Albatross (25 page)

Chapter 15

The Department of Defense’s
operations center was one of the more unusual agencies under the federal government’s auspices. It was a privately held corporation that had a significant amount of federal funding and influence with minimal oversight by the very branch that it shared its name with. The operations center was once completely operated by the Department of Defense, which pulled in the “best and the brightest” from all the branches of the armed forces. There were three purposes for the operations center: communication, surveillance, and data analysis. During the late 1990s, the operations center was the only agency that was doing its own data collection and reviewing all the other data collected by her sister agencies, the CIA, NSA, British Intelligence, and FBI. While the other intelligence agencies did not share or review other sources of data and possible connections, the operations center was quietly ahead in the counterintelligence and antiterrorist game. The operations center was the only agency that predicted a series of terrorist attacks, both domestic and abroad, as well as the fall of the Soviet Union and China’s political and economic seismic shift. If the other intelligence agencies and armed forces had listened to the operations center, 9/11 would have been stopped. In fact, 9/11 was the last stage of a three-prong terrorist attack that was to include similar attacks on California’s Golden Gate Bridge and Colorado’s Hoover Dam. The operations center stopped the last two. This fact was kept from the American public as it was believed it would cause hysteria and fear. The US government didn’t want to give too much credit to the terrorists. In addition to preventing these attacks, the operations center prevented an attack at England’s Heathrow Airport and France’s Eiffel Tower.

As a result of early intelligence success, there was a need to put some distance between the federal government and the operations center so that it could work more independently without being restricted by the rules of engagement. The center was becoming more effective in finding their targets and “resolving” the issues quickly as well. That meant it could eliminate or neutralize threats faster. Sometimes the threats were foreigners, sometimes allies, and sometimes civilians. To do this without compromising national security and to allow for plausible deniability, the agency became the only federal agency to become private with its own board, private stocks, and governance while at the same time still maintaining nearly unlimited access to federal funding and resources. In order for the agency to work well, it had to be kept secret, and if possible, they needed to hide in plain view. Naturally, most of the analysts, operators, and field operatives were ex-military or military on loan from the armed forces. As time went on, the operations center became the firewall against any nation or organization that threatened US interests, domestic and abroad. Without federal or public oversight, the operations center dictated its own methods, objectives, and missions. Only a few key people were aware of the nature and breadth of what the agency was doing.

Director Thomas “Steel” Webber was the man who had many of the answers. He knew where the bodies were, both figuratively and literally. He was still active in the field, but he prided himself on finding younger talents who were very effective in their jobs. His personal preferences included attractive women who were smart and lethal. Though he did like men personally, he preferred them in his private time than on his senior management team. He was not a naturally handsome man by any reasonable standards; he was short, balding, and overweight. However, he saw himself as a powerful mover and shaker. He was “the King Maker” of young women’s careers. From his home office in Virginia, he was reviewing two managers who were diametrically opposite in physical appearance, styles, and presentation. He had to make a decision about who would be promoted and who might need to be let go. He was gravitating toward the blonde.

His only regret was his need to check in with his own boss, Chairman Eric Daniels, before he made his decision. Webber had spent a great deal of time and effort learning as much as he could about his boss but to no avail. The man was shrouded in mystery. Daniels’s career skyrocketed after the killing of Oman Sharif Sudani during his watch. After that, though, Daniels was a man in the shadows, typically conducting his business over phones or computer links. Never in person.

Still, Webber was not going to let his boss and job get him down today. Today was the third day of a two-week vacation. He had told people he would be abroad in Germany and incommunicado. Instead, he stayed home. He was eating very expensive food and drinking lots of wine. His best treat was having a couple join him for dinner, a late swim, a dip in the hot tub, and then sex. It was great, and he planned on having them over again tomorrow. He had known the Johnsons for years, and it was their best-kept secret. He would coordinate every vacation with them, even though it was sometimes difficult because of their own schedules, but it was definitely worth it. Fortunately, they had planned several weeks in advance. He was exhausted right now. As he strolled into his walk-in closet lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors, Webber decided that he would simply stay in his robe. Next, he decided that because it was such a beautiful day, he would go for a swim and a late lunch before he made such a weighty decision about the two candidates. It was a beautiful day in May, and he was doing well by not watching the news or reading the paper today. He hadn’t at all for the last two days. “It’s great to be me,” Webber said to himself as he looked in the mirror. He stroked his face, trying to decide if he should shave.
No … too much effort
, he concluded as he headed back to bed.

In Waltham, Massachusetts, hiding in plain sight, the operations center was completely buzzing with activity. With nearly forty monitors, three floor-to-ceiling screens, and sixty-three staff all in varying degrees of alertness, Jillian T. Davis, the operations center’s manager, was moving from one set of operations to the next. There were a total of four critical missions going on at that same time; all were abroad in hostile, foreign territories, but fortunately, they were mostly observations, reconnaissance, and intelligence gathering. There was one operation that might move from passive to active rapidly. Hence, Davis cut her early workout short and came in long before her shift was supposed to start. It was unusual to have two managers on shift at the same time. The assigned manager was always in command, and the visiting or supporting manager would be second in command should the need arise. In regards to years and experience, Davis had the advantage. As a former US Navy lieutenant with years of field experience, Davis’s presence commanded respect. Six feet tall, athletically built, with very dark brown eyes that bordered on black, her physical features only added to the command.

If there was one thing Davis wished she could change about herself, she would get rid of one nervous habit. Whenever she was nervous or thinking, she would unconsciously fiddle with her necklace. It was a plain gold necklace with a Catholic cross. She had a silver one just like it at home that she wore less often. In the past, she would simply not wear anything constraining her neck or something that might indicate weakness or a human flaw, but this was different. This had been her mother’s cross. While Davis had been closer to her father, he had died when she was an adolescent. Her mother, a devout Catholic, lived until Davis was in her late twenties. Davis’s relationship with her was more complicated, as her mother did not approve of her vocation and profession. Still though, when she died of cancer, Davis had nothing but her mother’s old apartment with very few of personal belongings. Except for her necklaces. Davis felt compelled to wear one of them every day. Davis immediately stopped her fiddling and looked around to see what was happening on the monitors. Davis did like being in command.

But Davis was not the manager of the first shift called Alpha Team; Denise Cratty was. Cratty was the antithesis of Davis. Where Davis was quiet, calculating, and at times brooding, Cratty was gregarious, approachable, and engaging and engendered an esprit de corps. Some of Cratty’s attractiveness was her physical presence as well. She was five-foot-five, and she had light blue eyes and blonde hair that fell on her shoulders. Cratty was a former lieutenant in US Army Intelligence at the Pentagon. While a respected position, Davis’s tour with the Office of Naval Research and Development gave her more training in life-and-death scenarios, while Cratty was more proficient in the political blood sports of Washington politics. The rivalry between the military branches probably did not help their relationship. But it was more than that. When it came to assignments, everyone wanted to work on Cratty’s shift, and no one wanted to be on Davis’s detail. Because the operations center was staffed mostly by civilians who were technologically ahead of their peers, there were no military staff in uniform present. Soldiers wanted a leader like Davis. Cratty would not have been the first choice. For a mostly civilian operation, Cratty would pull on people’s strengths and help them grow; Davis demanded the very best, and if you made it on the second shift’s “Bravo Team,” you were probable destined for clandestine field work and covert operations as opposed to working stateside for a “private security firm.” The money for those private firms was alluring, and even Davis wondered about “going private,” but not today.

Davis was stalking the first shift because the nature of one of the operations. The one she was interested in was happening in a potential hot zone with which she had firsthand experience. Cratty always welcomed Davis, and Davis had always wished she could feel the same way about Cratty; however, that was not going to happen, even though Davis had noticed that Cratty seemed more subdued and less enthusiastic in the past two weeks. The scuttlebutt was that Cratty’s mother was very ill and that she was also having difficulty adopting a child. Davis had to admit that she felt bad for Cratty. Davis started to fiddle with her cross again as she realized that she and Cratty might share something in common.

While the four missions were happening in real time, there was a small team watching the events happening just next door. Davis was lingering at this bank of monitors because she had a little time and because she was truly disturbed by the events that was being compiled. Bombs in a hospital, burning buildings, chemicals in parking lots, and school evacuations were somehow tied to Arabic writing and the date of Oman Sharif Sudani’s death. Chatter picked up communication that the FBI in Boston had gone dark as a result of an attack. Davis knew Helms very well, and she greatly respected the marine; she also knew he would not let this attack go unanswered. He was a tough old bastard.

The US National Guard, State Troopers, Coast Guard, Air Force base, all cadet and training academies, everything was mobilized to stop what appeared to be a domestic terrorist plot from unfolding. But that was not the thing that disturbed Davis. Other than a shooting between federal agents, two members of organized crime, and a John Doe, there were absolutely no other injuries or casualties as a direct or even indirect result of these attacks. This ran completely contrary to the purpose of terrorism, which was to invoke terror. This was typically and preferably done by creating a large body count. That was not the case here. Also, the text she had seen that had been forwarded to the operations center from the Pentagon before the FBI in Boston had gone off-line seemed more like an American-style assault operation by Delta Force. Davis knew from experience that when there were strands of data that went one direction but ended up in the opposite place, there was always something bigger at hand.

“What do you think?” Cratty asked as she stealthily came up from behind Davis. To Davis’s credit, she did not jump because she was so engrossed in the data, but at the same time, she did not see Cratty at all until she was upon her.
So much for my ninja-like reflexes
, Davis thought.

“I’m not liking it,” Davis responded. Davis turned and took a good look at Cratty. She really did look like shit, Davis had to admit.

“What bothers you about it?” Cratty asked. It was a genuine question. As much as Davis did not personally like Cratty, she admired Cratty’s willingness to ask questions without always needing the answers. “A sign of a good leader is having your people work for you and think it through, not you doing all the thinking for them,” Helms would always say. Davis’s response was “I don’t have time for babysitting.”

“No injuries. No casualties. No body count. All the components of a full-scale terrorist assault with local, national, and global news coverage, and absolutely no one hurt. How does that happen unless it’s planned. And if it’s planned, who would want to do that on a large scale, and why?”

“There is another problem,” Cratty added. Without waiting for a response, she continued, “One of our more senior field agents was scheduled to make contact with his team. He’s disappeared, and his crew are MIA. He was also scheduled to come in for a debriefing at the beginning of the shift, and he was a no-show. I have a team going to his home just to check up on him. The description of the situation in North Reading with that shoot-out sounds like that could be a connection. After they check the house, they are going to see the body and check the crime scene. Before the bureau went dark, they were lead on the shooting, so we are trying to get a hold of the deputy over there.”