Second Strike

CHAPTER 6

^{WASHINGTON, D.C.,}

^{AUGUST 14, 4:55 P.M. EDT}

Olivia Perry was growing impatient sitting at the witness table. Several members of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence were huddled around Chairman Harlan McCoy, discussing something out of her earshot. They seemed unconcerned that they were nearly thirty minutes behind schedule. Perry and her boss, National Security Advisor James Brandt, both sticklers for punctuality, had arrived fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. Brandt was seated behind her, Arlo, his German shepherd guide dog, lying by his side.

This was her second appearance before the committee since the commencement of the bombing campaign against Iran three weeks ago. Brandt also had testified previously. The hearings were related to the congressional investigation surrounding the thwarted Russian-Iranian attempt to strike the United States with an EMP four weeks ago. The catastrophe had been narrowly averted, prompting massive retaliation against Iran by the United States. Chairman McCoy continued reading something in front of him before nodding confirmation to his colleagues flanking him that the hearing was about to begin.

“Thank you, Ms. Perry, for returning to the committee. We very much appreciate your continued cooperation.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Chairman.”

“Excellent. Committee staff have prepared a summary of essential facts adduced thus far, and…” McCoy fumbled with a sheaf of papers for several seconds before resuming. “Here we are. I’ll give you the condensed version so we’re all on the same page, okay?”

“Yes, Mr. Chairman.”

McCoy brought several papers closer to the glasses perched midway down his nose and began speaking.

“On or about July 11, seven of eight special operators known as Omega—” McCoy stopped suddenly and looked up, indignant. “I have to tell you, Ms. Perry, despite the fact that I’m chair of Senate Intelligence of the United States of America, I’d never even heard of this Omega before. Not a thing. Neither had any of the forty-plus witnesses who have appeared so far before this committee, with the exception of DDCI Kessler.” McCoy repeatedly stabbed the dais with his index finger. “Did you know about them?”

“Neither Mr. Brandt nor I was aware of Omega’s existence until the crisis began unfolding,” Perry answered truthfully.

A staffer rose from behind and whispered into McCoy’s ear. Olivia Perry suspected that the senator’s “extemporaneous” remarks were a rehearsal for when the investigation became public, an attempt to deflect attention from the fact that it was McCoy’s closest confidant, Senate Intelligence counsel Julian Day, who had been funneling intelligence to the Russians—and by extension the Iranians—to facilitate the EMP strike. All right under McCoy’s nose.

“As I was saying, this Omega team went into Pakistan—without that government’s knowledge or permission—to prevent an attempt by terrorists to acquire a nuclear weapon.” McCoy looked up again with theatrical magnanimity. “Now, I should say in all fairness, they were successful, though that doesn’t excuse this administration’s duplicity in keeping this team secret.”

Once again he returned to the script. “In the process of preventing the acquisition of nuclear weapons by the terrorists, team leader Michael Garin apparently came into possession of information about the Russians and Iranians. He believed it would lead to the discovery of Iran’s program—with Russian technical assistance—to construct and launch intercontinental ballistic missiles carrying nuclear payloads.” McCoy gazed up. “How am I doing, Ms. Perry?”

“So far everything you’ve said about the Omega operation is consistent with our understanding.”

“Within forty-eight hours of returning to the US from the successful operation in Pakistan, every single member of Omega, save for Mr. Garin, was assassinated. Seven members killed in a manner suggesting the sole surviving member of the team, Mr. Garin, was the assassin. Accordingly, given the extraordinarily sensitive nature of the matter, the FBI conducted a hunt for Mr. Garin, the scale of which, as I understand, was unprecedented. Nonetheless, Mr. Garin successfully eluded capture for several days.

“We now know Mr. Garin was innocent, but throughout the search the FBI and various intelligence agencies were fed information from a source within the government suggesting Garin was the assassin.”

A different aide whispered into McCoy’s ear. After a brief exchange, McCoy said, “Ms. Perry, it is our understanding that while Garin was a fugitive, you and Mr. Brandt were in contact with him. Is that correct?”

“I was. Mr. Brandt was not.”

“But you conveyed information from Garin to Mr. Brandt; isn’t that true?”

“He was never aware of Mr. Garin’s whereabouts, Senator McCoy.”

“…to conveniently maintain plausible deniability regarding the whereabouts of a fugitive…”

Angered, Olivia began to respond, but Senator Brad Cross, ranking member of the committee, interjected.

“Mr. Chairman, the evidence makes clear that the reason Mr. Garin was a fugitive in the first place is because disinformation about his culpability was spread through law enforcement and intelligence services. At least some of this information came from counsel to this very committee. I respectfully suggest we return to the focus of the inquiry.”

McCoy’s face was flushed. The counsel to whom Cross referred, Day, was killed—some reports suggested he actually committed suicide—after his involvement with the Russians became known. To this point no one had made “public” reference to Day’s involvement in the EMP plot. A shot across McCoy’s bow.

The room remained uncomfortably silent for several seconds, aides looking at the floor and senators inspecting their paperwork. When McCoy resumed speaking, his voice was neutral and measured. “It is our understanding Mr. Garin determined that his team was assassinated by a Russian operator with ties to President Mikhailov. The operator had somehow infiltrated and become an Omega team member. Is that your understanding as well, Ms. Perry?”

“That’s correct, Senator. We determined the Russian operator had become a member of Omega more than two years ago under the name John Gates. We don’t know how. His true name is Taras Bor. He was able to make it appear as if he had been assassinated along with the rest of the team.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Bor was directing the activities of Iranian Quds Force operators here in the US to effectuate the EMP attack.”

McCoy shuffled papers, skipping several pages. “On or about July 17, and while still a fugitive, Garin received information from an Israeli agent, Ari Singer, that a clandestine Iranian effort to construct a nuclear weapon and place it on an ICBM had reached completion and the missile would be launched within hours. Accurate?”

“It is, Senator. Mr. Garin determined that three ICBMs armed with nuclear warheads were to be launched imminently. The ICBMs were constructed in and for Iran—largely by Russian personnel—with assistance from North Korea. Two of the ICBMs were targeted at Israel. The third, with a one-megaton yield, was targeted at the United States, to be detonated at an altitude of one hundred miles between Chicago and Kansas City, thereby creating an electromagnetic pulse that would cover most of the continental United States. The EMP would knock out anything and everything that uses electricity, sending us back to the Dark Ages.”

“We’ve heard from witnesses who estimate that the death toll from disease, starvation, and unrest would be in the millions in the first year alone,” McCoy informed the room.

“Conservative estimates put the death toll at twenty percent of the population,” Olivia confirmed.

“How did the Iranians think they could do that without massive nuclear retaliation on our part?”

“The Iranians believed all three ICBMs were targeted at Israel. They didn’t know one was targeted at the US. The Russians had controlled the entire project, permitting Iranians to assist only with the warhead, so that the nuclear signature would be Iranian. Thus, the entire world’s tracking systems would’ve seen the ICBM launched from Iranian soil. The Russians would’ve been in the clear.”

McCoy’s brow furrowed. “Ms. Perry, in anticipation of your appearance, staff has examined all of the FBI, NSA, CIA, and DIA reports on the matter and found absolutely no intel gathered by such agencies showing Russian, Iranian, and North Korean involvement in constructing an Iranian ICBM ostensibly designed to detonate a nuclear device and set off an EMP. Yet this administration launched a massive bombing campaign, still under way, premised on Iran’s having deliverable nuclear capability poised for imminent use against the US in the form of an EMP. When and where did the administration get that info?”

“From the Israeli operative, Ari Singer, who prior to his death had relayed it to Mr. Garin.”

McCoy raised a skeptical brow. “All of this came from Singer?”

“Yes, Senator, most of it.”

“Most of it,” McCoy repeated. He glanced back at an aide, who nodded in return. “And where did the rest of it come from?”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow, Senator.”

“I’m certain that you do, Ms. Perry. Where did the rest of the details concerning the imminent EMP attack come from?”

Perry hesitated a moment. McCoy filled the void. “They came from the very same Julian Day whom my colleague Senator Cross referred to a few moments ago, didn’t they? Except they weren’t supplied by Mr. Day voluntarily, were they, Ms. Perry?”

Olivia shifted in her seat. “I was in the room when Mr. Day provided the details of the EMP strike. He provided the locations of launch sites, payload capacities, and timing of the launches. The warhead that was going to detonate over central United States was to have been launched from an underground facility at the base of Mount Azud Kuh in the North Alborz Protected Area of Iran.”

“But again, he did not supply that information voluntarily, did he?” McCoy asked.

“I don’t quite follow, Senator. He may not have wanted to supply the details because doing so confirmed his complicity in treasonous activities, but upon being caught, he provided them.”

“My point, Ms. Perry,” Mr. McCoy said harshly, “is that Mr. Day supplied that information only after being tortured by Garin, isn’t that true?”

Olivia appeared shaken. “I observed no evidence of torture, Senator. I was in the room when Mr. Garin interrogated Julian Day. At no time did Mr. Garin make any physical contact whatsoever with Mr. Day.”

“Isn’t it true, Ms. Perry, that you were in the room with Garin and Day for only part of the time? Isn’t it true that Garin was alone with Day for several minutes before you entered?”

The hearing room was absolutely silent but for the voices of the senator and the witness. The purpose of McCoy’s line of questions was plain to everyone in the room. This was his preemptive attempt to shift attention from his aide’s traitorous conduct to alleged torture by Garin. The media was almost certain to seize upon the torture angle, which, in their judgment, would eclipse Day’s treason.

“Senator, I was in the very next room when Mr. Garin and Mr. Day were alone together for, perhaps, a few minutes. I heard no evidence of torture when I was in the next room and I observed no signs of torture when I entered the room.”

McCoy held up a sheet of paper. “According to this affidavit from a member of FBI HRT who was present after Mr. Day emerged from the room you and Garin were in, Day looked, quote, stunned, terrified, and exhausted, end quote. What do you think accounts for Mr. Day’s condition at that time, if not torture?” McCoy asked sarcastically.

“Perhaps, Senator, he was stunned at having been caught, terrified of the consequences, and exhausted from the effort in avoiding detection of his involvement in a plan that would have resulted in the deaths of millions.” Olivia’s voice became more strident with each word, a small vein pulsing at her left temple. “Mike Garin was singularly responsible for preventing an extraordinary catastrophe, and he did so at great risk to himself and his family—all while members of this body were sticking their heads in the sand and behaving as if the world is populated by unicorns threatened only by American imperialism; and all the while your assistant was conspiring with the Russians.” From behind, Brandt kicked the back of Olivia’s chair. She was swerving precariously close to contempt of Congress. “Michael Garin should be given an awards ceremony by this committee. Respectfully, Senator.”

A scowl grew on McCoy’s face as it turned crimson. His aides seated behind him winced and looked down at the floor. McCoy would have to find another diversion.

Senator Cross spoke up. “Mr. Chair?”

“The Chair recognizes Ranking Member Cross.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chairman. Ms. Perry, it’s our understanding that the Russian agent involved in this entire matter evaded capture and disappeared. It’s only logical that he put as much distance between himself and the United States as possible. I’m sure his whereabouts are at least as big a concern to you as they are to everyone on this committee, but the FBI and every other law enforcement agency we’ve asked has no idea what happened to him. Do you or anyone on the staff of the NSC have any information as to his whereabouts?”

Olivia Perry felt a familiar twinge of anxiety for the first time in weeks.

“We do not, Senator.”

Olivia cast a shy smile at the security guard whose eyes were riveted to her.

As she stepped out onto the sidewalk and into the brilliant sunshine outside the Hart Senate Office Building, she was still on edge from the hearing and walking at a brisk pace, not the best speed for a hot, humid August day in Washington, D.C. Pedestrian and vehicular traffic were slow. Bureaucratic Washington was on cruise control during the August recess, the committee hearing one of the few signs of political life in the nation’s capital.

The swarm of cabs that usually patrolled the streets of Capitol Hill had winnowed considerably, so Olivia headed in the direction of Union Station, where they remained omnipresent. She needed to get back to her office at the Old Executive Office Building, known to Washingtonians as the Eisenhower Building or OEOB, and draft a memo recounting the hearing while it remained fresh in her mind. She had a meeting with Brandt and Iris Cho to discuss the hearing and what, if anything, Brandt should tell the president about it.

Her mobile device vibrated gently in her hand. She pressed the icon, raised the device to her ear, and heard a familiar voice.

“Now that you’re famous, I expected someone else to be answering your phone for you.” It was Laura Casini, Olivia’s former Stanford classmate, now an analyst with the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency.

“With fame comes neither fortune nor privilege.”

“Very Churchillian. But try being a worker bee like me.”

“Not only have I tried it, it stuck,” Olivia replied. “What’s going on?”

“I thought you might be interested in something I happened to notice in the last day or two. Thought maybe you’d like to drop by.”

Olivia’s focus sharpened. The last and only time she had “dropped by” Casini’s office was to view highly classified satellite imagery revealing peculiar production patterns at Russian industrial sites, patterns that only later became alarmingly decipherable.

“I take it you can’t give me a preview over the phone,” Olivia said.

“That Stanford education really didn’t go to waste, did it? When should I expect you?”

“About twenty minutes after I find a cab, which at this rate should be early September.”

“I’ll be here.”

Olivia stood behind Laura Casini as she tapped commands onto a keyboard and a blurred image appeared on the seventy-two-inch screen in front of them. Casini manipulated a mouse, causing the resolution to become sharper.

“That looks familiar,” Olivia said.

“It should. It’s one of the same places you had me call up last time.” Casini pointed to the screen depicting a mammoth industrial facility. “Do you remember which one that is?”

“Arkhangelsk.”

“Right. Notice anything interesting?”

Olivia scrutinized the screen. “Not really. Looks about the same as I remembered it.”

“That in itself should be interesting, don’t you think? Mountains and mountains of electrical equipment lying about? Going nowhere?”

Olivia shook her head. “The EMP never went off; nothing got fried. So there was no market for replacement equipment.”

“Fair enough,” Casini said, producing an even sharper image with a single keystroke.

Olivia was astounded by the clarity of the image. “That’s scary.”

“Brought to you by your friendly neighborhood KeyHole 13 satellite dealer,” Casini said. “We can spot dandruff on top of Yuri Mikhailov’s head with this. Notice anything interesting now?”

“Forklifts. Some of the equipment’s loaded on the forklifts.”

“Got your attention now?”

“When was this shot?” Olivia asked.

“Today, 6:15 A.M. our time.”

“Can you go back a few days?”

Casini hit a few more keys. Another image appeared. “From three days ago.”

“There’s actually more product there. Hard to tell, admittedly. But there seem to be at least five more rows of generators. And hardly any forklifts in sight. What about the other sites we looked at before?”

A few more keystrokes later, another image appeared on the screen. “Murmansk, earlier today,” Casini said.

Olivia scrutinized the screen. “Go back a few days.”

“There you go.”

“Again, more product,” Olivia said. “Just like Arkhangelsk. Now go back a little more.”

Casini did so. Olivia scanned the image slowly. “The difference isn’t as apparent as in Arkhangelsk, but it still looks like there’s less product in the later image. What do you think?” Olivia asked.

“I concur.”

“Can you do a split screen?” Olivia asked. “Arkhangelsk, Murmansk. Shots from today on one side and shots of the same locations from a few days ago on the other side?”

Casini tapped the keyboard, producing the requested grid of images. The two stared at the screen for a long time in silence. Olivia spoke first.

“Each site appears to have less product in the later image. Hard to tell how much less, but product’s definitely being moved. What do you make of it, Laura?”

“You’re the big brain. When you saw something similar a few weeks ago you concluded the Russians were up to something sinister. When the bombing campaign against Iran began, the Russians stopped moving equipment. Now they’ve resumed. So you tell me.”

“Could be nothing.”

“Come on, Olivia. You work for James Brandt. According to him, everything the Russians do is sinister.”

Olivia remained silent, pondering the range of implications from what was on the screen. The one she thought least plausible was also the one that posed the greatest threat. That threat was at a level she could discuss with only a handful of people, and her friend Laura wasn’t one of them.

Without another word Olivia Perry turned from the screen and left the room to hail a cab to take her to the White House.