by I A Thompson
Task Force Identity
A Regina Livingston Novel
I.A. Thompson
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents, other than those clearly in the public domain, are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by I.A. Thompson
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
Published by Sugar Sands Publishing LLC, Cantonment, Florida
Cover design by germancreative
ISBN-13: 978-1-7332185-0-4 (eBook)
ISBN-13: 978-1-7332185-1-1 (Paperback)
Manufactured in the United States of America
Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
About the Author
Acknowledgments
From the first idea to the period after the final sentence, my family and friends supported me in this journey. I am forever grateful to have all of you in my life. Special thanks to James, my partner and best friend, for letting me talk through tough scenes and for offering priceless suggestions along the way. Paige Lawson, my incredibly talented and dedicated editor, who worked tirelessly to tighten up the story and made sure I had my facts right. Mary for putting the final touches on the manuscript. My work family for listening and cheering every time a chapter got finished. I couldn’t have done this without all of you.
Prologue
The six executives, three men and three women, met in the Ward Room at the White House Mess for their lunch meeting to ensure they had maximum privacy. All had business to conduct, either on Capitol Hill or at the White House on that unusually balmy day in late April.
Kathy Dunlap, head of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives, ATF, and Vickie Chandler, director of the Immigration and Customs Enforcement agency, ICE, were the first ones to arrive. Both had just completed their testimony in front of a Senate Oversight Committee regarding a joint ATF and ICE operation near El Paso, Texas. What should have been a routine weapons’ trafficking sting, resulted in tragedy when a toddler was killed in the crossfire between traffickers and federal agents.
“I’m so glad this is over,” Vickie said with a deep sigh. “I can’t stand it when the fat cats on the hill use something as horrible as this little boy’s death to take stabs at each other and try to get soundbites for their next election campaign.”
Kathy nodded, “On days like these, I seriously start counting down the days to my retirement. If my youngest wasn’t still in medical school, I would gladly resign. But, as it stands, I still need the money for at least two more years.”
Dex Sullivan, leader of the Drug Enforcement Administration, DEA, and Cliff Hernandez, U.S. Interpol director, joined them a few minutes later. Their video conference with the Interpol president and executive committee members had taken up most of the morning and was also the reason for their discreet gathering.
Since the cabinet meeting with the president ran long, Charlie Bainbridge, in charge of the National Security Agency, NSA, and Chuck Hayes, director of the Central Intelligence Agency, CIA, were a fashionable five minutes late and joined the small group precisely as the others were about to take their seats at the table.
“Hi everyone - sorry we’re late, but we brought you a surprise,” Charlie announced with a wide smile and a welcoming gesture towards the door.
Ben Marshall, the U.S. president, stepped into the room. “Glad to have you at the White House, guys,” he said as he shook hands with the four agency leaders. “Charlie told me you’re hashing out a plan to rid the world of some unsavory characters?” he asked, looking around the room.
“Yes sir, Mr. President, that is correct,” Cliff responded. “Interpol has reason to believe that a network of smugglers has formed, spanning several continents. So far, we have evidence of drugs, weapons, and in some cases, antiquities smuggling. But I would not be surprised if there was more; The monetary flow includes everything from cash to bitcoin. There is a lead pointing to a U.S. entry point in the Florida panhandle, though it may end up being nothing, I wanted to get all of us together so we can get ahead of this thing.”
“Excellent. Keep me informed on your progress,” Marshall said, looked around the room again and added, “I’m very pleased to see how well you all collaborate. Keep up the good work. I’ll let you get to it.” With that, the president turned around and left the room.
“Alright then,” Charlie reached for a menu. “Let’s get something to eat, then you can tell us everything we need to know, Cliff.”
After they ordered their food, Hernandez handed out small binders. “These contain everything I’m about to tell you, so don’t worry about taking notes at this time,” he paused while a server brought their beverages; continuing after he left, “18 months ago, Interpol agents in Belgium and Holland started picking up chatter about high-quality cocaine showing up on the market in larger than usual quantities, and cheaper prices. Three months ago, the same stuff started showing up in Miami and New Orleans.”
Dex chimed in, “The stuff is sold under the street name ‘Niseko’, named after the Japanese ski resort which is known for having the best powder snow in the world. But, other than the name, there is no connection to Asia, and from what we’ve gleaned so far, we’re suspecting the origin to be somewhere in South America.”
“How can we help?” Vickie asked.
“I’m glad you asked,” Cliff answered. “Interpol is standing up a task force, codename ‘Identity’, to take the investigation to the next level. Interpol agents in the countries involved will act as liaisons with national law enforcement agencies. For obvious reasons, we’re an involved country, which brings Vickie, Kathy, and Dex to the table. If the need arises, we’ll bring in the Federal Bureau of Investigations, FBI, as well, and in case you wondered why Charlie and Chuck are here, I’ll get to that in a minute.”
The conversation turned to small talk
while their food was being served, allowing them to appreciate the advantages of eating at the White House with the fast service, beautiful china and first-class food. Plus, having their cost centers automatically charged took care of pesky details like paying the tab.
A few minutes later, Cliff swallowed his last bite and picked up his speech from where he left off, “So, Charlie and Chuck, the reason we need support from you guys on this one is the unparalleled resources you have at your disposal. The NSA’s ability to collect and analyze unbelievable amounts of data will be much needed for this endeavor. From the CIA we need a first-class analyst who can connect and interpret what’s coming over from the NSA, as well as the agents in the field in the various countries.”
“No problem, happy to help,” Chuck said, while the others nodded in agreement.
Cliff opened his binder. “Okay, let’s get to the nitty-gritty, turn to page six,” he said, before continuing after everyone had done as he asked, “For starters, we will set up shop in Pensacola, Florida. We’d like to have all our resources in place by mid-May which gives us two weeks to get our agents down there and settled in. Does that timeline work for you?” He asked, looking back at the group.
All agreed that two weeks was more than enough time to put their teams together and in motion.
Cliff concluded, “That’s all I have. Do you have any questions or concerns?”
Dex asked, “Yes, what’s the master plan here? Assuming all of your units across the world find out who the villains are, are you planning a coordinated take-down or something less splashy?”
Cliff nodded, “We’re shooting for coordinated action. But, since operations this big tend to take on a life of their own, we’re prepared to execute surgical strikes where and when needed.”
“How long do you foresee our engagement lasting? You know our staffing levels are low since the last budget cuts,” Kathy added.
“Great question,” Cliff answered. “We’re all in the same boat, so hopefully, we’ll be able to lean on local law enforcement for the heavy lifting. I’d think three to four months should be more than enough for most of your people.”
“That’s doable for us,” Vickie said. “We have other business to conduct in Northwest Florida, so we can get two flies with one swat.”
Twenty minutes and a quick run-down of logistical details later, the six directors concluded their meeting and headed off to their agencies to make the necessary arrangements for their participation in task force ‘Identity’.
1
Regina got out of her car and took a deep breath; she loved the smell of spring, especially on a beautiful day like this one. It wasn’t like she could pinpoint any scent, but whatever was in the air smelled great. Unless it rained, she always parked as far away as she could from her office, just in case the quick ten-minute walk ended up being her only opportunity in the day to exercise.
After five years of working for the CIA, she was still in awe of the beautiful structures that formed the headquarters complex. The mix of concrete, steel and glass of the two structures in front of her made them shimmer in a hue that was best described as either a dark turquoise or blue aqua. Behind them were the sprawling cream colored buildings of the original headquarters building. In her mind, as impressive as the architecture was, it was the sense of purpose and mission that gave these buildings their grandeur.
She made a quick stop at CIA’s very own Starbucks to get her standard venti latte with fat free milk, before she made her way to her cubicle. She was usually the first one in the small office she shared with three other junior analysts and enjoyed the peace and quiet she got before the others rolled in.
She fired up her computer and started sifting through the reports and snippets of data that were collected around the world overnight. The team’s latest assignment was to analyze the recruiting efforts of students by terrorist groups and provide recommendations to the Directorate of Operations for potential action.
“Morning, over-achiever,” Deanna, her desk neighbor said as she strolled in. “You didn’t bring me any coffee? I’m disappointed.” The pretty blonde made a pouty mouth.
Regina rolled her eyes. “Since I didn’t know when you’d show up, I didn’t want to take the chance of the coffee getting cold. But I could use another cup, so I’ll buy if you fly.” She held up a $10 bill.
“Deal!” Deanna grinned as she grabbed the money and headed out the door. She was a social butterfly whose charm and ability to make friends quickly became an integral part of the team’s success; there wasn’t a door in their building that Deanna couldn’t knock on and get help if they needed it.
Regina smiled and turned back to her screen; there was a report from London about two students from Thailand who were under observation for chatting with a known ISIS recruiter in Iraq; both studied chemical engineering at the University of Bath. Regina moved it to her ‘Follow Up’ folder. “I bet, they would like to get their hands on that skill set,” she said to herself.
A tall guy with ex-marine written all over him walked in. “Who wants to get their hands on what?” he asked.
“Hey Frank,” Regina looked up. “Two Thai kids with the ability to create potentially dangerous chemical concoctions chatting with an ISIS recruiter. What are the odds that of the 5.5% Muslims in that country, you have two families with enough funds to send their offspring to a top-notch British university and both are aspiring jihadists? Or even weirder, they could be part of the Buddhist majority. If so, what the heck is their motivation? I’ve flagged the report so we can take a closer look at it at our team meeting.”
“Sounds good,” Frank dropped his backpack next to his desk and dropped into his seat. “Geez, I am tired with a capital T, and it’s only Tuesday.”
“Shouldn’t have stayed up all night with the flavor of the month,” Regina teased.
“Come on, Sonya is a nice girl, possibly even a keeper.”
“And you’ve been seeing her how long? Three weeks?”
“Four, actually, and counting. She’s cute, can keep up with me and makes me laugh. Not the greatest cook, but you can’t have everything, right?”
“Dude, if you’re still with her in four weeks, we’ll have another chat.” Regina had lost count of how many times she had the exact same conversation with Frank during the three years they had worked together. Frank was always in love and inevitably something went wrong right around this time.
Frank glared at her. “One day, ice queen, you’ll be in my shoes and just see if I give a hoot when it happens.”
The door opening interrupted their exchange; Deanna was back and brought with her Ted, the fourth member of the team.
“Here’s your coffee, darling,” Deanna handed her the cup. “Look alive folks, Turtle is on the move.” She was referring to their supervisor, Monty Richards. His hunched over way of walking and crusty personality made the nickname quite befitting. The quartet snapped into work mode and for the better part of an hour it was very quiet
Ted looked up. “Have you guys ever come across something called TUMALSO?” he asked.
“Can you eat it if you cook it long enough?” Frank wanted to know.
“Really? Can you be serious for a change? It stands for ‘The United Marxist and Leftist Student Organization’. Other than alphabet soup, it appears to be something like a forum, where kids share their adoration for guys like Che Guevara, Karl Marx, Herbert Marcuse and the likes.”
“I’ve never heard of it before. Where did you find it?” Regina asked.
“I tripped over it in an NSA table on online chat boards. It was such a weird acronym that it just stood out. I cross-referenced a half-dozen of the more active IP addresses; there is a guy from Iran, a girl from Austria, another one from France, a guy from Canada, one from South Africa and another one from Argentina.”
“That’s pretty random. Can you pull it up?” Regina got up, walked over to Ted’s desk and looked over his shoulder. “Doesn’t look overly sophisticated, likely
open source. Where did it originate?”
Ted pushed a few buttons. “Site is hosted by a London company; domain was registered by a chick in Stockholm which makes sense contextually, given their country’s socialist tendency. Nothing but philosophical chatter; no calls to action, no incendiary or violent verbiage identified.”
Deanna looked up. “Can you stop wasting your time on some starry-eyed kids and help me with this?” she held up the picture of a beautiful blue-eyed woman wearing a black hijab with gold embroidery. “I have a report from our CIA station in Damascus about this woman, Amani Nazar, who is quickly reaching notoriety in the region for her efforts to recruit women to become ISIS brides. They think she might actually be Maddy Cooper from Atlanta, who was reported missing by her parents in 2014 after she failed to return from her senior trip to Cyprus.”
“Give me a minute,” Frank said. “Let me cross reference everything we have on Maddy Cooper and Amani Nazaar.”
“Ted,” Regina circled back around to her own desk, “can you set a reminder for us to look at that TUMALSO forum again in a month or so, just to make sure it stays as innocent as it currently sounds?”
