by Tom Carroll
For the next three years, Malcolm funded his education through what he thought of as the Malcolm Simpson Full Scholarship plan. He held on to his job as a janitor at the university, as it provided him with unlimited and unsupervised access to the school’s research and technologies department as well as the Army ROTC building. His Russian controllers were more than happy to finance his college career, and there was even enough left over to buy a new car and move out of the dorm. In exchange, he had only to visit the offices of certain professors whose names were on a list provided by the Russians and make photocopies of documents he would find there. Life was good for Malcolm, and he felt important and powerful. Screw the Army and the Oregon ROTC! he thought.
After college, the GRU suggested that Malcolm apply for a job as a systems engineer with a company in Seattle. After a series of interviews and background checks, he was hired by Boeing Defense, Space & Security (BDS) in Seattle. It seemed Boeing was not as concerned as the Army regarding a prospective employee’s recreational use of marijuana during college. Boeing’s web site stated:
Defense, Space & Security is one of the Boeing Company’s three business units. Its portfolio includes manned and unmanned space and satellite systems, intelligence and security systems, and extensive integration expertise. The business employs a total of about ٣٢,٠٠٠ worldwide. The world’s second-largest defense company, Defense, Space & Security is the only aerospace business offering products and capabilities that allows its customers to meet mission requirements from the seabed to outer space. It serves a diverse customer base, but its portfolio is focused in six key market areas: Commercial Derivatives, Military Rotorcraft, Human Space Exploration, Satellites, Autonomous Systems, and Services.
Based in Arlington, Virginia, BDS had numerous other offices at Boeing locations throughout the world, including Seattle, its original corporate headquarters. Malcolm appreciated the challenge provided by his work with Boeing, particularly the highly advanced avionics control systems. It was state-of-the-art technology in which the GRU was keenly interested. Malcolm’s current assignment was as a direct support system engineer onboard the USS Ronald Reagan, where he was responsible for supporting aircraft squadrons when they encountered technical problems beyond their training and experience.
Although Malcolm genuinely liked what he was doing, what he truly lived for was the online game Channel Defence. He enjoyed the first-person shooter simulation, and he imagined himself as a fighter pilot over the English Channel. He created the screen name GEOFFREY to honor squadron leader Geoffrey Wellum, the youngest Spitfire pilot to fly in the Battle of Britain, who had died in 2018 at the age of 96.
After breakfast, Malcolm closed his stateroom door, plugged in his gaming computer, and joined an online battle in progress. A few minutes into the game, he received a request from Sara Olson for a private message. He shut down the game and thought to himself, It looks like it’s time for NIKITA to get to work!
O3 Level Fitness Room, the Reagan
VADIM usually preferred to work out before lunch, but this morning’s ship training schedule had gone longer than planned, keeping VADIM from the one activity on the ship that provided a distraction from the daily operational routine. VADIM entered the exercise space and selected the stair climber directly across from the pull-down machine that Ensign Rebecca Clarke was using. Rebecca was a Surface Warfare Officer, or SWO, assigned to the Reagan’s Fire Control Division. Called “black shoes” or simply “shoes” by the carrier’s aviators, SWOs were the Navy’s ship drivers, commanding and operating all naval vessels other than submarines or aircraft carriers. Although some large amphibious ships were often commanded by aviators, that was primarily done so that senior aviators could gain deep draft experience prior to commanding one of the nation’s eleven aircraft carriers. As the ship’s fire control division officer, Ensign Clarke was responsible for the operation and maintenance of the ship’s defensive missile and gun weapons systems and their associated radars. She stood watch on the ship’s bridge as a Junior Officer of the Deck as well as at a variety of other watch stations in the Reagan’s combat information center.
Rebecca Clarke had graduated from Cornell University, where she lettered in field hockey. Her bright smile and toned, athletic figure had attracted VADIM’s interest ever since Rebecca had first reported aboard. Whenever they passed one another in a passageway, Rebecca’s subtle but intoxicating cologne stirred a deep passion in the Sailor’s soul. VADIM knew two things: (1) their respective positions in the Navy prohibited a romantic relationship, and (2) the best and least obvious way to appreciate Ensign Clarke’s fragrance and physique was to casually show up in the fitness room whenever Rebecca worked out.
Twenty minutes into VADIM’s stair climber workout, Rebecca left the fitness room to get ready for a bridge watch. Knowing it would not be cool to follow Rebecca out of the gym, VADIM instead used the time to think through the implications of what Sara had tasked via the Channel Defence game: the elimination of the new secretary of defense, Colton Garrett. This was a dramatic escalation of previous GRU requests, one that would be a leap for VADIM to accept. Thus far, GRU tasking had been limited mainly to requests for copies of highly classified documents, then adding that information to other materials obtained by NIKITA, and finally, finding a way to get the entire package safely to Sara Olson and the GRU. The ship’s postal facility was the most nonattributable means of delivering classified material, but recently VADIM had needed to find other ways to move the classified material because the postal clerks had started to randomly scan outgoing packages.
What started out as a solution to a bad gambling habit had simply evolved into a whole new addiction and had turned VADIM’s life upside down. Initially, weekend flights to Reno and Vegas had provided a welcome relief from shipboard responsibilities while Reagan was moored in Bremerton. VADIM’s thirst for danger and excitement, which had once been quenched by gambling, was soon satisfied again, this time by casual sex with exotic women. The best part was that these women of every age, shape, color, and race all came without the baggage of a personal commitment. It made for an uncontrollable addiction. Uncontrollable, but not unnoticed. VADIM remembered being first approached by the woman who offered to help pay off excessive gambling debts. Only after accepting several payments from the woman did VADIM fully understand the high price to be paid for agreeing to this. The price, in fact, was treason.
Sara Olson had offered two choices: Either provide the required classified documents or within days an envelope containing high-resolution photographs of VADIM receiving money from Russian consulate staff would be mailed to the local NCIS office. Two choices, but really, no choice at all.
Anything can be rationalized; one needs to survive after all. And who was really harmed by the transfer of technology and intelligence from one global power to another? What difference would it ever make? And with all the money VADIM had saved these last few years, a well-funded retirement wasn’t far off — a retirement far more comfortable than 20 years in the Navy would have provided! Perhaps, once VADIM was out of the Navy, the fascinating Ensign Rebecca Clarke might consider a romantic relationship; there were substantial savings in a numbered bank account that could certainly provide for them both. It never hurt to dream.
The timer on the stair climber said it had been an hour since Rebecca had left the fitness center. Taking a few moments longer to think about Rebecca, VADIM clicked the machine’s cool-down cycle and started to formulate a plan to carry out Sara’s latest and most risky assignment — the assassination of Colton Garrett.
Dan Garrett’s Stateroom, the Reagan
Dan Garrett returned to his stateroom to find Katrina Pierce waiting by his door. “Hey, JOKER, what’s up? You been watching the lovely Ensign Clarke do her bench presses again? Don’t think I haven’t seen you stare at her whenever she works out.”
Dan unlocked the stateroom door, and both officers walked inside. He pulled out a chair for Katrina and then toweled off af
ter his workout.
“Yes, my dear Navy wife, I do stare at the voluptuous Ensign Clarke at every opportunity I get, just like every other red-blooded man onboard this bird-farm. Don’t tell me you’re getting jealous?”
Katrina threw a flight boot at the Growler driver snorting, “Jealous? Of that skinny little black shoe? Please! And stop calling me your Navy wife, young Jedi! My husband makes you look like a pre-pubescent child!” Katrina’s husband Gene was indeed a real specimen, competing successfully in Ironman events when not flying for Alaska. Katrina’s friendship with Dan had started when they were first paired together at the training squadron at Whidbey Island. It had become a close, trusting, sibling-like relationship, and their frequent adolescent sparring was how they best communicated with one another.
“So, how weird is it for you to have your dad be appointed SECDEF? The squadron and the whole damned ship is going nuts with this. And you were all in the admiral’s cabin when your dad found out?”
“Yep, he was handed a P-For from President Harrison, and a few minutes later, we saw it on the news at the same time everyone else did. You should have seen poor Admiral Carlisle’s face when Dad kicked him out of the flag cabin and told him to make other arrangements. I thought Carlisle was going to stroke out!” Dan chuckled.
Katrina’s mood changed to serious as she intentionally changed the subject. “You really need to talk to your father about test pilot school, Dan, it would only take one phone call from him. It’s not as if you’re not qualified.”
Dan thought for a moment. “Maybe I’ll talk to him after the dust settles a bit. This appointment came as a complete surprise to him, and I think my control-freak dad has his hands full right now. He has the entire DOD to run. But speaking of careers, why don’t you worry about yourself?”
Katrina had been struggling with a decision to leave the Navy as well. She had aspired to be a pilot all her life, but vision issues prevented her from passing a Class I Flight Physical. Plus, the long deployments were putting stress on her marriage to Gene. Now she was seriously considering leaving the Navy and attending law school.
“I know, I know, I got my own stuff to deal with. I’m pretty sure I’ll sign up and take the LSAT in February and see how I do.”
“Have you thought about the kind of law you’d want to practice? I picture you as one of those high-priced corporate sharks!”
Katrina smiled at the thought. “I think I’m torn between the fun of suing people and the satisfaction of putting them in jail. Maybe I’ll work as a kind of prosecutor for hire, traveling from town to town like the Lone Ranger, with a briefcase instead of a revolver with silver bullets!”
She laughed at the entertaining scenario she had just conjured up and turned to leave the stateroom when she caught Dan checking out his recently pumped biceps in the mirror.
“Uh, Schwarzenegger, have you considered getting a tattoo? Ensign Clarke might like it!”
Dan continued to flex his muscles and retorted, “Who puts a bumper sticker on a Maserati?”
Katrina giggled and headed down the long passageway to her own stateroom, being careful to step over the 20-inch jambs of water-tight hatches along the way. The obstacles were affectionately known as knee-knockers because of the injuries to a Sailor’s shins if they failed to lift their legs high enough when passing through. Katrina paused while unlocking her stateroom door. “I’ve got to find a way to get Secretary Garrett to make that phone call,” she reminded herself and went inside.
SECDEF Cabin, the Reagan
Carissa Curtis sat down in the comfortable, overstuffed chair in the spacious cabin that now belonged to the secretary of defense. She was about to meet with his special assistant, Len Wilson, in preparation for an interview with Secretary Garrett. It was ironic how things had worked out. Two days earlier, she was feeling sorry for herself because her editor back in New York had given her an assignment that was more a promotional, public relations piece and less real journalism. Senator Emmett Carlisle had pulled a few strings with her network and gotten Carissa, a seasoned reporter, to fly out to the Reagan with a camera crew to interview his son, the carrier group commander. It was unlikely the story would ever run in prime time, but Senator Carlisle was a powerful force in town and couldn’t — or wouldn’t — be ignored. Carissa was the sacrificial lamb. The camera team had already captured video of the ship and crew to be used for cuts and filler. She had just been waiting to hear when she could actually do the interview and go home. Then the news broke about Colton Garrett being named acting defense secretary. In the 30 minutes it took for her editor to get through to Carissa on the ship, her assignment went from a puff piece on the spoiled son of an aging politician to an exclusive first interview with the newly sworn-in defense secretary. The best part was that he wouldn’t have a gaggle of handlers and press professionals there to groom him for the interview. It meant he was more likely to be relaxed, natural, and candid in his responses. Garrett had agreed to the interview just this morning. His only request was that she speak with Len Wilson first to get some background on Garrett and more importantly, to discuss the scope of the position he had just accepted.
As she waited for Wilson to finish a phone call, she thought again about the path that had led her to this meeting. Growing up in Michigan, she had attended Western Michigan University at Kalamazoo, earning a B.A. in French and an M.A. in French and Francophone Studies. After earning a second master’s in international education, she spent several years working as a high school French teacher in Winnetka, Illinois. While she enjoyed working with the bright students at New Trier High School, she had an intense dislike for the controlling, overly ambitious administrators, and she began to think about a career change. Her neighbor, who worked for the local CBS affiliate in Chicago, offered to make a phone call on her behalf, and after a series of interviews and video tests, she found herself doing human interest stories on camera. She took to the work and excelled at it immensely. She became known for actually listening to people and eliciting interviews that were both compelling and meaningful. Another chance encounter, this time with an influential network producer, resulted in a move to 30 Rockefeller Plaza in New York as an on-air correspondent for the CBS Evening News. Carissa’s listening skills continued to yield effective interviews, and she eventually managed to get herself assigned to the Pentagon beat. She had only been there a week when she found herself flying to an aircraft carrier in the western Pacific Ocean.
Lenny finished his call with the JCS staff and poured himself a cup of coffee from the cart near the cabin door. “Can I offer you a cup?” he asked Carissa as he poured creamer into his mug.
“Yes, please, Mr. Wilson, just black!”
Lenny poured a second cup of coffee and placed it on the table between them as he sat down. “Okay, where would you like to start? And call me Lenny, please.”
Carissa reached into her messenger bag and pulled out a small digital voice recorder. “Do you mind if I record our interview?” she asked. “It will help me with my notes and ensure that I get your comments down accurately.”
Lenny leaned back and said with a surprised look, “Whoa — I thought you just needed a little background on Secretary Garrett and his new role at Defense!”
“You’re right, I do, but the voice recorder helps me put the information into context after we’re done. Are you okay with it?”
Lenny wasn’t comfortable at all being recorded, but he was even less comfortable sharing his discomfort with a major network reporter. “No problem,” he assured her. “I just haven’t done too many of these interviews before.”
In fact, Lenny Wilson was quite experienced at dealing with the press. He just never liked the fact that every word he said would be on the record.
Carissa pressed the “record” button and began to speak. “This is Carissa Curtis, and I’m onboard the USS Ronald Reagan in the western Pacific. I’m sitting here with Mr. Leonard Wilson, special assistant to acting secretary of defense Colto
n Garrett. Mr. Wilson, do I have your permission to record this interview?”
“Yes, you do.”
“Before we talk about Mr. Garrett, can you give me a high-level description of the duties of the defense secretary? I just started working at the Pentagon, and I don’t really understand his role.”
“We should start with the department’s official website, which explains that the mission of the defense department is to provide a lethal joint force to defend the security of our country and sustain American influence abroad. The secretary of defense oversees the department and is its principal defense policymaker and advisor. To understand the department is to recognize that there are two chains of command: administrative and operational. On the administrative side, the service chiefs of the Army, Navy, Air Force and Marines each report to their respective department secretaries, and they in turn, report to the secretary of defense, who reports directly to the president. Operationally, it’s even more simple. The operational chain of command runs from the president and the secretary of defense to the commanders of the Unified Combatant Commands, which include the six geographic commands: Africa Command, Central Command, European Command, Indo-Pacific Command, Northern Command and Southern Command; and four functional commands: Cyber Command, Special Operations Command, Strategic Command, and Transportation Command. Each is headed by a four-star officer.”
Carissa was furiously taking notes despite the presence of the voice recorder. “Okay,” she said when she was done writing for a moment, “I think I understand. Can you continue to track the operational chain from the Commander, Indo-Pacific Command down to Rear Admiral Carlisle for me?”
