Fog of War

Chapter Six

The National Clandestine Service was the most secretive branch of a secret agency. Created in 2005, NCS’s mission was to fill the huge gap in HUMINT, the human intelligence, that existed at that time in the US. Improving the information gathering and sharing it responsibly and in a timely manner within the US intelligence community were NCS’s initial tasks. Simple enough in purpose, the activities it undertook to accomplish its mission were far more complicated. The dirtiest and darkest covert operations were brewed in NCS offices. In the harshest of conditions, under a complete veil of secrecy, they were carried out by the toughest of NCS field operatives. More often than not, the first boots to hit the ground of the hottest, deadliest areas of the planet belonged to a man or a woman of NCS.

NCS was one of the four directorates of the CIA. Its director, Mitchell Flynt, ran it as a quasi-independent agency, following the sentiments of a group of US senators who had his back. His right-hand man, Deputy Director of NCS and Director of the Counterterrorism Center Travis Adams, shared the same view. They infiltrated a country, collected the necessary intelligence by any and all means, neutralized anyone and everyone who may have caught a scent of their operation, and did not give a damn about the fallout, if there ever were a fallout.

Adams met Justin and Carrie by the entrance to a small, windowless conference room inside the CIA’s labyrinth of halls and offices. Another man was standing next to Adams. Justin had never met them, but he had seen pictures of Adams. The other man was of a short stature, with thick horn-rimmed glasses. He still had all his hair and it was all black. It was quite a contrast compared to Adams’s bald, shiny, bullet-shaped head. Adams towered over them at six feet two inches, with wide shoulders and a square chest. His desk job seemed to have no visible impact on his physique.

“Glad you were able to make it on such short notice,” Mr. Adams said.

“Happy to be here,” Justin said as they shook hands. It was a firm handshake as between true friends.

“Pleasure to meet you again, Carrie,” Adams said.

Carrie’s hand disappeared in his large, bear-sized palm.

“Likewise,” Carrie replied.

“Justin and Carrie, this is Stephen Hu, Associate Deputy Director of Ops in the Counterintel Center.”

Hu nodded. His handshake was weak as if he was afraid a stronger grip would break his fragile fingers.

“Let’s take a seat, shall we?” Adams said, pointing at the square-shaped table inside the conference room. He nodded at the security agent who had escorted Justin and Carrie and closed the door after they had stepped inside.

Justin and Carrie walked over to the other side of the table. Adams and Hu sat across from them, by a couple of thick white folders.

“Care for a cup of coffee?” Adams pointed to two aluminum carafes and four mugs with the CIA logo set in a cluster on the middle of the table, along with a wooden tea box. “Or maybe tea?”

“Sure, I’ll have some coffee,” Justin replied, helping himself to one of the carafes.

Carrie picked up the other carafe labeled ‘Hot water’ and selected an Earl Grey black tea from the box.

“How was your flight?” Adams asked, while pouring himself some coffee as well.

“Long, but uneventful.”

“That’s good.” Adams took a sip from his mug. Then he put it aside and opened the folder in front of him, pulling out a new model tablet. The chit-chat was over. He was ready to get down to business.

Justin took out a couple of large manila envelopes from his briefcase. He slid one in front of Carrie, who had opened her yellow notepad and was fiddling with her pen.

“So, let’s get on with this briefing,” Adams said. “First of all, I’m sorry to hear about what happened in Iran. You had a rough time.”

Justin nodded. “Rougher than usual, I admit it. But I wasn’t expecting it to be a walk in the park either. Ambushes happen.”

“Right,” Adams said, tapping his fingers on the edge of the desk. “And unfortunately the defector was killed.”

Justin smiled. Adams had started the briefing on the right foot. He did not imply it was Justin’s fault or that Justin had failed in his operation. Perhaps Adams is truly a decent man.

“Yes, very unfortunate. A lot of work by many agents went into preparing and executing this operation. And the defector would have been a valuable asset with his knowledge about the Iranians’ progress in building a nuclear bomb.” Justin opened one of the manila envelopes and pulled out a few printouts. “Thankfully, that operation resulted in a cache of sensitive documents. We received them from the defector before he was shot,” he said while sorting through the papers. “These are the ones we’ve analyzed and translated so far.” He slid them across the table toward Adams. “The rest is either being transmitted or will be sent to your CMOs shortly.”

Adams flipped through the pages, before pushing them toward Hu. NCS Collection Management Officers would spend the next few days evaluating the intelligence contained in these documents and making sure briefings and analysis reports landed at the right desks at the right time.

Justin took a long sip of his coffee. The java was hot and strong, the way he liked it. It perked up his senses, and he licked his upper lip in satisfaction. Then he glanced at Carrie. She had scribbled a few words in her notebook and was now holding her tea mug with her left hand. Her eyes were bouncing between the faces of Adams and Hu, as they reviewed the defector’s intelligence.

“Looks interesting,” Adams said. “What are the Service’s prelim findings?”

“Iran is much closer to having a workable, easily reproducible nuclear weapon than previously thought. We used to think in terms of months, maybe a year or two. Now we’ve found out it could be weeks.”

“Mossad will be very unhappy about this new development,” Hu said, his index finger tapping the documents.

Justin looked at Hu’s face. His little eyes were blank and dull, but a deep frown had set on his forehead.

Justin said, “A lot of people, not just Mossad, are very unhappy about Iran having a nuclear bomb. Mossad hasn’t been informed yet, and we prefer it remains so. At least for the next little while until we, and you, have studied all materials and have drawn final conclusions. Israel doesn’t need much of a reason to bomb Iran.”

“Agreed,” Adams said.

Hu remained silent and Justin thought he saw an almost indiscernible headshake. After the intelligence left his hands, he had no control over who would access it or when. It was only a matter of time before the documents would make their way to the offices on King Saul’s Boulevard, Mossad’s headquarters in Tel Aviv, with or without their permission.

“We appreciate the Service sharing this intel with us. We’re looking forward to receiving the rest of the files,” Adams said.

“I’ll see to it that it takes place as soon as possible,” Justin said.

There was a brief pause. Adams brought his coffee cup to his lips, while Hu straightened up the papers in a neat pile, then pushed them to his left.

“OK, then, we can move to the operation in Somalia,” Adams said.

Justin’s jaws tightened. This was the dreaded part of the briefing.

“You’re familiar with the details, Mr. Hall. We’re trying to determine what went wrong, who is behind the ambush, in sum, what exactly happened in that mission.”

Justin nodded. “My condolences to the families of the Navy SEALs. Brave men who gave their lives for their country.”

Adams nodded, a slight frown deepening the wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes. “A huge loss. To their families and to everyone else.”

“Have their bodies been retrieved?” asked Carrie, taking advantage of a gap in the conversation.

“Yes. We found the helicopter wreckage last night. Another team of SEALs went in with that objective. They’re flying the bodies stateside tonight.”

Carrie nodded.

Justin took another sip of his coffee.

“It’s my understanding the Service, your Service, provided a part of the intel for this operation,” Adams said.

“Yes, it came out of SAD, our Southeast Africa Division. We have no field office in Mog. The capital and pretty much all of Somalia is a death trap. Too volatile and too hostile. We dispatch agents in on specific tasks and get them out of that hell as soon as they finish their missions.”

“Uh-huh,” Adams said. “The forty-year civil war in the Horn of Africa.”

“More like the Thorn of Africa and a pain in the ass for the rest of the world. Somali pirates, al-Shabaab terrorists, weapon smuggling, refugees, famines. Anyway, two SAD operatives were tracking movements of senior members of an al-Shabaab local branch after some fierce fighting in the area around Afmadow. With al-Shabaab forces weakened and in retreat, it seemed it was the perfect time for us to make a move on the senior members if they crossed into Kenya, arguably a safer place for our business.”

Adams nodded, producing a big grin.

Justin nodded before continuing. “Then two high-level militants show up, apparently to rally up the troops for a counteroffensive. Our operatives confirmed their identities through local, trustworthy sources and relayed that intel to my team and JTF2. We assessed it and passed it on to the SEALs. CIA sent in one of their contacts. He confirmed the militants’ position, which in turn resulted in the authorization to send in the SEALs for the snatch-and-grab operation.”

Adams let out a deep sigh, then leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Yes, that pretty much summarizes it well, although I wasn’t looking for a summary.”

Justin cocked his head to the left. “I clarified the role our intel played in the setup of this op. The final decision was not made by my team or anyone else in the Canadian Intelligence Service.”

Hu leaned forward. His black eyes reflected his displeasure with Justin’s answer. “So, according to you, we’re responsible for this ambush and these deaths?”

Justin grinned, then moved his chair closer to the table. He wished Hu was on the chair directly across from him. He held Hu’s gaze for a second before saying, “Of course not, but it took some effort for you to misunderstand my words.”

“All right, all right,” Adams intervened. “Nothing good will come from us pointing fingers at each other.”

“We gave the SEALs and the CIA everything we had,” Justin said. “No new intel came in before or during the SEALs operation. When rumors began to come in about a Black Hawk downed in southern Somalia, we shared every piece of intel as received, assessed, and confirmed by our operatives.”

A tense pause stretched for a few long moments. The air conditioning low hum filled the silent room.

“Have you found your local contact?” Carrie asked. “Some reports say he didn’t report at the agreed pickup site.”

Adams rubbed his bald head. “The SEALs found his mutilated body. His head was missing.”

A look of disgust hung on Hu’s face.

“Pictures? Videos on jihadi websites?” Justin asked.

“No, not yet. We hope there won’t be any, but we can’t be sure, of course. Still, the facts that our man was discovered and captured and our SEALs team fell into an ambush are causes for great concern. We’re worried there is a leak, a mole, who’s giving intel to our enemy.”

“A mole? In the CIA?” Justin asked.

Hu shook his head. Adams eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid it’s in the Service, your Service,” he said in a low, but firm voice. He did not seem at the very least displeased at making such a revelation.

“What?” Carrie said.

“I hope you have some evidence.” Justin unclenched his teeth just long enough to shoot out the words.

Adams pointed at the folder by his tablet. “It’s all here. Inconclusive evidence and inadmissible in a court of law, but sufficient to point us in the right direction. In the direction of your door.”

‘Inadmissible in a court of law’ seemed to be the new CIA euphemism for information obtained under torture or other methods prohibited by US law or international conventions. The practice had been a constant tool widely used by CIA. Justin was not surprised.

Adams picked up a couple of documents from his folder. “I don’t expect you to draw your conclusions right at this moment, but you’ll see these files prove something very sinister is in the works. One of al-Shabaab militant cells has secret intelligence about Western agencies operations, intelligence that can come from only one source.”

“And you’re sure the source is not CIA?” asked Justin.

“We’re positive. There has been an internal investigation going on for weeks. Leaks have happened only when CIA was running joint operations. Initially, we suspected it was MI6, but after the op in Somalia and the ambush in Iran, we’re sure it’s CIS.”

“What about the ambush in Iran?” Justin said. He looked at the documents still resting under Adams’s big palm. Adams’s eyes caught Justin’s gaze, but he made no effort to hand over the reports.

“How did al-Shabaab know about your position? Your timing of the operation? The defector you were picking up? They had advance notice, plenty of advance notice to send in a sniper team and lie in wait for your arrival,” Adams said.

Justin flinched as if someone had slapped him across the face. No one had revealed that information to Adams or anyone else in the CIA. They had been told only that Justin had fallen into a trap, and the defector was dead. Besides Nathan, only three people knew about my mission in Iran: McClain, the Minister of Defense, and the Prime Minister.

“You’ve got a leak, and you need to plug it. Fast.” Hu gestured toward the folder with his hands. His voice had the unmistakable tone of a demand, not a simple suggestion or request.

Adams looked at Hu, seemingly unpleased with his intervention. Justin formed the impression Adams wanted to be the one to give such an order.

“It threatens the lives of all operatives, yours, but ours as well, especially when we run joint operations,” Adams said. “This double agent may be working for CIS, but he likely has access to information we and our partners exchange with Canada. Here are the files.” He slid the folders across the table.

Justin flipped the cover. The folder contained transcripts, reports, and assessments by NCS’s operations officers. He scanned through the paragraphs, then moved to a few aerial photographs and pictures of various al-Shabaab members. He recognized some of the names underneath the faces.

“Why hasn’t NCS already taken action?” Justin closed the folder and passed it to Carrie.

“Because it’s not our jo—” Hu began, but Adams cut him off with a dismissive hand.

“What my colleague was trying to say was that we consider this an opportunity to inform the CIS early about this breach and the need to find this traitor. This is us taking action, and it’s a chance to avoid a media scandal. You don’t need the publicity.”

Justin nodded. Memories of two recent cases of spies for the Russians discovered within the Canadian Army were still fresh. Initially alerted by the FBI and then by the CIA, the Army had largely ignored their warnings. Turf wars and national pride had cost Canada six months of spilled secrets to the Russian military intelligence.

“And this will involve some action on the ground in Somalia,” Adams continued. “After the SEALs mission, it’s very unlikely the President will order an operation against al-Shabaab in Somalia in the near future.”

Carrie was flipping through the folder contents, circling words and scribbling small notes on the margins.

Adams leaned back in his chair.

“Is this all the intel?” Justin asked.

Adams nodded. “It’s all we have so far. We’ll give you anything else that might come in.”

Hu crossed his arms.

“Well, thank you, gentlemen,” Justin said and stood up.

Carrie placed all documents back into their folders. “We’ll keep in touch,” she said.

“I’m counting on it,” Adams said as they shook hands and headed for the door.