Peter Kirsanow - Target Omega

“Is there someone other than the FBI you can go to?” Katy asked. “Whoever it is you work for, couldn’t you just go to them and give them the facts?”

“Problem. The individuals who provide us direction and logistics are all dead. So, at this point, I have to assume everyone’s a possible bad guy until proven otherwise.”

“Are you saying the government could be involved?” Katy asked.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. Contrary to popular belief, the government does not have a general policy of assassinating its citizens on American soil. But there may be someone in the government who’s working with, or for, the bad guys. In fact, it’s a near certainty. That’s the only way they could’ve pulled off what they did. So, before I contact anyone for help, I have to be sure — at least as sure as I can be, given the circumstances — that the person’s clean.”

The look on Joe’s face was that of an unsentimental realist. It was clear that he was skeptical the matter would be resolved favorably.

“But, Michael. Why?” Katy asked. “Do you have any idea why this is happening?”

Garin’s mind flashed to an image he thought he’d seen in a tunnel in Pakistan a few days ago. More accurately, it was a series of images he’d definitely seen but had difficulty placing or comprehending. He believed, however, that he knew someone who could help him get some answers.

“I don’t know. There are three possible reasons why we were targeted: to retaliate for something we did; to prevent us from doing something in the future; or to erase something we know. Maybe it’s a combination of the three. My hunch is that someone is trying to erase something we know. That’s why they also targeted my old boss. They think I might have told him something.”

“Mike, this doesn’t sound like you can get the answers by yourself. And definitely not in a few days,” Joe said.

Garin lowered his head slightly, conceding the point. Then he looked at his sister. “Sorry, Katy. You didn’t ask for this. You shouldn’t be burdened with this. It’s not your fight.”

Katy glanced at her husband and then took a step closer to Garin, an intense look on her face. She spoke in a quiet, controlled voice, but her tone was insistent. “I don’t want to hear that sorry crap, Michael. We’re hiding in a damn bunker. In the United States of America. My kids’ lives are in danger.” She pointed her right index finger at his chest, jabbing for punctuation. “You go on offense right now. Find out who these bastards are and take it to them. No excuses. That’s what Pop would do. That’s what Pop would expect you to do. He would expect you to make things right. And it seems to me that means making absolutely sure that the people responsible for all of this can never do it again.”

CRYSTAL CITY, VIRGINIA

JULY 14 10:15 A.M. EDT

The morning haze didn’t burn off until well past nine. The forecast promised temperatures in the mid- to upper nineties, with oppressive humidity. The sidewalks were nearly empty and the traffic sparse. It was a slow, lazy Sunday morning in July in Washington, D.C.

Olivia Perry was scouring the classified briefing materials from the National Counterproliferation Center regarding US WMD protocols. Before leaving Brandt the previous evening, she had asked him to call the Office of the Director of National Intelligence and request any information he could provide on US efforts to contain the spread of weapons of mass destruction and any information available on an individual by the name of Michael Garin.

Olivia’s only concession to its being a Sunday morning was her casual attire and her decision to work from home. She wore a pair of white cotton running shorts and a tank top and sat on a cushioned deck chair on the small balcony of her apartment overlooking the Pentagon. A cup of espresso sat on a circular coffee table next to her laptop and a manila file folder.

The requested information had arrived by courier at Olivia’s apartment in Crystal City shortly after eight A.M. It consisted of a CD and a thin manila folder. The CD contained the material on WMDs. The folder contained information about Michael Garin.

Olivia hadn’t expected that the information the DNI sent over would be anything more than generic, open-source information. She wasn’t disappointed. Most, if not all, of the data could’ve been obtained through a diligent Internet search.

Still, the material saved Olivia a considerable amount of research time, and given Brandt’s desire to get as much information as quickly as possible, it was a useful starting point.

Olivia began by reviewing the WMD data on the CD. She was already familiar with much of it. SEAL Team Six — DEVGRU — based in Dam Neck, Virginia, was trained in WMD. As was Delta Force. No mention was made of any WMD task force assigned to destroy or otherwise compromise the WMD programs of rogue nations and terrorists. No mention was made of anyone named Michael Garin or Thomas Lofton. Olivia would have thought it a spectacular breach of security if there had been.

The only references to the destruction of WMD programs was a file on the CD that consisted of publicly known or suspected WMD programs that had been delayed or destroyed by deception or force. The majority of these, unsurprisingly, related to actions taken by Israel against some of its neighbors. A nation faced with existential threats didn’t have the luxury of engaging in detached deliberation about the pros and cons of destroying a murderous dictator’s nuclear weapons program. Among the actions were the bombing of Iraq’s Osirak nuclear reactor in 1982, the bombing of Syria’s al-Kibar nuclear reactor in 2006, and several acts of sabotage against Iranian nuclear facilities in the last several years. It was widely rumored that the attacks on the Syrian and Iranian programs had been accomplished with American assistance, but there was no evidence confirming such rumors.

After Olivia completed a review of the data on the CD, she opened the file on Garin. The contents were so sparse as to be mildly amusing. Had Olivia not been informed by the president’s national security advisor that Garin led an elite team of operators tasked with destroying renegade WMD programs, the file would’ve caused her to think Garin was nothing more than an honorably discharged veteran with six years of service in the US Navy. In fact, it appeared from the file that Garin’s last military or government service ended nearly ten years ago.

According to his file, Garin had enlisted in the Navy at age twenty. He had been stationed at several bases, including Coronado, California, where he had gone through BUD/S and SEAL Qualification Training as a member of Class 226. He didn’t become a SEAL, having failed to complete the course. He was discharged sometime thereafter. That, and a three-by-five black-and-white file photo, constituted the complete official record of Michael A. Garin’s service to his country.

The file was practically useless. Sitting back in her chair, Olivia gazed at the Air Force Memorial in the distance and plotted her next move. She wasn’t a private investigator and Brandt hadn’t charged her with acting as one. She had suggested to Brandt that he simply requisition Garin’s entire file, but he dismissed the idea as unproductive. Even if he knew what agency Garin worked for, without presidential clearance all he was likely to get back would be a heavily redacted, compartmentalized file. And Brandt wasn’t inclined to go to the president’s bedside at Walter Reed and pester him for the file of some GS-14 who might be able to shed some light on the not-unexpected cooperation between Russia and Iran on a resolution condemning Israel. Afterward, Brandt, sensing that Olivia felt chastened by her naïveté, apologized and reassured her that he, too, was struggling with the ways of Washington bureaucracy.