Sandstorm (17 page)

“I think Duncan’s raised a pretty good point,” said Alex, making sure they made eye contact. “On the surface, the Israelis helping Iran build anything nuclear—and doing so on an accelerated basis—doesn’t have an ounce of plausibility.”

“But, if it’s true?”

“If it’s true, there’s a whole lot more than meets the eye. To protect an operation of this magnitude, whatever its endgame, people would go to any lengths.” He noticed her pupils dilating. “Yes, even frame and murder a former chief of station and the agent she mentored. An agent who might screw this whole thing up.”

“What now? It seems like this thing is too big for us to stop.”

“Well, I’m no stranger to screwing things up.”

She nervously snickered. “Shit. We’re like pawns on a big-ass chessboard.”

“You’re on the right track, though. We need help.”

“Alex, if I thought there was someone else,” her eyes diverted to a faraway place for a moment, “I wouldn’t have reentered your life. I’m sorry.”

He had no doubt her words were sincere. “We’re not beat yet. I think there’s someone I can trust.”

CHAPTER
29

Growing up in Southern California, Sara Garland had the opportunity to run and frolic outdoors on pretty much any day she wanted. That lifestyle started early. Her father had been the inspiration, often dragging Sara along on his many Pacific Coast Highway quests for big waves to surf. By her mid-teens, no longer afraid of the unknown, she was on par with her father’s expertise. When the waves in California got mundane, she upped the ante by tackling skydiving.

During college, she could drink any man under the table, so if there was any taking advantage to be done, she always had the upper hand. It was obvious that with her drive, life was going to be whatever Sara Garland wanted it to be. As a college senior, there were countless well-paying corporate positions thrown her way, but on a cloudy-day whim, she sat down for an interview with the Central Intelligence Agency. During a campus recruiting push, the spy agency advertised that it was looking for the best and the brightest, which caused Sara to snicker. Since she wasn’t taking this too seriously, she remarked to her interviewer, “It’s about time, because you certainly don’t have them in ample supply at the moment.” Instead of taking offense, the recruiter agreed, admitting that mistakes had been made in the past and that America was getting shoved a shitpile of disservice in every walk of government life. Two months after graduation, Sara was an agent in training.

For the past couple of days, the monotony had set in to the point where she found it difficult to sleep at night. To take some of the edge off, she’d gotten into the habit of exiting her Georgetown hotel around midnight for a brisk jog. Her travels would either take her down the Rock Creek Parkway and back or across the Key Bridge into Arlington. Any sane woman would have known better than to be out that late, alone, tempting fate, but she was actually hoping some misguided soul would see her as easy pickings. Either attempted rape or robbery would suffice, allowing her the opportunity to use the small handgun tucked away in a waist pouch. Ridding the world of one more worthless piece of trash would ensure a good night’s sleep. Disappointed every time, Sara was back at Langley shortly after sunrise each day to begin anew.

On this morning, she was frustrated because she had nothing. She made herself a nuisance, albeit a pleasant one, to the group of geeks in surveillance. Adrian Jennings didn’t like to disappoint, but with no lead on a place to begin video surveillance, he reluctantly told Sara that locating Nora Mossa was like finding a needle in a haystack. It could take days, even weeks for a normal person to pop up on a video source, even given a limited radius. Take a person of Mossa’s expertise, with the world as a hiding place, and it could take months. She would know how to disguise her appearance and be savvy enough to avoid eavesdropping devices when possible, making use of crowds to shield her presence.

Jason Bonderman also had no good news to pass along. The last time Mossa had surfaced using her own identification markers was at the Starbucks in Dupont Circle. Since then, there’d been nothing on her financials. Bonderman was sure she was moving under a false name with access to funds. Mossa obviously wasn’t stupid or desperate enough to use identification and accounts set up for her by the agency. The scenario that had unfolded at Dupont Circle proved Mossa had assistance. That realization and the importance of knowing everything about the woman had Sara scrutinizing Mossa’s file, double-checking repeatedly in case she had overlooked some minuscule clue. Mossa’s father was deceased, and her mother’s phone and house in Oregon were being monitored. Her relationships of note were being checked and dismissed at every turn. Fortunately, it wasn’t a long list. Still, a woman could have her secrets.

On her way to George Champion’s office for a status update, she forcefully blew a few bangs off her forehead. She didn’t want to come across as inefficient, but there was virtually nothing to ascertain. As the elevator let her out on Champion’s floor, she continued to comb through Mossa’s dossier. One aspect of it proved especially maddening. How was she supposed to adequately do background checks when certain sections were blacked out, beyond her clearance grade? On several of her reexaminations, she’d caught the mention of a name that appeared only once among a number of pages. It could’ve been blacked out in subsequent references, but she had no way of knowing. Attempts to do further research on the name within agency records were met with a sharp roadblock. She casually dropped the name to Jennings and Bonderman to see if it triggered anything. Again, all she’d gotten were frustrated shakes of heads. It was probably nothing, but she wanted to totally eliminate the reference rather than to have it be a loose end.

Mrs. Prescot was cordial as always, offering Sara something to drink before showing her into Champion’s office. Looking fresh for a man working on little sleep, Champion rose but didn’t glance away from his computer screen as he offered Sara a seat across from him.

She wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or reasoning with himself when he spoke, settling back in his chair. “Dredging through the morning briefs. North Koreans are having some inventory problems that are troubling at the moment.”

Champion finally looked up and noticed Sara hadn’t come into his office empty-handed. “I see you still have Mossa’s file. You’ve been carrying that thing around like a newborn. I hope it’s burped up something worthwhile.”

Sara fidgeted in her chair. Her clothing seemed uncomfortably attached to her skin. “Sir, I’ve checked in with Bonderman and Jennings to the point where I think they’re playing darts with my picture. Ever since Dupont Circle, there’s been absolutely no trace of her.” She patted the file in her lap. “Granted, she’s talented, but she’s getting help. She definitely has documents and funds outside the ones issued by us. The money will only last so long, but if she really wants to maintain deep cover, with the proper paper she could immerse herself in the landscape, establish a credible cover, get a job, and make new acquaintances. If that happens, finding her could take…” Sara cleared her throat, “… could take some considerable time.” The speculation received a less than pleased look, but Champion knew what she was saying was true.

“However,” Sara continued, wanting that look to dissipate, “I believe Mossa has an agenda that makes her susceptible to taking some risks. I think she’s operating under some assumptions connected to Janway. Maybe they had a way of communicating that we don’t know about.”

“So you think she has an agenda? What the hell does she think can be accomplished out there virtually naked?”

“At this point, without us precisely knowing what Janway was working on, Mossa’s probably the only person who might be able to shed light on who’s responsible for her death. Others might come to that conclusion as well.”

Champion locked his hands together and glanced at his computer screen again. “I reached out to the various agencies that also showed up at Dupont Circle,” he said, seemingly referencing material. “Without giving up much detail, the Department of Defense admitted they’re on some sort of watch at the moment because a number of sensitive materials around the world have gone missing or are currently unaccounted for by various governments like North Korea. So they’re in a slight state of paranoia. And these days, when the DOD sneezes, Homeland Security grabs a tissue.”

Champion toyed with his coffee cup, which Sara took as a subtle hint that her time was nearly over. While she was here, she might as well ask. Sara riffled through Mossa’s file to a section she had marked with a red sticky note. “Sir, in going over Mossa’s file repeatedly, I came across a name that appears only once, at least in the parts that weren’t redacted. Therefore I have no idea if it appears again because I’m not cleared to read the entire file. It’s probably nothing, but I’m just trying to be thorough. I even went so far as to Google the name.”

“So you’re asking for security clearance to read the remainder of her file?”

“I think it would be helpful.”

“What’s the name? At the very least, I might be able to grant you access to sections if the name appears anywhere else in her file.” Champion smiled for a moment. “You Googled the name? What did you find out?”

“Well, the most hits pointed to an ex—” Sara was cut off because Mrs. Prescot beeped in over the phone’s intercom.

“Mr. Champion?”

“Yes, Mrs. Prescot?”

“There’s a call for you on line two. It’s a bit unusual because it’s not coming through normal channels, but the caller insists you know him and will take the call. I can get a number and give it to you later.”

“Humor me, Mrs. Prescot. Who’s on the line?”

“The gentleman says his name is Alex Koves.”

Champion’s eyes grew wide as he stood up. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbled.

Sara had slowly risen from her chair as well once she’d heard the name over the speaker. Seeing Champion’s reaction, she said, “That’s the name, sir. Alex Koves. He’s an ex—”

“Pro football player.”

“Yes.”

Champion gathered himself. “Well, he’s much more than that. Thank you, Mrs. Prescot. I’ll take the call.”

Champion pressed the corresponding line, dispatching it from hold status. He took it off speaker phone and held the handset to his ear.

“Alex?”

“George,” Alex playfully said on the other end. “How the hell are you?”

“It’s been a long time. Alex, do you have something that belongs to us?”

“Well, you have to be more specific.”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about.”

“Yeah, but which
one
are you talking about?”

Agitated, Champion nearly bit his lip. “What the hell do you mean, ‘Which one?’”

“George, we have to talk.”

CHAPTER
30

The noise from the twin engines of the C-37A turbofan filled the spacious cabin with a gentle hum. If there’d been any ongoing conversation between its three passengers, the engines probably wouldn’t have been noticed at all. It was a smooth ride with just a few hiccups of turbulence, which was expected as they traveled over the Atlantic.

Except for taking and making several calls on the plane’s secure line, George Champion sat in relative silence. The plane was approaching the United Kingdom, but it wouldn’t be landing. Instead, its flight plan called for flying over the country on its way to Brussels National Airport. Champion didn’t need to look up to know that Sara Garland was monitoring his demeanor. The cabin’s other passenger sat a few seats back, catching up on some sleep since there was no telling how long the next leg of the journey might be and while in the air, his assignment was certainly secure and safe.

Sara knew not to press for answers. Though she still didn’t know much of anything about him, she was, at least, on her way to meet Alex Koves. It was obvious he and Champion had a prior relationship, which led Sara to believe Alex had been an agency employee in some capacity at one time.

He could have been a NOC (non-official cover) agent. But how a former professional football player might have any significance as an asset was beyond her scope of understanding at the moment.

When he wasn’t making phone calls, Champion kept his head buried in a file. Sara noted he didn’t study the contents as if he were seeing them for the first time. Instead, he thumbed through it much like one reconnects with a favorite novel or crams for an exam. He appeared to know the material; he just wanted to be doubly sure. When he finally clasped the file closed, he shut his eyes and rubbed the narrow landing between them, trying to gently massage some stress away. All of a sudden, he rose and headed for the galley. When he returned, he had two glasses of Scotch. He handed one to Sara.

“You strike me as the kind of person who can knock back a few. I hope Scotch is okay.”

With no hesitation, she swallowed a generous amount. “I’ve had my moments.”

Champion reached for the file he’d been perusing. He held it out for Sara to take. She had an unsure look until Champion waved it in his hand, urging her to take it.

“It’s the watered-down version,” he said as she grabbed the folder. He concentrated on his Scotch while she glanced over it. After a few pages, Sara looked up, puzzled.

“I first met Alex when he was a junior in college,” Champion said as he began to provide background on what was either buried in the pages in Sara’s hands or omitted because they were in a much thicker, more secure document. He relayed how impressed he’d been to learn that Alex spoke fluent Arabic, thanks to instruction from his Lebanese girlfriend at the time. He then took it one step further by developing a passable understanding of Farsi. Champion pointed out that he had accomplished that while being a high-profile athlete destined for a lucrative career in the professional ranks, managing to also maintain an A average in business administration.

Sara returned her attention to the folder. Champion was with the agency then, and Alex had represented mission impossible in terms of recruitment. While Champion had ascended the ladder at the CIA, he kept up with Alex’s pro career. During his fourth year in the league, in a playoff game against the Steelers, disaster had happened. Alex had emerged from a pile after making a crucial, bone-crushing tackle. His teammates were patting him on the back and smacking his helmet until it was noticed his balance was noticeably off. The third concussion of his career was deemed serious enough that it ended his season and ultimately, his career. Rather than shrink into self-pity, Alex accepted his fate and transitioned into a new career of money management, creating his own company.