Rendition Protocol

by Nathan Goodman

“What am I going to ask?" she said, though she knew the answer.

  “Why," he exhaled. "Why is the Company knee deep in drug cartels.”

  “And?”

  “I told you, I don’t know.”

  “You’re going to have to do better than that, Buck.”

  He said nothing.

  Jana continued. “Let’s start with what you do know. And don’t hand me that classified bullshit. It’s Kyle we’re talking about.”

  “We’ve been doing a lot of background work on Colombian cartels, the new ones. Again, I don’t know exactly why, but when an ops package comes in, you work on it, you don’t question it.”

  “Thanks for reminding me why I fled to a tropical island," she said with a smirk. “God, I hated all that.”

  “Can I continue?” he said. “At any rate, there’s something big going down.”

  “They sent you into an operation and didn’t tell you the objective?”

  “Same old Jana." He shook his head. “Maybe there’s something in the history. Look, in the ’80s, the Colombian cartels used to be comprised of the Medellín and the Cali cartels. The Medellín was Carlos Escobar’s brainchild, and the Cali spawned off of it. None of that exists any longer. Hell, even the cartel structure Escobar put into place is gone. That organizational structure controlled everything. All the links in the drug chain from production to retail were owned by him. When he was killed, it fell apart. So over the last twenty years, Colombia’s drug trade has reorganized, but it’s fragmented.”

  “What’s all this got to do with Antigua? Or with Kyle, for that matter?”

  “Keep your pants on.”

  “I plan to,” she said.

  “A new generation of drug trafficking groups were born, under an entirely new structure.”

  “Okay, I’ll play along. What’s this new structure?”

  “The BACRIM is the newer organization. It’s so named by the Colombian government to mean ‘bandas criminales.’ The BACRIM is a group of groups of drug traffickers. They had to decentralize because any person that climbs too far up the ladder is quickly identified by the Colombian police or the DEA and brought down. Today, there can’t be a new Carlos Escobar. There are two main groups within BACRIM, Oficina de Envigado and Los Rastrojos. And that’s where Antigua comes into play.”

  “How so?” she said.

  “The Oficina de Envigado is the successor to the Medellín Cartel, and Los Rastrojos succeeded Cali. Again," Buck continued, "these are highly fragmented groups, nearly impossible to take down.”

  “Why?”

  “DEA has tried, believe me. Each group is broken into many smaller parts. Many of these nodes are individual drug traffickers with a small band behind them, and they use the BACRIM as protection to take advantage of routes and departure points. The removal of any single node doesn’t lead to the fall of the other nodes. It only results in a temporary disruption. Then the flow of drugs continues as the network reforms itself. And,” Buck continued, “they’ve set up shop on Antigua. It’s the new drug route to move product to the Mexican cartels, and then into the US.”

  Jana leaned in. “Then why don’t you people identify, then take out, the head of each little node all at once?”

  “It’s not our job!” Buck snapped.

  “If it’s not CIA’s job, then what are you doing on my island?”

  “When did you become such a pain in the ass?” Buck said.

  “When I threw my badge and credentials at the director of the FBI and started a new life. Before you people dragged me back in.”

  “Identifying these people is not that simple. The nodes are practically invisible. These guys are more likely to be armed with an iPhone than an Uzi. They look like businessmen. They blend in. And, they keep things quiet. Not to mention the fact that it’s harder than it used to be. We can’t just follow the flow of cocaine backwards and get to the source. These guys have a far more diversified criminal portfolio—extortion, illegal gold mining, gambling and microtrafficking, like dealing marijuana and synthetic drugs as well as cocaine and its derivatives.”

  “All I care about is getting to Kyle.” Jana lowered her voice. “The only thugs at Diego Rojas’s house that don’t carry automatic weapons are his intelligence officer, Gustavo Moreno, and Rojas himself. It doesn’t seem that hard to identify them.”

  Buck shook off the accusation. “Anyway, like I said, something big is coming down and I don’t know what it is.”

  “I know who does.”

  “Yes, I’m sure my boss is well aware of whatever is about to happen, and why CIA is here. I brought you here for a reason. I brought you here to tell you we’re going to have to move fast.”

  “I’m not helping the CIA do anything.”

  “No,” he said, “I’m talking about Kyle. I’m here to help and I’m telling you, we have to move and move now.”

  “Or what?”

  “I’m getting a bad feeling. IMGINT and MASINT reports are coming across my desk.”

  “Speak English.”

  “Imagery Intelligence and Measurement and Signature Intelligence.”

  “And what do these reports say?”

  “There’s an awful lot of satellite imagery of Rojas’s estate. I mean a lot. That along with more of the same from sites across Colombia.”

  “If the Company is doing some kind of investigation and he’s the main target, wouldn’t that be normal?”

  Buck looked over his shoulder. “Yeah, normal, I guess. But there’s a strange amount of location-based data. GPS coordinates, longitude, latitude, precise measurements from roadways. I don’t get it.”

  Jana stood. “I have no idea what any of that means, but it’s a lovely fucking job you have. How do they expect you to do your job if so much is secret?”

  “What if there’s an attack planned?”

  Jana gritted her teeth. “You’re thinking of that team of CIA operators that picked up Gaviria, aren’t you? Dammit, first they tell us we’re on our own, that no backup is coming, and now you’re thinking they’re about to launch a raid? The US government is going to commit an act of war against a noncombatant nation?” She pointed in the direction of the estate. “There are innocents in there. Servants, cooks, cleaners. They’re just locals.”

  Buck lowered his head. “Collateral damage.”

  Her voice became stilted as she thought back to the woman screaming at the window. “There’s a woman in there. That prick is raping her. She’s a victim of the human slave trade.”

  “Which one?” Buck said.

  “Which one? What does that mean? I don’t know. She’s got long black hair.”

  “She’s dead, Jana.”

  “What?” she said a little too loud before covering her mouth.

  “Her body showed up yesterday,” Buck said. “Rojas gets bored very quickly. There’s a steady stream of sex slaves. Rojas has them shipped in. When he’s done with them, they get carried out.” Buck stood up. “She was easy to identify. Most of them are moved in from South America, but she was Persian, from Syria. We don’t know how she got here, but I’m betting the fact that she’s from the Middle East is somehow related to whatever’s about to happen. I’m on your side, Jana.” He looked down and noticed her hand shaking. “Don’t shut down on me. Outside of Cade and Stone, I’m the only friend you have.”

  “The Middle East?” Jana said. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you telling me there’s a connection?”

  “My clearance doesn’t go that high.”

  “Bullshit!” Jana said. “If you know he’s committing kidnapping, rape, and murder, why hasn’t CIA arrested him? Why is his fucking head not on a stick?"

  “Jana, you know it doesn’t work that way.”

  She slammed an open hand onto the table. “What is the Company doing on Antigua?”

  “I told you, I don’t know.”

  “Oh really? Well let me ask you this. What happened to Gaviria?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean
?”

  “You guys showed up all hot and ready to take him off our hands. You had a team prepped and waiting. And you wouldn’t have done that without a reason.”

  “Jana, this is me we’re talking about,” Buck said. “I’m telling you what I know. I’m telling you more than I should. I’m taking a hell of a risk here.”

  “Then you better find out what happened to Gaviria before something else goes wrong.”

  “What could go wrong? We’re the CIA.”

  Jana leaned back in her chair. “Yeah, sure. What else could go wrong?” She sharpened her tone. “I don’t exactly get a warm fuzzy where the Agency is concerned.”

  Buck said, “Me and you both.”

  The two smiled.

  55

  Sting of the Scorpion

  CIA covert station, location undisclosed, Antigua.

  Lawrence Wallace leaned over the analyst’s shoulder and peered at the man’s computer monitor.

  “It’s right here, sir,” the analyst said as he pointed to a blip on the radar screen. “That’s the float-plane’s transponder.”

  “And you’re sure our target is on board?”

  “That’s an affirm, sir.”

  “ETA to Antigua?”

  “Let me calculate the flight time,” the analyst said as he began tapping away at his keyboard. “Depending on headwinds and airspeed, it’s between fifty-six and seventy minutes, sir.”

  Wallace looked at his watch. “Fifty-six minutes? We’re running out of time. We’ve got to get all parties in there.” He spoke lower. “Hand me that headset. Where is Avenger in reference to Antigua?”

  “The aircraft carrier?” He looked at his laptop. “Cruising seventeen hundred nautical miles south-southwest, sir.” The analyst waited a moment.

  Wallace stared at the analyst’s monitor and his eyes became glassy. “Have them turn into the wind.” He began to pace the room, entranced in thought.

  The analyst whispered to himself, “The only reason to turn a carrier into the wind is to launch an aircraft.”He glanced at the window and caught Wallace’s face in the reflection. In it, he saw a strange slurry of panic mixed with satisfaction.

  Wallace said, “Give me that headset.” He placed the headset on and adjusted the mic. “Avenger?” Wallace said into the mic, “this is Crystal Palace, over.”

  ***

  1,766 miles away, at Fort Meade, Maryland, Knuckles yelled across the vast NSACommandCenter, “Uncle Bill! The feed is live!” He clicked his mouse a few times, and the device began recording.

  The aged man came running over in a panting rush. “What is it, son?”

  “They just called to the USS George H. W. Bush. She’s part of carrier strike group two, currently deployed in the Caribbean Sea.” The temptation to dispel information was too much for the young analyst. “They’ve been monitoring the deteriorating situation in Venezuela. She’s got at least one cruiser, a destroyer squadron of at least two destroyers, or possibly frigates, and a carrier air wing of sixty-five aircraft.”

  Bill looked at him over the tops of his glasses. “I know what a carrier strike group is comprised of.”

  “Oh, yes sir.”

  “Hand me that headset.”

  ***

  “Go ahead, Crystal Palace,” the aircraft carrier called. “This is Avenger.”

  “Avenger, this is Crystal Palace. Give me a sitrep.”

  “Asset is on the pad, Crystal Palace. Catapult locked in.”

  “Roger that, Avenger. Launch the asset. I repeat, the asset is a go for launch.”

  ***

  On the deck of the aircraft carrier, the pilot of an F/A-18F Super Hornet was given the thumbs-up. The pilot charged the engines until a concentration of flame roared from the exhaust ports. The launch catapult rocketed forward and flung the plane off the deck.

  “Asset is away, Crystal Palace,” the voice said into the secure uplink.

  “Roger that, Avenger. Give me direct comms.”

  A few moments later a crackle came across the headset as the F-18 pilot made contact. “Crystal Palace, this is Scorpion. All systems nominal, altitude two hundred and eighty-seven feet. Climbing to cruising altitude, over.”

  Wallace looked at the radar monitor as a second blip representing the F-18 pulsed onto the screen. “Roger that, Scorpion, this is Crystal Palace. I’ve got you five by five. At your discretion, come right, bearing 327.25, affirm?”

  “Roger that, Crystal Palace. Making my heading 327.25 degrees.”

  “Weapons status?”

  “Crystal Palace, this is Scorpion. AGM-84K off my starboard wing. Scorpion is fragged.”

  The CIA analyst looked up quizzically at Wallace. Wallace covered his mic and said, “He means the aircraft has been armed with the specific weapon ordered by the mission directive.”

  “What’s an AGM-84K, sir?”

  ***

  “Did he say an AGM?” Uncle Bill said as he pressed the headset against his ears.

  Knuckles typed in the name of the weapon just to confirm his suspicion. He pointed at his monitor as his computer spat back:

  AGM-84K SLAM-ER (StandoffLand Attack Missile—Expanded Response)

  Boeing Company

  Weight: 1,487 lbs.

  Length: 14.3 ft.

  Operational Range: 170 mi.

  Speed: 531 mph

  “Mother of God,” Uncle Bill whispered.

  “Fourteen hundred pounds?” Knuckles said. “What are they going to do with that?”

  ***

  Wallace spoke into the mic, “Scorpion, this is Crystal Palace. Approach to within one hundred and sixty miles, source to target, then hold.”

  “Roger that, Crystal Palace,” came the clipped reply from the F-18 pilot. “Scorpion out.”

  ***

  Uncle Bill’s fingers descended into his thick gray hair. “We’ve got to warn Jana.” He pulled the glasses from his face and rubbed his eyes. “How do we do that without arousing CIA’s suspicion?”

  “We’ve tried raising them, sir,” Knuckles said. “Nothing is working.”

  “Dammit, son. I have to talk to them. I want answers.”

  “But . . . sir, I don’t understand,” the boy stammered. “What is that bomb for?”

  But Uncle Bill was entranced in his line of thought. “And even if I do warn her, Jana’s not going to leave Kyle in there.”

  ***

  At the covert station, the CIA analyst looked up. “Sir, I know I’m not operationally cleared, but I need to understand the plan.”

  Wallace squinted his eyes at the man. “You are, what, five years into the Agency? What do you believe the mission to be?”

  “I originally thought it was to disrupt a new drug route for the cartels. But now I understand there’s another target involved: a target that is on that floatplane, on its way to Antigua. Is the larger plan to draw all the players together?”

  Wallace didn’t acknowledge the statement. “You disapprove?”

  “Sir, it’s just that Agent MacKerron is still being held. Agent Baker needs time to get him out.”

  “This will not be the last time you see a throwaway.”

  “Sir?”

  “An agent whom the company will permit to be detected.”

  The analyst looked down. “So you are saying Agents MacKerron and Baker are expendable.”

  “It’s for the greater good, son. We dead-dropped intel to Diego Rojas so that MacKerron would be captured.”

  “But—”

  “Agent Kyle MacKerron is icing on the cake. The real agenda here is not to simply disrupt the flow of drugs. The DEA can spin its wheels all it wants to that end. It’s to sanitize a terrorist-cartel connection before it gets started.”

  “I don’t understand, sir.”

  “This is above your pay grade.” Wallace looked down his long, thin nose at him. “You are either with me or you are out.”

  A few moments later, the CIA analyst said, “What’s the play, sir?”


  “Get me Red Dragon.”

  “The CIA operators? Yes, sir.”

  Once they were on the line, Wallace spoke into the mic. “Red Dragon, this is Crystal Palace.”

  “Go ahead, Crystal Palace,” a CIA special operator replied.

  “Operation Overlord is a go. I repeat, Operation Overlord is a go.” Wallace listened for a reply, but when one did not come, he said, “I say again, Red Dragon. This is Crystal Palace. Operation Overlord is a go. Affirm.”

  “Roger that,” came the operator’s stilted reply. “This is Red Dragon, out.”

  The analyst said, “He didn’t sound very happy about that, sir.”

  “Well it’s not within his directive to have an opinion, now is it!” Wallace yelled.

  “No, sir. I didn’t mean to imply . . .”

  Wallace ran both hands across his scalp. “Fuck! The whole damned operation hinges on this!”

  “Sir, what is Overlord?”

  “You just do your job. Overlord is my responsibility.”

  ***

  In the NSACommandCenter, Knuckles said, “What was that, sir? He was on the comms with a team of operators? Operation Overlord?”

  “I have no idea,” Uncle Bill answered, but I can tell you one thing, I’m getting too old for this shit.” He thought a moment more. “Son, get me the DEA Special Response Team at Point Udall, US Virgin Islands.”

  56

  Living with It

  Safe house.

  Jana saw her father in the other bedroom. “What is he doing here?”

  Cade looked at her. “We’re a little short on numbers, and you’re about to go back into Rojas’s estate. Anything can happen. We might need him.”

  “Oh, and you think an ex-CIA case officer who has been in prison the last twenty-eight years is going to help?”

  “He was apparently a pretty big help when things went sideways with Gaviria.”

  Jana’s breathing accelerated. “I don’t have time for this.” She looked around the room. “Where’s Stone?” But as she looked back at the crushed coral driveway, she had her answer. He was pulling back in with his Jeep.