Don Pendleton - Critical Exposure

It was in Kirklareli that the Council had established its urban headquarters, and only when the members needed to meet did they travel to their stronghold in the Yildiz Mountains. Their setting up residence in the region hadn’t been by accident. This part of Turkey had proved a most invaluable location from which to base their operations as it allowed them proximity to both European and Middle Eastern theaters. That had paid off more than once, and they’d been allowed to operate with significant impunity and right under the noses of Turkish officials, who seemed to remain woefully ignorant. Of course, their massive infrastructure had allowed them to establish a number of front companies and a paper trail that, if inspected closely, would have led anyone straight to nothing.

And all by design, Amocacci thought with a smile as he entered the massive conference room.

The first to greet him was Mikhail Ryzkhov of the Russian GRU, a pudgy and red-faced man in his mid-sixties who ate too much and drank too much vodka. Not that it mattered, since he still had an uncanny mind and was a genius on the small-unit tactics of at least half a dozen countries, including the United States. But he was a staunch Communist in a time where communism had long lost favor over more modern socialism with a progressive turn, and while the Russians kept him on, they did so at a considerable arm’s length.

“Well, Gastone,” Ryzkhov said. “It’s about time you joined us!”

“Were you worried, comrade?”

“Not so much,” Ryzkhov replied quietly as he turned his attention to his drink, now feeling a bit foolish for his outburst.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I was unavoidably detained,” Amocacci said as he took his seat at the table.

It was massive and as round as a doughnut, again by design. The idea was that all of them were on equal ground and nobody necessarily took the head of Council. Despite that, it had become a rather unspoken edict that while Amocacci was no lesser or better than the rest of them, the Council had been his idea and so in that light he did act as a chair, of sorts. It was more of a figurehead title than much else, and Amocacci had never really taken to it, figuring more that it just gave all the rest of them someone to blame when things went wrong.

“I hope you weren’t detained by bad news,” replied a voice with a cultured but clipped British accent.

Amocacci let his gaze rest on the SIS case officer for Bulgaria, Hurley Willham. A former member of the British SAS and later a military intelligence analyst, Willham was known for his unique affiliations with agents from intelligence services. He had connections on most every continent. In fact, it was Willham who had approached a number of American agents with a proposition to join the Council, but all of them had turned him down. Still, Willham had managed to recruit the chief Israeli representative on the Council, Lev Penzak of the Mossad.

“I wish I could answer in the negative, Hurley, but unfortunately I can’t,” Amocacci said. “All three of our test operations went off without any problems. But...it would seem our potential contact in America fucked up.”

Penzak, a fifty-eight-year-old man with a big nose, square jaw, wild gray hair and deep brown eyes, shook his head. “I’m not sure it’s appropriate to refer to him as ‘our’ contact, Gastone.”

“We share everything, don’t we?” Amocacci replied easily with a wave. “Anyway, I’ve managed to mitigate the circumstances in our favor. Our operation in Colorado has been discovered, but it’s of no consequence.”

“No consequence?” Willham inquired, one eyebrow arching studiously. “And what leads you to draw such a conclusion? The Colorado base provided us with the only way to intercept information on U.S. special operations. Without it—”

“We are no worse off,” cut in Quon Ma, a countersurveillance expert with the MSS. Amocacci and the rest of the group knew the least about Ma— something Amocacci assumed to be much by design—who had served in a number of high-ranking positions. Ma seemed almost apolitical in his views, but he was behind the Council a hundred percent and utterly trustworthy.

“You think not?” Willham asked.

Ma saw the bait his British counterpart dangled for what it was, but he took it anyway. “I do. There was no guarantee the secrecy of that operation would hold. I’m surprised it lasted as long as it did, and for this, Gastone is to be commended. However, I also think this American Air Force officer...Shoup, is it? He’s become a liability we could do without. It’s too early in the program to risk exposure.”

“I’m forced to agree with Ma,” Penzak stated. “Shoup has to go.”

“I think it can be arranged,” Amocacci replied, managing to keep the disdain from his tone.

It wouldn’t do to be disrespectful to rebut the members of the Council. They had proved to be his greatest allies and to alienate them over such a trifle issue would have been a stroke of lunacy on Amocacci’s part, no matter how strongly he might disagree with them. Shoup had nearly blown it, but now he had to tell them of this other matter.

“I’m bothered by the fact that there’s another player who has inserted himself into the game now. His name is Colonel Brandon Stone and he’s an officer with American military intelligence.”

“Bah!” Ryzkhov cut in with a wave. “Complete fabrication...cover name, most likely.”

“What makes you think so?” Amocacci said. “Even Shoup couldn’t verify any falsehoods in his story.”

“Would this Stone be the same man who singlehandedly brought down our, er...I meant to say the Colorado operation?” Willham inquired.

Amocacci nodded.

“That’s very interesting,” Willham said.

“How so?” Penzak asked.

“Well, it would seem that something of that nature would have gone to the FBI, or even the Department of Homeland Security. For anyone to turn over such a potential threat to one officer in the DIA, even a colonel, sounds a bit out of step for U.S. intelligence efforts. After all, they know there’s a problem within the military intelligence circles.”

“Or at least they suspect it,” Ryzkhov said in an uncharacteristically agreeable tone. “So it wouldn’t make sense for them to send in someone from a potential pool of suspects. They’d go to the outside.”

“And so they probably have,” Ma said, inspecting his fingernails. “Clearly, this Stone isn’t whoever he wants to appear to be. I’d vote he be eliminated along with Shoup.”

“Listen,” Amocacci said. “Killing an American military officer is already going to draw significant attention. Killing two would bring down every American agency on us. It’s too risky. I can’t urge you enough to reconsider.”

“There may be another way,” Penzak said. He looked at Amocacci. “Didn’t you say you’d planned to send them on a wild-goose chase to Guatemala?”

“That is correct.”

“Well, then, why not turn the Islamic Brotherhood on to that fact? We know they’re operating in Guatemala, and to score such a victory against the Americans would do their cause well. Nobody would question it if an American special operation in a foreign country met with a few dead military officers.”

Willham nodded enthusiastically. “Not to mention those bloody wimps at the Pentagon would never let something like that go public. It would be too humiliating for them.”

“It might be able to get done,” Amocacci said. “The trouble is I have no contacts with the Islamic extremists in that part of the world.”

“I think I can help with that,” Penzak said. “With one phone call.”

Even as nods of approval commenced around the table, Amocacci couldn’t help but feel a twinge of doubt.