by Camden Mays
“Hey, I know,” Capps said raising both hands in surrender. “Look, Ramsey is cocky and undisciplined. That’s what got him nailed. He tried to blame McCune, but at the end of the day, it was on him. Hell, as I said, I’m surprised he met with you.”
“Well, maybe money can buy happiness. Ramsey seems to be doing quite well in his new gig.”
“And he didn’t say anything to you about the mission that canned him?”
“No…just asked me to look over some environmental data for his firm,” Cameron said as he finished off the last drop of his bottle of light beer.
“H’mm. Watch your back, Cole.”
✽✽✽
McLean Virginia
It had been nearly two weeks since his meeting with Ramsey. Cameron had developed a new course for his morning runs that included circling the main complex and checking for the mark that Grant would leave. Inside, he hoped he would never see it. The Agency had him busy enough; he didn’t need any additional distractions.
As he circled the east side of the building, he almost stumbled when he recognized the red mark. He composed himself and continued running. I need to come back when its dark, he thought, resisting the temptation to go directly to the dead drop.
That day Cameron worked through his task list, one item after another. Bouncing around from station to station, getting the information he needed and analyzing processed documents. Each completed task created just enough pause for Cameron to think about the dead drop and what it might contain. Cameron forced himself to breathe deeply, refocus and tackle the next task. Twenty-three tasks later and he called it a day.
Since it was already dark, Cameron decided to drive to the park on the way home. He cautiously watched his mirrors. Whose captain spy now, Grant? Cameron joked to himself.
He pulled into the parking lot near the main complex. Except for the closed concession stand, the area was well-lit. He sat in his car for a few minutes waiting for some teenagers smoking by the dead drop to leave. Finally, they made their way through the park. But now an elderly couple, walking their dog, passed in front of the car. A young female jogger, listening to music with earbuds, was running in the opposite direction.
As she ran out of sight, Cameron climbed out of his car carrying an empty water bottle. He was attempting to be inconspicuous by having something to throw in the trashcan next to the vent pipe.
Inconspicuous. Cameron snorted. Here I am at a park in my suit, walking past two trashcans to get to this one. He could feel his nerves getting to him as he tossed the bottle in the trashcan.
He glanced to both sides as he opened the lid, pulling out a large white envelope. He quickly shielded it inside his coat and replaced the cap, returning to his car. Once inside the car, he turned on his inside lights and opened the envelope. Inside was a note from Grant and a thumb drive.
The unsigned note read:
‘Hey Buddy, my girl came through. She says they’ve had suspicious visitors touring their R & D facility. They showed particular interest in their VX project. When she raised questions, she was told they were potential investors with security clearance and not to concern herself. They reassigned to a different area. She downloaded some files for me on the thumb drive maybe you can figure out some of this data on VX. Hope to have something for you in a couple of days so keep running. I think I’m still being followed. Use caution.’
Cameron stuffed the thumb drive and note in his case and drove home. He immediately went directly to his study and shredded the note. The machine crunched the document.
Cameron laid there in his bed in silence. He was pissed. He was pissed at Grace, pissed that he had to sell the house, but he was more pissed at himself. He had relinquished control of his life to the unforgiving system of the Agency. He had allowed it to drive in the final nails on his failing marriage, and for what? He shot up out of bed and headed to the study.
He pulled out the thumb drive Grant had left for him. He hesitated to stick it in the USB port of his desktop computer, concerned he was crossing the line both legally and ethically.
He glanced toward the doorway; half expecting Grace to magically pop in from two thousand miles away, then inserted the drive into the computer.
Just a handful of files populated the screen — the information mostly related to Roslin’s research processes on the nerve gas, VX. He had majored in Military and Strategic studies as an undergraduate at the academy but completed an Environmental Management Certificate program at UCI when he returned to California to take over his father’s business.
His education gave him just enough chemistry background to see that nothing glaring stood out in these documents.
“You’re chasing ghosts, Grant.”
He pulled out a small envelope from his desk drawer and wrote on it: ‘Nothing here.’ He then withdrew the thumb drive and placed it in the envelope.
He looked at the clock, 1:47 AM eastern time. He tapped his cell phone and dialed his daughter as he walked to the kitchen.
“Hi sweetie, it’s Dad.” He continued, “No everything’s OK. I just couldn’t sleep. I wanted to call and say I miss you.”
They chatted for a couple of minutes, and the patio light switched on again.
“Damn cat!” Cameron said.
“Dad, you OK?”
“Yeah, it’s just that damn cat from next door in our straw again.”
“Ahh…Mr. Strawman, he’s so cute. I miss him,” Jess said.
“Yeah, well Mr. Strawman needs to find a new place. Anyway, I’m looking forward to you coming home for a few days at spring break.”
“I know, I can’t wait. Brittany and I have a lot of things planned,” Jess said referring to her best friend who was a stable fixture at the Cameron house. Cameron considered her his adopted daughter.
“Yeah, well make sure you find some time for me,” Cameron said.
“Don’t worry; we will Dad.”
The call ended, and Cameron headed to bed upstairs. He smiled thinking of all of the fond memories of his daughter, still sleep evaded him.
✽✽✽
Counterterrorism Center - Langley
The next morning at CTC, Cole Cameron was again working with Amy preparing a jacket of intel with additional information on a suspected hostage situation with the AIJB. If the sources on the ground near Al Mukalla, Yemen were credible, then a cell group had three captives. The question was who and why?
As Amy combed through communication pieces with Cameron, he shifted gears on her.
“Amy, have you ever come across intel related to the Roslin Environmental Group?” Cameron’s voice was softer than usual.
Amy swiveled her chair around to look more directly at Cameron.
“I didn’t see them referenced anywhere in the jacket here.” Her hazel eyes looked over her black small-framed glasses.
“No, this is related to another matter.”
Amy paused, “No Cole, I can’t say that I have.” She abruptly turned back to her computer. Cameron watched her for a few seconds. Amy’s response seemed uncharacteristic like her warmth had vanished. Just then it reappeared.
“You better focus on this jacket or McCune will have your ass,” she whispered with a laugh.
Amy got them back on track.
“Look, this number that we tagged as a suspect with the cell group in Al Mukalla has been pinged. NSA is running the decryption. I mean usually, the burner phones are used and then discarded. Which is what we thought had happened with this one. It’s been silent for over two weeks but just was used last night.”
“Maybe we got lucky, and they got sloppy.”
“Or they’re throwing us off our scent with a rabbit chase.”
“Either way, nice work. Let me know when you hear back from the NSA,” Cameron said as he walked away.
✽✽✽
Al Mukalla, Yemen
The devoted Muslims completed their Maghreb prayer and slowly exited the Mosque. A young man rolled up his prayer mat and glanced
over his shoulder to see who was still left. Satisfied with the familiar faces, he walked out of the Mosque down the narrow street in Al Mukalla, Yemen unaware that a veiled woman, was carefully trailing him.
Finally, after several minutes of walking the young man entered a house on the outskirts of Al Mukalla. The woman, Pearl Fahimi, sent a text to her handler giving the location of a suspected terrorist, Abdul Mahib.
Inside the small house, Mahib followed the instructions of his leader, Aakif Muhamad Hasni. An elderly couple and a young female sat quietly on the floor, their hands zip-tied in front of them.
Mahib was proud to be recognized by his leader, and trusted with the responsibility of these hostages and knew he played an essential role in Hasni’s plans. His two friends in the room no longer saw him as an equal, but now with his elevated position and status, he was seen as a leader in their network.
Mahib picked up the flip phone and dialed a number. As the line rang, he looked across the room at his captives hoping that soon he would have the opportunity to take their lives. They only deserved death in his mind, but for now, they served the will of Allah.
“Sameer,” Mahib said hearing the phone answered on the other end.
“Yes,” came the nervous reply.
“Have you completed the task you were assigned?”
“Yes. It is complete. Everything as you instructed. Please, let me speak to my family.”
“No. You were told not to mention them. You will see them again soon. But we have one last request. We have a guest arriving on Sunday, make sure to welcome him.”
“Yes, but please. I don’t understand.”
“Sameer, please make sure our friend feels welcomed.”
Mahib ended the call and looked at the bound young woman and said, “Even as an infidel, your brother, is serving the will of Allah.”
✽✽✽
Counterterrorism Center - Langley
Amy made a rare appearance to Cameron’s desk. “I’ve got something you’re gonna want to see,” she said motioning for him to follow her.
They met in a crowded Ops room with screens filling one wall, and another wall painted whiteboard wall had Arabic scribblings.
"Bridgette gathered some HUMINT suggesting this house…” Amy tapped the keyboard and a satellite image of the outskirts of Al Mukalla, Yemen appeared on the screens zooming into Mahib house, “…is where the hostages we’ve heard about are. Still don’t know who, but it just so happens that the call that we got the ping on earlier was generated from here as well.”
“How confident are we on the HUMINT source?” asked Cameron.
“Very confident, sir. It’s Pearl and you know she’s proven to be reliable on multiple occasions,” Bridgette said.
“Let’s get mission specs drafted for a SOG team and brief McCune, see if we can’t get in there and do some good.”
Later Cameron and McCune reviewed the details and the proposed mission. The mission laid out three objectives; first, get confirmation on captives, second gather additional intel for the whereabouts of Hasni, and third, disrupt any planned activity. Cameron pushed hard to lead the group, but McCune insisted he remain at CTC and that Darryl Capps and a language analyst by the name of Amir join up with a Seal Team CENTCOM would assign. Cameron’s frustration was apparent; this was his project, his intel, he wanted to be in front leading. Later Capps and Amir were called in and briefed.
✽✽✽
McLean Virginia
It was nearly midnight, and Cameron stopped by the park on his way home. This time he waited to open the envelope at home. He went directly to the study and opened the envelope from Grant. This time there was just a note and a key.
Now I know I’m being followed. Getting harder to shake them. I’m going to try to find out who it is, but they are definitely professionals. Can’t risk email or phone yet. I’m going back to Tucson; my asset may have more information.
He began speculating on Grant’s situation. Perhaps he had stumbled across other corporate espionage activities. Maybe someone else is trying to learn about Roslin or just countering his efforts. His concern for Grant was growing. But he had more pressing matters with the growing AIJB threat.
Cameron plopped onto the couch and stared out the window. Silence had become his new roommate, and since Jess had moved off to college, he felt as if he was sleepwalking through life. The days came and went in such a blur that he had trouble distinguishing them. With each sunset, the pain of loneliness grew. In his chest, he felt the heaviness of depression. He lacked energy and focus.
The stillness of the house that weekend brought Cameron to an emotional halt. It was in complete contrast to his typical weekday. The solitude that he so often craved was now unbearable. The weekend progressed at such a slow pace that Cameron found himself mindlessly flicking the remote control, hoping to find something of interest. He had thought the weekend would be an opportunity for reflection. Instead, it was a prison. He was the inmate serving a two-day sentence of loneliness.
On Sunday morning, he sat lifeless at the computer in his study. From the window, he could see dark clouds rolling in. The encroaching darkness coincided with the dimness of his heart. He felt drained, empty and numb. The sound of thunder roared, jarring him out of his semi-comatose state. The rain began to peck on the roof matching the sound of his keyboard as he typed his resignation letter.
CHAPTER 5
Al Mukalla in Yemen
Darryl Capps was the last to climb aboard the helicopter at the extraction point near the coastal city of Al Mukalla in Yemen. The big athletic built, African-American, leaned back and looked across at Abdul Mahib, lying in a fetal position, blindfolded and gagged with his hands and feet secured with tie strips. He then took a panoramic view to make eye contact with the six other men that had served as his team, five Navy Seal team members, and Amir Abdullah, a fellow CIA officer. He nodded to each of them, Job well done!
Amir, the language analyst from Langley, was sweating profusely. His nervousness was apparent to all. Capps’ reached across and slapped his knee.
“You did great.” He said. “Everyone has got to lose their virginity sometime. Now you’ll have a story to tell all the pencil pushers at Langley.” Capps’ humor allowed Amir to release a little tension with his laugh.
The helicopter flew just a few feet above the ocean in the Gulf of Aden until arriving at the USS Ronald Regan. Waiting to welcome the team on the landing deck was the ship’s security officer, two Marines and another CIA contact, known only as “Phillips.”
Phillips was a master interrogator. He had the latitude to use unconventional methods to extract information and had a reputation for getting results. Rumors had it that he had acquired the nickname, ‘Phillips’ because he had once used a screwdriver as a blunt instrument during an interrogation.
The two Marines released the tie strip around Abdul’s ankles and escorted him to secluded quarters on the ship. An additional Marine guarded the door to the quarters and saluted the naval officers. Capps, Amir, and Phillips followed them into the tight quarters. The naval officers reminded Capps that they were guest aboard the ship and that the prisoner was their responsibility for the next four hours until they reached the transport rendezvous.
They were at an impasse. Capps knew that the three dead hostages they found signaled danger and that time was of the essence. He also knew that once they transported the prisoner, it would significantly diminish the likelihood of obtaining information. The naval security officer refused to leave the prisoner alone with Capps’ team.
Capps left the room and used a secure satellite phone to call Special Operations Command (SOCOM) who in turn, called the U.S. Armed Forces Central Command (CENTCOM). He returned to the room that served as a testosterone magnet. The thick tension remained for several minutes. No one in the room spoke a word until all heard the abrupt command of “Attention!” as the captain of the ship entered.
His gruff voice matched his personality, “Well ge
ntlemen, it looks like we got ourselves a hell of a conundrum here,” he said as he scanned the room.
“A word Mr. Capps.” He commanded or requested it was hard to distinguish. They walked outside the room and down the hall out of the hearing range of the Marine positioned at the door.
“We’re going to leave this prisoner in your custody. You do what you need to do to get what you need of him. But you better not kill him and whatever happens, never happened aboard this ship. Is that understood?” the captain concluded, with his face just inches from Capps.
“Understood, sir.”
They returned to the quarters where the Captain relieved his personnel. “Officer Burke, let’s leave these gentlemen to attend to the needs of our guest.” As the Marines and the naval officer left the room, the captain looked around at the three, marveling at the mix.
Amir was overtly anxious and fidgety, Phillips had an eerie coldness to him, and Capps emitted a take-charge attitude.
“Damn, you sure are an odd group. Are you sure you’re all on the same side?” The door closed behind him.
The captain’s observation added to Amir’s anxiety. He stepped toward the door, “Maybe I should leave?” He suggested to Capps.
“No, we need you here to interpret.”
Abdul, mouth still gagged, was now breathing heavy, bracing himself for the pain that he was destined to feel. With eyes still covered, he could only hear the movement of the men in the room. He listened to the sound of a zipper opening, as Phillips made his preparations, removing selected tools from his bag, like a mechanic preparing to work on an engine. He heard the sound of metal instruments clinking on the hard table from behind him.
Abdul shook in terror and began mumbling with his muzzled mouth. Capps removed his gag and blindfold while motioning for Amir.
