The Callsign (3 page)

The president nodded at Kurt, then sat at the head of the large conference table. "Looks like we've got everyone here. Let's go. I'm on a bit of a timeline."

Kurt started with a status review, delineating progress on the various cover businesses being established for operations, the construction timeline for the Blaisdell front office in Clarendon, and an update on the two concurrent exercises being conducted, one in Charleston, South Carolina, and one in Kansas City, Missouri. He left out any mention of Pike's close call with the police, simply stating that the exercise was progressing.

Alexander Palmer asked, "So we're on track to go operational in two months?"

"Yesterday I would have said yes, but something came up this morning. I think we can go operational right now."

Before anyone could ask a question, he flipped to the next slide, showing an acerbic Arab male; he was young, perhaps twenty-five or twenty-eight, with a full mustache.

"This is Muhammad bin Qasim, otherwise known as Abu Khalid. He's a digital graphics designer and uses those skills as a passport forger for al-Qaeda. He's currently located in Aden, Yemen, and I think we should go after him."

"Okay, how does that change anything on our side?" the DCI asked. "We've got a ton of names on the list. None of them makes us prematurely operational."

"A couple of things," Kurt said. "One, we don't want to take him out. Just get the data off his computer. Thus, we don't need to worry about the whole exfiltration problem of leaving a sovereign country with a terrorist in tow, which we currently don't have the capability to do.

"Two, he works for a water desalinization plant. This plant has just asked for bids on surveillance system upgrades due to the unrest over there. The closest business cover we have to completion is Advanced Surveillance Solutions. We can use that to bid and win the contract. We can get over there and flesh out future operational actions with little risk."

President Warren said, "So you're asking for our first Alpha? Are you sure we're ready? We blow this, and we blow more than just the mission."

Kurt knew what he was really saying. If the mission was compromised, ripping the lid off an intelligence operation that existed off the books and outside the legal scrutiny of congress the president's brand-new administration would be destroyed, with the men in this room more than likely going to jail. But he also knew that the president had understood those risks when agreeing to Project Prometheus in the first place.

"Sir, that's exactly what I'm asking. Everyone here saw the Surefoot series of capability demonstrations. They've got the skills to do it, and it's a simple Alpha introduction of forces. No Omega operational authority. Let's get a team in the game. All they'll be doing is building a pattern of life on Khalid. If it looks like we can access his database, we'll come back for Omega."

The secretary of defense asked, "Which team do you want to send?"

"Pike's team. He's got a solid mixture of guys who can walk and talk the surveillance business, from infrared cameras to digital recording. One guy, Retro, is a little bit of a computer geek. He keeps up on all that stuff on his own. And Pike's also got Jesse, a trained Arabic linguist."

Palmer said, "So you have the infrastructure and requisite cover skills. Are you sure they're ready for this mission? Can they execute?"

"They're proving that right now in Charleston."

"They haven't proven anything yet. Let's see what happens in the next twenty-four hours before I give you my vote."

I'd been sitting in my vehicle for about three hours, starting to get a little antsy because of the location, when I finally got the call from Retro that the beacon was on the move.

The real estate office had provided a link to the target's beddown site, which happened to be in North Charleston in an area that was most decidedly not the nice part of town. While I was sure that I wouldn't blow the target by my location, I wasn't so sure that the neighbors around here wouldn't do it for me. No doubt they thought I was a cop and had been spreading the word around about my presence.

Something to remember. The threat isn't only the target.

At least this part of the exercise was proving beneficial. Trying to penetrate this area was like trying to penetrate Fallujah. Getting the beacon on the target's vehicle had been fairly challenging, given that we didn't blend in at all and the vehicle itself had been located on the street in front of a dilapidated town house.

I'd sidelined Kranz because of his shenanigans the night before, ignoring his pleas that the beacon was CIA kit and therefore somehow his mission. I'd sent in Retro and my squid insteadRetro because he was a little bit of a techno-geek, and Reaper because I was feeling him out. Testing his left and right limits.

So far Reaper had proven pretty damn solid. But we still had the night to get through yet.

I looked at my watch, seeing it was close to midnight. With an exfil boat at two in the morning, we were pushing things. We had the intel indicator saying he was "potentially meeting with an unknown" and a location, but we didn't have a time.

Retro finished his initial report, telling me that the beacon appeared to be heading toward Interstate 26, to downtown.

I kicked over the engine, wondering how many people flipped open their cell phones at the same time, and headed in the direction of the beacon track.

I had three vehicles operating as singletons, which made mounted surveillance pretty tough, but I wanted the spread in case we lost the beacon, so I only had one vehicle with two men.

I'd given the job of surveillance chief to Kranz one, because I wanted to give him a chance to prove himself, and two, because he had a hell of a lot more experience at this than I did. I was just another pair of eyes on this mission.

I entered the freeway headed south, trying to catch up to the target, currently being tracked by Retro and Bull from the two-up vehicle.

I had little idea where the other vehicles were located, but that knowledge was unnecessary. If they were in the hunt, they knew what to do-which was to stay the hell out of the way until Retro called for a change-out of the eye. That wasn't going to happen anytime soon, because he was hanging back, using our technology to keep tabs.

At least that's what I thought until his next call.

"Kranz, lost the eye. Beacon track is wigging out."

Kranz said, "Last location still I-26?"

"Yeah. But we're passing exits left and right."

I should have kept my mouth shut, let Kranz run the surveillance, but I couldn't help myself. "Retro, this is Pike. What's up with the beacon?"

"Pike, that thing is a piece of shit. I swear, for being so top secret, it amazes me how old-school our capabilities are. FedEx has better tracking on a day-to-day basis. The beacon we're using has some sort of proprietary software package that only gives a trace and a grid. It doesn't even place it on a map."

"I didn't ask for a review. I asked what was wrong."

"I'm telling you what's wrong. It's something developed by the intelligence community for the intelligence community. Its technology is four years old, which means it's prehistoric. We need to start leveraging commercial infrastructure instead of this stand-alone, make-a-fortune-with-a-contract bullshit. Bottom line is the beacon works on satellite feeds, and the target broke the view of the sky."

I thought about what I knew of Charleston, and it clicked.

"He's already off the freeway. Into the spaghetti section where I-26 goes into downtown. He's underneath a bridge somewhere.

Check the map. Where would that be?"

Bull came on. "Meeting Street. He got off at that exit. Everything else is up high. Meeting goes underneath."

"Retro, how long does that thing take to lock back on?" I asked.

"About five minutes. Once signal is broken, it goes through a ridiculous self-test. He's in the open now, but we won't get signal."

Kranz replied, "Understood, but let's not assume the beacon failed because of a sky-view. Reaper, keep going straight into the crosstown. Bull and Pike, get off at Meeting Street. Bull, go south on Meeting; Pike cut left to East Bay and troll south, paralleling Meeting. Jesse, take King Street to the west and go south as well. I'll back up Reaper on the crosstown."

I was surprised by the call. Actually impressed.
Maybe he does have some skills on this shit.

I said, "Roger," and exited the freeway.

Heading toward downtown, I began to review the hit we'd planned. The meeting itself was supposed to occur at the old city jail, a historical landmark that was now home to some sort of architecture school. We'd conducted a reconnaissance earlier and figured we could get out clean because the area was smack-dab in the middle of a government welfare housing area, with little to no foot traffic. There were no other commercial establishments in the area, and the building was just as advertised: a jail from the eighteenth century, deserted and dilapidated, with parking and easy access. No cameras or other surveillance systems, which worked both for the target and for us.

I continued down East Bay and found myself reflecting on how cool the city was. I'd never been to Charleston before, but it had grown on me in the week I'd been there. I was at that stage in my military career when you start thinking about where you want to end up, and this place looked pretty good. Heather, my wife, wanted to stay in North Carolina, but I was having none of that.

Need to get her down here for a weekend. See what she thinks.

My thoughts were broken by Retro.

"East Bay it is. Got the beacon stopped close to Market Street. Corner of East Bay and Pinckney. Looks like a parking lot near the carriage barns."

I immediately slowed and began scanning, wanting to get eyes on the target. Kranz began calling in the box.

"Pike and Reaper, get ready for an intrusion. See what's around there, where he could have gone. Bull, set up on Pinckney. Jesse, set up northbound on East Bay. I'll set up southbound."

I trolled south down East Bay and saw the vehicle inside some pay parking lot adjacent to a doctor's office. Next door was a dive bar called Big John's. Nothing else around.

I called it in and parked, waiting on Reaper. It was clearly a local's-only place and not a tourist trap. I knew anyone breaking the plane of that door would get a stare, and I'd look strange as a singleton. Better to go in together.

Reaper pulled around and parked, and I asked his opinion.

"Well, he didn't go to the doctor. He either walked toward Market Street or he went in. My bet is in. There's nothing else around here."

We moseyed up to the front door, past a couple who were smoking cigarettes and going through the dating dance. The interior was dim, with a bar on one side and a row of booths on the other. The ceiling was adorned with women's bras and other bric-a-brac. My kind of place.

It was crowded but not unduly so. After the people at the bar turned away from us, I took a seat. Reaper asked the bartender for the bathroom and used that excuse to do a cursory search. When he returned, he said the target was in another room in the rear, sitting by himself.

"Can we get back there?"

"Yeah. There are a couple of pool tables. One's open." I ordered two beers and got some quarters while Reaper up.dated the team.

We were on our second rack, playing against a couple of college kids, when an unknown sat down with the target. Which caused us no small amount of concern. The intelligence indicated that he would meet someone at the old prison. The unknown meant either he was conducting two meetings or our ambush lo.cation was no good.

Nothing we could do about it. Reaper went to the bathroom again for some privacy to relay the information, letting Kranz sort out the implications. By the time he came back, the meeting was over and the target was leaving the bar, while the unknown stayed in place.

I alerted Kranz, triggering the box, then kept playing. We'd stay there until the game was done so as not to spook the unknown. I was no longer concentrating, instead listening to the calls on my little Bluetooth earpiece as the surveillance picked up the follow. Five shots later, the college boys sank the eight ball.

Reaper told them good game, and we racked our cues.

One college kid said, "That's twenty bucks each."

I said, "What are you talking about? We didn't bet."

"This is the betting table. You play here, you bet."

For the first time, I sized them up. The one talking was fairly big, with a shit-eating grin and a ball cap. The other was a little smaller but didn't look soft. He had a buzz cut that looked military.

"I didn't know that before we shot. Sorry. I'll buy you a beer."

Ball Cap said, "Fuck that. Pay up."

Reaper came over, put his back to them, and said, "We should just pay. Don't give the unknown any reason to remember us.

And we need to get back into the hunt."

I thought about it, then said, "Just so you know, if this was real, I'd do it. But it's an exercise that's going to be over in about two hours, so I could give a shit what that unknown thinks. I'm not paying them a dime."

I knew I was forcing a bad position, what with the exercise going on, but this sort of thing just set me off. Pushed my buttons in the worst way. Which was a fault of mine that I needed to work on. Tomorrow.

Truthfully, outside of the chance to bully the bully, I also wanted to see how Reaper would react. Would he fight, or would he do the smart thing?

I could tell they'd sized us up and didn't think we'd be much trouble. Reaper stood about five-ten, with longish black hair that made him look a little bit like a sissy that was just my opinion.

Well, mine and apparently these guys'. He didn't appear to have a lot of muscle, but I knew that was a ruse after the combatives training I'd done with him. The only thing remotely threatening was the size of his hands, which weren't abnormally large, but were bigger than they should have been.