The Pandora Deception--A Novel

by David Bruns

  “I wouldn’t miss this for the world. This place, and people like the two of you, have made young Michael into the man he is today.”

  The soon-to-be graduates had filled the block of seats on the field, and they stood at attention. The last of the academic professors took their places on the stage, followed by the military chain of command. The commandant of midshipmen, the superintendent, and finally the secretary of defense took the stage, and the assembled graduates took their seats in unison.

  Although Janet knew it was boiling hot down there on the field, she also knew the graduates didn’t care a whit. Four years of hard work—academics, physical training, military training—was about to pay off for them. There wasn’t a man or woman on that field who wouldn’t crawl over broken glass to get their commission and their degree. Nothing could dampen their enthusiasm today.

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to explain this all to me, Janet,” Eustace said. “I’ve been to graduations before, but Michael tells me this is much more than a graduation. He’s very emphatic on that point.”

  Janet laughed. “He’s right about that, ma’am. This is an academic graduation, but the real point of today is when they take the oath of office. After that, they’re commissioned officers. That’s what it’s all about.”

  Eustace nodded. “That’s what he said. I don’t think he had much trouble with the academic part, but the rest of it … well, I’m so glad he met you and Andrea when he did.” She paused to press a tissue to her eyes. “His mother would just be so proud right now. And she would give you a big old hug if she was here.”

  Janet instinctively squeezed the older woman’s hand.

  “Michael didn’t have a lot of friends growing up,” Eustace said softly. “Didn’t have any friends really. But you and Andrea. He looks up to you and thinks of you as his friends and that means all the difference to me.” The older woman dabbed at her eyes again.

  Janet swallowed. If she didn’t change the subject soon, she would be crying herself. She leaned over to Don.

  “Any word from Dre? I haven’t heard from her in months.”

  Don shook his head. “I’ve been trying to reach her, but nothing back. I know she’s busy with her surface warfare quals, but there’s something I need to talk to her about.”

  The music ceased and the first speaker stepped up to the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the playing of the national anthem.”

  The crowd fell silent and stood as one. Janet put on her cover at the correct angle and saluted as the music started.

  Déjà vu welled up around her. The packed stadium, the patriotic crowd peppered with saluting officers and proud parents, the block of brand-new graduates on the field.

  A few years ago, she had been among the graduates, but it had been a very different experience for her. With her left arm in a sling, Janet’s uniform on graduation day was not as sharp as she would have liked, but she had managed to salute with her classmates.

  She remembered the slick feel of tears on her cheeks, just glad to be alive after the North Korea operation.

  She owed her life to Michael Goodwin’s quick first-aid actions. She couldn’t tell Eustace Jenkins that part, but she felt the tears brimming again. When the national anthem finished, she felt Eustace press a tissue into her hand.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” she muttered, and swiped at her eyes.

  The crowd around them buzzed with laughter as they bided their time for the big moment. No one was here to listen to a government official speak. Finally, the superintendent directed the graduates to stand.

  Funny, Janet could barely remember walking across the stage for her diploma. She recalled that the guy in front of her had done a backflip after he received his, but everything after that was a blur.

  Around them, blocks of friends and family perched on the edge of their seats waiting for that electric moment when their graduate’s name was called. They leaped to their feet, cheering and ringing cowbells for the few seconds it took their graduate to cross the stage, then sat down again.

  “Michael. Goodwin.” Janet, Eustace, and Don stood and bellowed as loud as they could.

  She hadn’t seen Michael since her own graduation. He strode across the stage with a confidence she didn’t remember and shook the secretary of defense’s hand as he accepted his diploma. The superintendent paused, giving the young man a whispered word before he released his hand. The stage was very far away, but Janet saw Michael raise his head in acknowledgment of their shouts.

  “He’s changed a lot since you last saw him,” Don said. “You’ll be impressed.”

  Finally, all the graduates were back in their seats. She could see them chattering excitedly to one another as she searched the crowd for Michael. He was staring ahead, quiet, lost in the moment. She smiled to herself. That was the Michael she remembered.

  “Graduates, please rise.” The entire stadium drew a collective breath. “Raise your right hand.”

  Janet’s heart pounded as she heard the words again.

  “… I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.”

  Eustace sobbed and Janet put her arm around the older woman. “Watch, Eustace, you don’t want to miss this part.”

  “Hip, hip, hooray!” On the third repetition of the cheer, a thousand uniform caps launched into the air in the iconic moment of celebration captured by so many photographers. As caps came down, they were relaunched, creating a boiling effect in the center of the field.

  All around them, parents, siblings, grandparents, friends, and lovers all wept and hugged each other.

  The superintendent stepped to the microphone.

  “Dismissed!”

  * * *

  Janet, Don, and Eustace waited in the shadow of the Tecumseh statue in front of Bancroft Hall, the US Naval Academy dormitory for the entire brigade of 4,500 midshipmen. New graduates and their guests crisscrossed the white pavers of the open formation space known as T Court, named after the statue.

  “I’m sure there’s a reason why there is a statue of a Native American warrior in front of this building,” Eustace said.

  Janet recalled one of the many facts every plebe had to memorize during their first year at the Academy. “The statue is a bronze replica of the figurehead of the USS Delaware, placed here in the 1930s. The statue is actually of the peacemaker Tamanend, but midshipmen preferred to call it Tecumseh and the name stuck.”

  “And you just know that fact off the top of your head?” Eustace said.

  Don and Janet laughed together. Janet said, “It’s a requirement—”

  “There he is,” Don interrupted.

  Janet followed Don’s pointing finger to see a tall black man in dress white uniform, striding their way. That could not be Michael. The Michael she remembered was a reserved plebe, distant and barely able to make eye contact, not this smiling, waving man who walked toward them with purpose and drive. He looked taller than she remembered and had put on weight in his shoulders and arms.

  He stopped a few paces away, looked Janet in the eye, and saluted. She drew herself up and returned the honor. To her surprise, he flipped a coin at her, which she caught in midair.

  “What is this?” she asked. He surged forward to engulf her in a hug. The embrace confirmed her observations of his height and weight. He set her back on the ground, then hugged Don and Eustace.

  “That silver dollar is Captain McHugh’s,” Michael said. “Liz wanted you to have it.”

  Janet stared at the battered silver dollar. The tradition of a newly commissioned officer giving a silver dollar for their first salute was as old as the Navy.

  She hadn’t thought of Brendan McHugh in months, but this coin—his co
in—made him feel very near on this special day. Captain McHugh gave his life on the North Korea mission where she had been gravely injured. She remembered the calm in his voice as he talked to her on the helo ride onto the island. How he’d steadied her nerves, made her feel ready for the trial to come.…

  She closed her fingers around the coin, feeling the edge bite into her palm. “I don’t know what to say, Michael.”

  “It was Liz’s idea,” Don said. Brendan McHugh had been Don’s best friend. Don blew out a long breath.

  “All right, enough tears for one day. We’ll drink to absent friends later.” He extracted a trifold packet of papers from his jacket pocket, which he handed to Michael. “As promised, sir, your new orders.”

  Janet perked up. “New orders? Michael’s going to work for you?”

  Don cocked an eyebrow, then pretended to reach into his pocket again. “I’ve got a second set in here for you, if you’re interested.” He locked eyes with Janet. “I’m serious.”

  Janet felt the weight of the gold dolphins on her uniform. She had been qualified only a few months. She loved her new life on a submarine and she was good at her job. But the chance to work with Michael and Don again …

  “I’m listening, Don,” she said.

  Michael stuck out his elbow. “Miss Eustace, I suggest we go back to the hotel and let these two talk. We’ll see them at dinner.”

  Eustace, obviously impressed with Michael’s newfound confidence, took his arm and bussed his cheek with a kiss. “Your mother would be so proud of you right now, Michael. I just can’t stop thinking that.”

  Michael returned the kiss, then led her away.

  Janet and Don strolled down Stribling Walk, the wide, red-brick boulevard that ran the length of the Naval Academy grounds, known as the Yard. The excitement of the recent ceremony was still palpable in the groups of people they passed.

  “How did you manage to recruit Michael right out of the Academy?” Janet asked.

  “All things in good time, my impatient young friend,” Don said.

  The sleek lines of Hopper Hall, the cybersecurity studies building, loomed over them. As the first new academic building built on the Naval Academy grounds in over forty years, Hopper managed to look both natural to the Academy aesthetic and futuristic at the same time.

  Janet knew that the façade and the academic setting were deceptive. This was a secure building, with multiple SCIFs, or sensitive compartmented information facilities, inside and a state-of-the-art communications array on the roof. This site was as up-to-date as any intelligence facility in the greater Washington, DC, area.

  Don had a visitor’s badge waiting for her at the reception desk and led her to a first-floor conference room that he had reserved.

  “You were that sure I’d say yes to this meeting?” she asked.

  In reply, he drew a single sheet of paper from his inside pocket and slid it across the table toward her along with a pen.

  Janet scanned the sheet. “Is there ever a time when we just have a conversation that does not involve a nondisclosure agreement?”

  Don shrugged. “It’s the life we lead.”

  Janet took the time to read the document carefully. Still, as her logical brain processed the text, her emotional brain ran wild.

  The CIA? She had worked hard for her gold dolphins. Was she really willing to consider putting aside her new life as a submarine officer for a tour at the CIA?

  She scribbled her signature and the date on the bottom of the sheet. “Let’s hear your pitch, Riley.”

  Don’s demeanor became serious. “I’m building a new directorate at the CIA. The North Korea situation woke up a lot of people. Top brass realized that when everyone is focused on the big threat and reacting to emergent events, no one is looking for the stuff bubbling just below the surface. Emerging Threats, that’s what it’s called.”

  “I’m listening,” Janet said.

  “This is not just another analyst job,” Don said. “We get the stuff that falls between the cracks, the cases that don’t fit neatly into anyone’s portfolio. New terrorist groups, cyberattacks with no attribution, proliferation of WMDs, coups d’état, regional conflicts—if it’s weird and new, we get first crack at it. And once we find the next threat, I’ll have the authority to run field operations on that threat.”

  Janet glanced down at the gleaming gold dolphins on her uniform. Don noted the unconscious movement.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “You have a job and you’re good at it. I talked to your commanding officer and he raved about you—”

  “You talked to my CO?”

  Don drew a trifold sheaf of papers out of his inner pocket.

  “I’m here to offer you a job, Janet. What you’re doing as a submarine officer is honorable and you’re a top-notch warrior. If the bubble goes up, I’ll be glad you’re out there, but this…” He tapped the papers. “With this, we will solve problems before they become major events on the world stage. We will stop wars. We will save lives. It’s not glamorous and you won’t see your name in the paper, but this is how we change the world, Janet.”

  He slid the papers across the table. “There’s a set of orders for you. If you want the job, it’s yours. If you want to stay in subs, I won’t ask again.” Don stood. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

  Janet let the door close behind Don, let the silence of the room settle around her.

  Then she unfolded the sheaf of papers and started reading.

  CHAPTER 7

  Tel Aviv, Israel

  Rachel wondered if the fluorescent lights in these conference rooms were designed as a subtle torture device. The slight buzz, the harsh glare, the high-frequency flicker. That would be something the Israeli government would do, she thought.

  The windowless room, located deep in the bowels of the Defense Ministry headquarters, was a beige, all-purpose meeting room with whiteboards along the front wall. The smudged shadows of past writing were barely visible on the dirty white expanse.

  Today, the interior was mostly empty and the remaining furniture arranged courtroom-style, with a four-person panel at the front of the room and a small table at which she sat next to Noam Glantz, her boss. Their table was bare save for a clear pitcher of water flanked by two inverted glasses and a spidery black microphone for each of them.

  Neither she nor Noam had notes, and their mobile phones had been deposited in an EM-shielded box in the hall.

  Noam slumped in his chair, his heavy belly straining at his belt, the buttons on his shirt almost giving up the ghost in their effort to hold back his girth. He looked glum, like a bored toad, the corners of his lips turned down, his jowls overflowing his collar.

  His expression was an act. This was his version of a look of contrition that might make the panel take pity on this poor case officer and his rogue field operative.

  “This board of inquiry will come to order.” The speaker was a young man, barely Rachel’s age, but brimming with bureaucratic zeal. He had a reedy voice and trendy horn-rimmed glasses. He was flanked by two women, both dark-haired and middle-aged; one wore glasses. Their body language indicated to Rachel that they were perfectly willing to defer to their younger colleague.

  Rachel glanced at Noam, but he just stared straight ahead. The lead investigator’s manner gave her pause. She had scant experience with these inquiries, but she would have been more comfortable with a bureaucrat who didn’t look so … eager. She wondered, had the more senior investigators fobbed off a sensitive case on the new guy so they didn’t get any political blood spatter on their shoes?

  She was sworn in and Noam was roused long enough for the same, then resumed his glum silence. The panel did not introduce themselves.

  “This inquiry is into the lawful execution of Abdul Wenje in Mozambique in May of this year by officer Rachel Jaeger,” the young man with the reedy voice said.

  Rachel straightened, acknowledging her name with a nod.

  Reedy Voice continued, �
��You were ordered to infiltrate the local population in this section of Mozambique, locate the target, and eliminate him. Is that correct?”

  Rachel nodded.

  “The witness will please provide a verbal response to all questions,” Reedy Voice said.

  “Yes,” Rachel said, leaning toward the microphone.

  “Can you describe the nature of the execution method you were ordered to use?”

  Rachel took a deep breath. “The subject was a habitual user of anabolic steroids, so I was given a small syringe to dose the target. The plan was to make his death seem like an accidental heart attack.”

  “And what was your operating status?”

  “Deep cover,” Rachel said. “No backup. This was a low-risk operation, easily handled by a single operator, but required the ability to fit into the local population and get close to the target.”

  Rachel wondered if she should speak more plainly. Her Ethiopian heritage and language skills made her one of the few Mossad agents suitable for the job. Noam stirred and rested his elbows on the table.

  “Steady,” he said in a low voice.

  “Did you have something to add, sir?” Reedy Voice asked.

  Noam shook his head.

  Rachel continued, “The operation was designed to maintain a low profile. For political considerations.”

  The logic of these operations never worked out in her head. Terrorists killed Israeli citizens. The government of Israel wanted the terrorists dead. But no one wanted it to show up in the newspapers.

  Reedy Voice interrupted her thoughts. “And was the operation successful?”

  Rachel leaned toward the microphone. “Abdul Wenje is dead. The operation was successful.”

  Reedy Voice’s brows bunched together. “Did you have information that suggested your cover may have been compromised prior to the assassination attempt?”

  Noam finally stirred. “Sir, this was not an attempt. The job was completed. Satisfactorily.”