Queen of Spades E-Book

Victor G Davis

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

Queen of Spades is the sequel to my first novel the Capricorn Program. Where once again the leading male and female protagonists along with a small band of dedicated intelligence officers and special operations operators, and analysts fight Washington bureaucracy, politicians, and terrorists to defend the United States.

Leseprobe

Victor G Davis

Queen of Spades

Dana Winchester having spent the last three months at Camp Lemonier, Djibouti as head of the CIA’s analytical team that discovered. That al Qaeda’s ranks have been infiltrated by Iranian agents who now make up the majority of the leadership. During her time at the camp, Winchester develops romantic feelings for the ISA ground commander Lieutenant Tucker Rapley. Now she is debating if she wants to enter an interracial love affair. Winchester and members of the intelligence community again go up against al Qaeda’s chief of operations Mustafa Youssef Hariri. Hariri sick of having his people targeted by the intelligence community plans to return the favor by attacking leading intelligence figures in the United States. With the help of Iranian and Cuban intelligence, Hariri sends Chechen and Colombian narco-terrorists. After eight targets inside of the United States and one of his targets is Dana Winchester, the Deputy Director of Intelligence for the CIA. Winchester is the Queen of Spades.BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

CHAPTER 1

Ministry of Intelligence and Security

Minister of Intelligence and Security’s Private Office

Tehran, Islamic Republic of Iran

May 15

Hamid Salihani took a step closer to the picture and peered at the body falling from the shattered window. Salihani had asked his imaging department if, there was any chance. They could enhance the picture. He wanted to see the despair and fear on the woman’s face as she fell to her death. She chose to jump to her death instead of burning. Salihani wondered if the woman had a family, a husband or children. He felt no sorrow, at her death to him; she was an infidel, a whore like all the rest of, women, in the West, who had no shame flaunting their bodies. His only regret walking away from the picture was that he had not planned and executed the operation. No, all the credit went to that Sunni running dog Osama's bin Laden and his al Qaeda organization. Osama bin Laden once the most-wanted man, in the world. Now was nothing but fish food, at the bottom of the Gulf, if that pathetic bastard knew I controlled all his sleeper networks he would shit like a camel.

Salihani could not take credit for the takeover of al Qaeda that went to his dead friend Imad Mugniyah.

Walking over to his desk Salihani sat down. Hamid Salihani Minster for Intelligence and Security for the Islamic Republic of Iran stroked his neatly trimmed black beard, which contained flecks of gray, around the edges. Well, over six feet tall Salihani had broad shoulders, hazel colored eyes that had seen death and inflicted death on others. A knock on Salihani’s door brought him out of his little daydream. Mustapha Youssef Hariri stuck his head in the office.

“They are waiting for you in the conference room.” Salihani stood up and walked over to his office door. Hariri held the door open for his mentor. After, the assassination, of Imad Mugniyah, Salihani brought Hariri under his wing. Before his death; Mugniyah had told him that the Hariri had a keen mind and a passion that matched his own. Mustapha Youssef Hariri, was a tall thirties young terrorist with dark hair, and rough and ready, good looks that allowed him to pass as European or South American, his skin tanned by his workout regime. Emerald colored eyes exuded intelligence and confidence in his abilities. Responsible for the recent attacks, inside America Hariri had every right to feel comfortable with his skill to bring the war to America.

“Are they behaving themselves in there?” Asking Salihani which brought a smile to Hariri’s face.

“They all seem content, for the moment, except for Colonel Choi. He appears to be a little more nervous than the others.” That brought a smile to Salihani’s face. “I would be a bit jittery too if my country pledged to deliver MRBMs that could start World War III.”

They reached the conference room doors. Now, flanked by two of the new Immortals Guards dressed in black. The Immortals were part of the Grand Ayatollah’s personal guard. Dressed totally in black the only part of their skin visible was the area, around the eyes, they even wore black shooting gloves. The Immortal on the right reached, for the door handle and pulled to open the door for Salihani and Hariri. The conference room was enormous three eloquent glass chandeliers hung down from the ornate ceiling. A single mural ran the length of the entire room showing students storming the walls of the old United States Embassy.

Dominating the room, sat a large black marble conference table eleven high-back armchairs were spaced equally around the table. On the table in front of each participant sat a pitcher of ice water, a crystal water goblet, and his nameplate. Salihani made his way to his seat, at the head of the table. Most of the men gathered, around the table greeted him warmly with hugs and pats on his back. The remaining few eyed him suspiciously not sure, why they had been invited to Tehran. Salihani embraced those who hugged him an acknowledgment the others with a broad smile. Hariri remained by the door and watched as Salihani sat down. Backing out of the conference room, he would observe the meeting from the security room, down the hall.

Salihani sat down poured himself a glass of water took a sip and then opened the meeting. “I am pleased that you all accepted my invitation to meet.” Salihani leaned back in his chair. “Your offer of help has the consortium, curious, and the five million dollars you sent us did assist in seeing what your proposal is all about,” Cesar Martinez said. Martinez did not represent a country, but the cartel of South American drug barons who oversaw the production of cocaine. Martinez looked out of place, in the room. Wearing his dark sports coat, white shirt with no tie and broad lapels, his razor-thin mustache that looked more drawn on then grown.

“Ah yes Mr. Martinez I am told that in your vernacular that bullshit walks and money talks.” Martinez smiled back at the dark-haired Iran Minister of Intelligence and Security. “And for five million dollars, you’ve bought a lot of talking time,” Martinez replied.

“It is money well spent. Now I’m sure wondering why I’ve asked you all to come.” He could see the inquisitive looks on all their faces.

“We all have a common enemy in the United States. Although we all have different agendas, we share that bond. What I am purposing---what my country is proposing that we work together to destroy our common adversary. Each of us separately cannot hope to destroy America and her allies. Together we have the money, the personnel, and the desire to rid ourselves of the interference that America has subjected us to.” Salihani stopped letting what he said sink in the others.

“What do you have in mind?” Colonel Carlos Ramirez, Deputy Director for Venezuelan intelligence, asked. Colonel Carlos Ramirez, his murky skin, and curly hair alluded to his African ancestry wore a beige linen jacket a light-blue cotton shirt with white lapels and a yellow tie. “Colonel Ramirez your country has a unique position while many of your citizens think fondly of the United States your leadership knows the truth about the dark side, of the United States government.” Salihani stood up and began to walk down the aisle between the table and well.

“For security I cannot tell you all what will be planned until you sign the articles of cooperation after you sign. I will brief you in detail on how your country or organization can be a help in this endeavor to destroy our common enemy.” Salihani already knew that Cuba, Venezuela, and North Korea were on board with the plan. Al Qaeda in the hands of Hariri was also committed to the program as was HAMAS, and Hezbollah, that left, Bolivia, FRAC, Syria, and the Drug Cartel undecided. He was sure Bolivia would join their President followed any recommendation that he received from the President Raphael Galearo of Venezuela. “And if we don’t sign?” Commandant Mariano Gomez, Deputy Commander of FRAC, questioned.

“All I ask is that you don’t mention this meeting to anyone outside of your organization. If you do turn down my offer, you may come back at any time and join the assembly.” Salihani stopped behind the chair of Colonel Kim Choi of the North Korean People’s Army.

“Colonel Choi and his magnificent leader have already made the commit to this alliance and with their help from General Trujillo; we will bring America to her knees.” Choi wore his North Korean army uniform, flashed a toothy smile at the men, in the room, and said. “The days of America's dictating to us are coming to an end.”

General George Trujillo, head of the Cuban Intelligence Service smiled at hearing his name. “You are a gracious host and my service, and I will do all we can, to help smash the Yankee hold over South America and the Caribbean.” Trujillo, a robust man with sharp, dark, hawk-like eyes, knew the exact meaning of Colonel Choi’s statement. His service provided the North Korean with the information. They need to produce MRBMs.

“If, I sign this pact what help can I, and my people expect?" Commandant Gomez asked, “A fair question,” answered Salihani. “If you sign the pact, you will be allowed to double the number of camps you have along the Venezuelan border. My country will provide arms, training and medical equipment free of cost to your organization.”

“And what do you get?” Gomez suspiciously asked an evil smirk ran across Salihani’s face. “Twenty of your best men who speak English and that have lived, inside the United States.”

“Sign the note of cooperation and you will find out.” A side door opened, and a man walked in carrying a silver serving tray. On the tray neatly stacked sat eleven documents. The man went to each of the participants and placed the single sheet down along with a fountain pen.

Salihani watched as the members took their pen and signed the document. The man who delivered the documents retrieved them and went back out the same door he had entered.

For the next hour Salihani outline, the project, to the group at the end, Salihani went, around the table, hugged, and kissed each man on the cheek. One by one, they signed the document. Salihani thought back to the speech of American President Bush when he coined the phrase ‘Axis of Evil’. Today, the League of Freedom is born.

Taiz, Republic of Yemen

The Old City

May 9

Walking into the old city through the Great Gate at the west end was newly promoted Lieutenant Commander Tucker Rapley, United States Navy SEAL. Attached to the Intelligence Support Activity glanced over his shoulder and saw his two shadows pass through the gate. Since arriving in Taiz, Rapley had been in negotiation, to rent an apartment that overlooked the Islamic Home and Charities compound. The two men were the same that had followed him from the airport when he first arrived in Taiz. The sun glistened off Rapley’s ebony skin as he made his way through the crowd. He wore tan colored cotton pants, open toed sandals, a large white baggy shirt. Looser fitting clothes helped hide Rapley’s decathlon physique.

Both men wore long white shirts, loose fitting pants, and thick black beards they had the traditional jambiyya the large curved knife carried on a broad white slash.

As usual, they gave Rapley a little lead as he made his way into the old city. Today Rapley would provide the down payment on the apartment. It seemed like a typical day as Rapley made his way through the narrow streets, but something bothered him. He glanced back over his shoulder to see if his two watchdogs were still with him, and they were. Rapley could not put his finger on it, but their demeanor had changed. The taller of the two men had a smile, on his face a Herculean toothy smile. The type a Great White shark, shows you before he takes a bite of your midsection. Rapley stepped up his pace, trying to put some distance between himself and his two shadows.

Three weeks ago, Rapley and his unit of shooters from the ISA executed an extremely successful snatch operation in Somalia, their target Fazul Abdullah Mohammed, head of Operations for Al Qaeda in East Africa. Using two MQ-9 Reapers unmanned aerial vehicles, the CIA and ISA attacked the small convoy carrying Mohammed. Using specially designed laser guided missiles conceived as large flash and bang grenades but on a much larger scale. The guided missiles worked perfectly blinding the drivers and stunning Mohammed’s bodyguards. Giving Rapley and his team enough time to move in and kill Mohammed’s bodyguards grabbed Mohammed and his laptop and take off before anyone could show up. Fazul Abdullah Mohammed was now the guest of the United States Government at the top-secret detention center on Wake Island. The information on Mohammed’s laptop hit the Intelligence Community like an A-bomb. The first revelation led, to the discovery that Iranian intelligence officers and agents had penetrated Al Qaeda. The second resulted in an al Qaeda safe house on the outskirts of the port city Mocha, Yemen on the Red Sea.

Two days later, Rapley and his team hit the house. They were there to collect intelligence instead; they found an eighteen-year-old American citizen named Leila Rahman being tortured by her mother who Rapley killed after she attacked him with a knife. Under questioning Rahman revealed that her father had sent them to Yemen, on their annual trip to see their relatives, but instead of going to their relatives’ house in Sana. They went to the safe house where her mother told her that she would become a proper Muslim woman or die. Leila’s father a well-respected doctor from Franklin Lakes, New Jersey turned out to be an Al Qaeda, sleeper agent. Recently activated Rahman’s mission to cause panic in New York City by a wave of bombings and sniper attacks, but the information supplied by Rapley led to Dr. Rahman's capture. Dr. Rahman now had his own cell at the Supermax Federal Prison at Florence, Colorado.

The ISA kept the safe house outside of Mocha under surveillance and three days later. A convoy of three vehicles showed up buried the bodies and burned down the house. The convoy left and arrived at the Islamic Home and Charities compound in Taiz.

Things went wrong the second Rapley stepped, off the plane. Followed from the airport by his two shadows a few meters and cars back. Did not stop him from looking, at an apartment near the IHC compound, but right now finding an apartment was the least of his problems. Rapley needed to lose his tail and get out of the old city. Dashing down a side street, he raced, to the end, of the street, which bent to the right; he turned the corner and found a dead end. Fuck! He turned back only to find his two shadows coming, around the corner with knives in their hands. The taller one with the toothy grin, on his face, drew nearer. Rapley backed up placing the wall at his back. Images of his hand-to-hand unarmed combat training began to flood his mind. I would give my left nut for a.45 right now. His two adversaries split one going to his left and one to his right.

“I’m going to split you like a goat,” Toothy said, “and mount your head in my room,” I swear if I get out of this. I will never go unarmed again.

“Come on goat fucker and try,” Rapley hissed back in Arabic.

“Aaarrgh,” The scream made everyone stop. At the bend, in the alley stood a woman dressed in her black Balto. Toothy turned and yelled at her.

“Get out of here woman this is none of your concern!” Toothy turned back. His head exploded in a fine mist of blood and bone. Rapley heard a puff, and the second attacker dropped to the ground, blood burst forth from a hole in his throat.

“Shake a leg Rapley, we don’t have all day,” The woman kept turning her head liked; she was expecting more men to show up.

Thankful to be alive, Rapley gazed at the woman who just saved his life. She stood holding a silenced. 9mm in her right hand and her head was moving from side to side. Looking for any other possible threats, he recognized the slight New England accented voice, but could not place from where he heard it before.

Removing her veil Rapley instantly knew her. Ann Dale and she worked for the CIA. He had met her a few days ago at the Embassy in Sana.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Rapley asked, stepping over the dead bodies of his assailants. “Rocky, sent me down here after your visit. He had a feeling that you might need my help.” Rapley bent down over Toothy and began to rifle through his clothes. “Come on we do not have much time before their friends show up.” Rapley quickly went through Toothy’s pants. Rapley looked up from Toothy’s pants pocket with a photo and showed it to Dale.

“That’s a picture of me walking to the chow hall at Camp Lemonier. Where the hell did this rag head get that?" Rapley’s voice full of anger and shock stood up and kicked Toothy in the stomach. Dale looking back up the alley for any signs of more trouble waived, at Rapley to hurry up and said. “I have a car waiting to take you to the airport. Now is not the time to find out Rapley we’ve got to get out of here.” Rapley picked up Tooth’s knife bent down and sliced off his right hand. He removed Toothy’s shirt and wrapped the hand it in. “Okay, now it is time to go.”

Federal Bureau of Investigation

New York, City Field Office

Office of Commander Joint Terrorism Task Force

26 Federal Plaza

New York, New York

May 16

Detective Captain Tony Verzeni of the New York City Police Department, the acting Commander of the FBI’s Joint Terrorism Task Force, sat behind his desk in misery. For, years, he had ducked doing paperwork. The last few days had made up for it. Since busting Dr. Rahman and his terrorist cells, Verzeni had been neck-deep in red tape. He thanked God for ASAC for Administration Jill Anderson for skillfully guiding him through the twist and turns of FBI bureaucracy. Of the ninety-six JTTFs across the country, only the New York JTTF had a non-FBI agent in command. Verzeni got the command as a reward for busting the biggest terrorist plot since 9/11. Verizon's intercom buzzed and the sweet voice of his secretary informed him that FBI Special Agent Jason Gunston was waiting to see him.

“Send him in Peggy.” A second later, the door opened and in walked Gunston. The young agent wore a pair of faded jeans, a blue Yankee windbreaker, white sneakers and a blue Yankee baseball cap.

“You wanted to see me, Captain Verzeni.” Gunston stopped in front of Verizon's desk and stood at parade rest. Verzeni leaned back in his chair and ran his right hand through his black hair. A few weeks ago, he had been a Lieutenant assigned to the JTTF, and Gunston had been his new partner.

“Jason I’ve been thinking about what I am going to do with you,” Verzeni said with an enormous smile on his face. At first, the two did not get along Gunston thought Verzeni was an over the hill drunk detective. Verzeni thought that Gunston was a go-by the, book agent who would not know a clue if it bit him on the ass. That all changed after Dr. Rahman’s house blew up almost killing them both.

“What the hell does that mean?” Gunston asked, sounding extremely concerned.

“Well, you are still wet behind the ears, and I can’t stick you with another agent. I have not passed on all my knowledge and dirty tricks to you yet.” Verzeni chuckled to himself.

“Well, Captain, what do you plan to do with me?” Gunston asked in a good-natured voice.

“Well, now that you’ve asked I need a driver. You know a go-for, someone I can trust.”

“Oh come on Tony, please don’t make, me, you go for,” pleaded Gunston. Verzeni held up his hand for Gunston to stop. He opened his drawer, pulled out a folder, and tossed it on the desk.

“Open it,” Verzeni said in a stern voice. Gunston reached across the desk and opened the folder. Gunston pulled out and 8 x 11 photograph of a man. He looked up at Verzeni.

“Who is he?” Gunston asked, holding the picture in his hand.

“That is Mohammad Saeedi Political Attaché assigned to the Iranian Mission to the United Nations; he’s the motherfucker that warned Dr. Rahman that we were on his ass. You, Nicholas, Davis, Rogers, and Bridgeman are going to watch this piece of shit 24/7 until he makes a mistake, and then I want his ass. Nicholas is responsible for this little unit, and you’ll report directly to me.”

“Okay, Tony,” Gunston said he saw that look of determination on Verzeni’s face. The last time he had seen Verzeni with that look was down on the subway platform after the first bombing.

“That prick cost us, a skilled pilot and I want his ass in a sling, or I want to know how he knew we got onto Dr. Rahman.” Gunston watched as the vanes in Verizon's face started to throb. “They are waiting for you at the Sun Palace.” Gunston got the hint that their meeting was over. He got up from his chair and walked to the door.

“Hey Jason,” Gunston turned to look at his former partner. “Do not turn on any more light switches.”

“I won’t Tony you can count on that.” Verizon's reference to a light switch had to do with their visit out to the Rahman home in Franklin Lakes, New Jersey. They arrived at the house after receiving information from the CIA that Dr. Rahman might be an al-Qaeda agent. Well, it turned out that Dr. Rahman was indeed an al Qaeda agent. He had wired his house to explode with 200 pounds of a high explosive set on a timer for one minute, and thirty seconds once you turned on the basement lights, which Gunston did.

With just forty-four seconds left Gunston found the bomb, and at the top of his lungs started to yell bomb as he raced back up the stairs. He met Verzeni running down the stairs from the second floor; they both dashed out the house and hit the porch just before the house went up. To add insult to injury, a piece of wood lodged itself in Verizon's ass. That mistake had an effect on Gunston’s attitude towards Verzeni. He stopped judging Verzeni by his looks and started to judge him by his word and deeds. Over the course of the investigation, he would come to like the overbearing New York detective. Now Verzeni was repaying that by letting Gunston in on another sensitive case. From Lisa Nicholas, Gunston knew that the Agency wanted to handle Mohammad Saeedi on its own. Gunston knew why Verzeni wanted Saeedi. He had cost the life of two New York City detectives, and now Verzeni wanted his head or the head of his master. Either way Verzeni wanted someone to pay for Sergeants Shelia Long and Eddie Cogan. Gunston did not wish to be in the way when Verzeni started his hunt for Saeedi. Gunston knew that Verzeni was going to move heaven and earth to get his hands on Saeedi no matter what the big wigs in Washington wanted. Verzeni took the killing of Sergeants Long and Cogan's personally.

Ministry of Intelligence and Security

Tehran, Islamic Republic of Iran

Office of Minister of Intelligence and Security

May 16

Minister Hamid Salihani stood by his wall safe placing a file inside when there was a knock on his door.

“Come in.” Mustapha Youssef Hariri walked into the office and went right to his normal seat in front of Salihani’s massive oak desk.

“Did you draw up the list?” Salihani asked.

“Yes,” answered Hariri placing a piece of white notebook paper on Salihani’s desk. Salihani closed his safe door, walked over to his desk, and sat down. He picked up the paper and looked it over.

“A very interesting selection Youssef and you see no trouble carrying out these attacks?” Minister Salihani seemed a little skeptical about the list, but Hariri had proven himself in the past. Salihani had found to get the best results out of Hariri, all he had to do was point him at the target and stay out of his way. He did not feel the need to micro-manage Hariri.

“Now that we have the help of the Cubans and Drug Cartel, I see no problem getting the teams into the United States.”

“Good and how many teams are you going to send?”

“For the first attacks I am going to send four teams of four. They will be composed of members of the Chechen Liberation Front and the Drug Cartel. The Chechens know this is a one-way mission. They are all willing to sacrifice themselves for our cause.”

“What about the South Americans,” A smirk appeared on Hariri’s face giving him a sinister look.

Salihani knew that look. He knew that Hariri had something up his sleeve. “Martinez assured me that the people he is sending will be willing to lay down their lives for the operation.”

Salihani’s face expressed his skepticism at Martinez’s promise. “You have your doubts about Martinez’s people?”

“Cutthroats and bandits, they are not true believers, but they have their uses.”

“Would you care to elaborate?” Salihani asked.

“I have asked General Trujillo to find a white Cuban, who speaks Russian to train them. I am sure one or two of them will live through the operation, and they will tell the Americans that they were taught by a Russian.” Salihani liked the idea of throwing suspicions on the Russians their new President was becoming way too friendly with the United States.

“When do except using them?” Salihani asked.

“I cannot say, sir, I have not seen the men, yet. If the intelligence provided by the Cubans is accurate and the South Americans are reasonably intelligent, the missions should go forward by the end of August.”

“Keep me up to date with your plan Youssef, and if you run into any problems you let me know immediately.”

CHAPTER 2

Intelligence Support Activity

Office of Director

Fort Belvoir, Virginia

May 18

Lieutenant Commander Tucker Rapley sat in the outer office. He wore a pair of very faded Levi's jeans, running shoes, and a red American Eagle polo shirt. A few hours earlier, he had arrived at Andrews Air Force Base, where Captain Paul Archer from ISA Administration met him. Archer lost his left arm in action in Afghanistan and now acted as the welcome wagon for returning ISA personnel. Archer, a stocky man with blond hair and green eyes, drove Rapley to ISA headquarters.

“Can I get you some coffee Tucker?” Archer asked, “No thanks Paul, do you know when he’s going to see me?” Rapley jerked his thumb in the direction of Colonel Becket’s door.

“He’s on the phone with Secretary Anderson. Rapley rolled his eyes at hearing Anderson’s name, Assistant Secretary of Defense for Special Operations and Low-Intensity Conflict Geiger Anderson, whom Colonel Becket reported to. “What does that prima-Donna want?”

“Do not know Tucker he called a few minutes ago and did not sound too happy.” The door opened and out walked Colonel Becket. “Good to see you in one-piece Tuck,” Becket said. Rapley stood up and saluted his commanding officer. Becket returned the salute, giving Rapley then you do not have to salute me look. The two shook hands.

“Paul, can you go down to operations and ask Lieutenant Colonel Douglas to come, to my office.”

“Yes, Sir,” Archer saluted and walked away. “Come in Tuck and let’s talk.” Rapley had worked with Becket long enough to know when unwelcome news was on the way.

Becket sat behind his desk and pointed, to a chair in front of his desk for Rapley to sit in. “What is the bad news boss,” Rapley said, as he sat down. Becket sighed, opened his drawer, placed a piece of paper on his desk, and slid it to Rapley, who took it.

SECRET

TO: D/ISA Becket

FROM: D/ODNI Woodworth

10.5.16 Lieutenant Commander Tucker Rapley U. S. N is hereby assigned TDY to the Office of Special Plans and Projects for a period, of two years.

“What the hell is the Office of Special Plans and Projects?” Rapley asked, pushing the paper toward Becket, Becket took the document and put it back in his desk.

“The DNI is very impressed by your work and wants you and the rest of your unit under his direct control.” Rapley crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair.

“It’s about damn time. I’m sick of these ad-hoc teams we’ve been putting together to go after these bastards,” Since, the beginning, of the CAPRICORN program Rapley had advocated for a unit dedicated to going after EHVTs.

“Well, it looks as you are going to get your wish Tucker; the next two years, of your life, will be spent hunting down EHVTs.” Rapley smacked his hands together rubbing them with a look of glee on his face. Rapley’s delight was short-lived as he noticed that Becket was not sharing in his joy.

“Why, the long face skipper,” Rapley asked.

“Well, for one I am losing two of my best action teams.”

“Two,” Rapley said, looking lost.

“Yes, two,” Becket uttered, holding up two fingers to emphasize the point.

“Who else,” Rapley inquired.

“Major Banks and his team,” Colonel Becket answered.

“Tom is a good man, but he’s not going to be able to walk into the slums of Nairobi or the open market in Taiz without drawing attention.”

“Very true that is why he’s going to have Captain Jefferson and Chief Petty Officer Sharp on his team.”

“Both good men,” Rapley said. Jefferson and Sharp were both black and would blend effortlessly into their surroundings in East African nations along the Indian Ocean.

“Tucker you were the operational brain behind this little adventure, and I think Woodworth liked your idea and wants to run with it.” Rapley ran his hand over his bald head.

“Christ does this mean I’m going to be stuck behind a desk!” For a split second, Becket thought about yanking Rapley’s chain, but he could see the look of terror on Rapley’s face. Becket knew what all-good combat commanders feared, being stuck behind a desk.

“No, you are going to be in command of the ground element with Banks as your 2IC. I don’t know who Woodworth is going to put in command of your little operation.” Dear, God, do not let it be some paper pusher!

“When do I start?” Becket could see the eagerness look on Rapley’s face.

“Right, after you finish your debriefing on the Taiz’s operation.” Rapley reached into his back pocket and tossed the photo he took from Toothy on the desk. “I took this off the bastard who tried to kill me in Taiz.” The mood of both men turned from, jovial too solemn in a flash, both new the dire implications of what that photograph meant.

Becket picked up the photo and gave it a look.

“Roccuzzo sent me a back-channel report about the incident.” Colonel Becket leaned forward on his desk looking at Rapley.

“Your cover was blown the minute you stepped off the plane Tucker. You should have hauled ass back the moment you knew.”

“I didn’t know for sure I suspected something was wrong, but I didn’t know for sure.” Becket played with the photograph rolling it between his fingers. Becket had been on the frontline for nearly twenty years and hated when people sitting safely in the comfort of the Pentagon or Langley began to second-guess his decisions. He was not about to do that to one of his best field officers.

“Well, this picture is going to kill your undercover work. So, I am not going to worry about it.” Becket put the picture on his desk. “Go home, get some sleep and be back here the first thing, in the morning, and we’ll start your debrief.”

National Counterterrorism Center

Office of Director National Intelligence

Liberty Crossing, McLean, Virginia

May 18

Director of National Intelligence Avery Woodworth popped two aspirins into his mouth followed quickly with a cold glass of water. Woodworth’s once dark hair began to thin and gray. Crow’s feet had started to appear, around the corner of both eyes. A medium-sized man with green eyes and a warm, welcoming, smile with the ferocity of an Orca all wrapped in the package of, a mild-looking man in his 60s.

Woodworth knew he had about two minutes of peace before the storm of Lieutenant General Sally ‘SS’ Stone. United States Army walked, into his office. Stone did not get that nickname for her gentle disposition.

Lieutenant General, Sally 'SS' Stone, Director of the National Security Agency was responsible for the collection, and analysis of foreign communications and foreign signal intelligence. Known throughout the intelligence community for her fiery temper and fierce protection of her territory. Anyone caught poaching in her pond usually paid a hefty fine; Stone came at him or her like a female alligator protecting her young. Right now, Woodworth knew that Stone was pissing blood, about the ISA operation in Yemen. ISA sent a field officer into Taiz, Yemen following a lead from their raid on an al Qaeda safe house located on the outskirts' Mocha, Yemen. The officer’s cover blown and two al-Qaeda operatives were dead. Stone’s concern had to do with an ongoing NSA operation in Taiz, and she had come to see Woodworth to express those concerns. Woodworth sat, at his desk and hit his intercom.

“Send her in Gail.” A second later, his office door opened and in stormed Stone.

“What the hell Avery, are those cowboys at ISA trying to ruin my operation?” Stone, not in uniform, today wore a gray pleated skirt that went just below her knees a white long-sleeve shirt that was open, at the neck revealing quite a bit of her ample chest. A bib necklace hung, around her neck. Her makeup perfectly done to highlight her vibrant green eyes. Auburn hair hanging just above her shoulder, as usual, she left her jacket in Woodworth’s outer office.

“Avery you’ve got to rein in General Garcia and the Army of Northern Virginia.” Stone, sat down in the armchair, in front of Woodworth’s large antique desk. Named, the Army of Northern Virginia by members of the Intelligence Community given its location at Fort Belvoir in Northern Virginia; the Intelligence Support Activity had numerous cover names from Gray Fox to Acid Gambit. Every six months the ISA would change its name for operational security.

“Relax, Sally, they were following up on a lead about the terrorists who planned the attacks in New York.” Stone crossed her legs and leaned forward pointing her index finger at Woodworth.

“Just look, at the shit storm, they caused Avery the guy they sent in got spotted by al-Qaeda and now those sons-of-bitches are out looking for blood because two of their hitters got dropped. My people are going to have to wait, for the dust to settle before they continue the operation.” Stone stood up and began to pace back and forth.

“This took close to three years to set up Avery finding the right people the training all gone to shit because Garcia and those fucking cowboys were following a lead!” Woodworth knew the best way to handle Stone was to let her vent. Stone ranted for a few more seconds calling Colonel Becket every dirty name she could think of and slowly calmed herself down.

“Avery we’ve got 60,000 units sitting in a warehouse in Egypt waiting, for the dust to settle.” The 60,000 units that Stone talked about were specially designed cell phones, computers, and satellite phones altered to look for particular keywords. The program even had its own satellite in a geosynchronous orbit above the Red Sea to pick up the electronic signals given off by all those devices. Relaying them to a newly built NSA facility at Fort Belvoir, Virginia where four Cray supercomputers would be working day and night to filtering through the thousands of calls to locate those of interest to the NSA.

“Do you know how many man hours and dollars I have invested in this operation?” Woodworth hated when she threw rhetorical questions at him. Woodworth knew the exact cost, of the operation. The classified papers on the program were in a pile of documents, on his desk. Stone ran her hands through her hair as she paced back and forth.

“Sally, take a seat and stop being so melodramatic.” Woodworth poured himself a glass of water.

“Have any of your people been compromised?” Stone stood defiantly looking at Woodworth. “No,” she mumbled out relaxing her stance. “Their covers are still intact Sally?”

“Yes,” she answered between clenched teeth. Stone took her seat again.

“Sally your operation has not been compromised the only thing that happened to be that two al Qaeda hitters were taken out. Do you think that I’d let Garcia wreck a multi-million dollar operation?” Woodworth’s eyes bore in on Stone. Stone’s vanes in her neck had stopped throbbing once she realized that she could not bully Woodworth. Woodworth saw the frustrated look on her face when she sat back down.

“That is not the point Avery those nuts in the ANV should have sought your permission. Becket should ask your permission to run the operation. That would have given us a heads-up that they were going to Yemen.” She does have a point Garcia and Becket should have given me a warning. II will disgust that with them when they get here.

“You have a point Sally, and when I see Garcia and Becket, I will have a frank discussion about their actions.” Woodworth could see that look of irritation on Stone’s face indicating that she was not happy about what she was hearing.

“Avery,” Stone said, standing up. “You’ve got to find a way of controlling Becket and his cowboys. We cannot afford anybody acting this way. We are all supposed to be on the same team. I know I have a reputation as a hard ass, but I’m trying to be a team player.”

“And I appreciate that Sally, and I am going to have a serious talk with Garcia and Becket.” Woodworth got up and walked over to Stone.

“Do not bullshit a bullshitter, Avery, I know you have a soft spot for that hot dog and his band of merry of cutthroats, but you can’t let them drag you down.”

“No worries Sally that is not going to happen.” Woodworth escorted Stone to his office door.

“Avery I brought this to your attention before I go to see Wright. If this shit happens again, he’ll be my first stop next time.” Stone looked at Woodworth in the eye. She wanted to make sure Woodworth understood this was a courtesy call. General Stone and the National Security Agency belonged to the Defense Department, and the worst kept secret inside the beltway was the dislike that SECDEF Wright had for DNI Woodworth. Woodworth opened the door for General Stone.

“Remember Avery, I came to you first.” Out, the door, she went. Woodworth went over to his desk and picked up his phone. “Yes, sir,” His secretary said.

“Gail, get General Garcia on the line, then see if you can locate Colonel Becket for me.”

Directorate General of Intelligence

Office of Director General

Havana, Cuba

May 18

General George Trujillo sat behind his desk looking at the eight target folders laid out in front of him. Trujillo slowly rolled his cigar between his fingers. At the advice, of his doctor, Trujillo cut back drastically on his drinking and spicy foods. Try as he might he could not give up his cigars, but he had cut down to only one a day. Over the past eight months, he had lost twenty pounds and had noticed an increased lust for his wife of forty years. Trujillo dropped from weighing two-hundred and sixty to two hundred and forty pounds. However, right now, the last thing, on his mind is his weight. He's concentrated on the eight target folders resting on his desk and Colonel Manuel Comanches. Comanches just promoted to head the Illegal’s Department for the DI. After finishing his last assignment as an illegal in the United States for ten years, Trujillo wanted him back in Cuba before Castro died. Comanches forty-two years old with sandy colored hair, green eyes, he spoke English without an accent. Standing, at six feet, two inches tall Comanches was a devilishly handsome man. It was part of his modus operandi; he left a string of highly unhappy women across America. Now he stood in front of his boss’s desk wondering what Trujillo had in store for him now. Trujillo placed his unlit cigar in his ashtray.

“Sit Manuel, I have something special for you.” Comanches sat down. “Do you want some coffee or anything to drink?”

“A glass of orange juice would be nice,” Trujillo spoke into his intercom. His door opened and in walked his secretary with a glass of cold orange juice. “Use a coaster,” Trujillo said, pointing to a stack of four on the edge of his desk. Comanches took one placed it on the desk and then put the glass of orange juice down. Trujillo’s secretary left the room.

“How are you adjusting to being back in Cuba, Manuel?”

“Fine, sir, I have, missed it. I find myself worrying that I might run into one of the many American women I left behind one day."

"Ah, yes, now we have normal relations with the United States that might be a problem. See Colonel Vega and give him a list of the American women you bedded."

"Yes, my General."

“Good.” Trujillo leaned back in his chair and said. “The reason you are here Colonel I have an exceptional job for a man, with your talents and living as long as you did in the states you are the right man, for the job.”

“Sir, if this is an undercover operation I have to tell you that I am burned out. Ten years of pretending that I am someone else has taken a toll on me.” Trujillo saw the psychology work report Colonel Comanches. The man needed a break.

“No, Manuel you won’t be going underground, but I do need your expertise on living, inside the states.” Trujillo could see the relief on Comanches’ face. He took a sip of his orange juice.

“What is it?” Comanches inquired.

“A liaison mission, the Iranians need an expert on America to help train a team of agents.”

Comanches asked, “I would have to go to Iran?” looking and sounding unhappy.

“No, you would be going to a secure location outside of Cuba, but not Iran.”

Comanches asked, “How long will I be gone?”

“At least three weeks and no more than five weeks,” Looking at Comanches Trujillo could see the concern, on his face.

“And I would not have to do anything but train these agents?”

“Yes and what I understand it will be all classroom work.”

“Can I have some time to think about?”

“Yes, take the rest, of the day and come back in the morning; I can keep the Iranians at bay for at least one more day.” Trujillo stood up, and Comanches did too. Trujillo came, around the corner, from his desk and walked Comanches to his door.

“I would consider this a personal favor to me if you took this assignment.”

“Yes, General I will think about it, sir.” Trujillo opened his door, and Colonel Comanches walked out. Trujillo returned to his chair and reached for a single piece of paper that lay on top of the files. On the list were eight names.

General Trujillo knew exactly what would happen if they carried out this operation, and the United States uncovered their treachery. Not even in his wildest dreams would he ever consider a plan this audacious. The Iranians had come up with the perfect fall guy. An opportunity like this only came along once in a lifetime. Trujillo thought about the motto of the British Special Air Service, Those who dare win.

Federal Bureau of Investigation

J. Edgar Hoover Headquarters Building

Office of the Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation

Washington, District of Columbia

May 18

FBI Director John Goldstone gazed at his computer screen and rubbed his temple. Goldstone faced a dilemma. Shelby O Conner the investigative reporter for the Washington Guardian was sitting quietly in his outer office waiting to interview him about the events that had unfolded in New York two weeks ago. Someone had been talking, and O’Conner had learned the real reason for Assistant Director Capalbo's transfer to Oslo. Goldstone turned off his computer flipped the switch that activated his intercom.

"Julie, send Ms. O'Conner in."

"Yes, Mr. Director." A few seconds later Goldstone's office door opened and in walked Shelby Conner.

“Ms. O’Conner welcome to the FBI,” Goldstone voiced, offering her his hand.

“Thank you, Director Goldstone,” O’Conner said, taking his hand, she gave him and quick squeeze. Goldstone walked over to his sofa with O’Conner trailing right behind.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Director Goldstone.” Goldstone chuckled, turning to, let O’Conner pass and sit down on the sofa. O’Conner sat, on the couch, reached into her shoulder bag, pulled out a notepad, and took one of the pens from her vest pocket and an Olympus digital voice recorder. The door to Goldstone’s office opened and in walked his executive secretary Julie Parker. She placed the digital recorder and her notepad on the small coffee table.

“Can I get you anything Ms. O’Conner?”

“A glass of tomato juice would be great.” Ms. Parker smiled and turned. She knew already knew what Director Goldstone wanted.

“Director Goldstone, can you tell me why the flagship Joint Terrorism Task Force is being headed by a New York City police captain?” Well, she did not waste any time. Goldstone cleared his throat.

“Captain Verzeni is heading the New York JTTF because he is the right man, for the job, and we at the Bureau understand that sometimes we don’t always have the answer.”

“My source says Captain Verzeni is out of control, drunk, woman chasing, and a dangerous officer who is more lucky than good.” Goldstone looked at O’Conner’s green eyes saw the wheels turning. Goldstone had an exceptionally strong idea, who her sources were and were not about to let them try and smear a dedicated cop.

“Your sources have it all wrong. Captain Verzeni is a decorated member of the New York City Police Department, and with his direct help; the FBI broke two principal terrorist cells operating in New York City.”

“And just how did he do that?” O’Conner asked, placing the end of her pen in her mouth. A knock, on the door, announced the return of Julie Parker walked back in the office carrying a tray with two glasses on it. She walked over to the sofa, placed a coaster down in front of O’Conner, and put one in front of Director Goldstone.

“Tomato juice, for you Ms. O’Conner,” Parker placed the glass down on a coaster and then turned to Director Goldstone and said, “Lemonade for you Director.” Both O’Conner and Director Goldstone thanked Parker and waited for her to leave before they continued.

“Now how did Captain Verzeni, break the case?” Goldstone shifted, uncomfortable, and said. “Ms. O’Conner there are still aspects of the case that are active, and it is the policy of the Bureau not to comment on, ongoing investigations.” O’Conner pursed her lips, reached over to the digital recorder and turned it off.

“Okay, this is off the record, Director Goldstone. My sources say that Captain Verzeni at the time was, having an affair with Assistant Director Capalbo’s girlfriend Christine Baron. And that Special Agent in Charge Sam Danforth covered up the incident and covering for Verizon's unprofessional conduct.” Goldstone leaned back against the couch and ran his left hand through his thinning dark hair.

“Ms. O’Conner, you can turn the recorder back on.” O’Conner did so. “My name is John Goldstone my title is Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation this is on the record. Assistant Director Peter Capalbo former head of the FBI’s New York Field Office was relieved of duty because of unprofessional conduct, and the release of sensitive information during an ongoing investigation. Now you can stop the recording.” O’Conner turned it off.

“Now this was off the record at the time Lieutenant Verzeni had no idea that Christine Baron and Capalbo were going out and the moment he out found he broke it off.” I am going to put a stop to this shit right here and now. O'Conner could hear the anger in Director Goldstone's voice.

“How do you know that?” Goldstone stood up, walked over to his desk, and reached down to open a drawer. “This is a copy of the NYPD internal affairs investigation into Lieutenant Verizon's action.” Goldstone walked back over to the sofa and sat down.

“In this is a statement from Ms. Baron telling about how she did not inform Lieutenant Verzeni about dating Assistant Director Peter Capalbo. As far as Lieutenant Verzeni knew she was just another woman he met, at a party.” Goldstone gave the file to O’Conner. “You can keep that copy if you want Ms. O’Conner. Now I am going to tell you something, which you can either believe ornot, but right now, people who wish to hurt two honorable men are using you. I am not saying that Captain Verzeni is an angel, but without his hard work, doggedness purist of those terrorists' New York would have lost a lot more people and as for ASAC Danforth. Capalbo put him in a terrible position, trying to protect his best investigator from a superior who had lost focus.”

“Assistant Director Capalbo has some very high-profile people in his corner,” O’Conner said.

“Yes, I am sure he does, and I think you should tell them if they pursue this course of action trying to smear either Captain Verzeni or Special Agent in Charge Danforth. The full weight of the FBI and Justice Department will come crashing down on them.”

Tenpenh Restaurant

1001 Pennsylvania Avenue

Washington, District of Colombia

May 10

Shelby Conner flew by the hostess and walked straight to the private dining room where she was scheduled to have lunch with Eric Lust, Chief of Staff for Senator Jack Clancy of South Carolina. Lust sat, at the table drinking a glass of water when O’Conner came, around the corner.

“Right on-time Shelby, how did it go with Goldstone?” There were two things that everybody in Washington knew about Shelby one she was an excellent reporter and two she had a temper like George S. Patton. She stopped, at the table, reached into her carry bag, and tossed the NYPD report on the table.

“I don’t know what game you and your boss are playing, but you can count me out.”

“Shelby I can assure you that we are not playing a game with you.” Shelby’s bullshit meter tilted as she tried to calm herself down.

“Barron and Capalbo were dating, and the minute Verzeni found out. He broke off the relationship.” Lust looked at her with his baby blue eyes and said.

“Shelby, you are missing the picture here. Captain Verzeni is totally unqualified to lead the FBI’s premier JTTF. He is a womanizer. He drinks. His attitude towards women is just on this side of medieval. . .” Conner brought up her hand to stop Lust from talking.

“Eric you’ve given me plenty of tasty stories, in the past. I like your company at times, but let me tell you this Verzeni just saved the city of New York from the second most dangerous terrorist attack in its history. The people wouldn’t care if he dropped his pants on Park Avenue and took a shit.”

“There is no need for vulgarity Shelby.” O’Conner stood up to leave. “Eric, get this through that tight ass you have, I am nobody’s hatchet man you want to do a slash and burn article of Captain Verzeni and the FBI you find somebody else.” O’Conner turned to leave but turned around to face Lust again.

“And if I hear rumors about Captain Verzeni or SAC Danforth being passed around. I’ll make a beeline for the Post and Times and let them know about you attempted to smear them is that understood!” O’Conner spotted a momentary flash of rage in the baby blues of Lust. For that, split second O’Conner’s danger meter hit the roof. O’Connor had never considered Lust anything but a sharp political operator, but in that split second, she saw something in those eyes that suggested that he had a darker side.

“Quite, clear Ms. O’Conner,” Lust returned to eating his lunch and did not look at O’Conner as she left the private dining room.

Al Qaeda Safe House

Aden, Republic of Yemen

May 18

They filed into the conference room one by one. Each man who walked into the room represented an organization that had pledged its loyalty to al Qaeda in the past. Some had come back to rejoin al-Qaeda after joining ISIS after its initial splash into the world spotlight. Those returning to the al Qaeda umbrella were put off by the Muslin on Muslim violence perpetrated by ISIS. They had come by foot, by plane others by boat, and some had even made the long journey overland, but all had come to hear Abound Yasin. Yasin, the leader of al-Qaeda operations in Yemen, stood by the entrance of the room greeting each man as he entered.

Yasin, a stocky man, weighed close to two hundred pounds, he had brown hair and eyes, he had a light complexion, which turned, darker the more time he spent out in the sun. The men who entered the room were not the leaders of their respective organizations. They were messengers as far as any western intelligence agency knew these men had nothing to do with any so-called terrorist group. With the last chair at the table taken, Yasin shut the door to the room and slowly walked to the front.

“Greetings brothers, I know some of you have traveled far to hear the word from our most beloved Sheik.” There was some applause. Yasin waited for them to die down before he went on. “Brothers the time has come for us to come out of the shadows, we can no longer hide in the dark and wait for the infidels to strangle our support among the people. Our brothers fighting the Jihad in Afghanistan, Pakistan and Iraq need our help.” Yasin walked around the room as he talked. “We have suffered setbacks in the past, but those days are behind us now. Some are you coming back to us after spending time with ISIS. You know first hand that ISIS main battle is with other brothers and not with the infidels. We will not make war against our Muslin brothers unless they are proven puppets of America and its allies. The goal of each of your respective organizations is to bring the fight to America and her supporters. It does not matter how, but we must spill the blood of the infidel. We have to put the fear of God, back into the non-believers a single death a day of an infidel will show them that we mean to rid their influence in our homelands. It is not enough to, just kill the men and women in their military, but kill them from all walks of life.” Yasin stopped letting that soak into the men in the room.

“Martyrs need not blow themselves up to reach paradise.” Yasin reached into his waistband, pulled his gun, and placed it on the table.

“The objective of this campaign is to put the fear of God into of the leaders of non-believers. As they have targeted us with their smart weapons, we will target them. They believe that they are beyond our reach, but soon they will know that is not true. The precise people who choose which of our brothers live or die will soon feel our wrath.” Yasin slowly walked to the front of the room. Sitting on the table was a small box about the size of a shoebox. He removed the top of the box and removed what looked like a deck of cards.

“In my hand I hold the leadership of the German intelligence establishment.” Yasin walked over to where Ramzi Habash sat. He gave the deck of cards to Habash. “The men and women pictured on that deck of cards are enemies of Islam, brother, and your organization has been given the glorious task of removing them.”

Yasin went back to the box pick out other decks and distributed them to the men in the room.

“A new jihad is at hand brothers!” he shouted. “We fight to free our brothers from the Jews and Christian faith that has stolen our lands, who have raped our women, poisoned our young with their pornography. We fight to bring the world under the one and true religion!” The passion in his voice brought them to their feet, clapping, and cheering and then someone shouted ‘Death to the Jews!’ followed by ‘Death to America!’ In a rhythmic beat, the room began the chant. Yasin stood in silence and revealed in the response.

CHAPTER 3

George H. W. Bush Center for Central Intelligence

Old Headquarters Building

Office of Director of Central Intelligence Agency

McLean, Virginia

May 14

Director Taylor Carter sipped from his cup of tea as Deputy Director for Intelligence Dana Winchester walked into his office. The thirty-eight-year-old, hazel-eyed, Winchester was the youngest of the four Deputy Directors who ran the agency; Carter hit the controls on his wheelchair and rolled his way over to his desk.

“How are you today, sir,” Winchester said instantly brightening his day. Winchester had that effect on Carter. Looking up from his cup of tea, he smiled at the long legged-raven haired brunette beauty.

“Fine, now that you are here Dana.” Carter had been Winchester’s first station chief. Locked away in his safe at home was a picture of twenty-five-year-old Dana Winchester, cradling an Uzi submachine gun and a navy corpsman wiping the blood from around her face?

“You needed to see me, sir?” Winchester took her regular seat in front of Carter’s office desk. Carter knew that she was not going to be pleased about this new assignment.

“DNI Woodworth is quite impressed with the CAPRICORN PROGRAM and has decided that he wants the program under his direct control.” Carter could see by the look on Winchester’s face, she agreed with DNI Woodworth.

“Sir, I cannot even begin to tell you how fabulous an idea that is. It is about time that we have a unit just dedicated to hunting only the top commanders of these terrorist organizations.”

“Dana, I never liked the program. I admit if we had not been running the program, we would have never learned about the attacks on New York until the bombs started to go off and people being murdered by those snipers. God only knows how many more New Yorkers would have been killed.”

“Sir the program worked because we kept it tightly compartmented. If DNI Woodworth is serious about this, we should follow the same structure we had at Lemonier.”

“DNI Woodworth shares your point, Dana.” Carter reached into his desk, pulled out a piece of paper, and handed it to Winchester.

TO: D/CIA Carter

FROM: D/ ONI

Immediately, DDI/CIA Winchester is hereby transferred to Office of Director of National Intelligence’s Office of Special Plans and Projects.

“What the hell is this?” Winchester said, looking up at Carter.

“I believe that DNI Woodworth has picked you to head the hunt for EHVTs,” Carter said. Winchester could tell by the flat tone of Carter’s voice, he was not happy about her orders.

“DNI Woodworth believes that you are the one to head OSPP. You handled the intelligence for CAPRICORN and had an excellent relationship with the shooters.” She thought of one shooter, in particular, Lt. Commander Tucker Rapley. During her time at Camp Lemonier, she and Rapley had become particularly close. She pushed thoughts about Rapley to the back of her mind.

“What about Colonel Becket?”

“Becket is staying at ISA. We can’t shake him loose without SECDEF Wright pitching a fit.” Winchester frowned. She considered the political battle between SECDEF Wright and DNI Woodworth as counterproductive to the whole intelligence community, but both men were proud and dedicated to the defense of America. While DNI Woodworth had a more subtle approach to SECDEF, Wright’s, get in their face confrontational style.

“Okay, so where the hell do I go in the morning,” Winchester said aspirated. That brought a chuckle out of Carter.

“OSPP has been given building annex # 3 at the Washington Naval Yard. From what Woodworth told, me he will have the buildings up and running for you in two days, until then you have got a two-day vacation. This should make both you and Rapley happy that the DNI is following your recommendation for a permanent unit.”

Winchester asked, “Why, me?"

“I can think of two reasons Dana. One you led the intelligence side of the CAPRICORNPROGRAM and two as part of your duties as DDI you’ve met with President Baxter every morning since he took office except for your time at Lemonier. Baxter is comfortable with you.” The third reason Woodworth, wants me to step aside as D/CIA, and he has his eye on you as the next D/CIA.

“And what if I don’t want to go,” Winchester said. Carter rolled his eyes, and his nose crinkled up. “Dana, don’t be difficult.” Winchester also knew why she was being given this opportunity, and she did not like it one bit.

“Tyler, I just don’t like the way Woodworth is treating you.” D/CIA Carter leaned back in his wheelchair with a disillusioned look on his face.

“There’s nothing we can do about it Dana. I picked my path a long time ago, and I am proud of my accomplishments as director.”

“As you should be,” Winchester said, her voice cracking as she thought about that day in Jakarta as she lay in his arms weeping as he cleaned the blood off her face.

“Is there anything else you want to share Mr. Director?”