Brad Thor - Blowback

“Except your problem has become the president’s problem.”

That was true, and it was also something the CIA director didn’t have an immediate answer for. “What do you suggest we do?”

“As far as the CIA as a whole?” responded Lawlor. “Nothing. But I do want you to make it harder for him to get hold of his information. Let’s see how good he really is.”

“It could compromise us in a lot of ongoing operations.”

“No, it won’t. At this point they’re baiting for only one type of fish. I don’t want there to be any indication that we’re on to them. In the meantime”-he paused as he reached into his desk and withdrew a small envelope containing a CD-ROM-“I’d like you to plant this information for me.”

“What is it?”

“Open it up when you get back to your office and you’ll see. Let’s just say that I think it will prove irresistible. Make sure you bury it deep enough that it appears authentic, but not so deep that he’ll never find it.”

“Consider it done,” said Vaile as Lawlor’s assistant walked into the room and handed him a message.

Right away, the CIA director could tell something was seriously wrong. “What is it?”

Lawlor looked at his watch and replied, “In three hours, the president is going to convene a National Security Council meeting in the situation room. We just got word that our mystery illness has officially made its debut in the United States.”

“Jesus,” said Vaile as he set down his cup. “Where and how many infected?”

“The trail starts with a Muslim food importer by the name of Kaseem Najjar in Hamtramck, Michigan, and extends to several UPS workers throughout their processing and delivery system beginning in Michigan and ending in Manhattan. The FBI, as well as teams from the CDC and USAMRIID, are already en route.”

“Do we know if it was intentionally released? Are there any more victims?”

“Apparently, that’s all they know. Hopefully, we’ll have more information by the briefing this afternoon.”

“We’d better have more than just information. You saw how fast that thing moved through that village in Iraq,” replied Vaile, already racing through worst-case scenarios in his mind. “If we don’t get a handle on this, the death count is going to be astronomical. It’ll make the plague look like an outbreak of strep throat-” Vaile was interrupted by a text message that came over his secure pager.

This time it was Lawlor’s turn to read his friend’s visage and inquire as to what was going on.

Looking up from his pager, the director of the CIA said, “The president’s chief of staff is looking for me.”

“Chuck Anderson? Why?”

“They’re concerned that a major offensive with the illness could already be under way and that it’s only a matter of hours before they start seeing casualties inside the Beltway. He wants to talk about moving the president out of DC.”

“If a major offensive is under way, this thing could turn up anywhere. Where do they want to move him?”

Vaile set down his pager. “They want to greenlight the doomsday scenario.”

“Operation Ark?”

The DCI nodded his head. “ Anderson is going to recommend that the president, the cabinet, Congress, and everyone else on the continuity of government shortlist be evacuated to the underground facility at Mount Weather.”

Lawlor was quite familiar with the emergency command and control continuity of government center built more than a mile beneath the surface of an antenna-studded mountain in northwest Virginia near the West Virginia border. It was a top-secret, self-sufficient subterranean city designed during the Cold War to withstand multiple direct hits from the biggest and baddest nuclear weapons America’s most serious enemy, the Soviet Union, might ever unleash. Whenever the media reported the president or members of the government being evacuated in times of crisis to a “secure and undisclosed” location, nine out of ten times it was Mount Weather. “That’s what Anderson ’s paid for,” replied Lawlor, “to plan for the worst.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Vaile. “He’s planning for the worst, all right. The president has already initiated the Campfire Protocol. We’ve got bombers and fighter jets being outfitted with nukes as we speak. “Pausing for a moment to consider what America was on the verge of becoming, he slowly added, “I pity any location in this country that shows signs of this illness taking hold.”

SWITZERLAND

It was nearly nightfall when the Crossair Saab 340 HK-ABN aircraft touched down on the tarmac at Sion International and taxied toward the military section of the airfield. It was amazing what a difference a few seconds of video on al-Jazeera could make. Harvath should have been leading an assault force of American Special Operations soldiers up to Château Aiglemont, but instead he was standing in the dim overhead lighting of a small hangar, watching the plane arrive, and reflecting on the enormity of the favor he had cashed in only hours before.

When Claudia Mueller had assisted him a couple of years earlier in rescuing the president from a team of Swiss mercenaries known as the Lions of Lucerne, she was merely an investigator with the Swiss Federal Attorney’s Office. Now, though, she was a full-fledged prosecutor with considerably more power and considerably more responsibility. She had reacted to his call just as he had expected she would. At first, she was surprised to hear from him. Their relationship had ended a long while ago and he had never seen the point in keeping in touch. He wasn’t what she wanted and she had made it clear that she was moving on. He couldn’t blame her. Just like he couldn’t blame Meg Cassidy for moving on, but his personal problems aside, he knew Claudia Mueller was the only one who could help him.

Of course, Claudia was skeptical at first, and in all fairness, he would have been too. That was why he had had Ozan Kalachka e-mail her the kidnapping footage showing Timothy Rayburn and then had Kalachka follow it up with a call to one of his contacts within the Swiss government. For his part, Harvath assembled a memo about Rayburn, his aliases, and the credit card information placing him in Le Râleur and sent it to her hoping that it would be enough.

As a prosecutor, Claudia had become even more demanding about evidence, and when she waxed noncommittal, Harvath hit her with the only card he had left to play. When the two of them had gone to rescue the president from Mount Pilatus, they had been operating on a lot less. That fact brought back a lot of memories for Mueller. Harvath was right, they had been operating on a lot less at the time, but they were not trespassing on private property and he wasn’t asking her to commit the lives of other people in the process. Even so, in her short time with him she had learned that Scot Harvath had incredible instincts, and so she decided to trust him.

When the dual-prop Saab 340 HK-ABN pulled up in front of the hangar and dropped its stairs, Harvath felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. Claudia Mueller was the first one out, and she was twice as beautiful as he remembered. Her long brown hair had been streaked blond by the summer sun, and her skin was a deep bronze. She might have been very busy at work, but Harvath could see she hadn’t given up her love of climbing. It was obvious she was still spending a good amount of time outdoors. For a moment, Harvath questioned how he could have ever let her go. Then, just as quickly, he was reminded of the fact that he hadn’t let her go, it had been the other way around. Claudia had seen that he was too wrapped up in his career to ever stick out a real relationship.

Nevertheless, she was here now, and Harvath allowed himself, at least for a moment, to believe that she wouldn’t have come unless she still cared for him. The thought warmed him until she reached the bottom of the stairs and her left hand trailed down the handrail. On it was something he hadn’t expected to see-an engagement ring.