Mission Critical
“I truly do not know.” Court thought that was all he was going to get out of the man, but slowly the terrified prisoner looked up, locking eyes with him. “But whatever it is, it does not have Moscow sanction.”
“How do you know that?”
“He doesn’t get orders from Moscow. He runs anti-Western operations here, keeps things deniable for the boys at the Kremlin. But . . .”
Court cocked his head. “But what?”
“But he changed when he thought his daughter had been killed. I know he is planning some sort of retributive strike against the West. His wife, son, and daughter all were killed by England or the U.S. When his daughter showed up I thought he might just call off his plan, but he’s bent. The wheels were already in motion, plus he sees his daughter defecting to the Americans to be much worse than death.”
Retributive strike. Court said it to himself. In Scotland.
Court pulled out his phone. “Your lucky day, Belyakov. You get to keep your life and both your huevos.”
He left the room as he dialed Brewer’s number.
CHAPTER 45
The Bombardier Global 7000 was the largest executive jet in the world; this particular model, owned by the CIA, had seating for twenty, and at present there were fifteen on the aircraft in addition to a crew of four.
Most of the passengers were clustered in captain’s chairs and sofas near the front, but Director Fred Capshaw sat alone in one of two small offices in the back of the plane, looking out the window at the Atlantic Ocean forty thousand feet below him.
Matt Hanley appeared in front of the director, Capshaw motioned to the chair opposite him, and the deputy director of Operations took a seat in the tiny room.
Hanley said, “You wanted to talk?”
Capshaw was from Kentucky, and had an accent to match. “I do.” Now the older man looked out the window a moment more, seemingly collecting his thoughts. “It was just months ago when your predecessor sat in front of me and I gave him a version of the talk I’m about to give you. As you know, within a couple of weeks, you had replaced him.”
“Am I being replaced, sir?”
Capshaw moved around in his chair uncomfortably for a moment, as if trying to find a position that didn’t hurt his back. Finally he said, “Matthew, you came into the DDO position like a bull in a china shop. I let things go, because your predecessor ran Operations like it was his own private army. The department needed an enema, and you sure as shit gave it one.”
Hanley didn’t know if he was supposed to say thank you, so he just nodded.
“But here we are, four or five months after you took the DDO desk, and I am beginning to harbor concerns about your decision-making abilities and your unaccountability.”
“I am completely accountable, Mr. Director. Accountable to you.”
“I told you on day one, son, that I was going to give you unusual latitude to conduct your work as you see fit. But a horse can take loose reins to mean his rider isn’t paying attention.”
“I always assume you are paying attention, and you know everything that you need, and want, to know.”
“I don’t know what’s happening in your special programs.”
“I could fill you in, sir,” Hanley said, and this line was received as he’d expected.
“Don’t get cute with me, Matthew. You know I need to be insulated from sub rosa activities. You and I can have a verbal agreement that I’ve loosened up your sanction, and you can take that to mean, within reason, that I’m okay with you doing what you think is right. But when the light of day finds your dirty work, then it becomes a problem that must be rectified.”
“I understand.”
Director Capshaw said, “Matt . . . I’ve given you enough rope to hang yourself with, and it appears that’s exactly what you’re doing right now.”
“Sub rosa ops are always difficult, but the potential rewards outweigh the risks. We’ve got a lot of moving parts, and yes, some problems right now, but I will take care of everything.”
Capshaw didn’t seem to be listening. He said, “I won’t be taking the fall when you go down. I’ll cut you away from me to survive.”
Hanley nodded at this. He actually appreciated a man who told him hard truths, as opposed to lying to his face. He said, “It won’t come to that. I’m rectifying the situation. I have my best people working on it, and I expect to have it all wrapped up before the end of the conference.”
Capshaw said, “I am hearing talk that you don’t believe Renfro was the traitor.” Hanley seemed uneasy, and the director noticed this. “Speak up.”
“I don’t think he was the traitor, no. I believe his death was staged. He was murdered so that we’d stop looking.”
Capshaw heaved a big sigh. “Well, shit. That complicates things even more.”
“It does. But it’s narrowed down to two men. Both are either in or on their way to the UK. I’ll find out who is responsible while they’re here, I guarantee it.”
The Director of Central Intelligence said, “I’ll give you till we return to the States in four days. But no longer. I want all dangles tied off in a ball before we are feet dry in the U.S., or I shutter all your sub rosa activities until you get your house in order. Is that clear, Matt?”
“Absolutely clear. Thank you, sir.” Hanley stood up and left the rear of the aircraft.
* * *
• • •
Zack Hightower didn’t like flying commercial, and he sure as hell didn’t like flying economy, but he’d booked his ticket to London at the airport just ninety minutes prior to takeoff, so he had to take what he could get.
He did manage to get a seat far behind Marty Wheeler, who lounged up in first class. Zack wasn’t bumpering him at the moment; he didn’t want Wheeler to know he was heading to Europe just yet. Brewer had reached out to him before takeoff, telling him his job when he got to the UK was to tail Wheeler until he went to the U.S. embassy, directly from the airport, and then begin his close surveillance of Operations executive Alf Karlsson, already there at the embassy.
Zack was on his computer looking over a London map when a secure message system popped up on the screen. It was Brewer checking in with him. Zack knew she and Hanley were also in the air to London now, a couple hours ahead of him.
Brewer typed, Wheeler is behaving himself?
Of course he is, Zack wrote. Because he’s not our guy. Palumbo is clean, too.
Well, if it’s not them, then it’s Karlsson, and you’ll see him soon enough.