Burned (Vanessa Pierson series Book 2) (19 page)

At 0520 hours Vanessa woke, already wired and anxious to let Chris know she would be gone most of the afternoon for her meeting in London. She wished Hall had named an earlier time—Vanessa was chafing to find out what the hell was holding everything up, and she knew that Hall would have an answer.

As it turned out, Vanessa’s day moved quickly, marked by two unexpected events.

At 0945 Team Viper was summoned urgently to the tech outpost. A new video had been released through Al Jazeera.

Vanessa arrived with Jack to find the team, including Chris and Peyton, already assembled. Only Khoury was missing. She wondered if she should be worried
,
but before she could ask anyone anything, Fournier took control of the meeting, explaining that they would proceed without David, who was following up on a crucial new lead.

All questions were banished from her thoughts as Fournier snapped his fingers and a familiar yet still horrifying image filled the lab’s multiple and massive monitors: a hooded, shackled hostage seated limply on a chair; a terrorist standing beside the prisoner while
holding an AK-47, his face also hidden behind a hood. The
True Jihad
banner filled the background like a macabre stage scrim. Three newspaper front pages had been tacked to the ends of the banner: France’s
Le Figaro
, Germany’s
Süddeutsche Zeitung
, and the UK’s
Guardian.
The narration was a voice-over in Arabic; it sounded like the same narrator who was speaking on the first two videos; the guard on camera didn’t appear to be speaking.

Vanessa looked toward Aisha. Had she heard her make a sound deep in her throat?

As the voice-over continued, Fournier looked sharply toward Aisha.

“That’s their threat to execute their hostage.” She translated with a shake of her head. As she continued, her tone stayed absolutely flat. “They are demanding that America and her Western allies pay retribution for their attacks on Iran, specifically the destruction of a medical research facility.”

“Bhoot’s weapons plant in Baluchistan Province,” Vanessa said softly.

“Unless their demands are met,” Aisha continued, “they will execute the next hostage.”

Now the video cut to an inset image of a church—“Saint Peter’s Basilica,” Fournier interjected—and the crude Photoshopped effect of raining blood. Arabic music had been cut into the video, apparently replacing the narration.

Aisha stood abruptly, eyes averted from the images on screen as she half stumbled to the door.
“Je ne peux pas être ici—”

Canard’s flat brows shot up, and he clenched his jaw.

Peyton looked as if she might go after her, but Canard spoke up.

“
Non, non,
I’ll go see . . .” he murmured, following just as they heard one of the warehouse doors slam shut.

Vanessa pulled her attention back to the screen, filled now with a graphic and bloody image of a battle scene, with chain mail and swords
and turbans and spears of the opponents—some artist’s vision of Crusaders clashing.

The screen went black.

For several seconds half the team sat in silence while the other half took or placed calls. The images on the video, the new hostage, Aisha’s distraught exit—Vanessa felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite identify, something that pulled her to attention.

Hays, who had been on his laptop, addressed the group: “Before you ask, we have no clues to the prisoner’s nationality or identity or why he was hooded this time but not the first time. True Jihad hasn’t released anything more specific on their latest demands, but our analysts are looking at every nanosecond of that video.”

Chris stepped up. “We have lots of new information. I know you’re all frustrated by delays, but the analysts need time to do their jobs. However, that doesn’t mean anybody sits around.”

Fournier took lead as Chris stepped away to field a phone call. “A half-dozen countries, including Turkey, Jordan, and, of course, Israel, have beefed up their security. So have Norway, Denmark, and the UK. And obviously Italy isn’t happy about the basilica being featured on True Jihad’s latest,” he added brusquely. “You all know your jobs and where you need to be.”

Chris set down his phone and waved Team Viper back to attention. “Okay everyone, we’re not done yet, change of plans—we reconvene at 1100 hours for a special debrief at the usual spot. That means you’ve got less than thirty minutes to grab your coffee and get over there.”

Members of Team Viper had been waiting for the debrief to get under way when David Khoury strode into the safe house dining room at 1115, his body tense, his expression somber. He nodded toward Chris, Fournier, and Peyton, and then, instead of taking his usual seat on the French side of the conference table or opting for the empty seat next to Jack, he took command at the head of the table.

Aisha, sitting next to a very attentive Canard, had made a point of ignoring Khoury’s entrance. Instead, she toyed with a broken pencil, picking at wooden splinters in a way that made Vanessa cringe. To be fair, Aisha hadn’t been paying much attention to anyone since her abrupt exit from the warehouse. Vanessa wondered if Fournier had sought her out to find out what was going on. Perhaps he already knew.

Seeing Khoury now, Vanessa couldn’t deny the wave of relief that washed over her. But one quick look told her Peyton had noted Vanessa’s reaction to Khoury’s arrival. Sometimes the psychologist made her feel as opaque as glass.

“Are you all set?” Chris asked Khoury.

Khoury nodded and Chris signaled to Hays by circling his index
finger,
Keep it moving.
Hays hurried from the living room into the conference room and moved directly to the main monitor he’d already set up at the head of the table.

“We’re linked and—” Hays said, expertly clicking keys on the small board attached to the monitor. The screen flickered to life and DDO Hawkins turned to face the camera. Vanessa recognized the flag from the World Trade Center towers that hung on the wall in his office on the seventh floor at Headquarters. Someone else was seated across his desk, but that person was out of the camera’s picture and Vanessa could see only a sleeve that told her: male wearing a dark gray suit. The DDO nodded, greeting Chris and Fournier by name, before he said, “What’ve you got for us?”

Who the heck is “us”? Vanessa wondered, almost squirming in her chair.

But Chris must have known who it was, because he kept moving, saying, “I’ll turn the floor over to David because this is his intel.”

“My excuse for being late,” David Khoury said, snapping open his laptop and turning it toward the monitor. Vanessa had to shift positions with other team members to see what they were seeing at Headquarters. Khoury’s screen was filled with complex schematics. Vanessa recognized the grouping of precise specifications of metal alloys before Khoury scrolled to the next page and the next.

This had to be the blueprint for Bhoot’s miniaturized nuclear prototype. How was it possible that Khoury had it? Or was this just a copy of the blueprint found on a hard drive in Switzerland in 2008, suspected of being sold to rogue nations by Bhoot’s predecessor, Asad Z. Chaudhry, the Pakistani physicist?

“I touched base with a friend in Jordan a week ago,” Khoury explained, his voice neutral, his default tone for delivering grave news. “I wanted to know if he’d heard anything that would confirm the existence of our loose nuke.”

He scanned the group, slowing almost imperceptibly when he met Vanessa’s eyes, before turning back to the main monitor. “My friend got back to me very late yesterday. Last October, roughly a month after we believe Bhoot smuggled his own prototype out of Iran, he may have had some prospective buyers already interested: North Korea, Syria, and some freelancers in Africa and Latin America. My friend was contacted by an associate who was offering a sample of the device blueprint to chum the waters for a bidding war.” Khoury tapped the laptop. “This is that sample. And there’s enough here to tell us we’re dealing with a new type of device that, if it lives up to its promise and functions effectively, surpasses anything previously in existence when it comes to compact size and mobility in a nuclear weapon.”

Everyone in the room had fallen silent, but now Vanessa spoke up. “The bidding . . . what happened?”

Khoury met her gaze squarely, but he was speaking to the team. “When my friend inquired a few days after he received this, he was told the deal was off. Zip. End of story.”

Now Khoury turned toward Chris and Fournier and then settled on the DDO. “But he heard the rest of the story through what he terms reliable back channels: the actual prototype had fallen into other hands. In other words, a lot of people believed the device was stolen.”

“Merde,”
Canard muttered, speaking for everyone in the room, Vanessa thought.

“Extremely unsettling news, but good work, David,” the DDO said briskly.

Now, finally, the man sitting with the DDO shifted position, leaning in so his face filled the monitor. He said, “I’ll echo the DDO’s congratulations on the good work, David.”

Vanessa’s eyes widened at the sight of Allen Jeffreys.

Again?
She managed to stifle any other visible reaction to Jeffreys’s
unexpected and highly irregular appearance, but she was definitely surprised and puzzled. What the hell was he doing on a Team Viper conference call again? Why did he keep inserting himself into this Agency field op?

But then, almost instantly, she doubted her reaction—this Agency op had quickly widened in scope and implication, and it now certainly involved matters of national security.
Still . . .

As if he’d heard Vanessa’s silent challenge, Jeffreys said, “I’ve been in meetings with the president regarding these latest developments and I have my own questions for
you
, David.”

“Yes, sir?” Khoury said, and his already straight spine pulled up noticeably.

“A quick review of the history of so-called miniaturized, or suitcase, nuclear warheads,” Jeffreys began, “shows that claims of possession of such a device by governments and terrorists are false. They don’t exist.”

Vanessa shook her head. The U.S., along with the Russians and Israel, all have sophisticated and well-funded nuclear weapons programs, and none have denied efforts to make smaller and smaller devices.

Khoury frowned. “The problem with development is finding a way to pack enough powerful explosive into a small package to truly be portable and yet destructive.”

“Let’s begin with the schematics,” Jeffreys said. “I’ve had the chance to review them briefly and our nuclear specialists are going over them and, in fact, DOD and NSA have both, at earlier dates, generated reports related to this subject, but it will take some time to authorize clearance.”

Vanessa gritted her teeth. In one run-on sentence Jeffreys had insulted the Agency’s currency, expertise, and vetting ability.

Jeffreys’s eyebrows rose, furrowing his high forehead. “So, setting
those considerations aside for the moment, from your end, David, what corroboration,
if any
, do we have to confirm the viability of the schematics, much less the question of viability of an actual prototype weapon?”

“I do not know of any corroborating evidence,” Khoury said.

Vanessa knew he didn’t like the way Jeffreys shaped the answers to his own questions. She knew the deputy director rubbed Chris the wrong way, but he was too experienced to show it. Hubris and manipulation were just something you had to take in stride from powerful people.

Jeffreys paused, taking a deep breath, apparently choosing his next words with great care. “Clearly we can’t afford to ignore rumors.” His eyes moved to Vanessa for a moment, before his gaze slid back to Khoury. “And the fact you were able to obtain these schematics suggests these may be more than rumors, and while we in no way want to undermine the process of verifying or debunking the existence of an actual
functional
and
powerful
device, we also do not want to needlessly amplify the fear factor for national leaders or their populace, do we?”

“Of course not,” Khoury said slowly.

From the corner of her eye, Vanessa watched Chris for his reaction, but he was keeping his game face on.

Almost before she knew it, she heard her own voice. “Are you saying we should ignore the very real possibility that such a weapon could be in the hands of terrorists? Because that would be crazy, and our only choice is to treat this as a real threat until we can prove otherwise.”

Jeffreys looked sharply at Vanessa, and although their eyes were level, he seemed to be looking down at her. “I believe
your officer
expresses herself quite clearly, as she has in the past,” he said succinctly. “And given the fact that the so-called stolen prototype was intel she initially brought to the table, I’m not surprised.”

Shocked into silence, Vanessa stood absolutely still.

But Jeffreys wasn’t finished—and his tone took on a grating edge of impatience. “Time is wasting,” he snapped. “Clearly we take this kind of threat with absolute seriousness, but
we do
not
play it up, and we make absolutely certain that
nothing
, not one word, about this latest intel leaks to the press or the public. Is that clear.”

His last sentence was not a question.

Vanessa breathed when the DDO took over, addressing Viper as a whole. “You people are doing everything you can to deal with a newly emerged terrorist threat.” He focused in on Vanessa for a moment, and then he let his gaze slide to Jack. “Any concrete leads yet to link Bhoot’s backing, sponsorship, if you will, to True Jihad?”

“No, sir,” Jack said. “But we’re digging deeper, getting closer.”

Fournier, who had taken a wide stance next to Chris, addressed the DDO. “Given the complexity of dealing with a prototype weapon and the fact we also suspect we’ve got a stolen spark gap detonator in the hands of these terrorists, it’s logical to look at the short list of bomb makers capable of assembling the detonator to the nuclear bomb. Find the man they’re using and we find the nuke.” Fournier acknowledged Aisha with his chin. She gave a small nod as she closed her laptop.

Fournier continued: “One of my best officers, Aisha, is tracking the guys on our list. Our first guess would be a Nigerian who is known in the trade as ‘the tinker.’ We are following several solid leads on his whereabouts.”

“Right, good work,” the DDO said. Jeffreys kept silent, but the corners of his mouth had turned down into deep furrows.

The DDO visually singled out Fournier, who was standing next to Chris, and said, “We’ve heightened security and we will be hearing from both of our presidents as well as our heads of national security and other agencies on how they want to deal with this new information about the blueprints of the prototype.”

The DDO nodded. “Thank you all, and I know you will get ahead
of the newest threats we are facing.” When the monitor went dark, Hays began rearranging equipment and Chris dismissed the meeting. “David, I need to speak with you.”

Vanessa caught a glimpse at her watch. She barely had time to make it to London for her meeting. The Chunnel would be backed up with the extra security. As she brushed past Khoury he started to reach for her, but she shook her head, mouthing,
Sorry—not now.