Operator - 01 (19 page)

The hairs on the back of my neck are tingling and for the first time in twenty-four hours, I feel as if we might have caught a break. But this time I wait for Veronica and after a moment she starts talking again. “About six months ago, I was in Conestoga visiting Mel. It was a sunny Saturday afternoon and we’d just eaten lunch at the diner. As I was driving away I saw his car, or thought I did. I could have sworn I caught a glimpse of him, but I wasn’t sure. It was odd.”

“What is Constantine’s last name?” I ask as neutrally as I am able.

“Drubich. Constantine Drubich. He’s the first cultural attaché at the Russian Consulate.”

I lean back and take a moment to absorb this. The cultural attaché position is almost exclusively reserved for top case officers – spymasters. The promotion that Constantine was fretting about had to be leading the
Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki
office in New York. When the cold war ended, the KGB split into a domestic and foreign branch. The FSB took over domestic intelligence duties while the SVR became the foreign intelligence service for Russia. If Constantine is actually responsible for bringing the Tambov Gang to Conestoga, it’s big news. But my second question is bigger. I tense as I ask it, knowing it’s the bargaining chip I’ve been looking for.

“Do you remember the name of the man you pointed out to Constantine? The one you saw at the U.N. reception?”

Veronica shakes her head. “I was introduced, but I don’t remember his name.”

“What did he look like?” I ask.

“At least as tall as you. On the thin side. Red hair.”

* * *

“Orion here, sir.”

“I wondered if I might hear from you. It seems that you’ve been busy.” An understatement. I’ve called the Tactical Operations Center at the Activity and asked for Alpha. They put me directly through to him, which surprises me. It’s just after seven in the morning. I’m sure that Alpha must sleep occasionally, but nobody I know has ever caught him at it. I’ve sent Veronica to the Wal-Mart for hair dye and new clothes, thinking that she’s less likely to run into someone she knows than I am in these parts. And she’s also less likely to be identified, as her photo has not been running on national television in a continuous loop for the last ten hours.

“Yes, sir, that would be correct.” Even though I no longer work for Alpha, he is making me sweat. On the occasions in the past where I’ve been involved in ops that went south, Alpha has reminded me of a junior high school vice principal. He may be soft spoken, but he has a bite.

“And what can I do for you, Orion?” He’s enjoying this, drawing it out. Our last conversation was under very different circumstances.

“I have some information about the…current events, which I believe will be of interest to you, sir.”

Alpha takes a moment to chew on this. In truth, it would be more appropriate for me to talk to the FBI. They run counterespionage in the United States in coordination with Homeland Security, and they’re already knee deep in the middle of investigating the Tambov Gang in Conestoga. The Activity is not supposed to even operate on U.S. soil. But things are not so simple in Washington anymore. During the last administration, the balance of power between civilian and military agencies shifted in some important ways. After the invasion of Iraq, the military ended up responsible for a bunch of jobs that had previously been reserved for other agencies like the State Department and the CIA. That’s how you end up with civilian contractors hired by the Defense Department running intelligence networks in Afghanistan and getting mired in a host of other shenanigans that cut across once-clear lines of responsibility.

Guys like Alpha, those who command the most elite and secret units in the military, have their own power base outside the chain of command. Alpha briefs the select committees on Intelligence in both the Senate and the House personally. He is on the phone with top people in the West Wing of the White House any time there’s a crisis. I’ve heard that he has briefed every President since Reagan. So he has the kind of leverage you need to go to the FBI and say “this is my guy, look what he’s giving us, you need to keep him out of this.” He has the juice to make something like that happen. Without his intervention, it’s hard to see how the FBI will view what I’ve done as anything other than vigilantism. I’ve told Alpha that I can give him a good reason to intervene. But there will be a price, more than I want to pay. He’s thinking about just exactly what he wants from me.

“What type of information?” Alpha asks, weighing his words. We’re on an unsecure line.

“There may be a connection between recent events and the activities of a foreign government.” That’s as much as I dare say, and about as much as I want to say without some more assurances from the man.

Alpha considers this for a moment. “We should discuss this further.”

“I’m not near a secure line, sir, but I can drive into New York or get to your office by the end of the day,” I offer. There are federal offices in Manhattan, Brooklyn and various towns in New Jersey on the encrypted government network.

“No, I’ll come to you. Let’s say noon. Call the TOC watch commander in an hour for the location. Use another phone. And bring the girl.”

* * *

At three minutes before noon, I ease the Crown Victoria to a halt in front of a hardware store on Main Street in Phoenicia. It is a postcard-quaint village nestled in a valley created by glacial retreat. Sheridan, Garfield and Romer Mountains butt heads here like monumental NFL linesmen, leaving just enough space between them for the small town. Main Street completes the triangle formed by the meeting of the Stony Clove and Esopus Creeks as the Esopus twists southwards toward the Ashokan Reservoir a dozen miles downstream. Whereas Conestoga sits on the edge of the Catskills, pressed between the mountains and the Hudson River like mud between a boot and a doormat, Phoenicia is in the heart of Catskill National Park, northwest of Woodstock. The mountains are more immediate here, their peaks visible from Main Street. The morning is clear and for the first time since my arrival upstate, the air is dry.

The summer high season is over in Phoenicia and the town has shrunk to its off-season size of half the residents and a tenth of the tourists it will accommodate in July or August. Many of the tourist-dependent businesses in town are closed for the season. A handmade ice-cream shop and several restaurants with large outdoor seating areas sit lifeless on Main.

As I open the door to the big Ford, I wince. My shoulder is stiff. The body armor I wore last night saved me from the worst damage that might have been caused by the 7.62mm rifle round, but I have an ugly bruise over a shallow cut and the tissue is swelling.

I was surprised when the sergeant major told me I’d be meeting Alpha in Phoenicia. It’s an unusually out-of-the-way location, but that is probably the point. There are only three roads out of Phoenicia and you can see the traffic on all of them from a single vantage point – the porch of Sweet Sue’s. There is a large “Away Fishing” sign in the window. Alpha has closed the restaurant.

Sweet Sue’s occupies the lower level of a two-story boarding house with white clapboard siding and blue-framed windows. Founded by Sue Taylor in the 1980s, it quickly became a Catskills favorite, best known for the ingeniously delicate but Frisbee-sized pancakes it serves. It is the only place I’ve ever eaten where the waitresses caution new customers that a full stack of pancakes might be too much food for a grown man. Since my last visit more than a dozen years ago, Sweet Sue’s has prospered. It is now a two-room diner occupying the entire bottom floor of its building, having pushed out the dress shop that used to stand next door.

There are two alert-looking men dressed in khakis and Northface Windstopper fleece jackets standing on the porch, scanning the road in opposite directions. I recognize them. The Activity is not like other units in the army, particularly for shooters. We tend to deploy alone, working with our intelligence guys, locals and operators from other agencies. We have a high attrition rate and the odds of capture are significant, so the Activity doesn’t encourage us to get to know each other personally like the Rangers or the Delta Force guys do. We train individually. But if you stick around long enough, you get to recognize some of the key people. More than that, you can tell the look. Activity operators aren’t cocky, and they don’t carry the chip on their shoulder that you sometimes see with operators on Tier II or Tier III units who get fewer resources. Like me, most of them served in other elite units before coming to the Activity. Most of all, these are guys that have to blend well into the background, so we have very few hulking monsters in the unit. But there’s something about Activity operators, something about their overwhelming competence, that you can just feel if you’ve seen it before and you get close enough. Under different circumstances, I might exchange a few words with these guys, but not now.

My former commander stands as we enter and walk over to the large round in the original dining room. These are Southern manners and they are for Veronica’s benefit, not mine. He’s dressed in civvies, jeans and a white button-down oxford shirt under an olive blazer. He extends his hand cordially and introduces himself. He uses a name I don’t recognize, one that is not his own. We take a quick look at the menu on the wall and order pancakes. I get them straight up with real maple syrup, Alpha favors blueberry and Veronica orders Blue Monkey pancakes with blueberries and bananas. Veronica is voracious – I don’t think she’s eaten anything in more than a day. I snuck a few energy bars and a sandwich while I was watching the warehouse. I’m surprised at Alpha’s ability to make polite conversation over brunch because I’ve never heard him engage in small talk before. He quizzes Veronica about her time in Russia without asking her directly about Constantine. Alpha is obsessed with language proficiency, and seems impressed that Veronica reached fluency during her stay there. He asks about my Russian and seems gratified to hear Veronica say that she mistook me for a Russian when she first heard me speak the language yesterday. I think she’s exaggerating, but the compliment pleases me as well.

When we’ve finished eating, the waitress clears our dishes and a moment later two women in blue quilted aprons emerge from the kitchen and leave the restaurant with the server. The three of us are alone. Alpha immediately turns to business, almost instantly becoming the man I remember.

“Ms. Ryan, I am Mr. Herne’s former commanding officer in the Army. I may be in a position to help you and Mr. Herne extricate yourselves from your current legal troubles. However to do so, I’ll need to hear your story in your own words. I can’t guarantee anything, but if you cooperate with me, I will make my best efforts.” Alpha pauses significantly here to see if I’ve told Veronica enough for this offer to have meaning to her. I nod slightly. I’ve told her that he’s a heavy hitter and should be able to sort things out for me. She’s not really in any trouble herself in spite of Sheriff Peterson’s apparent desire to detain her, so I’m mostly relying on her innate sense of decency to help get me clear of the mess I’ve made breaking her out of the warehouse. This shames me because I know that nothing comes free, and she’ll pay a price for Alpha’s help just as surely as I will.

“I’m going to record your statement, and ask you to sign an agreement with the U.S. Government. This agreement stipulates that you may not write or even discuss any details of what you’re about to tell me, including the events of the past 36 hours and anything concerning these matters that transpires going forward under penalty of federal criminal law.” Alpha emphasizes the word
criminal
. Alpha pulls a sheet of paper from his briefcase, which he slides over to Veronica with a pen. She glances at it and signs it. I warned her that something like this was coming. I see a moment of regret as she realizes that she is handing away the scoop that would transform her career.

After Veronica signs the document, Alpha produces a small handheld voice recorder and turns it on, then starts questioning her. He is polite and patient, but over the course of an hour he manages to extract a more complete story of her relationship with Constantine Drubich than I’ve heard from her, as well as the details of her captivity. When she relates the story from the U.N. party, he questions her in minute detail about the tall red-haired man. When he is finally satisfied, he stops the recorder and slips it back into his briefcase.

“Thank you very much, Ms. Ryan. I believe we are going to need your help over the next few days, and I hope you will assist Mr. Herne with identifying the men you have described. Would you please allow me to have a word with him alone?” Alpha rises and shakes Veronica’s hand, not sitting again until she has stepped outside. He fixes me with a look.

“Yes, sir?”

“You’ve made quite a mess. Did you consider that your actions would inevitably involve my command? I spent an hour on the phone with CJCS and the Secretary this morning trying to talk them down.”

“Sir, I recognize that I probably should not have gotten involved with this business to start. But once these people kidnapped Veronica, there was no way the FBI could have intervened without her ending up dead.”

Alpha shakes his head. “Do I need to remind you that the Army spent a small fortune and almost a decade imparting the skills that you used yesterday? The purpose of this expensive education was not for you to conduct your own private wars. By doing so, you not only risked your life and the lives of others, you endangered the very existence of units like ours. Funding will disappear in a heartbeat if some Senator gets it in his head that we’re a training ground for freelance assassins. Do you remember what happened to the CIA in the seventies? If you ever – and I mean ever – act on your own again, I assure you that I will personally see you stop-lossed back into the regular army from the reserve to spend the rest of your working life doing low-temperature equipment testing at Fort Greely in Alaska.” He pauses for a moment to see if his words have had the desired effect on me. I must look as shaken as I feel, because he softens his approach a little. “I understand that you were trying to do the right thing, Orion, but I thought we had rid you of these romantic notions. It would be a shame to have lost your services only to see you forfeit your life engaged in precisely the same sort of activities for such foolish ends. Before we go any further, I need to hear the whole story from you, beginning to end.” This time, Alpha does not pull out the voice recorder. He listens as I tell him everything from the moment I arrived in Conestoga through the events of the past day.