Dead Water

8

Bernard Backersley was back in his office at CIA headquarters. It was surprisingly modest. Only his desk would draw any admiration, an early twentieth-century piece constructed from mahogany with a fine hand-rubbed oil finish that he'd imported from England. At the moment, he was sitting behind it bristling with annoyance. He was incensed that the president had shown him a video that he knew nothing about. Furthering his ire was the president not revealing how he had obtained the footage. Backersley was used to being the one holding the cards. He picked up his phone and summoned the chief of his cyber unit to his office.

Ten minutes later, agent in charge Myra Banks knocked and entered.

"Take a seat, Myra."

"Yes, sir."

"You don't have to 'sir' me when it's the two of us." Backersley had known Myra Banks for ten years, and they enjoyed a "friends with benefits" relationship, though very few people knew.

"What's eating you, Bernie?"

"I just came from a meeting with the president and the other directors. He had access to an extremely sensitive video that I knew nothing about. I couldn't get him to say how he'd obtained it."

"And you're mad because he had something before you."

"Damn it, Myra, it's my job to have everything before everybody. I can't figure out where in the hell it came from."

"Was it concerning the fish kill?" she asked.

"Yes. It was an infrared image that showed an individual tossing something into that lake. I wasn't aware that particular technology was far enough along to be utilized from a satellite and able to show that type of detail."

"Infrared has come a long way, but to pick up one individual's heat signal with that detail does surprise me, at least from the satellites that I think would have been utilized."

"Well, the president just showed it to me."

"I don't believe we have that capability, at least not yet. I could be wrong. I don't know of anyone else who might have it."

"Any guesses?"

The slender brunette sat quiet for a minute, curling her long hair around her right index finger, thinking. "I can only surmise that it could be done in one of two ways. Either somebody hit upon a new and much stronger technology, which I'm sure we would have heard about, or someone was able to write some type of program utilizing existing technology that created a much larger expansion into the revelation of minute detail. Given the choices, I'd bet on the second."

"Okay, who could do that?" Backersley asked, his ruddy complexion even redder than usual.

"Currently, no one who works for us. One woman comes to mind — Darlene Phillips."

"Isn't she the one that the president stole from us for that new DOP agency he created?"

"Yes. I worked with her for almost four years, and she's without doubt the best computer geek I've ever seen. She has a knack that can't be taught; it's just the way she's wired. Her ability to think outside the box only magnifies her capability. I'd say if anybody could create that type of program, it would be Darlene. That she's part of DOP would explain how the president obtained the video."

"How can we find out for sure? We need to know if it's us or someone else."

Myra Banks groaned inwardly. For such an intelligent man, sometimes you ask the stupidest questions. "It certainly seems to me it would have to be us; otherwise, how did the president obtain it? Bernie, I think you should come right out and ask. Use the pretext of national security. You should at least get your answer."

"I'm not sure I want Williams knowing what I know."

Both sat quiet in Backersley's office for almost five minutes, Backersley deep in thought. Finally, he looked up. "I'm starting to wonder if there isn't more to this DOP Williams created than just gathering intel."

"What do you mean?" queried Banks.

"Starting with the hit on those terrorist suspects back in Indianapolis, it appears that someone, or some group, has been a step ahead of everyone in certain matters. If Williams did have such a group operating at his disposal, this DOP group would be perfectly capable of giving him all the info he would need to dispense the information that all the other agencies have acquired. He's ordered that the DOP be kept in the loop on all terrorist activities in real time, so he's always up to date. That places him in the perfect position. Don't you see?"

"Yes, it would," she agreed, straightening up in her chair. "Christ, Bernie, if he got caught at that, it would make Nixon's Watergate scandal look like a walk in the park. Do you really think he's ordering assassinations?"

"We do it all the time."

"Yeah, but we're CIA. He's the president."

"One thing I'm sure about President Williams. I don't think there's anything that man wouldn't do if he thought it would keep this country safer. I remember when the bomb was discovered at Madison Square Garden. He was close to going over the edge. He wanted to bomb the entire Middle East."

"Let me ask you this, Bernie. Say if he was doing this, do you think it's a bad thing?"

"I think it should be our job."

"Well, it does seem like we're always getting called up to the Hill answering some damned congressional committee's questions. Maybe he just thought it would be easier — go behind their backs, so to speak."

"If that's so, I want to know about it."

"Of course you do."

Phillips came walking out of her computer room. The three men were sitting around the table where they'd eaten breakfast.

"Have you guys even moved?" she asked.

"Don't worry about us; have you come up with anything?" Starr retorted.

"Well, my only concern was whether I'd have to dust the three of you."

Styles burst out laughing. "Good one, Phillips. Actually, we just got back in from our weapons room, where I was familiarizing these two with some of my favorites. I want to start all of you on target practice. I know that you two guys can already shoot; I just want to knock any rust off your shooting skills. Have you done much shooting?" he said as he looked at Phillips.

"A bit, but I like that idea," Phillips agreed. "Most of my experience is with handguns. I have shot a shotgun a few times with my brothers. I'd like to practice with an AR-15 and get the feel of it."

Styles nodded in agreement. He continued, "We know that Phillips is proficient in Tae Kwon Do. Starr, you can handle yourself reasonably well. J. C., how about you?"

"I haven't had the extensive training you guys have had, but I suppose I'm okay. I wouldn't mind spending some time learning a few techniques from you, though, long as you don't break me in half."

"I won't."

Phillips interrupted, "Okay, to the point. As we know, the helicopter that picked up our suspect landed at a small airport outside of Bethel. Within minutes, a plane — a floatplane, to be exact — took off and landed outside Portland, Oregon. I've traced the registration numbers and identified the owners. The floatplane belongs to Northern Hunting Expeditions. They appear to be a legitimate business. I would not rule out that they would perform other services on the side; however, we don't know for certain if the floatplane is involved. I just thought it worthwhile to look into."

"I think we should follow up on it," said Starr.

"When do we leave?" asked Christman.

"One hour," answered Starr. "We know what to take."

Phillips interrupted. "Should I go or stay here?"

"Can you bring what you need to keep doing whatever the hell it is you do?" Starr questioned.

"Should be able to. I can download a couple of programs I need onto flash drives, and I'll make sure I have any uplinks I might need connected."

"Uh, yeah, do that. Remember, I know computer basics, but that's about it. I use a flip phone 'cause all I need a phone for are calls, texts, and to see what time it is. I don't even know how to turn on a smartphone."

"Well, I'll spend some time with you three and educate you just a bit," replied Phillips.

"Okay, guys," Christman announced. "Wheels up in one hour."

"One more thing, guys. I picked up some chatter referring to the Chemist regarding a potential attack here. I'll have to start researching him as time permits."

"Yeah, but first things first," stated Styles.

Bernard Backersley called Myra Banks back into his office.

"Myra, I want to know what this DPO group the president is running is up to. I want you to find out all you can about them. I want to know every member of that department and what they do."

"What if President Williams finds out what you're doing?" she questioned.

"It's your job to be damned sure he doesn't."

"Bernie, I have to be honest here. I'm not really comfortable nosing around in the affairs of the president, especially since he's got Phillips on that team."

"What do you mean — about Phillips, that is?"

"That woman makes me nervous. My gut is telling me that if I go poking around, somehow she's going to find out."

"Myra, your unit goes in and out of agencies around the world. Are you telling me you are afraid to nose around this DPO unit?"

"Not scared, Bernie, wise. Darlene Phillips can do more with computers than my entire staff. I'm not so egotistical to not recognize that. If we're discovered, it'll be our asses."

"Then probe gently. Maybe avoid Phillips entirely. See what you can find out. I want to know what is what with them. Don't do anything that makes you seriously uncomfortable."

"Bernie, this task is making me uncomfortable. May I ask you a straight question?"

Backersley gave her a look of slight annoyance. "Of course."

"Why in the hell do you want to take a chance on stirring up a hornets' nest? With all the shit going on in the world, it just seems that from a logical perspective, this is something we don't need to get caught up in."

Backersley leaned back in his overstuffed chair. He was quiet for a few seconds before answering, "I feel strongly that in order for me to do the best job possible, I need to know everything possible. Believe it or not, this is not about me being jealous or petty. If this group is doing more than believed, I'm not going to immediately condemn it. I just need to know the scorecard. I don't want to waste time trying to find out information about something if the answer is right in front of me. I don't know if that makes sense to you, but it does to me. This is how I operate. I need to know."

Agent Banks stood up. "I'll find out what I can," she said, and she walked out the door.

The main laboratory at the CDC facility, located in Atlanta, Georgia, was a dimmed hum of activity. Lawrence Larkin sighed in frustration as he reviewed yet another round of tests that revealed absolutely nothing. He tried stifling a yawn and looked away from his computer screen.

"You look exhausted."

Larkin swiveled around in his chair to face his boss, Director Michael Lang. Assistant Director Olivia Watson stood beside him.

"I've never seen anything like this. I've studied these samples inside out and upside down, and I can't find any solid evidence of what killed these fish. At best, I have an educated guess," offered Larkin.

Director Lang was a man of little patience. "And what might that be?"

"Okay, but remember, you asked for it. I've found, uh, for lack of a better word, residue in the coagulated blood taken from the samples. I have no idea what it is. Based on that, I think that someone has developed a synthetic bioagent that is activated by water. It does its thing, and after x amount of time, it disintegrates. From what I can surmise, it happens with extraordinary speed. Actually, unbelievable speed. I've studied the video, and this entire lake died overnight leaving no real evidence behind. Whatever this agent is, it causes the blood to congeal into a jelled condition, killing the host. Additionally, once this agent is activated, by the evidence we've learned from that lake, there doesn't seem to be a way to stop it; nor is there any reason to believe that there is any limit on how large an area it could kill. Conceivably, it could take out an entire ocean, if not every body of water on the planet. In my opinion, this just might be the most dangerous bioweapon we've ever encountered, and I also believe that most everything in the water, at least any species with blood, would be affected."

"What?" exclaimed Director Lang.

"You heard me. I can't come up with anything else."

Lang declared, "I've got to get this information to the president."

"Already done, sir. I had to wait almost three hours to get to you, so under the president's standing order, I've already informed the DPO."

"You what?" exploded Lang. "That's my job."

"Yes, sir, it is. However, as you were unavailable, and this is a national emergency, I felt the president should be informed immediately. I didn't mean to go over your head. I was only doing what I felt was my job."

"Of course, Larkin. You acted appropriately."

"Thank you, sir. Again, no disrespect intended."

With great effort to remain civil, Director Lang responded, "None taken."