by Brad Taylor
It took the congressman a pregnant second to realize the briefing had ended. He focused on the chief of station and found everyone in the room looking at him expectantly. Shit. Get control.
Mack said, “Ready for the good stuff?”
“I need to make a phone call before we continue.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but no cell phones are allowed in CIA spaces.” He smiled. “Technology’s changed since you worked the streets. If you wish, you can return to Post One for the call. We’ll wait.”
Congressman Ellis debated, then said, “No, that’s all right. Let’s continue. I’d like to hear about the Chinese.”
Ellis failed to see the man at the back of the briefing hit the SEND button on his cell phone.
I felt my cell phone vibrate and looked at the message on the screen.
“Showtime. We’re a go.”
Retro and I positioned ourselves on the left side of the door so we wouldn’t be seen until the congressman had already penetrated into the room, allowing Mack to close the door behind him. The congressman thought he was coming to a secure facility to discuss classified material, but in reality, we were simply in an office down the hall from the conference room, on the other side of the courtyard of the embassy. Since he’d never been to the Cairo embassy, I had no fears that Ellis would realize he wasn’t headed to the CIA office space, and it kept us from having to go through Marine Post One. It also allowed us to keep our cell phones.
I really hoped that Mack had called it correctly and that Ellis was bad. Once he came through that door, we’d be seen and have to be explained. It was a dangerous game, and I was unsure what I would do if he had no reaction to our presence. It was a make-or-break line I would have to cross. I felt like Tom Cruise about to accuse Jack Nicholson of conducting a Code Red.
I needn’t have worried. The door opened, and Congressman Ellis strode in, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. He saw me and stopped short. He heard Mack close the door and whirled around.
“What’s the meaning of this? Who are these men?”
Not the reaction of an innocent man. I decided to go the Tom Cruise route.
“Sit down, Congressman. We just have a few questions.”
He regained his composure. “I’m not here to answer questions. I’m here to ask them. Let’s get this briefing going.”
I stood up and advanced toward him. “I said sit the fuck down. And you will answer our questions.”
He did as I asked, but remained defiant. “Do you realize I’m a United States congressman? I have no idea what government agency you work for, but wherever it is, I’m going to find out and have your ass.”
“That’s going to be a problem,” I said, “because I don’t work for the government. So save your threats.”
I saw a flicker of fear for the first time. He went through his pockets rapidly, then remembered.
“That’s right,” I said. “No cell phones allowed in here. It’s just you and me.”
“I’m still an American citizen. Just because we’re in Egypt doesn’t mean you can sit here and accuse me of some bullshit charge.”
I heard him say “accuse,” and knew he was guilty. I lost all compunction about being polite. He had something to do with the death of Bull and the wounding of Knuckles, and would now pay the price. Retro came to the same conclusion I had.
He moved behind Ellis. Speaking quietly, the venom dripping out, he said, “We can do whatever the fuck we want. And right now I want you to look at a picture. Make no mistake, your life is over. The only question now is how it will end. You fuck with me and it will be a world of pain before the lights go out.”
I saw real terror begin to grow in his eyes, tinged with desperation. He jumped up and strode over to Mack.
“What the hell is going on here? I want my cell phone. And your supervisor’s number. I’m a United States congressman. Do you know what that means?”
Mack stood by the door, mute.
Ellis turned to me. “I’m through here. I’m leaving. You try to stop me and I’ll have the Marines here lock you up forever.”
His face was a sickly green, with a fine mist of sweat on his brow, as if we were in a rain forest instead of the desert. His breath was coming in shallow pants, his eyes flicking from me to Retro. He made a move to the door and I threw the photo from Kurt’s father on the table. He caught the movement and looked down.
“Tell me about this.”
The quality was absolutely horrible, with a vague figure standing on the edge of a lanai somewhere on the earth. To me it meant nothing at all. To the congressman, it meant everything. As soon as he saw it, he gave a strangled little squeak, swayed a bit, then sank into a chair, his head in his hands.
Still not knowing what I held, I gave Retro a questioning look. He ran his fingers across his throat, the implication clear. Crush him now. Don’t give him any time to think.
I grabbed a headful of hair, pulling up his face.
“Give me when and where.”
His eyes had a glassy stare, no comprehension in them at all. I lightly slapped his face.
“Wake the fuck up. When and where?”
He snapped back to the present, focusing on me.
“I… I… that was a long time ago… I didn’t tell anyone… you can’t talk about it… it’s secret…”
He was babbling and I wondered if he was about to have a real breakdown. Retro circled around behind him again and I shook my head. I didn’t want him going over the edge. On the other hand, I didn’t want him to have time to come up with a story. Need to keep the pressure steady.
“Vietnam is over, Congressman. There’s no secrets left from that war. Chris Hale is dead.”
I don’t know if it was the mention of Kurt’s father or Vietnam itself, but it was enough. The words convinced Congressman Ellis that I knew a helluva lot more than I did. He slumped back in his chair and eyed me.
“Okay… okay. You know where it is. What do you want from me?”
“I want you to tell me the story. Now.”
And surprisingly, he did. After burying himself as deep as he possibly could, cementing his future, he quit. He looked at me expectantly, like he’d now earned something in return, but he hadn’t said a damn thing about what was going on here.
“I got all that. I want to know what you were doing with the Chinese in Egypt.”
His face showed confusion, as if I should have known what had happened.
“You… you took the shipment here. That’s all I was doing. That’s it.”
“What shipment?”
He squinted, his brain beginning to realize he may have made a huge mistake. Can’t lose momentum. I closed into his personal space and locked eyes with him, speaking softly.
“Congressman, let me explain something to you. Right now, you’re wondering what to say, what to protect. You’re thinking that maybe if you shut up, you’ll save something a lawyer can use to plea bargain, but that’s not going to happen.”
I snatched his thumb and quickly bent it backward, stopping just short of breaking it. He screamed, a short, sharp sound that echoed in the room. I continued speaking calmly.
“I told you, I don’t work for the government, and you’ve had a hand in the death of a friend of mine. What you need to be concerned with right now is how painful your death will be.”
The little droplets of sweat on his brow grew larger, until they trickled down his face. I released his thumb and he jerked his hand away, massaging his thumb. He began talking.
“I had a shipment of EFPs to transfer to the Chinese. Last night someone attacked the shipment and took them. I thought it was you.”
Explosively formed penetrators were powerful shaped charges designed to penetrate armor at a distance. Basically just a metal dish on top of some explosive material that, when fired, warped the dish, turning it into a bullet of molten metal with aerodynamic properties traveling at hypersonic speed. They had played hell on our troops in Iraq, easily defeat
ing even our best armor systems. While a simple concept, it required a great deal of technical capability to execute properly. The shape, diameter, thickness, and type of metal were mathematically intertwined with the ignition system and the amount and type of explosive material. Any small variant would destroy the aerodynamic properties or render the charge no more potent than shrapnel from a mortar round. Even so, EFPs had been around since World War II, and the construction parameters were widely available. It wasn’t rocket science. Even if it was, the Chinese had rocket scientists. It didn’t make sense.
“Why would the Chinese risk so much for EFPs? They can already make them.”
Ellis said, “You know anything about shaped charges?”
“Enough to know that the Chinese don’t need American technology to make their own.”
“Not like these. The average EFP with a copper or iron plate can penetrate half of its diameter through armor steel. You have an eight-inch plate, you can penetrate four inches of armor. Change the plate to tantalum and it goes one-to-one.
“These plates were made with nanotechnology. The grain structure of the tantalum was altered at the molecular level specifically to enhance its potential as an EFP. It worked better than anyone predicted. Now, instead of halving the diameter, you square it. Up to an eight-inch plate. Then it begins to fall off again.”
What he said sank in. While the EFPs in Iraq were deadly, they were also large, cumbersome things. In order to defeat an M1A1 Abrams tank, the insurgent had to lug around something that weighed damn near a hundred pounds with a width like a turkey platter. These EFPs could do the same damage with something as small as an eight-inch plate. And the little traitor wasn’t finished.
“The nano work also increased the aerodynamic properties. Instead of a range of one hundred feet, the spall flies accurately up to one hundred meters. It’s a true standoff attack capability.”
I’d heard enough. “What did you give them? Just the plates? You couldn’t fly in here with completed EFPs. You’d never get out of the U.S.”
“The entire effort was an enhancement of the M303 Special Operations Demolitions Kit. It’ll be in the U.S. inventory in a couple of years. The Chinese wanted to see if they could reverse engineer the plate.”
The M303 SODK was a do-it-yourself explosives kit consisting of all the components needed to destroy just about anything. Bridges, roads, aircraft, you name it, there was something in the kit that could be used. All it was missing was the explosives. We used to joke about the old commercials that said “just add water” because the kit was idiot-proof, complete with instructions for each device. You just packed the explosives into the chosen container according to the directions, installed an initiation capability, and followed the instructions for implementation.
“You mean you gave them the complete charge container, aiming devices, everything?”
I was hoping this bastard had transferred only the plates. While they were a large part of success, they were still just a part. Without knowing specifically how much explosives to use and how shallow or deep to form it behind the plate, the EFP would still fail. If he gave them the kit, that was worked out ahead of time. All that had to happen was jamming the explosives into the container that was already mathematically mated to the plate.
“Yeah. I was bringing the complete set, but I told you, I didn’t get a chance to give them to anyone.”
“What happened?”
He gave me what he knew, telling me what he had planned and what had actually happened. He ended by saying that he’d thought I was behind the theft. He didn’t have any idea who else it could be, but I did. That guy in the tombs. This idiot just outfitted a terrorist with our latest technology.
Mack pulled my sleeve. “Can I see you outside for a minute?”
“Sure.” I looked at Retro. “He does anything but sit in that chair, kill him.”
“How about I just kill him anyway?”
I saw the congressman scooting back as I left the room.
Once the door shut, Mack said, “What do you want to do with this guy?”
“I told you, that’s your call.”
“Well, I was thinking of turning him. Get him to go back to the Chinese and say he was wrong, that the airplane was delayed or some other bullshit. Then pass them faulty plates. Worse case, they figure it out and end up with nothing. Best case, they reverse-engineer the faulty plates and fill their armories with crap.”
And that’s why he was the chief of station. My imagination ended with beating the man to a bloody pulp. His allowed him to see an angle in this disaster that could prove to be as big a positive as the loss of the plates were a negative.
“Can you do that? I mean get something that’ll pass muster that quick?”
“Won’t know until I try, but it’s worth a shot.”
“What about the dead Chinese? We killed a few at the market because that asshole fingered us, and their boss may still want some payback.”
“That was you? Jesus, you’ve got the entire agency spinning their wheels trying to figure out what the hell happened.”
He turned away, thinking for a moment, then said, “I’ll come up with a story and feed it to them. I can make that work. Are you on board?”
“Yeah, but the minute this guy quits being an asset, he gets burned.”
When we reentered the room, I half expected to find Retro branding the guy’s face with the coffeepot. Instead, the congressman was sitting where we’d left him, looking sorry for himself. Mack took the lead and explained what he wanted to do.
The congressman’s eyes got wider and wider until he finally said, “This won’t work! They’ll never believe it. They’ll kill me when they find out I’m trying to trick them.”
I said, “Looks like you’re dead either way, then, because if you don’t do it, I’m going to throw your ass off the roof. So you want to give it a shot and extend your life, or save us all the exertion by choking yourself to death?”
38
Jesus Christ! He’s a fucking traitor? How are we supposed to deal with that?”
Kurt remained calm, letting Secretary of State Brookings blow off some steam, knowing President Warren would rein him in if necessary.
It was clear that Brookings was becoming an issue on the Oversight Council. A man more concerned with the effect on his career should the Taskforce become public knowledge than any judgment about how best to secure the nation. The mixing of traditional counterintelligence, a near-peer competitor like the Chinese, a U.S. congressman, and Project Prometheus was scaring the hell out of him. And he has a point. We’re on the ragged edge of this whole thing showing up on Fox News.
The director of central intelligence said, “Let me deal with that.” He addressed the president. “Sir, I’d prefer to talk to you off-line. It’s not Taskforce business and doesn’t need the Oversight Council.”
Brookings rolled his eyes again. “The old ‘sources and methods’ excuse?”
The DCI said, “Actually, yes. There’s a reason that rule was put in place. Usually because pompous asses like yourself caused the death of someone.”
The president raised his hand. “Enough. Ordinarily I’d agree, but since everyone here now knows the congressman’s status, let’s hash out what we’re going to do about it. I don’t want a bunch of guessing the next time he’s on TV.”
The DCI grimaced, but relented. He relayed the plan with the faulty EFPs and the fact that the CIA would wring out of him anything and everything he had ever done against the United States.
President Warren asked, “And after that? Are we going to arrest him or what?”
“No, sir. If we did, the Chinese would suspect the plates. I’m also afraid that the whirlwind of media will uncover Pike and Decoy’s little interrogation, and we can’t have that come to light. Congressman Ellis has agreed to resign after we’re through with him and an appropriate time has elapsed.”
Kurt said, “Are you kidding? That’s it? He leaves office?”<
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The DCI smiled. “Yes. After we ‘find’ child pornography on his government computer. Then find more in his house. He’s agreed to plead guilty to kiddy porn charges and go to jail. If he decides not to, he knows we’ll be seeking the death penalty for his treason. It’s a good trade.”
Kurt blurted, “That fucker killed my father! What kind of ‘good trade’ is that?”
“Kurt,” said President Warren, “I hear you. I really do, but you know the stakes. Killing him won’t bring back your father, but this might save someone else’s life. Don’t jeopardize the Taskforce on a vendetta that will do no good.”
Kurt said nothing.
President Warren took the silence as acquiescence, telling the DCI to execute the plan, then turned back to Kurt. “Let’s get back to the current threat. What about the EFPs? Who has them?”
Kurt struggled with what to say next. It took a great effort, but he ripped himself away from the congressman and thoughts of his father, knowing the president was right. He exhaled and returned to the EFPs. “We don’t really know. The team has an idea, but it basically ends with a dead Indonesian terrorist and three Arabic-looking gentlemen. We believe they’ve flown to Prague.”
“Why?”
“Jennifer was in the airport with them at the same time. She’s the one who reported it. We’ll know more when the team gets to Prague.”
Secretary Brookings cut in. “Prague? Who gave you permission to do that? You’ve moved a team without Oversight approval?”
He turned to the president. “Sir, I demand they return. We haven’t done any analysis on the Czech Republic at all. Project Prometheus is getting looser and looser. Why even have an oversight council if this guy”—he jerked a thumb at Kurt—“can ignore us?”
Kurt said, “All I did was get them a Taskforce aircraft. They had to have a way to get their kit through customs and we don’t have a lot of time to screw around. They won’t do anything until we give them the execute order. They’re just preparing the battle space for follow-on operations. If you give them permission.”
