Dead Water

28

CIA Team Leader Marty Larrow was awakened by his cell phone ringing at four in the morning. Groping for it, he answered, "Larrow here."

He was informed that the two agents charged with keeping an eye on Ryyaki Ali's estate had not checked in and could not be raised by either cell phone or radio. The agents had been located by obtaining a fix via their cell phones. Both were dead. One had had his throat cut, while the other had severe bruising and swelling in the front of his throat, suggesting the man had suffered severe blunt force trauma. Some type of strike.

"Does it look as though Ali was responsible?"

"No way to know that at this time, sir," asserted Special Agent Ryan Back, who had discovered the bodies. "Latell informed us that they had missed two checks, and we could not contact them. She was able to locate one of the cell phones; we went to the location and made the discovery. The agent who suffered the knife wound, that would be something a Taliban fighter would do, but the blow to the throat, that's not their style. We should know more after the autopsies." The call ended, and Larrow threw his cell phone across his motel room.

He had to call Backersley. He was dreading it. Plus, he had no phone. He was set up in a room four down from Latell and her intelligence unit. He stormed down. He knocked hard, and the door opened immediately. One of Latell's assistants ushered him in.

"Sir, we've been expecting you."

"Set me up on a secure line with Backersley," he ordered. Forty-five seconds later, he was handed a satellite phone. "Please hold for Director Backersley," he was told.

Two minutes elapsed before Backersley picked up. "Backersley here."

"Sir, Larrow here." He proceeded to give his boss a rundown on current events.

"Agent Larrow, allow me to ask you a question. If your agents were watching Ali, would it not make reasonable sense to presume that Ali probably discovered them?"

Larrow was pissed. "Obviously, I have thought of that, sir, but they were not on Ali's property. They were under strict orders not to enter his compound for any reason. The manner in which they were killed raises some doubt."

"How were they killed?"

"One had his throat cut — that would be Ali's style — but the other one suffered a severe blow to his throat. That isn't."

"I would operate on the presumption that Ali was indeed involved; however, keep your mind open to other scenarios."

"Sir, these were two well-trained agents. It would have taken a highly skilled team to take them out."

"Larrow, you have lost three agents in less than a day. We are the ones who are supposed to take people out, not having people taken out. You continue to run logistics on the surveillance of Ryyaki Ali, but any intel on the three agents goes directly to Rob Randall. Understood?"

"Sir, with all due respect, Randall has a bad habit of shooting first, and he won't bother about collateral damage."

"Three agents down, Larrow, three! Don't you dare lecture me about collateral damage! If you have a problem with that, get your ass back here!" Backersley yelled loudly.

"Understood, sir," Larrow acknowledged reluctantly.

"Good."

Randall turned loose. What next?

"Ryyaki Ali could employ any number of teams that have skill. The man is wealthy beyond most people's comprehension. I want three-hour updates." Larrow's phone went dead.

Larrow turned to Toni Latell, who had entered the room. "Toni, when was their last check?"

"At eleven thirty, sir. They reported a dark green or black four-door Jeep Wrangler parked in an obscure location next to Ryyaki Ali's property. We have the plate number. We're running it now."

Larrow cringed inside. "And why did you wait until now?"

"Sir, we just discovered the problem fifteen minutes ago."

"Agent Latell, the problem started one second after they didn't check in."

"Yes, sir. If it were any other agents, I would have informed you immediately, but Jackson and Hutch have a history of not keeping to schedule. I just didn't see a problem at that moment. My fault."

"I am well aware of Jackson's peculiarities. I can't say I don't agree with your particular assessment. It gets worse. All intel with regard to the downed agents goes directly to Randall."

"Randall, sir? Are you sure about that?"

"Straight from the director, Latell. We don't have any choice."

"If you say so, sir. Better get the women and kids off the streets."

"No shit. I need a cell phone."

Latell went to a small case, retrieved one of the standard-issue phones, and handed it to him. "Broke another one, sir?"

Larrow just glared at her and returned to his room.

At seven thirty that Sunday morning, President Lamar, along with his chief of staff, was convening a breakfast meeting with the directors of his different security agencies. Absent was Coverley Merritt of the Department of the Presidential Office.

"Good morning, gentlemen. Please read me in where we stand."

Elliott Ragar and Bernard Backersley took turns in bringing the president up to speed on everything that had transpired since their last meeting.

"You mean to tell me you've lost three agents?" The president bristled.

"Yes, sir. I have turned that aspect of the operation over to the lead on our response team."

"What aspect of what operation? Backersley, what did you not understand about turning over all your information to Sanderson and Ragar and withdrawing? Hell, man, you are the CIA; it is completely illegal for you to be operating inside our borders." The president was visibly angry.

"Sir, I lost three of my agents before we had the chance to withdraw. With all due respect, I am not turning that aspect over to anybody. We take care of our own. We will operate with all due caution, but the CIA will continue to conduct the investigation into the deaths of three CIA agents. If you find that disagreeable, you may ask for my resignation." Backersley was not going to give ground on this point.

The president was quiet for a few moments. "All right, you continue that, and only that. If I find out that you have stepped outside those boundaries, you will be fired. If this blows up in my face, you will be fired. If my coffee gets cold, you will be fired. Is there anything about what I just said that you don't understand?"

"No, sir. Not at all."

Elliott Ragar, director of the NSA, spoke up. "Sir, I understand how Director Backersley feels. I would feel the same." There were a few looks of surprise on some of the faces in attendance.

Matt Sanderson, director of the FBI, asked a question. "Sir, I have noticed the absence of Merritt in the last meetings and was wondering why."

"I have decided that the DPO that President Williams initiated is unnecessary. Under my administration, heads of agencies are going to be more cooperative with each other and me, or they will be gone, thus eliminating the need. Merritt will be reassigned. He's a good man. I won't make it official until we have eliminated this biological threat. I don't want distractions."

"Yes, sir, and if I may say so, I believe it's a good call."

"You may not. Worry about your own agency; I'll worry about all of them."

Toni Latell nearly jumped out of her chair when the door to the motel room that she and her assistant, Jay Sling, were using as a temporary HQ burst in. Latell spun around in her chair ready to chastise whoever couldn't even bother to knock but froze in place. Special Agent Robert Randall was walking toward her. He was the leader of one of the CIA's most respected, and definitely most feared, response teams. Randall was a man who instilled fear. At six feet and five inches tall, weighing 260 pounds, he made most men nervous. He kept his head shaved smooth except for a black mustache and goatee-style beard. Dark eyebrows and dark brown eyes completed the package. His left eye twitched occasionally, the everlasting effects of a concussion grenade. He was an avid weight lifter and looked it. The personality of a snapping turtle with a sore ass was the icing on the cake.

"You know this has pretty much been turned over to me, right?"

"I know that Agent Larrow is in charge of logistics and that any action taken shall be coordinated through you."

"Fuck Larrow. We should've gone into that facility already. We're wasting time."

"We don't know if Ali is in possession of the toxin yet. That is what we're waiting on."

"Why should that be a problem? We go in, take the place over, and wait. What's so damned hard about that?"

"Agent Randall," she replied, standing her ground. "That is a question that needs to be taken up with at least Agent Larrow or Langley. That is not my call."

"Langley told me I was in charge."

"Langley told me that you were both in charge of separate operations of this action. I can get whomever you might want to speak with if you need clarification."

"Latell, I don't work on clarification. Where is Larrow?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm not his personal secretary or babysitter. Why don't you try using your cell phone and call him?"

"Latell, don't think I won't shove a cell phone up your ass just because you're a female. All I want from you is information. Is that understood?"

"No, it's not. I take my orders from Larrow, who is my immediate superior. I pass on to you what he tells me to. You are not in my chain of command. I know that most people are scared shitless of you; I don't even blame them. But if you give me problems, ultimately you will answer to someone who is not scared of you, so go fuck yourself."

In response, Randall leaned over and grabbed her computer monitor and sent it flying across the room. "Next time you decide to give me shit, that'll be you." He stormed out of the room.

Jay Sling exclaimed, "Are you out of your mind? That psycho has killed more men than some army platoons!"

"He's an ass." But she couldn't stop her voice from shaking.

J. C. Christman was walking out of Air Rentals. He had chartered a helicopter for seventy-two hours, citing a high-paying photography assignment. The rental transaction went smoothly after Christman showed his pilot's license with multiple endorsements, including rotorcraft. He was assured that his Jeep would be secure, and he backed it into the concrete building that was located at the far end of Portland International Airport. The chopper was a newer model, could comfortably seat four besides himself, and had storage for the "photography" gear. He had told the owner that he had some errands to run and would be back for the copter in a couple of hours. In reality, he was going to pick up gear from the DPO jet.

Ninety minutes later, he returned and pulled the Jeep up tight to the chopper. He loaded the equipment he'd retrieved and stowed it securely. Lastly, he covered everything with a black tarp. He returned the Jeep to its original parking space and then walked back to the copter. After going through his preflight inspection, he climbed into the pilot's seat and started the blades whirling.

Starr was driving, seeking a good spot to pull in and wait. He spotted a strip mall on the right. Besides all the little chain stores one usually finds in such a place, there was a Burger King at the end. Might as well get some food. He pulled up to the drive-through and ordered five egg-and-cheese breakfast sandwiches on biscuits. These he could eat cold as well as hot, giving him something to nibble on during the day since he didn't know when he would be stopping again. He had brought along several bottles of water, so drinks were not a problem. After receiving his order, he found a parking spot one row back from the road, close to the exit, allowing him a quick exit when the time came. There was a row of neglected bushes planted next to the road, which would provide further cover even though he was not worried about being spotted. Ellhad would have no idea that he was even there, much less what he was driving. Now parked and in position and watching the GPS tracker, he had seen the vehicle he was monitoring move slightly. He zoomed in and was able to determine it had moved to the main house and parked. The road wasn't too busy, and Styles had provided him with a reasonable description of the pickup truck he would be tailing. Now he just had to wait.

Styles and Phillips had pulled into a Home Depot. Phillips had pulled up Google Earth and zoomed down on Ryyaki Ali's estate. With a few clicks, the image was amazing. You could easily see individuals on the property.

"Do a perimeter search. That is where we might see some friendlies."

"Gotcha."

Styles watched as Phillips performed her magic on her laptop. The connection between the two reminded him strongly of himself and his sniper rifle. Synergy.

"I've got a vehicle that's partially hidden just off the property. I don't see any individuals." She turned the screen so he could see for himself.

"Show me the position on an overlay of the entire property."

Phillips complied. "Is this what you want?"

"Yeah. Looks like they're about two hundred yards south of where I went in. That's too close. We're going to go in ninety degrees from them, here," he said, pointing toward the electronic map. "That allows a good distance between us, just about a mile."

"Won't they have the place surrounded?"

"No. They're just watching the outskirts. If they're that close, I'm surprised they got past the guards up in the tree stands. That's pretty smart."

"They might have run a recon with infrared over them like we did. Even though they can't do that from a satellite, they can certainly do that with a drone."

"Maybe." Styles started the Yukon and pulled into traffic, while Phillips fired up her laptop that received the video feeds from the cameras Styles planted.

"On second thought," Styles advised, "keep the subsonic rounds loaded. We might be better off keeping noise to a minimum with those agents so close."

"How's the leg?" she asked.

"Little sore; it's no concern."