Project StrikeForce (11 page)

“Good question,” Nancy said. “How
can
you
trust him?”

“I put it out of my mind,” Eric said. “I treat him
like a recruit. He performs his job. I encourage him. I haven’t forgotten what
he did but I don’t have the luxury of doubt. He can’t second-guess himself. Or
us. For this to work, he has to believe in the mission. I have to believe in
him. To be honest, I kind of like the man he is now.”

Nancy’s face went blank. “How so?”

Eric sighed to himself. He had planned to breach
this with her in a more private conversation, but it was too late for that. “If
he hadn’t been in that Humvee, if he’d finished his tour, he would have come
back, and yeah, maybe he would have struggled. But sooner or later he would
have found some job, maybe a girl-”

“That’s a lot of shit,” Deion interrupted. “He
grew up without friends, and when he finally did make them, it was with the
guys that died in that Humvee. No, he was off, even before the IED. If he
hadn’t gotten hit, he would have come back to the states and worked a dead end
job until he snapped.”

Eric shrugged. “Sorry, but I can’t think that. I
have to believe in him. If he goes sideways,
then
I’ll deal with it.”

Nancy took a hard swig of her coffee, watching him
over the top of her mug. “You can put him down?”

He leaned back in his chair. “That’s the job.”

She eyed him warily. “You always do the job, don’t
you?”

He shrugged.

“He ever tell you how he got the call-sign
Steeljaw?” Deion asked

“No,” Nancy said. “I don’t believe I’ve heard that
one.”

The last thing he needed was Deion telling that
story. “Let it go, Deion.”

Deion grinned. “Whatever you say, man.”

“Look,” Nancy said. “Your little experiment is on
track, but keep your eyes open. If anything seems off, let the docs know. The
last thing we need is Frist going bat-shit crazy. Again.”

* * *

Area 51

Eric stood in the War Room with
Deion and Nancy, watching the monitor as Clark and Kryzowski walked them
through the day’s threats.

“The North Koreans are at it again,” Clark said.
“They fired on a Japanese fishing boat.”

Eric sighed. He finally felt he was getting a
handle on the influx of threats, but there were always surprises.

“Dear Leader wants more concessions during the
next round of negotiations,” Nancy said.

“The SEALs are in place,” Deion said. “They could
take the ship. The North Koreans would claim sabotage, but they wouldn’t have
proof.”

“That’s true,” Clark agreed. “It could also harden
the Chinese position. We’re counting on them to reign in the North Koreans. I’d
say we hold off until the negotiations are over. Speaking of the Chinese, we’re
seeing a coordinated cyber-attack against US companies. The People’s Liberation
Army recruited a branch of hackers to probe the nation’s cyber-defenses.”

That was news to Eric. “How do we know this?”

“We have an asset,” Clark said. “He’s confirmed
they get their funding and orders from the PLA. Unfortunately, there’s not much
we can do. We’ve provided details to the NSA, they’re working on a plan to
publicly disclose the attacks.”

“It’s a tough call,” Deion said. “China could
pressure the US on monetary policy. Or, they refuse to pressure Kim Jong-il.
But, if we do nothing, the PLA will think it’s open season on the US.”

“Exactly,” Nancy agreed. “We recognize the threat,
even before the rest of the intelligence community, so how do we respond?”

“We will have to see if our asset can get deeper,”
Clark said. “We have limited access to him, he’s in a dormitory. We’ve been
communicating through his trips to a local noodle shop.”

“If they figure out he’s turned, they’ll kill
him,” Eric said.

“Which is why we have an extraction plan,” Karen
said. “The asset has to be Chinese. They won’t trust an outsider.”

“Get him deeper,” Nancy said. “What else?”

“The white power group in Colorado, the APR,”
Karen said. “We think they have acquired a supply of caesium-137.”

He jerked upright. “What? How the hell did that
happen?

“I thought you had an eye on them,” Nancy said. “I
thought they were mostly talk.”

“We did,” Clark said. “We thought it was just
bluster.” He moved the mouse and the overhead monitor zoomed in on a facility
twenty five miles south of Denver. “This is Landfrey Medical Waste. They have a
contract to decommission and scrap medical devices, including those used for
cancer treatment.”

“Let me guess,” Nancy snapped. “They contained
caesium-137.”

“Correct. The company was slow to dispose of the
devices and the caesium stared piling up. Now a truck-full is missing.”

Eric took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “How
much are we talking?”

“Enough to irradiate a large city.” Clark paused
to let that sink in. “We’ve got a team on their way to Colorado. We’re putting
surveillance on the entire group.”

“How long before you have them locked down?” Deion
asked.

“Three days, tops,” Karen said. “We planted
malware on their computers over the past several weeks, but we found nothing.
The phone calls are all in code, and they switch codes after each call. They’ve
had training.”

“Have you informed DHS?” Nancy asked.

“We need more intel.” Clark turned to Nancy.
“You’re going to have to brief the Old Man.”

Nancy shifted in her seat. “Shit. I hate that.”

Clark turned to Karen. “And there’s one other
thing. Tell them.”

“There’s been an uptick in chatter from Al-Qaeda,
but no details,” Karen said. “There’s been another picture, and they’ve used
steganography to bury text in the picture. I’ve managed to decrypt and extract
it and it talks about an upcoming event. Once again, no hard intelligence, but
everything is couched in apocalyptic imagery. JSOC isn’t taking it seriously.”

He thought back to his time in Afghanistan. “Can
you pass your analysis to the DIA?”

“I can. There’s no indication they’ll do anything
with it. DIA doesn’t want to cause a fuss in Afghanistan. They’ve been waging a
holding war for the past year.”

“How about the CIA?” Deion asked.

Eric shook his head. “The DIA doesn’t trust the
CIA. No offense.”

“None taken,” Deion said. “We’ve done a piss poor
job of sharing intelligence.”

“I’ll send it on, I’ve got a friend in DIA who’s
stationed in Afghanistan. I can strongly encourage him to take another look,”
Eric said.

“Has there been any other activity in
Afghanistan?” Nancy asked.

“No more than usual,” Karen said. “A steady stream
of IED’s. The usual back and forth between coalition forces and the Taliban. AQ
stirs up trouble, and the Pakistani ISI coaches them along.”

Deion shrugged. “It’s Afghanistan. What can you
do.”

Nancy nodded her head. “Send it on, Karen. Keep
digging, and if you gather any SIGINT that can help, notify us immediately.
Let’s hope the DIA takes it seriously and puts resources into HUMINT.”

Karen nodded and returned to her station.

Clark flipped the big screen to the data feed from
JSOC. “It never ends.”

“Neither does our training with Frist,” he said.
“Come on, Deion, we’ve got to check on him.”

Nancy followed them out. “I’ll brief my father.”

Eric laughed. “I’d rather get pummeled by Frist.”

* * *

Kandahar, Afghanistan

Abdullah stretched back on his stool,
working the kinks from his back and neck. The wind blew through the open window
of the warehouse, a warm breeze that tickled his nose with the scent of the
desert. He would miss it. As a young man, he was mesmerized by Afghanistan’s
stark beauty. The years since did nothing to diminish his feelings.

There was a soft knock. He turned and beckoned
Koshen in. “What did you find?”

Koshen entered and took a seat on the dirt floor. “Naseer
is with Fahad. They are practicing one last time.”

He studied Koshen. “What do you think?”

Koshen smiled. “I think that Fahad will do as he
was told.”

“Why is that?”

Koshen paused. “I think it is because of the
money.”

“Of course it is. The cancer makes him desperate.
It is that reason he will do as he’s told. Now, how are you?

“I am well, sir,” Koshen said. “I am thankful that
you asked.”

He took Koshen’s hands in his. “You are prepared?”

Koshen nodded. “Yes. I will head south out of the
city, along the trail. General Azim’s man will take me to Gulistan. There I
will be safe. Sir, can I trust General Azim’s man?” He looked doubtfully at
Abdullah.

“Yes. Azim will not harm you. I’ve asked an old
friend to look for you. If you are not there a week from tomorrow, I will
finally have proof of Azim’s treachery, and then I will kill him.”

Koshen’s eyes widened.

He nodded his head. “You’ve been a good student.
You learned quickly.” He turned to stare out the window. The sun blazed,
unrelenting, and the wind swirled the red dust across the horizon. He sighed.
“You will be safe in Gulistan. Find a good wife, Koshen. Teach those who come
looking. Teach them to make the bombs the way I taught you.”

He took his leather-bound journal and handed it to
the young man. “Take this. If you ever need guidance, read what I have written.
It talks about bombs, but also my own observations, advice that I think will
help you.”

Koshen stared at it, then reached out hesitantly
and took the book, pulling it close to his chest, his eyes big. “Sir, will I
see you again?”

“Perhaps. Naseer and I will go to Kabul to find
transport out of the country. We will continue Jihad.”

Koshen sat quietly for a moment. “May God protect
you.”

He laughed. “You as well, young Koshen. Don’t
worry about me. Naseer will protect me.”

Koshen smiled shyly. “I think it is you who will
be protecting him.”

* * *

FOB Wildcat, Kandahar Provence

Specialist Donnie Lucas shot the
shit with Specialist Kelvin Davidson as they guarded the side entrance to FOB
Wildcat.

Kelvin argued for the hundredth time, “Look, man,
I’m just saying. If I had to call it, I’d call it for Johnny’s old lady. Those
pictures she emailed were fine.”

Donnie laughed. “No way. She’s got nice tits, but
my old lady’s got a better ass.”

“I do like your wife’s ass. I’ll have to take it
for a ride. Don’t worry, though, I’ll let you watch. For old time’s sake.”

Kelvin always made him laugh. “Mighty big of you,
but I’ll be too busy with your sister.”

This amused Wahid, their local interpreter, a
short young man with olive skin and a soft black beard. He laughed, an
infectious little braying that never failed to amuse them. Kelvin smiled and
wiped the sweat from his brow.

Donnie was roasting as the sun baked down, the
cool early morning air long since gone. It was a quiet detail. The locals
barely paid any attention to the base except to come begging for jobs. They
were too far from Kandahar to attract attention from the Taliban, and AQ was
overwhelmed trying to replace their top commanders lost to drone strikes. There
were mortar attacks the month before, dutiful attacks by local Taliban during
the night to prove they were still fighting the foreign invaders, but nothing
after.

He had no clue what the spooks were doing under
the tents at Wildcat. It was above his pay-grade, but he saw the communications
gear and the Special Forces guys skulking around, whispering about their tests.

He wished for the thousandth time he was back in
Bagram. At least there, he could find something to pass the time. Instead, he
spent much of his free time with Kelvin, and as much as he liked the man, he
was sick of Kelvin’s company.

In the distance, a small cloud of dust tracked
steadily closer, the daily arrival of the locals and the few who were willing
to make the trek from Kandahar to clean the latrines and mess.

He laughed to himself. Some days the distinction
between latrines and mess were not as big as they used to be. He sure missed
the Burger King at Bagram.

The convoy approached and the lead truck stopped
for their inspection. Kelvin caught the driver’s eye, the man named Fahad.
Donnie and Kelvin liked him, and both had noticed that he looked worse each
week. “Fahad, you don’t look so good. You okay?”

Wahid translated as the sweat rolled from Fahad’s
brow. Trembling, Fahad answered in broken English. “Okay. I okay.”

As Kelvin inspected the other men, Donnie leaned
closer.
Shit, he looks like he’s got one foot in the grave.
“You need to
see a doctor.”

Wahid translated again and Fahad responded. They
spoke for a short time and Wahid turned back to Donnie. “He says he’s feeling
better. He says he just needs to work to make money to feed his children.”

Fahad nodded, gasping for air. He struggled with
the wheel, then grabbed at his chest. The Toyota lurched forward.

“God damn it! Fahad, stop the truck.”

Kelvin turned. “What the fuck, Donnie?”

Wahid was yelling in Pashto, but Fahad did not
respond. Donnie tried to reach inside, but the truck rolled forward just fast
enough to keep him from grabbing the wheel. “I think he’s having a heart
attack!” He beat on the side of the cab. “Fahad, stop the truck!”

Fahad slumped down. Donnie was concerned now, for
Fahad’s well-being, but also for his own. If the CO saw them chasing a truck
with a dying man in it, there would be hell to pay.

“Kelvin, get your ass over here!” He turned to
point at the men riding in the back of Fahad’s truck. “Wahid, tell them to get
the fuck down on the ground!”

Wahid shouted at the men and they bailed from the
truck-bed and scrambled to the ground, hands over their heads.

“Shit, shit shit!” The truck was now only thirty
yards from the main group of tents.