have the talent to take out all my men the way they did. This isn’t some terror organization.”
“What about someone inside your group?”
“A mole?”
“Or someone who wanted to make some money and didn’t care about the damages.”
Carlton thought about it for several moments. “All of my people are solid, except…” His voice trailed off.
“Except for what?”
“Nicholas.”
“Who’s Nicholas?”
“The Troll.”
Banks couldn’t believe his ears. “I’ve heard about him. He’s really on your payroll?”
“It’s worse than that,” said Carlton. “We physically have him in-house, in the center of our operations. We even built a special SCIF for him.”
“You do need to be retrained—completely. Why the hell would you bring a person like that into the heart of your operations?”
“I didn’t bring him in. Harvath did.”
Banks had met Harvath before and he liked him, but still. “What the hell does Harvath know about running an intelligence organization?”
“Harvath knows plenty,” Carlton said. “Initially, I was against bringing Nicholas in—”
“That’s his real name?” Banks interrupted. “Nicholas?”
“What difference does it make?”
“It makes a hell of a lot of difference. Did you even vet the little thief?”
“Yes, we vetted him, for all the good it did. There’s not a lot out there on him that can actually be verified.”
“So you just threw the castle gates wide open and let him in. I’m surprised at you.”
“We firewalled a lot of stuff off,” Carlton said in his defense. “We made sure he only had access to certain things.”
“You should have assumed he’d find a way to get access to everything.”
“He was primarily Harvath’s asset, but you should’ve seen the amount of stuff he did for us, for the country. If he’s a con man, he’s the best there ever was.”
“Could he have accessed your operators’ files?” Banks asked.
“According to you, we should assume he was able to access everything.”
“And would have been able to find a buyer for whatever he wanted to sell. A leopard doesn’t change its spots. Once a thief, always a thief.”
Carlton shook his head. “I’m not saying I don’t agree.”
“Where is he now? Have you reached out to him since all this went down?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Then that’s our first step,” Banks replied. “The next step, though, is going to take some doing. Your guys were all Tier One operators. They weren’t killed easily. It took a pretty high level of proficiency to go after them.”
“Which is why I came to you. Whoever is behind this has access to some serious military or intelligence personnel.”
“You think this is domestic? The Agency settling up its score with you?”
“In all honesty, I don’t know what to think,” said Carlton. “Have we been an embarrassment for the CIA? Of course we have, but killing American operators just to get us out of the picture? No way. I think this is something else.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.”
“I can’t help you, Reed, if you don’t give me some idea. Who else’s toes have you stepped on?” Banks demanded. “Who else would have a score this big to settle with you?”
“That’s the problem. I’ve had on-and-off disagreements with a couple of investors, and the company board has stood up a couple of good pissing matches, but that’s corporate stuff, and I deal with it when it pops up. That’s not what this is. This is something else; something more. And frankly, I can’t think of anybody at this level who’d have a score to settle with us.”
“Cui bono is the question then.”
“Exactly,” said Carlton. “Who benefits from having me killed, my operators killed, and my organization zeroed out? That’s what I’ve been racking my brain over and why I need your help. I have to be very careful about what doors I knock on.”
“Knock on the wrong one and you could get shot in the head.”
“True. You, though, don’t have that problem.”
Banks understood what his former protégé was asking. “It doesn’t take much work to connect the two of us you know.”
“I’m aware of that, but I think there’s a way we can use it to our advantage.”
CHAPTER 25
ANNAPOLIS JUNCTION
MARYLAND
FRIDAY
Schroeder double-checked the information on his screen and then ran it again before picking up the phone and calling his boss at home.
“What?” Craig Middleton snapped as he answered on the fourth ring, having been roused from a deep sleep.
“It’s Kurt.”
“What time is it?”
“Four thirty.”
“A.m.?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why can’t you work during the day like everyone else?”
“I’ve been working around the clock. You told me to keep at it until I found something,” said Schroeder.
“Did you track down the data that Caroline Romero stole?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, whatever you have, it better be worth waking me up again for. What is it?”
“I think I found something.”
“You think you found something?” replied Middleton. “I think I’m going to get in my car, drive to the office, and throw you out a window. How about that for thinking? Get to the point, idiot. Why’d you call me?”
“A Google search.”
Middleton waited for the man to elaborate and when he didn’t, said, “I’m starting to look for my car keys, Kurt.”
“Somebody did a search for Caucasian Ovcharka.”
“What the hell is Caucasian Ovcharka?”
“It’s a breed of dog,” replied Schroeder. “A breed of very big dog. The type of dog we believe the Troll owns.”
“So what? There’s probably a lot of peopl
e in the world who Google that dog breed.”
“Maybe. But how many people go from Googling Caucasian Ovcharka to a search on primordial dwarfism.”
Middleton was wide awake now, and his tone of voice changed instantly. “Where?”
“Texas. The search is a couple of days old.”
“Where in Texas?”
“South Texas. Closest point on the map is an unincorporated community called Agua Nueva.”
“Shit,” stated Middleton. “How close is that to a city called McAllen?”
Schroeder zoomed out on his map and made the calculation. “It looks to be about eighty miles. Why?”
“That’s where the half sister is.”
“Caroline’s?”
“No, Wayne Newton’s, moron. Of course Caroline’s.”
Schroeder absolutely hated his boss. “If I knew more about what was going on, maybe I could help figure out what data Caroline had stolen and where she’s hidden it.”
“You know all you need to know.”
“Which is next to nothing except that we’re hunting down some private group of treasonous mercenaries and a pile of data of indeterminate size, allegedly stolen by Caroline.”
Middleton was pissed off and it was obvious in his voice. “You don’t like being in the dark, Kurt?”
“No. It hampers my ability to do my job.”
“Well, join the club. This isn’t about what we like or don’t like. This is about national security. All you need to know is that we’re looking at the biggest domestic terrorist plot ever mounted against the United States, and the Carlton Group is behind it. Caroline Romero was a traitor about to divulge critical data that would have assisted in that attack.”
“And she just happened to get hit by a car as she was leaving Pentagon City Mall.”
“You’ve seen the footage,” Middleton replied. “She rushed into traffic all by herself. No one pushed her. She had committed treason, she knew we were on to her, but instead of facing the music, she committed suicide. If there was ever an admission of guilt, that was it.”
“God works in mysterious ways.”
“God had nothing to do with it. If God were even remotely involved in all of this, he’d help us find what Caroline stole in order to protect this country. You keep your mind focused on that and maybe we’ll be able to help save this nation.”
Schroeder relented, “What do you want me to do?”
“I want an address and full workup on anyone and everyone associated with where that Google search took place.”
“Okay. And then what?”
“Then get some sleep. You’ve earned it,” said Middleton.
“I’m not tired. What else do you want me to do?”
“You’ve done enough, Kurt. After you’re done, go home.”
There was something about the way his boss told him that he’d “done enough,” that made him uncomfortable. “I’ll open a file and pull everything I can. You’ll have it within the hour.”
“Good boy,” said Middleton, and then the line went dead.
Middleton swapped one of his dummy NSA Crypto Cards into the slot of his STE and dialed.
Several seconds later Chuck Bremmer answered, “Don’t you ever sleep?” he asked.
“I think we’ve got the midget.”
“Call me back when you know you have him.”
“We’ve got him,” Middleton repeated. “Coffee in forty-five minutes. Don’t bother brushing your teeth. I’m not in the mood for heavy petting.”
∗ ∗ ∗
They met at the Pentagon and neither man spoke a word until they were inside the SCIF.
Middleton handed him a file. “You need to launch a team right away.”
“Don’t tell me what I need to do. Where is he?”
“Texas. About eighty miles northwest of McAllen.”
“You want me to send a team back to Texas? We’ve already been on one wild-goose chase looking for that vet tech woman who dropped off the grid. Which, by the way, you claimed was impossible. No one drops all the way off the grid, you said. Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”
Middleton didn’t like having his words turned back on him. That said, he didn’t have time for a dick-measuring contest. He tried not to let the man get to him. “We believe the Troll has been helping her.”
“What kind of confirmation do you have?”
“It’s complicated.”
“It’s bullshit. That’s what it is,” Bremmer replied. “Has anyone actually had eyes on the target?”
“No, not yet, but trust me, he’s there. And when we find him, I think we’re going to find her too. Now, how soon can you get a team back down there to pinpoint them and take them out?”
The Colonel shook his head.
Middleton looked at him. “Don’t you shake your fucking head at me, Chuck. How long?”
“These resources don’t exactly grow on trees.”
“No, they don’t. They grow on military bases and get packaged into nice little off-the-books kill teams that are overseen and tasked by you.”
“After the President’s black panel reviews and makes a determination.”
“Are you suddenly having second thoughts?” Middleton asked.
“You’re damn right I am. We lost four operators in Paris. Four. How the hell do I explain that?”
“You don’t. You’re Colonel Chuck fucking Bremmer. You head one of the most sensitive covert programs the U.S. has ever stood up. I don’t care if the Secretary of Defense himself walks into your office and demands answers. He doesn’t need to know. No one does. That’s why we influenced getting it set up. It’s why administrations come and go, and yet you remain at the White House. This thing is a fucking stovepipe on purpose.”
Bremmer was well aware of how the program was constructed. DOJ lawyers consulted with the President and key members of the black panel to review each case before a kill order was issued. It was the process by which American citizens Anwar al-Awlaki and Samir “Sammy” Khan, one a senior al-Qaeda figure and the other coeditor of al-Qaeda’s terrorism magazine, were placed on the kill list and taken out in Yemen. No one in the administration had any idea that Bremmer had been padding the list. Need-to-know, especially when colored with the patina of ongoing counterterrorism operations, was an amazing tool for shutting down any questions in a city like D.C.
“So how soon?” Middleton repeated.
The Colonel looked at his watch. “Probably by this time tomorrow. They’re going to need imagery, though. Either drone or satellite.”
“No problem. I should have a preliminary file in about an hour. I’ll make sure you get a copy.”
“I’ll watch for it. Anything else?”
“What about the job in Spain? Do we have any confirmation yet?”
“Negative. Nothing yet.”
“Why the hell not? It’s already daytime there,” said Middleton. “The operation should be complete by now.”
“They’re professionals and they’ll follow the protocol. They’re not going to make contact until they’re safely out of the country.”
Middleton wanted to inquire as to whether they were more professional than the first team the Colonel had dispatched to Paris, but he let it go. The word protocol made him wonder what the protocol at the White House would be when Blue Sand kicked off. He knew they had enough supplies on hand to weather things for a bit if they wanted to, but they wouldn’t. It would take them about ten minutes to really figure out what had happened, and once they did, there’d be a rush for the doors. The Secret Service would want to enact the continuity of government plan and move the President right away.
The President would fight it at first, of course, but as soon as the reports started feeding into the situation room about the panic and the chaos, his resolve would begin to leach away. The death counts were what would really unnerve him. That’s when he’d realize that he needed to gather up the first family and go.
For a moment, Middleton thought about
filling Bremmer in the rest of the way, of giving him a warning and thereby a chance to make preparations for his own family, but as quickly as this spark of altruism was ignited inside him, it was extinguished. He didn’t care if Bremmer and his family survived what was coming.
Taking out Carlton and his people was a sensitive assignment that required highly specialized labor. There were very few people who could handle the job. Until the list was closed out, Middleton had no choice but to put up with Bremmer. But as soon as Blue Sand launched, everything would be different.
Smiling as he rose from the table, Middleton looked at him and gave him a final word of caution. “Just make sure your people haven’t screwed the pooch in Spain.”
“Don’t worry about my people,” the Colonel replied as he stepped over and unlocked the SCIF door. “One way or another, they’ll get him.”
CHAPTER 26
MONTERREY, MEXICO
SATURDAY
Padre Peio’s airline contact made all Harvath’s travel arrangements and booked the tickets under the name on his Italian passport.
Using the car Eyebrows and Scarface had been driving, Harvath navigated his way back to Bilbao and abandoned it near the train station. He caught public transportation to the airport, where a ticket was waiting for him at the counter for the first leg of his journey.
He flew from Bilbao to Madrid, where Peio’s contact, an older man named Gomez, met him at the gate. He escorted Harvath to the “Sala VIP” lounge, checked him in and then led him to a quiet corner to finish transacting their business.
Gomez provided Harvath with forms and two padded FedEx shipping envelopes, then left him alone while he fetched them each a coffee. When he returned, Harvath had the packages ready to go.
The first envelope contained Gomez’s fee. Harvath had sealed the cash inside and scribbled down an imaginary address in Barcelona. The second envelope contained his real passport, as well as Riley Turner’s, along with the handful of other personal items that had been in her backpack. Harvath addressed it to one of his aliases in care of a fly-fishing resort in Alaska owned by a buddy of his. The man had received packages for Harvath before. When he saw the name on the label he would simply take it and put it in his safe until Harvath contacted him for it.
