Jim DeFelice - Threat Level Black

“One other thing, Major. You enlisted Colonel Howe in the operation, didn’t you? Initially,” added Blitz.

“Yes, sir. He was the only person qualified to fly the aircraft. It was suggested by one of the CIA planners on the mission staff originally who’d been briefing the Russian flights; they had been touring the country the week before.”

“Was he eager to go on the mission?”

“I think he wanted to do his duty. The, uh-to be candid, Tacit Ivan wasn’t seen exactly as the first choice.”

“Did Colonel Howe know that?”

“He might have figured it out.”

“Did he push it?”

“No, sir. He just answered questions, that sort of thing. At one point I think he did volunteer to go-I mean, that was kind of implicit in his coming over, since he would have known that he was the only pilot available.”

“But you suggested the mission.”

“We suggested it to him, yes.”

“Very good,” said Blitz. “On this UAV project: You report directly to me. No one else is authorized to receive the information. Anything you need to do to accomplish the mission, anyone you want along-well, you know the drill. But otherwise strictly need-to-know. Strictly.”

“Okay.”

“Stand by for Colonel Brott.”

Andy Fisher believed strongly in the value of sharing intelligence with brother agencies. Especially when cooperation might lead to the rapid conclusion of a case.

“Great bagels on Fourteenth Street,” he told Kowalski, dropping the bag on his desk at the Defense Intelligence Center in D.C. The DIA agent had returned to D.C. following the press conference announcing the sarin bust.

“Fisher, you got past security without being arrested? I can’t believe it.”

“Yeah, pretty slack. Hey, these are nice digs,” he said, glancing around. “You’d never know it used to be a laundry room.”

“What brings you here? You want to change careers and start working for the good guys for a change?”

“No, actually, I wanted to tell you that you were right.”

“You know, we have a doctor on call,” said Kowalski, a concerned look on his face. “He’ll give you sedatives.”

Fisher laughed.

“You really are sick, aren’t you?” said Kowalski.

“Talk to me about the E-bomb intelligence. How good was it?”

Utterly confused, Kowalski got up and went to his door. When he had closed it, he returned to his desk and sat down. “You all right, Andy? You look a little…ragged.”

“You mean that as a compliment?” asked Fisher, reaching into his pocket and taking out his cigarettes.

“You can’t smoke in here.”

Fisher put the pack away.

“I was kidding before, but now I know you’re sick.”

“So tell me about the weapon,” said Fisher. “Why did we stop taking that seriously?”

“Everybody thinks it’s smoke,” said Kowalski. “It was part of a plan to get some big shot out of Korea before the shit hit the fan.”

Fisher listened to the details of Tacit Ivan.

“After what happened to you in Moscow, everybody should have realized this was a setup,” said Kowalski. “The whole deal. They showed you the real scientist, then pulled the switch in Korea.”

“Maybe,” said Fisher. “What about the bomb plans? Were they real or not?”

“Experts said they were. Sure.”

“And we don’t have the guy who sent them.”

“Probably dead the second he got back to Korea from Russia.”

Fisher settled back in the seat. Whoever Howe transported had figured out somehow that the scientist wanted to defect and had decided he might be a useful insurance policy in case he needed to get out. But that didn’t mean that the E-bomb didn’t exist. On the contrary, it argued that it did.

Unless the whole thing was a setup from the beginning, which was possible.

“If this guy has that much power, why doesn’t he escape himself?” said Fisher. “Just get on the plane and go to Moscow instead of sending Dr. Park?”

“Because he’s more afraid of his own people than us,” said Kowalski. “They must hate him. And they’d recognize him. Besides, he’s got too much to lose to just walk out. He only pulls the plug when the shit’s hitting the fan.”

Fisher reached for his cigarettes. “How do I go about finding Colonel Howe these days?”

The ship appeared in the distance. It was a small tanker, riding low in the water as if carrying fuel, though as a man who had spent his whole life on land, Kuong did not appreciate this piece of deception.

What he did appreciate was the tarpaulin-covered deck amidships. His revenge.

The helicopter swooped lower, its skids within six feet of the deck at the stern. There was not enough space for it to land, but Kuong was prepared. He opened the door and stepped out, grasping the line at the side that had been prepared for him. He lowered himself slowly, using his feet rather than his hands to control the brief descent. As he reached the deck he handed his thick gloves to the crewman who had come to assist him, then turned and opened his arms to the captain, a childhood friend who was one of the few men in the world he would trust with his life.

The captain folded him against his chest, then turned and yelled an order.

The helicopter had begun to rise, starting away. There was a light swoosh nearby, a plume of smoke as the ship’s crewman fired an antiair missile. A half-second later the shoulder-launched SAM struck the helicopter. Kuong turned to watch as the aircraft stuttered forward in the sky for a few meters before bowing down into the waves.

Things were proceeding very well indeed.

The NADT security people looked embarrassed and even pained, but neither would budge nor say anything except that they were following their directions. Colonel Howe was not permitted in the facility.

“All right, get me Nancy Meile,” Howe said finally, asking for the head of security.

“Sorry, sir, she’s unavailable.”

“She’s not here, or she’s not available?”

“Not available, sir.”

Howe knew from experience that Meile generally did not schedule meetings after eight A.M., just so she could be available to the security details. Nonetheless, he asked for the shift supervisor. He was told the man was also unavailable.

“And my access is denied?”

“Your clearance expired.” The guard twisted the screen around so Howe could see it from the car. The other man came over to the window and squatted down. “Sir, it’s probably just a computer glitch, we know. But we can’t let you past. It’s the rules. It would be our jobs if we did. We’re sorry. It’s not like we don’t know who you are.”

The man rose. Howe knew the guards were just doing their duty-and that they were in no-win positions. They probably thought he’d have them fired when his appointment was made official.

On the other hand, they could also be fired immediately for letting him through now.

“All right,” he said, stifling his anger, “I know it’s nothing personal. Just do your jobs.”

The guards nodded grimly as he backed up to turn around.

Howe’s first call was to Delano, who apparently was in the same meeting as the security people. Howe didn’t bother leaving a message.

He put in a call to Blitz and ended up talking to his assistant, who of course was sympathetic but had no idea what was up. She promised to have the national security advisor call, but warned him it might be a while: The Korea situation had made him even busier than normal.

Howe ended up at a diner, thinking things through. Halfway through his first cup of coffee he decided it had to be just a computer glitch. He called Meile and left a message, asking her to get back to him; he did the same with Delano. The second cup of coffee made him suspicious once more and he made a call to a friend of his who worked in the Joint Chiefs of Staff J2 intelligence section and asked for some background on how the clearance system worked, explaining what had happened. His friend told him mistakes were certainly possible, though the circumstances seemed odd. The fact that he hadn’t been notified argued for a mistake. But his friend had no way of finding out why the clearance had been cut, and he was too busy today to hunt around. Howe thanked him anyway. He was just hitting the End button on his cell phone when Andy Fisher came into the diner and walked over to his booth.