FATAL eMPULSE Page 17

  She continued, “There was some improvement. For example, that operation we became involved with in Iran—spying on their nuclear program—was almost unheard of before September 11. But as more time elapsed, the Agency began to regroup, its high-level managers and directors taking a deep breath when they realized that nothing really changed. Can you believe that only about 10 percent of CIA personnel operate on foreign soil?”

  Gerrit stood, gritting his teeth. “Now I know how the word got out about us here in Dubai. It sounds like the entire CIA knew we were coming. I can only imagine the leaks.”

  Shakeela grasped her cup. “It was supposed to change. My boss back at headquarters was directed to send me to Paris—a place that has been off-limits for CIA operations for ages—to recruit human sources who might be able to provide information specifically on Iran. I could travel anywhere I wanted, and I only needed to report to my boss. He kept those that needed to know in the loop. It was my sense that someone else was directing him, because it was out of character for my boss to take such a gutsy stand on a politically hot operation.”

  “Who was that?” Gerrit asked. “Frank Collord?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard of this guy, but maybe—”

  “I can shed some light on Frank.” Joe entered the room as she was speaking. “I guess it’s time to lay it out for you guys.”

  Gerrit was shocked at his uncle’s appearance. “Uncle, you look like—”

  “I feel worse than I look, Gerrit.” As Joe eased himself into an arm chair near the sofa, his arm shook with the strain.

  “We need to get you to a hospital. Now!”

  The older man held up a hand. “First, I need to tell you what you need to know. And I’m sorry for the delay, but I had no choice. I was ordered to keep my mouth shut.”

  “By whom? Frank Collord?”

  “Actually, from the president.”

  “Wait a minute, Joe. We’ve been doing these operations long before Chambers was sworn in. Where did he get that authority?”

  “Actually, Chambers is a gutsy guy. As you know, he sat on the Foreign Intelligence Committee along with Senator Summers. Way before Kane assassinated Summers, Chambers became alarmed at the lack of intelligence they were working with, suspecting that Summers and others were trying to thwart the government. He reached out and contacted Collord, who was then assigned to DIA—the Defense Intelligence Agency. He persuaded Collord’s bosses to give him carte blanche with the understanding that if Chambers became president, they would be politically rewarded for going along.”

  Gerrit snorted. “Sounds like bribery.”

  “More like politics. And Chambers knows how to walk that fine line between legal and not-so-legal.”

  “Okay, Collord was given a green light to do what…recruit us?”

  Joe smiled. “He recruited your father and later…me.”

  “More than seven years ago? And I am just learning about it now?”

  Coughing, Joe leaned forward and gripped the arms of his chair. It took almost a minute for him to get his breathing under control. “It was very hush-hush, Gerrit. Your father wanted to bring you in on this, but he had to be sure you’d commit to it. And when you turned away and went to Iraq, well, that was that.”

  “So where does that leave us?” Gerrit watched his uncle anxiously. The man looked sicker than he had last night. “Talk fast, because I’m getting you to a hospital soon.”

  Joe turned to Shakeela. “What I am about to say also involves you. Frank has the power to pull anyone he chooses into his operation. He had chosen you for some time but had to wait until now to let you know about it.”

  “Me?” Shakeela sat up straight. “What about the Agency?”

  “Frank will take care of that. Right now, you, Gerrit, and Alena will be running point for us, with Jack Thompson in Israel and Beck Malloy in the States backing you up the best they can.”

  Footsteps came down the hall. Alena, wearing a white robe, her wet hair wrapped up in a towel, entered the room.

  Joe gave her a weak smile. “Ah, we’re all here. Good, it will save me some breath.”

  As Alena walked forward, she removed the towel and began drying her hair. “What are we meeting about, Joe?”

  “To discuss the future of our little group. Major world events may be about to happen that will affect every one of you. I need to make sure you understand what’s going on and answer any questions you all might have before we move forward.”

  “And before we get you to a doctor,” Gerrit said.

  Concern creased Alena’s face, and she knelt next to the older man. “You don’t look well, Joe.”

  He patted her arm. “I’ll go get help soon. Promise.”

  They gathered around him. Joe took another deep breath. “We need to find out what Syria, Iran, and Russia have planned in the next few weeks. Whatever you need, Frank will try to get it to you. We must be successful. So much depends upon what you learn.” Between coughs, Joe laid out what Israel and the United States knew might be ahead.

  Gerrit listened to his uncle and realized just how much was at stake. For the first time in a long time, he wondered if they would be able to pull this off. He shuddered to think what might happen if they failed.

  He focused on every word Joe uttered as he watched his uncle struggle for each breath.

  Chapter 31

  February 27

  Washington, D.C.

  Squatting in this cramped van and doing surveillance on the FBI seemed like a bad idea to Devon. Like waving a red cape in front of a bull, he felt like he might be inviting the beast to take a bite out of his rear end. Still, here he sat, peering through tinted windows at the FBI headquarters a few blocks away.

  Once Devon had told Stuart Martin about the meeting with Beck Malloy and Frank Collord on the steps of the Lincoln memorial, Martin ordered him to stay on Malloy until ordered off. The trail for Gerrit and the others went cold, and Devon had to redeem himself—quickly. Relying on video feed from cameras attached to the outside of the vehicle and occasional peeks through a periscope built into the van’s roof, did not provide him a very exciting life. He’d been living in this vehicle twenty-four/seven since that order came through.

  His job had been made easier when one of their techies had slipped a powerful tracking chip into one of Malloy’s credit cards when the FBI agent bought a meal.

  Martin swore he’d get back to him about Frank Collord, but so far the man had not fulfilled his promise. Tired of waiting, Devon used his contacts within the phone companies to get a trace on any calls Malloy made with his cell phone. Though his calls were encrypted, Devon’s people had been able to break that code with technology Martin’s people pioneered since their breakthrough in Operation Megiddo, a source-breaking program that had been developed through recent developments in nanotechnology coupled with quantum computers. He did not understand all the mumbo jumbo, but he did know that Martin’s people gave him really cool toys to work with. Like the ability to track and listen to Malloy’s calls.

  This brought him to the surveillance right now. And to the medical difficulties Joe O’Rourke might be having in the Middle East. The old man should never have traveled to Miami. The moment Gerrit’s uncle disembarked from his plane, Devon had someone waiting. Unfortunately, they caught him leaving the airport, not arriving. Otherwise they would have caught Gerrit and Alena. It did not take much to put the old guy out of commission. And they would never suspect Devon.

  Martin had warned him to keep his hands off Malloy right now. “The last thing I need is the FBI hounding us because we eliminated one of their agents. Just watch and report.”

  Even though he wanted to take matters into his own hands, Devon obeyed the order. Malloy’s telephone conversation included a coordinated search to find Devon. He laughed at the agent’s ineptness, and the fact he was listening in on these conversations. He wanted to take it one step further, one fatal step further for Malloy—that would have to
wait.

  Okay, I’ll listen and watch until the time I can pull the trigger.

  Devon’s people came up short in gaining access to Malloy’s text messages. They assured him they would be able to crack that soon. Among the calls he found interesting was a conversation to that African-American computer geek that kept hacking into their system. If he could get a fix on this Willy guy, Devon was sure Martin would give him the go-ahead to terminate that hacker’s life.

  As far as he could tell, the others must have traveled overseas. The Marine colonel landed in Israel, but the man was very guarded as to what he might be up to. Gerrit and the others landed in some Middle Eastern country, and Martin was working on getting their locations. That was not part of his operation, so Devon had not been looped in. Plenty of targets to go around. And the money was so good.

  Every time Martin did call, Devon felt a chill pass through him. His primary task was to locate and kill Gerrit, Joe O’Rourke, and the rest of the crew. So far, he’d failed Martin except for Joe, unless someone found out what they’d given the old man.

  Too many more failures and Devon might be the next one riddled with bullets. One word from Martin, and any of Devon’s crew members would not hesitate to move in for a kill. Any one of them would love to take his place.

  A vibration erupted in his coat pocket. He pulled out the cell phone and saw the coded call came from their tech support. “McAllister, here.”

  “Sir, we just intercepted a call to your primary target from one of the secondary targets. Gerrit O’Rourke.”

  “Tell me about it?”

  “We’ll send the transcript to you in a few minutes, but I wanted to give you a heads-up that the old guy is really sick. Gerrit said they were trying to get medical help for him. They are transporting the old man to a military hospital aboard a ship somewhere in the Gulf of Oman.”

  “Did you get any information on Collord? Martin promised that you guys would check him out and get back to me.”

  “Still checking, sir. This guy must be a ghost. We can’t find anything on him.”

  “Well, find something I can use. I need it yesterday.” He terminated the call and thrust the phone back into his pocket. Just as he shifted in his seat, he felt the van move.

  Beck settled into a desk he seldom used in the headquarters building just as his cell phone activated. An agent from Communications came on the line. “Sir, we just got a hit on one of the names you sent us. A Devon McAllister. He passed through Dulles a couple of days ago, but your flag on him got delayed. I just got the notice a while ago.”

  Sitting up straight, Beck leaned forward. “Do we have a fix on him right now?”

  “Not quite, sir, but we do have him taking a cab from the airport. We have the cab identified, and I checked on his destination.”

  “And?” Beck waited for the agent to continue.

  “It looks like he went to a business park on the west side of the city and met with several individuals at that location. Cameras show him getting into a van and driving off. We got the plate and vehicle description, and we put it thorough the system a few minutes ago. I will call when we have something.”

  Beck slammed down the phone and leaned back in his seat. This Devon character seemed to have a knack for disappearing. They needed a break about now.

  His phone vibrated with another call. The same agent on the line.

  “Sir, we put out that request to the local PD. One of their traffic units just issued a parking citation to that vehicle.”

  “Where was it cited?”

  “Sir, you are not going to believe this—”

  “Humor me. Just give me the location.”

  “Sir, you can probably see it from your window.”

  Beck leaped from his chair and peered outside. “You have got to be kidding.” He hung up the phone and grabbed his jacket. He would take care of this himself.

  Devon watched the D.C. cop issuing a parking citation. He peered through the window, trying to see if anyone might be sitting inside. The tinted windows obscured the cop’s vision, and he settled for slipping the ticket beneath a window wiper.

  Breathing easier, Devon watched the cop move farther down the street and began ticketing another vehicle. He straightened his legs and closed his eyes for a moment. He might as well take a nap.

  A moment later, the rear window shattered and the muzzle of an H&K assault rifle pointed in his face.

  “FBI, raise your hands! Do not move!” A man in a SWAT uniform wearing a ski mask yelled at him through the broken glass.

  Someone yanked the door open, reached in, and pulled him onto the asphalt. Seconds after he hit the pavement, masked SWAT members had his arms bound behind him while a hand held him down by the nape of his neck, searching him from head to toe.

  He saw a pair of dress shoes right in front of his face. The man belonging to those shoes knelt down so he could see who it was.

  Beck Malloy.

  “What kind of idiot climbs into a surveillance van and parks it in plain view of FBI headquarters? Mr. McAllister, you are under arrest for murder, attempted murder, unlawful wiretaps, and my favorite—felony stupid.”

  Malloy rose and motioned to one of the SWAT members. “Get this creep out of my face.”

  Men grabbed Devon by both arms and hauled him to his feet. Where did these guys come from? They dragged him to an unmarked caged sedan, searched him thoroughly, and then thrust him onto the rear passenger seat. Someone slammed the door shut.

  Perspiration soaked his shirt. Martin would not come to his rescue. The risk would be too great. In fact, Devon might be considered a risk. He imagined one of his own crew members may get a call to terminate him at any moment. His arrest must have been witnessed by one of Martin’s people. They would not hesitate to report his failure to the boss.

  Beck finally heard Collord come on the line. “Frank, we got him. Devon. But I just grabbed his laptop, which he left open, and someone e-mailed him a transcript of my last conversation with Gerrit. They know where Gerrit and his crew are and that Joe’s ill. I’m calling you from a safe phone here in headquarters.”

  “Damn,” Frank said. “Get what you can out of him. Let’s see if you guys can build a case on Brandimir from what Devon gives you. Enough for us to issue an arrest warrant and haul Brandimir in the moment he steps foot on U.S. soil.”

  “I thought you wanted us to to—”

  “I’m staying that order, Beck. Maybe you’re rubbing off on me. Let’s see what you can get out of Devon, and then we will focus on getting Brandimir.”

  “I’ll start on it right way. I’m going to give Willy a call and see what he can do on his end. If I farm it out here in the Bureau, I may not be able to protect what we find. We just don’t know who might be working with Brandimir.”

  “Good. Meanwhile, I’m working on getting Joe out of country to one of our military vessels. His situation is deteriorating, but he insisted on staying until he briefed Gerrit and the others on the entire operation.”

  “Speaking of which, are you going to bring Jack and me in on this? I feel that we only have part of the history.”

  “I’ll sit down with you personally, Beck. Jack will have to wait until he hooks up with one of the other team members who have been briefed. Not the kind of thing one discusses over the phone.”

  “Even encrypted communication lines?”

  “Right now, I don’t think anything is safe, as you just found out with your own communications. Too risky. Not with what we have at stake.”

  “Is this issue with Joe going to impact Gerrit and the others from the primary mission?”

  “Joe, as bad off as he is, demands that they shove off as soon as their equipment and personnel are in place. Based on what I am hearing, Joe is facing an uphill battle for his life.”

  “He is one ornery cuss.”

  Frank chuckled. “I think Gerrit inherited some of his uncle’s stubbornness. He’s digging his heels in and staying put until Joe is taken car
e of.”

  “Let me know how they make out on their end, and I will start gathering intel here in D.C.” Beck disconnected the call and walked toward an interview room where Devon sat under heavy guard.

  Chapter 32

  February 27

  Dubai, United Arab Emirates

  Gerrit elevated Joe’s head with a pillow. “Help is coming, Joe. Just hang in there.”

  He saw the concern in his nephew’s eyes. Joe patted his arm. “Can you do me a favor? Bring my bag with all my documents and papers. There is something I need to take a look at before I leave.”

  Gerrit retrieved the bag and placed it next to Joe.

  Alena stood nearby, watching, alongside Shakeela. Such grim faces. He tried to chuckle. He knew he had never looked that good, and this recent bout of whatever sure did not improve his chances of making the cover of GQ magazine.

  “All of you, listen up, I’m not going anywhere until I finish what I have to tell you. Get comfortable because it’s going to take a few minutes.”

  “Uncle, we don’t have time. You—”

  “Shut up and listen.” Joe saw Alena smile at that.

  Joe started coughing again, and he raised his head to sip water Alena brought from the kitchen. He finally gained enough breath to continue. “Gerrit, Frank recruited your father to use his technology background to look at a more efficient model to gather and disseminate intelligence, and to come up with a better system to make use of human sources in the field, not the World War II-type of mindset that the CIA has based their intelligence gathering. From his position with DIA, Frank slowly created an organizational network that is trim and focused, using a model that demands a minimum layer of management and a maximum number of case agents in the field.”

  Joe glanced at Shakeela. She seemed to be soaking up every word he shared. This seemed to dovetail with the problems she faced in the Agency while running operations. “How do we fit into this network, Joe?”

  “Instead of creating civil-service jobs with yet another agency, Frank created a budget that maximized the use of contracted consultants—like you and Alena—while drawing personnel from other federal agencies as needed.”