FATAL eMPULSE Page 19

  Beck nodded before turning forward. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

  Frank laughed. “You make it sound like you’re facing the guillotine.”

  “That’s exactly how I feel. Mixing politics and law enforcement is never is a good thing. It’s like putting a match to gasoline—someone always gets burned.”

  As they neared the White House, Frank slowed. “For what it’s worth, I think Chambers is more of a soldier than a politician. And he’d never leave a fallen soldier behind.”

  Beck saw the security check ahead. “Well, I hope we never have to find out, Frank.”

  Beck had visited the White House on other occasions, and getting clearance had always been a pain. Tonight, they were ushered inside without delay. “I’ve never gotten through this fast before.”

  “It is all about who you know.” Frank grinned.

  A man waited for them just beyond the final checkpoint. Stan Goodfellow, the president’s chief of staff. “Gentlemen, I thought I’d meet you here. There has been a slight change of plans. President Chambers will be in The Situation Room. I’ll take you there now.”

  Beck had not been to The Situation Room, located in the basement of the West Wing since it was renovated during the Obama administration. The five-thousand-square-foot nerve center housed conference rooms and a place for the core of U.S. intelligence—Homeland Security, military, law enforcement, and other intelligence agencies—to work side by side in an hourly effort to keep the president and his staff on top of world events.

  As they entered this belowground command center, Beck saw that even though it was late, an array of people were working at their desks.

  Goodfellow led them into a secluded conference room that offered a panel of monitors for live video conferencing. One of those screens was active, and across from that screen and seated at the head of a rectangle maple conference table sat President Stephen Chambers. The president seemed relaxed in this environment, his six-foot frame comfortably ensconced in the chair, fingertips resting at the temple of his chestnut brown hair.

  The president’s hair had started to gray on the edges, giving him a distinguished look. Even at fifty-five, Chambers always seemed to charm the opposite sex, according to Beck’s Secret Service buddies, although they were quick to say he loved his wife and only had eyes for The First Lady.

  President Chambers rose as they entered the room. “Thanks, Stan.” He motioned to his chief of staff. “Close the door when you leave, will ya?”

  Goodfellow nodded and walked away.

  Chambers came around the table. “Frank, thanks for coming. I was about to speak with Prime Minister Shalev in a few minutes.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President.” Frank grasped the president’s outstretched hand. “Sir, this is Special Agent Beck Malloy. I’ve mentioned him to you in our last meeting.”

  Chambers nodded and shook Beck’s hand. “Agent Malloy. Frank tells me good things about you and your…contacts.”

  Beck glanced over at Frank. “Don’t worry,” Chambers said, as if reading Beck’s mind. “I’m the only one here at the White House who knows about your friends. For obvious reasons, I’d like to keep it as quiet as you do. Please have a seat.”

  Frank took one side of the table, and Beck took the other.

  “Okay, before the call goes through to the prime minister, is there anything I need to know about the situation in the Middle East?”

  Frank leaned forward and cleared his throat. “Sir, that’s why I thought it necessary for us to meet face-to-face.” He paused for a moment, glancing at Beck. “And why I brought Agent Malloy. I believed things are starting to escalate, and it is time to turn up the heat on our target Brandimir Kisyov.”

  Chambers let out a lungful of air before speaking. “Is it time to hammer this guy?”

  “We may have waited too long, sir.” Frank shot Beck another glance. “Do you remember how the military went ape over a report that some technology may have been stolen regarding one of our air-defense systems?”

  “Yeah…USAF’s NCCT and Suter systems? What did they call the program? Big Safari?”

  “Exactly, sir. After the theft, there was some suspicion leveled at one of the program designers, a guy by the name of Scott Henderson, who they thought leaked the technology. They were never able to pin it down. Henderson got drummed out of the program and out of the industry as far as I can tell.”

  “So what does this have to do with my call to Shalev?”

  “Bear with me, sir. The FBI’s counterterrorism unit has been shadowing Henderson. He made a trip to Hawaii, where he met with a man I believe was Brandimir Kisyov, although he traveled under an assumed name. Agents missed the meet, but in their follow-up they came up with a description of the guy Henderson met there. It matches Brandimir. We sent in a forensic team, but they came up empty.”

  Chambers straightened in his chair. “Look, Frank, the prime minister is expecting my call. Let’s cut to the chase.”

  “Yes, sir,” Frank said, although Beck could tell by the man’s expression he did not want to be rushed. “Agents tracked Brandimir to a place in Venice, where he met with my old nemesis Ivan Yegorov, formerly with the KGB and now with Russia’s renamed agency, SVR—External Intelligence Services. Before that, he boarded a plane to Paris, where he met with Iranian terrorist Atash Hassan, member of that country’s Ministry of Intelligence and Security. Hassan left that meeting with Brandimir, and one of our agents tailed the Iranian to a meeting with Yegorov on the Russian’s yacht off Baku. We’re able to tape some of that conversation. And finally, Hassan hopped a plane to Damascus, where he met up with a ranking member of Assad’s own personal goon squad, the Syrian Air Force Intelligence Directorate.”

  Chambers seemed puzzled. “Our intelligence picked up chatter that dovetailed with images our satellite sent back. Iran is shifting her air power, moving her squadrons closer to the Iraqi border and all the way south to the Strait of Hormuz. Now, what do I need to share with Shalev?”

  Frank edged closer to the table, hands folded together. “Sir, it is our belief that Iran’s president, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, would be crazier than we think if he tries to attack Israel at the present time, particularly with our armed forces on the alert, and the Navy bulking up its Fifth Fleet. We’ve got more carriers and ships aimed at that country than any other country on God’s green earth.”

  Chambers seemed restless. “Frank, I know our military strength there. I—”

  “Here is where I was going with that, sir. What if Iran coerced another country, closer to Israel’s borders, to take the first swing? To attack Israel’s air-defense system?”

  “Syria? That country got caught with its pants down in 2008 after Israel’s raid hit Dayr az Zawr near the Iraqi border, Syria’s air-defense system at Tall al-Abyad near the Turkish border, and then a suppressive attack at Tall al-Abyad. I mean, their Russian air-defense system turned out to be useless. I find it hard to imagine they’d risk launching a first strike.”

  “Exactly, sir. Because the Israelis were able to use our Big Safari program to thwart and blind Syria’s air-defense system. Syria lost face with the rest of the Arab world, not to mention all the attention the international community is directing their way at how that country is killing its citizens. Right now, President Bashar Hafez al-Assad is fighting for survival, and a man in survival mode is likely to take unreasonable chances. What if he felt that Iran could help him strike at the heart of Israel? That he could demonstrate his strength to the rest of the Middle East? To the world?”

  The president’s face turned grim. “You mean the technology that Brandimir may have gotten his hands on. The—”

  “The NCCT and Suter programs, sir.” Frank finished the sentence, gripping his hand into a fist. “What if—?”

  A phone rang near Chambers. The president picked up the receiver, listened to the message, and then said, “Put him through.” Putting the phone down, Chambers glanced at Frank. “The prime minister must h
ave gotten tired of waiting. He is coming live on the screen.” He nodded to the monitor across from where Beck sat. “Let me do the talking, Frank, unless I request information or clarification. Agreed?”

  Frank nodded and swung around to watch.

  “I mean it, Frank. I need time to figure out what I should tell him. I want to demonstrate that we will stand with Israel. On the other hand, I don’t want to provide him information that might start an all-out war between Israel and the rest of the Middle East.”

  Frank’s jaw tightened. Were they going to leave the Israelis in the dark about a possible pending attack? Beck could not believe that Chambers might sit on this information. If so, this was a different kind of man than Frank painted earlier, a man Beck could not trust.

  The next few minutes would decide whether Beck stayed or walked away from this operation.

  Chapter 35

  President Chambers turned to the mounted screen on the wall. There was a flicker of light before Israeli Prime Minister Idan Shalev’s haggard face appeared. Glancing at his watch, Beck saw it was 10:00 p.m., which meant it was about dawn in Israel. Shalev looked exhausted, as if he’d never slept.

  Chambers opened the conversation with a greeting before getting to the point. “Prime Minister, I believe you’ve been briefed by your people about the visit of Colonel Jack Thompson, a U.S. Marine attached to a Special Operations unit here.”

  Shalev nodded. “Yes, Mr. President. I believe that Colonel Marc Perlman from our IDF has been in touch with your representative. The two of them have shared information, and an agent from our Unit is en route to meet with other members of your group in Dubai.”

  Chambers placed both elbows on the desk and leaned forward, cupping his hands together beneath his chin. “That’s correct. Their destination is Syria.”

  Nodding, Shalev leaned back in his chair. “As you know, one of our people intercepted a conversation between an operative for Iran’s MOIS and a high-ranking member of Syria’s Air Force Intelligence Directorate. It was clear that they were talking about an impending attack against my country.”

  Shalev stopped for a moment and took a sip of water. “This meeting in Syria truly troubles me, Mr. President. The current situation in that country has made the situation even more volatile. We’ve seen a growing number of defections from their military—even from the Air Force Intelligence Directorate. The more Assad’s people clamp down on the military, the more defections to the other side will occur. Particularly now that the military has seen firsthand that Syria’s current crisis is not brought about by terrorists or ‘foreign elements,’ but by atrocities by Assad’s own military.”

  “My predecessor,” Chambers said, “pushed for Assad to step down. What is your opinion, my friend?”

  Shalev’s face responded to the president’s reference to friendship. “We know that the Muslim Brotherhood, if they gain power in Syria would be fanatically hostile toward Israel. They are consolidating power in Egypt and elsewhere, and moving toward a united front against Israel and the United States. In a way, our country would rather deal with the tayvl, the devil we know rather than the unknown devil. Have you received any information that might support this intelligence that Assad might consider an attack against us?”

  Chambers shot a glance at Frank, though Frank did not bother to turn toward the president. Instead, he sat across the table, barely moving. Beck saw a side view of Frank’s face, however, and noted the man’s jaw flexing. Frank must be deeply conflicted at the moment. Beck was glad to see he was not the only one upset about hiding information from the Israelis. He waited to see how Chambers might respond.

  The president turned to face the monitor directly. “Frank Collord just provided me with information I think you should hear, Prime Minister.” Turning to Frank, Chambers said. “Frank, share everything you told me with the prime minister. He should hear it directly from you.”

  The president and Frank stared at each other, and then Frank’s jaw relaxed. Beck felt his own tension drain away. Frank shared everything they discussed before this video-conferencing call.

  Beck studied the prime minister’s face. The man’s eyes seemed weary, and the lines across his face seemed even more pronounced. Shalev stoically listened to the details of a conspiracy that threatened the survival of Israel. Beck could only imagine what the prime minister must be thinking. As Frank finished, Shalev just nodded, glancing down for a moment.

  “Mr. President, thank you for giving me this information. It concurs with other intelligence my people have collected in the last few weeks. As you know, there is a military buildup in Iran, and they are moving their pieces on the chessboard with a clear indication that they intend to do something in the near future. I must weigh all this before deciding what course of action our country must take.”

  The president’s hands lay clenched on the table. “I look forward to our meeting in your country, sir.”

  Shalev gravely nodded. “I just hope that we can meet and demonstrate to the world our solidarity before Iran or Syria act.”

  “I pray that we can meet in peace, my friend.” Chambers’ hands relaxed. “I just hope our people going into Syria can give us a target to attack in order to stop this craziness.”

  “Shalom, my friend.” Shalev ended their conversation. The screen turned black.

  Beck waited outside the conference room as the president and Frank spoke privately. The chief of staff hovered nearby.

  “Did the call to the prime minister go well?” Stan Goodfellow asked, searching Beck’s face.

  “You’ll have to ask the president, Mr. Goodfellow. That kind of assessment is way above my pay grade.” What appeared to be irritation flashed in Goodfellow’s eyes. The man shrugged, staring at the door.

  Beck smiled to himself. It reminded him of a dog his father once owned. Dad would go outside to sneak a smoke, and the dog would just stare at the door until Dad returned.

  Five minutes later, the door swung open and Frank emerged. He quickly greeted Goodfellow and then jerked his head at Beck. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Frank seemed wary of Goodfellow. Maybe the man just didn’t trust anybody. Together, they retraced their steps through the White House. In minutes, Frank had them heading back down Pennsylvania Avenue. “I got the go-ahead to shake up Brandimir’s world. On your end, get paper to hit every office, house, or building that we can connect to that creep. Seize every account he might have, and start looking for any aliases he might have used. We need to hit him hard. And do it fast. Unless we can paint a picture about what this guy is really about, the fallout on this will be tremendous. Once we do that, hopefully, the president will have less flack to deal with.”

  “And our people overseas?”

  “Jack and I will focus on getting them support. You heard the conversation in that conference room. Gerrit and the others had better come up with something very quickly. Something we can shoot at, blow up, or kill before Iran goes nuclear on us.”

  “And if they fail?”

  Frank tensed. “Then we’d better prepare for war. The match will have been lit.”

  Frank breathed deeply before continuing. “I always hated this part, Beck. Sitting back in the rear while my troops take the brunt of an attack. For me, it was much easier when I was in the midst of battle. Waiting to see if my people return home has always been the hardest part. All the time, I’m racking my brain trying to think if I remembered to provide them everything they might need to fight the good fight. I hate this.”

  Beck glanced at the man next to him. This was a side of Frank not many saw, he guessed. Beck realized that Frank would never give a command that he would not be willing to carry out himself if need be. They stepped out into the night. This was a man Beck could trust.

  A chirping noise alerted Beck he had an incoming call. He glanced at the readout. It came from one of the agents in his division. “Beck here.”

  “We have a problem, sir. I just went to check on the suspect Devon Mc
Allister in interrogation. “Someone shot him. He’s…dead.”

  Gripping the phone, Beck tried to control his anger. “How in the world did they—?”

  “Cut the surveillance-camera feed, used a duplicate key card issued to you, and shot him—probably with a silencer.”

  “My card?” Beck tried to make sense of this news. Was he now a suspect?

  “Fortunately for you, sir, you had the best alibi in the world. You were at the White House meeting with the president when it happened. I checked.” The agent paused. “Sorry. We had to know where you were at the time.”

  “Just doing your job. Thanks for letting me know.”

  He closed the phone and slipped it in his pocket.

  Frank eyed him. “Trouble?”

  Beck grimaced. “Devon McAllister is dead. Killed while in our interrogation cell.”

  Frank simply nodded. “We can never underestimate the reach of this organization…whatever it is. And whoever is running it.” He slammed the hood of his car and let loose with a short curse.

  Beck shook his head. “I screwed up.”

  “How could you know they’d reach inside the FBI and make the hit? Don’t beat up on yourself.”

  “No, Frank, I’m talking about what I forget to get before I left him. I was so concerned with Joe and the others in the Middle East that I focused all my questions on them and not our other big question.”

  “Who is the White House leak?”

  “Exactly,” Beck said. “And now the answer may have died with McAllister. That, and any evidence he might have provided against Brandimir. We have just enough for paper, but it might not ever get into court with our key witness dead.”

  Chapter 36

  February 28