Rogue Operator (28 page)

Morrison
listened to everything that was said, the wire he was wearing capturing it all.
What terrified him was that Erickson’s plan could work, but at what cost? How
many thousands if not millions of lives. Just to save the economy of a country
whose own politicians didn’t feel was worth saving, their own partisan
bickering so entrenched, they couldn’t even agree on lunch.

Perhaps
it’s time to let the system fail, then build a better one?

That
wasn’t for him to decide. His job was to protect the system they had. It was the
people of this great nation who needed to fix their government, to change the
dialog. If their politicians wouldn’t listen, then stop reelecting them. That
didn’t need to mean Republicans becoming Democrats, or vice versa. It could be
as simple as joining their party, going to the meetings, and as a block,
replacing the incumbent member running for Congress or the Senate with one who
would listen to the people, and not their corporate donors.

And
bring in campaign finance reform.

Limit
donations to individuals, and cap it at a low amount, like a grand or two a
year, and then no one was beholden to anyone else. It had been done in other
countries, and more were moving toward it. But in the United States it took
over a billion dollars to win the presidency. And over a billion dollars to
lose it.

Insanity.

Morrison
looked at Erickson. “Who else is involved?”

Erickson’s
jaw slammed shut.

Morrison
shook his head. “Come on, Bill. You know we’ll find out eventually. Why not
make it easier on us and yourself and cooperate.”

Erickson
shook his head. “I have a family. I don’t care what happens to me, but they’ll
kill them, and you can’t protect them.”

“Who?
BlackTide? They won’t be around very much longer.”

Erickson
laughed. “Right. Those people will just scatter to the wind and take their
revenge later. They’re worth billions, tens of billions, and their capital and
private armies are mostly outside of the country. All you’ll do is bust up
their shell corporation here. And besides, this goes way beyond them.”

“What do
you mean?”

“I know
for a fact that BlackTide is just one piece of a very large, very powerful
group that is backing this.”

“Who?”

Erickson
shook his head. “I can’t say.”

“What do
you mean you can’t say?”

“They’ll
kill me. They’ll kill my family.”

“Who?”

Erickson’s
head dropped and he grabbed the back of his neck, squeezing in apparent
frustration.

“The
Assembly,” he whispered.

“Who?”

Erickson
shook his head. “I don’t know who they are, but what Finch told me, terrifies
me.”

“Or that’s
exactly what Finch wanted you to think.”

“What do
you mean?”

“I mean,
you talk of grand plans, but Finch and his BlackTide are all that seems to be
involved here. I think they’re trying to make this seem bigger than it is, too
big to take down, but the reality is the companies that build the airplanes,
the ships, the guns, the ammo, are all just patsies in their scheme; companies
that will benefit by there being a war, but not complicit in actually trying to
trigger it. I find it hard to believe that the military industrial complex, as
greedy as they are, would actually try to trigger a war with China, our biggest
threat. I think it’s more likely that you were convinced by BlackTide that they
had more backing than they actually did. And you were duped.”

Erickson’s
face looked confused, his eyes darting about, narrowed, as he thought about
what Morrison had just said. Finally he shook his head.

“I can’t
take that risk. I won’t risk my family. You won’t get anything out of me on
this, and I’ll never repeat what I just said outside of this room. I don’t care
what you do to me, all I care about is my family.”

“That’s
noble,” said Morrison, standing up. “But when you sold out your country, you
didn’t seem to be worried about their safety. Isn’t your son in the navy?
Stationed in Japan if I’m not mistaken. Kind of the frontlines of the very war
you’re trying to trigger.”

Erickson
didn’t respond.

“And as
to repeating anything, don’t worry, I’ve got it all recorded.”

Erickson’s
jaw dropped and he stared at Morrison wide-eyed.

“You-you
can’t use that. It’s illegal!”

Morrison
shook his head. “I’m CIA. I’m not concerned with getting you inside a
courtroom; I’m concerned with getting to the truth and stopping a threat
against the United States. Whether or not a recording gets tossed out of court
is irrelevant.” Morrison stepped toward the door, then pointed at the file.
“You can keep that. I’ve got copies.”

He
opened the door and stepped out, closing it behind him. As he walked down the
long hall, his heart was heavy with what he had just been forced to do. He knew
Erickson was a good guy, and his wife, Rebecca, was a stellar woman that would
be devastated when she learned the truth.

He had
destroyed a family to save a country.

And he
knew, before the week was out, he would be destroying many more families.

A single
clap of gunfire brought the entire hall to a halt, then suddenly Marine guards were
bolting toward Erickson’s office. Morrison continued to walk, his chest tight,
as Erickson’s secretary cried, “He’s dead!” He felt no guilt; Erickson had
brought it upon himself. But he began to wonder about what his late colleague
had said. Morrison couldn’t see Erickson killing himself over BlackTide.

What was
clear to him was that Erickson truly believed there was a much larger
conspiracy at play, with people who wouldn’t hesitate to wipe out his loved
ones if they thought he had cooperated.

And that
sent a chill down Morrison’s spine.

Zhongguancun E Plaza, Beijing, China

Kane squatted near an alleyway, yanking a piece of meat off a skewer
that he seriously doubted was chicken. But he didn’t care. It was delicious,
and he was hungry. His luggage had been forwarded to his hotel, all booked
under one of his aliases unknown to anyone but him: Tom Pile, an insurance
salesman from Florida who every year took one big vacation some place exotic,
and posted about it and his exploits on Facebook for all sixteen of his friends
to enjoy, his settings ‘accidentally’ public so it could be easily checked.

In
today’s world a cover without a social media presence was no cover at all. But
too elaborate a cover wasn’t of any use either. If you had a thousand friends
on Facebook, then you were expected to have an active profile. He didn’t have
time for that, so a cover with just a few friends, most of them sock puppets,
fake Facebook profiles he’d created for just the purpose, would make it
believable that he didn’t post often.

And
posts about his vacation, coinciding to stamps in his passport, legitimized his
cover.

Which
meant he had had absolutely no problem entering China and clearing security.

A short
cab ride and he was sitting across from one of the CIA’s fronts in China. Li’s
Photo, specializing in the transfer of film to digital, and back. It was a tiny
hole in the wall operation with just two agents manning it. One up front,
dealing with the day to day customers in the cramped confines that never
encouraged anyone to stay long, or repeat business, the other in the back,
doing the true work of the agency.

Waiting.

Waiting
for an operator who needed some piece of equipment, some message transferred.

Kane
pulled the last piece of meat off the skewer with his teeth, then meandered
through the market, and eventually into the small shop. It was empty save for
Bing, an impossibly short woman who stood on a series of crates stacked behind
the counter so she could see above it. She beamed him a smile, and gave him a
traditional Chinese greeting.

His
cover didn’t speak Chinese, though Kane did, a combination of Langley training,
Rosetta Stone, and two months in Shanghai with a gorgeous creature who didn’t
speak a word of English except ‘Yes’. It was the best way to learn a
language—in bed.

“I’m
sorry, do you speak English?”

The
woman nodded, she knowing exactly who he was, but not letting on anything just
in case they were being observed from the outside.

“Yes I
do, how may I help you?”

Kane
pulled a memory card from his wallet. “I have this old memory card, and it
seems to have stopped working. If I can’t get it working, I’m not going to be
able to take any photos of your wonderful country. Do you think you could take
a look at it?”

Bing
took the tiny SD card and eyeballed it for a moment.

“It very
old.”

“Yes it
is. So’s my camera!” laughed Kane.

“Husband!”
screeched Bing, stepping off the boxes and heading into the back, motioning for
Kane to follow. “Need you look at something!”

Kane
stepped through the bead covered door and into the larger back to find his old
friend sitting behind a desk, tinkering with what appeared to be a state of the
art listening device.

Chan
Chao waved his wife, for they truly were married, out with a flick of the
wrist. She closed the door behind her. Chan looked at him, and in perfect
English asked, “What the hell are you doing here? I should shoot you right
now.”

“Is that
any way to greet a friend?”

“We’re
not friends.
My
friends don’t shoot agents.”

“Your
friend didn’t.”

Chan
grunted. “Bullshit.”

“A
BlackTide freelancer drew on me and I took him out, the other three, who
were
agents, opened fire, and I was forced to kill
two
of them. I don’t know
who killed the third. It was the BlackTide guy who’s responsible.”

“You
still killed three agents.”

“Two.
And in self-defense. Ask the Director if you don’t believe me.”

“You’re
rogue. The word is out on you. Kill on sight.”

Kane
frowned. “Really?”

Chan
nodded.

“So why
are you talking to me?”

“Because
I don’t believe what they said about you for a second.”

Kane
sighed. “Then why are you bustin’ my chops?”

“Cuz
it’s fun.”

Chan’s
wife cackled in the front room, her husband joining her as he stood up and
embraced Kane. “You should see the look on your face. You seemed genuinely
heartbroken.”

Kane
dropped in a free chair as Chan returned to his own. Kane’s chair creaked
painfully, and he wasn’t sure how long it would hold. He leaned forward,
distributing as much of his weight as he could onto his legs.

“Nobody
likes their friends and colleagues thinking they’re a traitor. At least though
I know my boss doesn’t think so, so when this is all over, I’ll be cleared.”

“Better
hope he doesn’t get killed, otherwise no one might know you’re innocent.”

Kane’s
eyebrows shot up.
Hadn’t thought of that.
“You’re always full of good
ideas.”

“You
mean shit?”

“Do you
kiss your wife with that mouth?”

“Kiss
her, have you seen her? If I’m kissing her, the parts don’t line up.”

“I hear dat!”

“Of
course you did, my dear,” called out Chan in his friendliest voice. “She hears
everything,” he muttered.

“I hear
dat too!”

Chan
grinned. “So, what do you need?”

“Insertion
into North Korea, near Dandong, then extraction for as many as nine.”

“Nine?
Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Three
scientists, two wives, three kids, and me.”

“So
eight. We can leave you there to fend for yourself.”

“Ha ha.
Can you do it?”

“Getting
you in isn’t the problem. The North Koreans are geared for war to the south,
and don’t watch the Chinese border very hard in comparison. But getting nine
people out will be a challenge. Let me think on it.” He jerked his thumb at the
rear of the room. “Why don’t you grab some rack time in the back. I’ll wake you
in a few hours when I have things set up.”

Kane
nodded and stood up, stretching, having forgotten how tired he was. He stepped
around Chan’s workspace and into the back. A small cot with clean sheets
awaited him.

“Expecting
someone?”

“Yeah, a
real man,” shouted Chan’s wife. “You want I come back there with you? Show you
real good time!”

“Shut up
woman!”

Chan
flashed a grin at Kane who returned it, then dropped on the cot, wishing he was
able to go to the room he had rented at the Hilton Beijing. Five star luxury
that would never be taken advantage of, for as soon as night fell, he knew he’d
be in the back of some truck on a ten hour journey to the border of the most
closed society on Earth.

With
probably no hope in hell of rescuing everyone.

His mind
drifted to the scientists. If they were there willingly, then shooting them as
traitors was a viable option. Then he’d only need to try to extract the women
and children. The wives might have gone along with it out of greed or love, but
the children were absolutely blameless, and he’d have a hell of a time
extracting three kids without their mothers, especially if he had just killed
them.

Best to
keep the wives alive and let the courts figure it out later.

But
will I need to kill the scientists?

Sleep
finally overcame him, as he pictured each of the men’s faces from their files.

BlackTide Headquarters, Arlington, Virginia

Brad Finch’s phone buzzed and he picked it up, hitting the button to
take the call. “What is it?”

“Sir,
the front desk just called. The FBI are here! They just came through the front
entrance.” He could hear the panic in his secretary’s voice.