Shepherd One

CHAPTER SIX

The moment President Burroughs was informed of a ‘Dante Package’ being discovered along the Mexican-American border, he wasted no time in calling Mexican President Cesar Munoz to issue a claim on the device, regardless of whether or not it was perceived to be several meters south of the actual borderline, which put it in Mexican territory. There were no discussions, debates, or negotiations. President Burroughs was holding firm on this matter, and was not about to concede since America’s safety was optimum.

Within moments President Munoz relented, promising to withdraw his Cisen team from the area in the interest of maintaining strong political ties with the United States. His commitment, however, came after the president strongly indicated that his contingent team of commandos would use whatever force necessary to appropriate the item.

Point made!

Within ten minutes after the call ended with the Mexican president, President James Burroughs duly invited his leading team of advisors, which included Chief National Security Advisor Alan Thornton, CIA Director Doug Craner, Secretary of State Janet Dommers, Vice President John Phippen, and Secretary of Defense Michael Duarte for a high-priority session inside the Oval Office. Although the sun had yet to show on the horizon, everybody at least appeared fresh for the coming day.

On most mornings President Burroughs was an affable and spirited man, always smiling and quick with a joke. But this morning he appeared aged and less engaging with lips pressed in a tight expression and his eyes markedly deep with concern. After learning of an Arab task force trying to maneuver a nuclear weapon onto American territory, his demeanor quickly took on a mask of worry as if the weapon’s discovery accelerated his aging process at an exponential rate, the skin beneath his eyes hanging with droopy folds.

“Thank you for coming in at such an early hour,” he said. “FBI Director Larry Johnson and NSA Director Davis Means will join us later by speaker phone, once they learn if the item found along the Arizona-Mexico border is real. But at this time it appears to be a nuclear device.”

He turned to Alan Thornton, a chief ally he relied heavily upon when it came to sound direction. “Al, your assessment from the preliminary reports, please.”

Alan Thornton was a man of bookish appearance who wore outdated suits and believed his bad comb-over was good enough to belie the fact that he was balding. Whenever he sat down he did so with aristocratic posture where his spine remained rigidly straight and his chin raised in haughty manner. And when he spoke he did so with a powerful voice. “According to our sources,” he said, “it appears that the device is a workable unit armed by the transference of codes from an independent source, such as the BlackBerry found at the scene.”

“Is it Russian made?”

“The early assumption, Mr. President, is yes, we believe so. The Cold War versions are antiquated to what we consider the backpack version, a cylindrical component roughly the size and shape of a five-gallon drum. But this unit is state-of-the-art, something never seen before, not even by our own intelligence agencies. So the question is this, do the Russians have the capability to cannibalize from the old units to create something new, compact and far more deadly? And right now, Mr. President, the answer is yes. Or at least it appears so.”

The president faced Doug Craner, the leading principal of the CIA who was responsible for monitoring insurgent activities abroad. “And what’s your account, Doug?”

Craner was old-school military whose roots went beyond twenty years and whose service was invaluable as a Marine. His flattop was cropped to specs and the clipped tone of his voice was evident that habits were hard to relinquish. Even now, nineteen years retired from the ranks, Doug Craner continued to air something stoically martial about him. “Of course we know of the Cold War versions, Mr. President, but this package is something unique. The word from intel is that a Russian by the name of Yorgi Perchenko, a former KGB chief who ended up as the assistant director of Directorate S at the end of the Cold War, and summarily dismissed due to his refusal to change his hard-lined views for new alternatives, may be indirectly responsible.” He then handed the president an 8x10 black-and-white glossy photo of an aged male with salt-and-pepper hair. The collar of his jacket was hiked against the cold with the fabric covering the man’s lower jaw, but not enough to cover his face.

“I remember him,” the president said lightly, placing the photo down. While serving as a statesman in the Senate, Burroughs kept a watchful eye toward the Eastern Bloc when the Berlin Wall fell and communism collapsed. But during that time Perchenko’s name kept coming up as a stolid hardliner who constantly voiced his opinion to the elitists in the Russian parliament that resistance was to be met with brutal force for the sake of self-preservation, not with the totality of surrender. His recompense for his verbal barrages was a quick reassignment to the Directorate S, where he did a brief stint before disappearing altogether.

It was a name he had not heard until now.

“We believe,” said Craner, “prior to Perchenko’s assignment to the Directorate S, that he had accessibility to the military-based storage units and absconded with the antiquated versions during the confusion at the time of the Soviet Union’s fall. We know for a fact that some portable versions have gone unaccounted for, and Perchenko maybe the reason why.”

“But why now? Why would Perchenko retaliate against American sovereignty more than twenty years after the fall?”

“He’s not,” said Thornton.

Craner nodded. “We believe Perchenko has developed a more sophisticated weapon by cannibalizing parts from the Cold War versions, and is now proposing them on the black market to the highest bidder. At this time we’re trying to verify this information.”

The president fell back in his chair, his jaw muscles working out the growing tension. “And the highest bidders, in Perchenko’s black market sale, were the Arabs at the border.”

“It appears that way. Right now we’re looking for a money trail.”

The president nodded his disgust. “For a person to sell such a weapon on the black market is incredibly irresponsible and undeniably lacking in reason and conscience, which makes Perchenko a very dangerous man. And such men do not deserve the right to walk this planet.”

After a moment of tense silence, the president offered an inquiry in a tone suggesting forced calm. “Tell me about the weapon found at the site.”

Secretary of Defense Michael Draewhite proffered a faxed photo taken at the scene. “When NSA opened the lid they discovered that the case was lined with a thin layer of lead to act as a marginal shield. The essential parts of the unit, as Doug mentioned, were cannibalized, but only to a degree.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The workings within the case, Mr. President, are basically computerized components manufactured with microchips, processing boards — things that didn’t exist during the Cold War. What is the same, however, are the three spheres inside, units I believe were taken from the Cold War versions and reassembled to what you see there.”

“And the spheres are what exactly?”

Draewhite didn’t pull any punches. “They are the crucibles that provide the ignition of an atomic blast.”

President Burroughs continued to examine the faxed photo as Draewhite continued.

“The Cold War versions possessed only one sphere with the bulk of the backpack possessing a detonator unit, which consumed a large capacity of space. Over time those units have been miniaturized to provide more room. So instead of holding one sphere as the old units did, the new unit is now capable of holding three, tripling its yield.”

“And how much yield does each sphere contain?”

“A single sphere contains exactly one kiloton.”

President Burroughs closed his eyes. Three kilotons was approximately one-quarter of the yield that wiped out Hiroshima.

“And Perchenko may be responsible?” When the president said this he did so more to himself as if slipping off into reflection, quickly realizing when the KGB transitioned into the Directorate S, Perchenko’s role as assistant director was to watch over several departments, one that included conducting terrorist operations and sabotage in foreign countries. Although he might not have pulled the trigger, he at least provided the gun. Everything seemed to fit, at least on the surface.

The president sighed. “What about the men killed at the site?”

Doug Craner laid a second photo before Burroughs, his finger pressing it firmly to the desktop for a brief moment as he spoke. “We have confirmation that all three men were on the FBI watch list. But one in particular is of extreme interest. This is Khalid Hassan, an Iraqi national who fought in Iraq before serving with al-Qaeda forces against American troops in Baghdad. His stint was cut short due to being severely wounded. But we believe Hassan is responsible for the deaths of nearly thirty-seven American troops and operatives prior to his decommission from battle.”

The president leaned forward, a photo in each hand, a Russian and an Arab, the man trying to determine the ties that bind them. “So now I pose this question to you, Doug: In the assessment of the CIA, do you believe the Russians and Arabs to be working together against American interests?”

“All I can say at this point and time, Mr. President, is the BlackBerry found at the scene is definitely a Russian make with Russian Cyrillic on the keypad, and in the display window. We even traced the serial numbers on the processing boards within the unit itself and followed it to a manufacturing firm in Minsk. But we believe Perchenko is working independently. I don’t believe the Russian government has a hand in any of this. But again, we’re looking at all angles at this time and dismissing none. On the surface it looks like the Arabs were working strictly with an independent agent.”

The president gingerly laid the photos on the desktop. “Upon further assessment, do you believe a terrorist faction succeeded in getting a unit across the border?”

Craner’s demeanor became less hardened. “Yes, sir, I do. Cells work independently from one another in case one gets caught so others can succeed. There’s no doubt in my mind they achieved the means by slipping at least one unit onto American soil.”

The president’s voice remained inquisitively impassive. “And maybe more?”

Craner nodded. “Yes, sir. But how many more is unknown at this time.”

Burroughs tented his fingers and bounced them off the base of his chin, his mind working, the tapping steady and metered like the needle of a metronome. And then, “I’m going to call the Russian president and hold him indirectly responsible for what has happened,” he said. “Of course he’ll deny everything and shove my words back down my throat, but the moment I get off the phone you know he’ll be in contact with all his resources to confirm if what I said is true. I want all our intelligence resources up and running. I want every one of our agencies intercepting everything the Russians are throwing across their airwaves regarding Perchenko. I want to know how many weapons this man sold to the insurgents. And I definitely want to make one thing very clear — and this specifically pertains to you, Doug, and whatever coverts we have in Russia. I want Perchenko found and terminated the moment we confirm the amount of weapons sold and displaced on American soil. And I want all of you to understand — and I think all of you do understand — that our backs are pressing hard against the wall right now. All I’m asking you to do as the elite team I picked you for is to give me your absolute best. Have I made myself very, very clear?”

There was a group murmur that sounded more like a chorus of drunken slurs.

“Then let’s get moving, people. I need to know where those weapons are.”

President Burroughs was true to his word when he stated he would call the president of Russia and proffer threats and ultimatums, knowing full well they would be nothing more than idle bullying that were, of course, met by the political macho posturing of his Russian counterpart. However, the response he needed by the Russian principals to better serve his needs was for them to trigger all inquiries within their own administration, which were duly intercepted under the close scrutiny of American espionage and ingenuity.

Russian agencies quickly colluded with one another in the subsequent aftermath, making Perchenko the hot topic of the day. Suddenly there were explorations into his life such as to what was he doing? What was his activity in respect to established bank accounts since his departure from the Directorate S? And then there were further inquiries regarding Yorgi Perchenko’s black marketing schemes and alleged activities. But foremost they wanted to know where Perchenko was, which placed him within the crosshairs for removal long before American intelligence had the opportunity to find him first. Either way, Yorgi Perchenko had become a marked man.

And this pleased the president to no end. He had accomplished his goal.