Arctic Fire

by Stephen W. Frey

  O’Hara’s father was a smart man. “You had to have the grades and the extracurriculars to get in too,” Maddux pointed out. “Modesty’s a good thing, but don’t ever shortchange yourself. You’re a good man, Ryan. Crazy brave. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.” He hesitated. “But I admire your father’s creativity.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Maddux glanced out the window into the darkness, thinking about how much he wanted to carry out justice on his own again. How badly he wanted to rid the world of another piece of trash like that child molester he’d just killed. How he didn’t want to wait for another of Carlson’s envelopes because it could be a long time coming.

  So he was thinking about acquiring a target on his own without Carlson’s OK—again.

  He’d done that before. It had been several months ago, and the killing had gone off without a hitch. But there’d been another problem, and it had almost sent him tumbling into an abyss of trouble.

  It wasn’t that Carlson would consider the action going outside the chain of command the way he would the murders of Falcons Charlie Banks and Troy Jensen. Carlson would have no problem with scumbags being killed. What he’d have a problem with would be evidence of the scumbag killings showing up, because that could compromise RCS. That evidence had almost surfaced the last time, and he’d almost fallen into that abyss. If he hadn’t killed Troy, it would have.

  He glanced back at O’Hara. “Let me be official about it, Ryan. Welcome to Red Cell Seven.” He paused. “So, how was the initiation?”

  “Fine, sir. I was honored, of course.”

  “Do you have any questions?”

  “Why the name Red Cell Seven?” O’Hara asked immediately. “What do cells one through six do?”

  “Nothing,” Maddux answered matter-of-factly. “They don’t even exist. In fact, they never did. Red Cell Seven was created during the Nixon administration, when the Cold War was going strong. They called it Red Cell Seven to drive the Soviets crazy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Back then, ‘red’ referred to the Soviet Union, which was by far our biggest enemy. So any intelligence cell we created with the word ‘red’ in it would logically be targeted at the Soviet Union. Our people knew they’d assume that, and, of course, we knew the Soviets would hear about Red Cell Seven sooner or later because it’s impossible to keep anything completely secret in the intelligence world. Money talks, bullshit walks, and bribes are everywhere. Money and women can make a lot of men do almost anything.”

  “So,” O’Hara said, “our people named it Red Cell Seven to make the Soviets think that cells one through six existed too. To get the Soviets to waste time and energy trying to find six other cells that were just figments of our imaginations. And theirs, right?”

  “Exactly. And the more the Soviet higher-ups heard the cells didn’t exist, the harder they tried to find them. I’ll tell you what. They burned through a lot of money and resources in the process. See, the Russians are truly paranoid. I mean, all of us in this line of business are to some degree. But they’re off the charts, and I guess I understand why. It’s in their blood. Everyone’s been spying on each other over there for so long, even neighbors on neighbors, that they can’t help it. You know, I heard they were still looking for one through six even as the wall was crumbling and their world was falling apart.”

  O’Hara smiled. “Pretty smart, huh?”

  “We have our moments,” Maddux agreed.

  O’Hara gestured around the tastefully decorated room. “Who owns this farm? Is it someone in Red Cell Seven?”

  “He’s not actually a member of RCS. We have a network of shadow support that’s organized and run by the man who started the cell forty years ago.”

  Maddux was careful not to mention Carlson’s name. The kid would have met Carlson at the initiation, but he would have met three other men too. None of them would have given away their positions within the cell to O’Hara because he was as green as they came. It would be several years before he’d learn the names of the Summit Level.

  “The network is comprised of about twenty very wealthy individuals who have a general understanding of what we do and are dedicated to our goal of keeping the United States on top as the only superpower.” Maddux held up one hand. “But none of them are ever briefed on our specific activities, which is for their own protection. We call them associates.”

  “So these associates make personal assets available to us?”

  “That’s right. Planes, boats, cars, and locations like this one.”

  “Money?”

  “The best kind,” Maddux declared. “The kind that can’t be traced. Cash, and lots of it.”

  “But,” O’Hara said, “I thought any deposit over ten grand had to be reported. What we need to run RCS must be way bigger than that. And I can’t imagine somebody running around the country making lots of deposits that are less than ten grand. That would be a full-time job by itself. And the Fed would still get suspicious.”

  “The bank we use is huge,” Maddux explained. “It has branches all over the world. But that doesn’t really matter, because all our accounts are numbered. And, most importantly, we don’t have to report any of our deposits no matter how big or small they are.”

  O’Hara nodded. “That works out pretty well.”

  “More than one black op cell has shut down because of a money trail. It can’t ever happen in our case because there is no trail. Our bank makes sure of that.”

  O’Hara leaned forward in his chair. “So what will I be doing?”

  “Pickups and deliveries to start with,” Maddux replied. He saw the disappointment register in O’Hara’s expression immediately. But it wasn’t going to stay there. “Don’t get me wrong, Ryan. These won’t be normal, run-of-the-mill pickups and deliveries. You won’t be driving a brown truck wearing a brown suit. You’ll be taking top-secret orders and cash to agents in some of the most politically sensitive areas around the world. As well as bringing back vitally important information from those individuals about in-country activities. Don’t believe this bullshit you see on the big screen. Don’t believe that some guy at the CIA can talk to his top spy in Saudi Arabia by cell phone from the deck of his big, beautiful house in McLean, Virginia, while he’s barbecuing. Not without the very real threat of that conversation being overheard by our enemies, anyway.”

  “You mean like Russell Crowe and Leonardo DiCaprio did in Body of Lies.”

  “Exactly.” Maddux saw the gleam return to O’Hara’s eyes. “I’m not saying they couldn’t talk like that. Of course they could. What I’m saying is that you could never be sure that conversation is secure. I don’t care what kind of cloaking or ciphering technology is used. As Americans, we tend to think our enemies aren’t that sophisticated, that at the very least they aren’t as sophisticated as we are. But that’s just wrong. In some cases and with some technologies our enemies are more sophisticated than we are. Believe me when I tell you that the only way to safely communicate with an in-country agent is to deliver and pick up messages hand to hand. It’s been that way since the beginning of civilization, and it’ll always be that way.” Maddux gestured at O’Hara. “That’s where you and the rest of your Falcon brethren come in. You’ll be going into countries that would execute you if they knew what you were really doing. At the very least they’d lock you away in a nasty prison for a long, long time while they tried to figure out what you were up to. So, whenever possible, you’ll be going in with cover, with a story. To make it more difficult for them to figure out what you’re really doing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll be going in to climb a certain mountain or hunt a specific wild animal or explore a cave that’s a major destination for only serious cave divers. And people will be set up there to guide you like they would be if you weren’t on a mission. Like they would be if you were a normal person and you were going into that country just to climb a mountain or hunt or cave dive. Sometime
s we even plant a story about it in a big newspaper in the US or Europe to try to draw attention to the trip to make it seem real. Being the athlete you are will help make the illusion seem even more real. Of course, there will always be people watching any American who comes into their country, so you’ll still have to be very careful with every move you make.”

  “Of course.”

  “Then sometimes all of that won’t be possible. You’ll be slipping across borders by yourself, sometimes without the papers you need. We’ll still give you a suggested story in case you run into trouble, but there won’t be people waiting for you.” The young man was definitely excited again. “You’ll be on your own.”

  “Remember those three Americans who were taken prisoner by Iran a couple of years ago?” O’Hara asked. “I think it was two guys and a girl.”

  “You mean the three who were supposed to be hiking just across the border when they were arrested?”

  “Yeah, and they told the Iranians they didn’t realize they’d crossed the border when they were arrested.”

  Maddux shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “What about them?”

  “Were they Red Cell Seven? I mean, that story sounds a lot like what we’re talking about. In fact, it sounds exactly like what we’re talking about.”

  Maddux shook his head. “If they’d been RCS, there wouldn’t have been three of them. My Falcons go solo. The same way the bird hunts.” He was ready to wrap things up. He wanted to get going because he’d decided to kill that target after all. “By the way, you can’t have credit cards anymore. They aren’t allowed. Everything’s done in cash.”

  “I already gave my cards up before I got here.”

  “Good.” Maddux hesitated. “Once you’ve been with us for a while, you’ll start digging up information on your own. Here and abroad. Not just doing pickups and deliveries.”

  “Nice.”

  “We’ll get more into that tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And look, sometimes your assignment will simply be to take a job, a real job. I wanted to give you the heads-up on that now just to make sure you heard it early on and you weren’t surprised when it happened. Sometimes we’ll have you working off the books so you can earn money to survive without going on an official payroll. You’re tougher to trace that way. It’ll be good money and you’ll earn it fast, but the work’ll be hard and sometimes dangerous.”

  “What are we talking about?”

  “You’ll be on fishing and crabbing boats, on oil rigs, in mines. Those kinds of things.”

  “Got it.” O’Hara motioned to Maddux. “If we work with a bank that has branches all over the world, why would I take cash to somebody?”

  “We can’t ever have our moles going into banks. That’s too much of a risk. Hell, you won’t ever go into a bank except to deposit paychecks from those legitimate jobs we just talked about. I’ll be the one dropping you the money.”

  “Oh, OK. So, how many people are actually in Red Cell Seven?”

  The kid was thirsting for information and that was good, but Maddux was only going to answer a few more questions. “About a hundred.”

  “How many Falcons?”

  “Nineteen, including you.”

  “What are some of the other areas of RCS?”

  “Divisions.”

  “What?”

  “Divisions of RCS, not areas.”

  “Sorry, divisions. What other divisions are there?”

  Maddux started ticking them off on his fingers. “Assassinations, out-of-country terrorism, counterterrorism, interrogations, and then there’s intel communication and coordination.”

  “So I could be picking up or delivering information to or from other Red Cell Seven agents when I’m in those countries. They wouldn’t necessarily be CIA people I was meeting.”

  “That’s right.” Maddux could see that the kid was still champing at the bit, but that was all he was going to get for now. “OK, well look, you’re staying here tonight, Ryan. Get a good night’s sleep, and we’ll meet in the morning at oh six hundred,” Maddux said, standing up. “Over breakfast we’ll start getting into specifics of what those other RCS divisions I just mentioned do.”

  “Yes, sir,” O’Hara said, standing up too.

  “Again, welcome to Red Cell Seven, Ryan.” Maddux came around the desk, and they shook hands. “We’re glad to have you, kid. Very glad.” He turned to go, but then hesitated. He wanted to get out of here, but he wanted to start getting a feel for the kid’s thought process too. You could never start doing that quickly enough. “So you’ve shot questions at me tonight. Now I’ve got one for you.”

  O’Hara looked up expectantly. “Yes, sir?”

  “What’s the greatest terrorist threat to the United States right now?”

  “What do you mean by ‘greatest’?”

  “What kind of attack has the most devastating effect on our country?”

  “Death squads,” O’Hara answered confidently. “No question. Three-to four-man kill teams who jump out of vans and shoot ten to twenty shoppers at big malls within a few seconds, then jump back into the vans and, poof, they’re gone like they never existed. Maybe fifteen teams operating in this country, and they’re constantly on the move and they never contact a mother base and the mother base never contacts them so you can’t intercept communications. If they’re well trained, they’re almost impossible to stop, they’re easy to set up, and they shut the country down economically once they really get going.

  “Like those two snipers who killed people in the DC area and scared the hell out of everybody else awhile ago,” he kept going. “Remember? They were amateurs, but people around DC were terrified just to fill up their cars with gas. It took the cops forever to find them and, candidly, it happened by accident. Setting up kill teams is basically the same concept, except this time the terrorists are using professionals. The best way to start it off would be simultaneous attacks on the biggest shopping day of the year. On Black Friday. What do you think, sir?”

  “Keep that to yourself,” Maddux ordered, wishing now he hadn’t asked. The last thing the United States needed was for someone on the wrong side to hear that idea, because it was that damn good. “See you in the morning.”

  “Sir?”

  “Yes, Ryan.”

  “I’m totally dedicated to Red Cell Seven. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do, and I won’t ask any questions.”

  Maddux stared intently into O’Hara’s eyes for several moments. “That’s what I want to hear,” he said. They’d really drilled the message into this kid. “That’s exactly what I want to hear.”

  “And, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  O’Hara hesitated. “I…I know I’m the first black guy to make it into RCS. And, well, I know that means I have an even higher bar to hit.”

  Maddux shook his head. “I don’t see black when I look at you, Ryan. All I see is courage. Do you understand me?”

  O’Hara grinned. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As Maddux watched O’Hara leave the room, he nodded to himself. This kid was going to be easy to control…which was a relief after all he’d gone through with Banks and Jensen.

  CHAPTER 20

  CAPTAIN SAGE grunted approvingly when he caught sight of a bright red raft through his binoculars. It was off the starboard bow at two o’clock about a quarter of a mile away, floating lazily up and down on the calmly rolling sea—exactly where it was supposed to be. He’d gotten the coded message from Maddux two hours ago that the drop had been made and the package was ready to be retrieved now that the sub had resubmerged and was a safe distance away. The kid the sub had picked up off the coast of China was almost home. The Falcon was almost back to its nest. Sage wasn’t supposed to know they were called Falcons, but he’d overheard that last year after they’d picked up another one.

  As he guided the Arctic
Fire toward the raft, Sage’s good mood faded. Speed Trap and Grant were asking too many questions. They weren’t idiots. They’d figured out something was up.

  He cursed under his breath. He was pretty sure Speed Trap had gotten a raft onto the ocean while they were throwing Troy Jensen overboard. That was why there was a brand new one in the equipment room. Speed Trap had tried to hide what he’d done, but the captain knew his boat too well. He knew his nephew pretty well too. The younger one wasn’t cold like Grant. Speed Trap had a heart.

  “Damn it!” Sage hissed, banging the control panel hard with his big fist. He couldn’t blame Speed Trap. Troy Jensen had saved his life. He’d felt the ultimate loyalty, as he should have, like any good sailor should have. “I just hope to God Jensen never made it into the raft if the kid really put it out there,” Sage growled to himself over the hum of the engines.

  Maddux pulled himself up onto the sill of the first-floor window, then eased down onto the wooden floor inside. The small brick home was thirty miles from the farmhouse where he’d said goodnight to O’Hara an hour ago. It was well back in the woods at the end of a dirt driveway, completely secluded from prying eyes.

  The place was owned by a young couple who had no children. They were both in their midtwenties, and they were both teachers at the local public high school.

  But that was just the husband’s cover. His more important job was to interface with and give aid to in-country Chinese spies.

  Though Carlson hadn’t yet received final confirmation that the CIA was a hundred percent positive of the man’s complicity, Maddux didn’t care. He’d seen the file, and he was sure of what this guy was up to—and it had to be stopped.

  He closed the window quietly. The couple ought to be sleeping soundly. He’d watched the last light on the second floor go out thirty minutes ago from the tree line on the north side of the house. He was going to kill the man quickly, and then get out. He had no intention of harming the woman.