Collateral Damage

by Stuart Woods

  “What you’re now seeing is a mirror of the displays in the White House situation room,” Phyllis said.

  “Can we teleconference with them from here?” Holly asked.

  “Yes, from the control panel in the corner or the one at the head of the table. The two large screens at each end of the room will display the situation room. I don’t want to turn them on now, because we would be simultaneously displayed on their screens.”

  “And you know how to operate the control panel at this end?”

  “I and my assistant, Shane, are qualified. If, for any reason, we should both be unavailable, all you do is flip the master switch here”—she pointed to it—“and the operator at the White House can control this room, as well as his.”

  “Thank you, Phyllis.” She looked at her watch. “It’s seven-forty now. I’m expecting the police commissioner and the AIC of the local FBI office and some of their staffers here for a meeting at nine o’clock. Will you let garage security know that they’ll be arriving, and that I’ve given them the code name Red Rose for admittance to the garage? We don’t want a repeat of last week.”

  “Certainly.”

  “As you’ve no doubt heard, the president has authorized the Agency to operate domestically in terrorism cases for the remainder of his term, and he has asked Congress to make the change to our charter permanent. Who among our personnel here would be best qualified to participate in the search for the bombers?”

  “I should think the three section heads in Analysis, Operations, and Technical Services should be present at your meeting. They’ll know best which of their people should be assigned to the investigation.”

  “Please invite them and ask them to be present at eight forty-five. I want the room to be fully staffed when the others arrive.”

  “Certainly. Chief. You may not be aware, but there is an office suite for the station chief on the top floor which is unoccupied, because we’ve never had a station chief. Since you now hold that position, you might like to move in there. May I show it to you?”

  “Thank you, yes.”

  They rode the elevator to the top floor of the building, and Phyllis led her to the south end of the hallway and opened one of the pairs of double doors. “Your key works this lock, too,” she said.

  Holly walked into a large office suite that spanned the width of the building, including an office, a secretary’s office, a kitchenette, and a conference room.

  “The sliding doors lead to a glassed-in terrace, which is well placed to avoid surveillance or attack,” Phyllis said. She opened the doors. “The glass, like all the glass in the building, is armored and triple glazed, and the outside of the windows has a coating of film which makes them mirrored, so that no one can see in. Would you like me to find you a secretary?”

  Holly thought about that. “No, thank you, I have a secretary at Langley that I’ve hardly met. I’ll have her come up here.”

  “We have residential quarters that can house her comfortably,” Phyllis said.

  “I know, I’ve stayed here a couple of times in the past.”

  “Is there anything else I can do for you before the nine o’clock meeting?”

  “Yes, if you could go back to my temporary office, close my briefcase, and send someone up here with it, that would be very helpful.” Phyllis left, and Holly sat down at her desk. Everything was very nice in her new office. She picked up the phone and called her secretary, Heather, known as Scotty, at Langley.

  “Assistant director’s office,” she said.

  “Scotty, it’s Holly.”

  “Good morning, Director.”

  “I’m not the Director.”

  “It’s protocol for how you are addressed, just as a lieutenant governor is addressed as ‘governor.’”

  “I see. I don’t know what your personal situation is, but I’m about to disrupt your life.”

  “I’m single, and I live alone, if that’s what you mean, Director. I don’t even have a cat.”

  “That’s what I mean. I’d like you to go home, pack a couple of bags, and get yourself to the New York station by the fastest available means.”

  “The director is choppering up this afternoon.”

  “See if you can hitch a ride.”

  “How long will I be in New York?”

  “Indefinitely. Housing will be provided.”

  “I’ll see you this afternoon. If I have to travel commercial, I’ll let you know.”

  “See you then, Scotty.” Holly hung up. So the director was coming up, unannounced. Her phone rang. “Holly Barker.”

  “Holly, it’s Kate. I’m coming to New York this afternoon.”

  “Very good, Director. May my secretary hitch a ride with you? I’m bringing her up for the duration.”

  “Of course. If you would have a car at the East Side Heliport for us at three, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Certainly, ma’am.”

  “And Holly, I think we know each other well enough now for us to be on a first-name basis. From now on I’m Kate, except on official occasions.”

  “I’m meeting with the police commissioner and the FBI’s AIC and their people at nine in our situation room here. We’ll be available to conference with the White House situation room, if necessary.”

  “Good. You may ask Stone to join you, if you wish. He’s cleared for that.”

  “I have already done so,” Holly said.

  “I’m glad you’re taking hold up there,” Kate said.

  “Thank you, Kate.” They hung up, and Holly walked around her new office suite, exploring every nook and cranny.

  At eight-thirty Holly went down to the situation room and, with the help of Phyllis Schackelford, familiarized herself with the controls on the table beside her chair. Everything was clearly labeled, but she put Phyllis at her left for the meeting, in case she needed help.

  Stone arrived at eight forty-five and looked around the room. “Just like the one in the White House,” he said. “Maybe a little smaller.”

  “Wait until you see my office,” Holly whispered.

  The two other section heads arrived and introduced themselves, and at the stroke of nine, the elevator doors opened, and the police commissioner and the FBI’s AIC, followed by half a dozen assistants, arrived and were seated at the table.

  Holly addressed them. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the first meeting of what we will call, for working purposes, the joint executive committee for New York intelligence, or EXCOM. I’ve asked you here to tell you what we’ve learned from our sources abroad and to begin to coordinate our efforts to stop these bombings and capture or kill the persons responsible for them.”

  She sat down. “First of all, I must tell you that a few weeks ago, at the grand opening of a hotel called The Arrington, in Los Angeles, while the presidents of the United States and Mexico were in residence, an al Qaeda group attempted to infiltrate three powerful bombs into the hotel and explode them. Through a combination of good work by the Secret Service and The Arrington’s security personnel and good luck, their efforts were thwarted. Two of the team were captured, one was killed when his bomb exploded at Santa Monica Airport, and two others were killed in New York during a firefight with CIA officers. You will know about this from official reports and from the news media.

  “What you don’t know is that an attempt to detonate a nuclear device at the hotel was narrowly averted, again by Secret Service and private security personnel, and by Stone Barrington, who is sitting to my right.” She paused to let this sink in. “The reason you have not known about this until now is that, for obvious reasons, the information was confined to only those people directly involved in the incident.”

  “How big a device?” the commissioner asked.

  “Big enough to decimate a significant portion of Los Angeles and kill, either immediately or in the months following the blast, something like a million people.”

  “Jesus Christ,” the commissioner said.

&nb
sp; “Before you ask, we have good reason to believe that there is no other nuclear threat out there. There were six on the team that assembled and transported the device—three are dead, two are in custody, and a Pakistani called Dr. Kharl, who designed, obtained the materials for, and assembled the device, died in Dubai a few days later. Without him they do not have the resources to construct and deliver another such device. However, the sixth member of the team, whose name is Jasmine Shazaz, and whose brothers were the two team members who died in New York, is still active and is believed to be in the city as we speak. She is responsible for the three explosions that took place in London recently and the two explosions that have recently occurred here. Last evening we learned from a foreign intelligence source that there are four other al Qaeda cells operating in Boston, Chicago, Los Angeles, and Atlanta, and that they are well financed and equipped.

  “It is our immediate task to find and capture or kill Jasmine and her local team and to discover anything we can about the identity and location of the teams in the other cities. As you know, the president has authorized the CIA to work domestically on this and other cases of terrorism for the duration of his second term, and he has asked the Congress to change the Agency’s charter to that effect.”

  The AIC spoke up. “I should tell you that the Bureau objects in the strongest terms to this action by the president,” he said. “We believe his executive order to be unconstitutional and we will urge the Congress not to alter the Agency’s charter and open up that can of worms. We have the intelligence resources and the staffing to uncover and counter any terroristic threat to this country.”

  “I’m sorry, Agent, but if that were true you would have known that al Qaeda teams were operating in five major American cities,” Holly said.

  “Exactly right,” the commissioner interjected. “Why do you think we have such a large antiterrorist unit in our city?”

  “Gentlemen, I don’t want this to devolve into internecine warfare. What we have to do is too important to have interagency rivalries damage our efforts. I suggest that it is the obligation of all of us to follow the president’s executive order until such time as the courts might overrule it.”

  “Are you going to be flooding this city with CIA agents on the ground?” the AIC asked.

  “I expect we will have a few people brought in, but I regard our primary purpose as one of intelligence. We simply don’t have the manpower to do what the commissioner can do, with his thousands of officers, and we have no wish to interfere with any investigation the FBI is currently running.”

  “Well,” the AIC said, “I guess that’s the best we can hope for.”

  The commissioner spoke up. “Exactly what would you like my department to do?”

  “Our intelligence tells us that the New York cell is quartered in an apartment or house somewhere on the West Side of Manhattan. We would like you to act on that intelligence by putting as many people as you can into the West Side, distributing the only photograph we have of Jasmine to every shop, restaurant, and bar. This is now a manhunt, and the NYPD is the best agency to lead it.”

  “I can do that,” the commissioner said.

  “And what would you like the Bureau to do?” the AIC asked archly.

  “We’d like you to contact every source of intelligence that you possess, every agent, every snitch, and enlist them in the hunt for Jasmine.”

  Stone spoke up. “May I make a suggestion?” he asked.

  “Certainly,” Holly replied.

  “Since these people will know that we’re looking for them, they will hole up and hunker down, and they’re going to have to eat. Since they are of Middle Eastern origin, I suggest you contact every Middle Eastern or Indian restaurant on the West Side that delivers meals, and find out if any of their deliverymen has seen Jasmine.”

  “I’m sorry,” the AIC said, “but I don’t know who you are, Mr… . ah, Harrington?”

  “Barrington.”

  “I believe I can answer that,” the commissioner said. “Stone is a retired NYPD detective first grade who is now a prominent New York City attorney, with the firm of Woodman & Weld.”

  “And,” Holly added, “Mr. Barrington has for some years been a consultant to the Agency, and we have found his advice to be very useful on several occasions. You should also know that, in London, a very important arrest was made a couple of days ago because a milkman recognized Jasmine from a photograph circulated to his company, so do not discount restaurant deliverymen.”

  “She’s right,” the commissioner said, “and Stone knows a lot more about this city than you do, Agent. I think his suggestion is an excellent one, exhibiting just the kind of thinking that will help us find these people.”

  “Let’s continue,” Holly said.

  After the meeting had adjourned Holly took Stone back to her new office. “What do you think?” she asked, waving an arm.

  “Beautiful,” he said.

  “I didn’t even know it existed until this morning. Since we’ve never had a station chief here, nobody used it.” Her phone rang. “Holly Barker.”

  “It’s Lance,” her former boss said. “Bring me up to date.”

  Holly told him the details of what had occurred during the past twenty-four hours.

  “What can I do to help?”

  “You can contact every station chief who runs informants and find out what you can about the cells in the five American cities. Have them pump the local intelligence services for information. What we know now we got from MI-6. There may be some knowledge drifting in the wind.”

  “I’ll start on that immediately. It’s the kind of thing I’d have ordered you to do a few weeks ago.”

  “Isn’t your new deputy working out?”

  “He’ll do, but he’s not you.”

  “That’s the highest praise I’ve ever had from you, Lance.”

  “And well deserved. By the way, congratulations on the station chief’s job.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll get back to you when I have something to get back to you with.”

  “Bye.” They both hung up.

  “Your FBI guest behaved just like every other agent I’ve had to work with,” Stone said.

  “I think they have a couple of courses at Quantico on how to be a pain in the ass.”

  “I think you’re right to involve him as little as possible, and I’ll be very surprised if he comes up with any useful information. The Bureau doesn’t like running snitches—they don’t like to associate with the lower types.”

  “The commissioner doesn’t like him any better than I do,” Holly said. “It’s the NYPD who are going to find Jasmine.”

  “I think you’re right,” Stone said.

  —

  Across town Habib let himself into the basement apartment and found Jasmine watching a soap opera. He handed her the early edition of the New York Post. “You’re all over the papers,” he said.

  “Do you have a reliable hairdresser on your short list of people you trust most?”

  “I do,” Habib replied.

  “I think a late-night appointment with him or her would be of great use.”

  “Tonight?”

  “The sooner the better. I don’t want to venture out in daylight until I’ve made that photo in the papers useless. When I’m done, I want new passport photos taken, and the appropriate adjustments made in my travel documents.”

  “I’ll take care of that myself,” he said.

  “And I’m hungry. Let’s order in.”

  “I’ll get some menus,” Habib said, heading for the kitchen.

  —

  Holly and Stone were having a sandwich in her office when the commissioner called.

  Holly pressed the speaker button. “Good afternoon.”

  “I’ve emptied out the police academy,” he said. “I’ve got every cadet on the West Side now, stuffing every mailbox with the photo of Jasmine, and they’re paying particular attention to Middle Eastern and Indian restau
rants.”

  “That’s great news, Commissioner, and a good use of your available manpower.”

  “We’re going to get her sooner rather than later.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  The commissioner hung up.

  “That’s a good idea,” Stone said.

  “Yeah, the FBI would never have thought of that.” She looked at her watch. “The director should be here in an hour or so, along with my new secretary, who’ll be here for the duration.”

  “You want me to put her up at my house? I’ve got guest rooms available.”

  “No, there are rooms here, and if she finds that depressing she can use my apartment, which is just sitting there, biodegrading.”

  “As you wish.”

  —

  Habib paid the deliveryman, brought the two paper bags into the apartment, and unpacked the containers on the dining table.

  Jasmine helped herself to the various dishes. “I feel like I’m in Damascus,” she said.

  “There are good restaurants in New York,” Habib said.

  “Remember,” Jasmine said, “I’m a Londoner, I like northern Italian food.”

  Scotty handed her bags to the copilot, climbed into the helicopter, and buckled up. She couldn’t believe it: she was in a futuristic helicopter, sitting next to the director of Central Intelligence, about to depart for New York. The machine lifted off the pad, climbed about a hundred feet, then headed northeast, gaining speed rapidly. Shortly she had a grand view of Washington, one she had never seen from an aircraft.

  “Spectacular, isn’t it?” the director said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Scotty replied.

  “I know we’ve met, but I don’t know much about you,” the director said.

  “I joined the Agency four and a half years ago,” Scotty said. “Before that Georgetown, for a bachelor’s in public policy and a master’s in foreign studies, then eight years in the State Department, working for two assistant secretaries of state.”

  “How are you liking the Agency?”

  “Very, very much,” Scotty said, “and I think I have the best job in the building, except maybe Ms. Barker’s and yours.”