The Panic Zone

33

Fairfax County, Virginia

In an airy, secured section of a subterranean floor of the National Anti-Threat Center, intelligence analysts hunted for ex-CIA scientist Gretchen Sutsoff.

They focused on monitors and keyboards, processing data at a configuration of desks that suggested the bridge of a spacecraft.

The Information Command Unit: what insiders called the ICU, where the nature of the work was top-secret cyber sleuthing.

ICU analysts had diverted some of their resources from other classified assignments to accommodate Robert Lancer’s request for a “full-court press” to find Gretchen Sutsoff.

He needed to interview her about Project Crucible.

The room was taut with quiet pressure, underscored by the clicking of keys. In a process known as data mining, experts searched secure government archives, property records, court records, news articles, obituaries, Web sites, chat rooms, blogs and social networks-just about everything available online.

They also searched law enforcement databases, drivers’ records, criminal records, death records, obits, tax records, corporate records and fee-based sources. And through international agreements, they were able to scour government holdings from foreign countries.

Sandra Deller, the chief analyst handling Lancer’s request, had her eyes fixed to her monitor when Lancer arrived at her desk.

“Anything?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said. “In some smaller, developing island countries, they haven’t transferred files to computerized databases. It’s Dickensian. We have to request manual searches of paper files-it takes forever. There are cases where departments have lost records in hurricanes or earthquakes.”

“What about our sources? Like the IRS? Does she receive a pension?”

“Nothing’s been found.”

“She may have changed her name.”

“We’re looking into that, too.”

“Let me know if you get a hit.”

Back at his desk, Lancer loosened his tie and resumed writing his latest report on the CIA file to his supervisor. He’d revisited his list of sources from around the world. No one had gotten back to him with anything on his requests for help. He needed to close the loop on Foster Winfield’s concerns about Crucible.

Lancer also noted the separate case he was pursuing out of Dar es Salaam, the claim of an imminent attack. He looked at his calendar. Time was ticking down on the Human World Conference in New York.

Was it a target?

There were so many other events and potential soft targets: airports, malls, amusement parks. It was overwhelming, but Lancer knew he was not alone in assessing threats. Other agencies were doing similar work.

His phone rang.

It was Martin Weller at the East Africa section. Reaching for the handset, Lancer glanced at his watch. He had fifteen minutes to finish his report before the meeting.

“Lancer.”

“Bob, we may have something coming to advance Said Salelee’s information. We’re picking it up from police sources in Africa.”

“Can you give me a summary, Marty? I’ve got to finish reports before the E-3.”

“Just some chatter. Something major in the works.”

“Where? When? Who? What? I need more, Marty.”

“Our analysts are still working on it. No details yet, I’ll keep you posted.”

The E-3 was a regular meeting within the U.S. intelligence community, held every three days, regardless of the day of the week. It included Homeland Security, the Central Intelligence Agency, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and the U.S. State Department’s Bureau of Intelligence, the Defense Intelligence Agency, the National Security Agency and other intelligence agencies.

Representatives provided updated analysis of threats arising from their areas of responsibility. Their reports were debated and ultimately distilled by the team representing the national intelligence director, who was the intelligence advisor to the president and presented the Oval Office with the president’s daily brief.

Today’s meeting began with a summary of threats and reports.

Lancer, who was with the National Anti-Threat Center team, did his homework and was aware of most of the threats. A few new ones, like the updated report from the State Department, got his attention.

“Foreign government intelligence and press reports indicate the recent bombing of a cafe in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, was not a result of narco gang wars, as first reported. The attack is suspected to be tied to another criminal network.”

There was another one from his old section, the Joint Terrorism Task Force.

“East African sources report chatter of operatives preparing to mount a ‘large action.’ Target and method of attack unknown.”

Lancer reflected on that one as the meeting continued with other reports, including an intriguing one from the FBI.

“A forty-one-year-old male U.S. national died mysteriously aboard a Spanish passenger ship returning to Fort Lauderdale, FL, from a Caribbean cruise. Cause and manner unknown. The Broward County medical examiner conducted an autopsy then alerted the CDC. CDC now investigating and accelerating testing. No other signs of illness among other passengers, nor any indication of foul play at this time. Cruise liner scrubbing entire vessel as a precaution.”

Near the meeting’s end, the U.S. Secret Service reiterated that there was a fifty-fifty chance that the president and first lady would be attending the Human World Conference in New York City. All advance work was continuing. It was processing some sixty individuals on its watch list and analyzing ninety-four threats, everything from a letter to the White House stating the president will die if he comes to NYC, to boasts by fringe extremists groups that they will have “martyrs” in Central Park “for the day of reckoning.” The Secret Service had the security lead and was working with federal, state and local agencies.

As the meeting finished, Lancer stayed to make notes when he was approached by two CIA officials he knew: Raymond Roth and Nick Webb.

They were not smiling.

“Isn’t Canada nice this time of year, Bob?” Webb asked.

Lancer knew that they were aware he’d been poking around in the CIA’s backyard and had expected this.

“I’m curious,” Lancer said. “Why didn’t you raise Crucible at the meeting?”

“We’re still working on it. There’s nothing to report.”

“Did you find Gretchen?”

“Stay out of the way, Bob,” Roth said. “We’ve got this.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“All we have is a few dedicated aging scientists expressing some concerns. We’re looking into it,” Webb said.

“I can understand why the CIA wouldn’t want this little embarrassment getting out of hand-rogue former scientist, lethal top-secret experiments. It’s the stuff of thrillers, movies, congressional hearings and the death of many careers.”

Roth stepped into Lancer’s space.

“We’re on this, Bob. I think we know what constitutes a threat.”

Lancer’s jaw line pulsed. Roth had hit a nerve in sacred territory.

“You know, Ray, the last time I heard talk like that my wife and daughter came home to me in coffins.”

“Bob, you’d be wise to stay out of our way.”

He stared at Roth and Webb, the tension rising, then his cell phone vibrated and flashed with a call, cuing Roth and Webb’s departure.

Lancer had a security-encrypted text. He entered his password to read the message from one of his new sources overseas.

Got new data linked to SS in D es S. Need to meet U in North Africa. Advise.

Lancer responded.

When amp; where?