Overlord (13 page)

“The tail was just a test and was not meant to—,”

“I don’t care, Mr. Peachtree,” the director said, cutting his AD off at the knees before he could continue. “You happened to anger the man that appointed me to this very office, a man I owe everything to. The man you tagged is under presidential protection and is assigned to a highly classified position. And this is the man that was incidentally tagged for a test? I have never heard such bullshit in my life. And then this officer’s sister, a woman that worked in this very facility, is murdered along with another technician from Imaging and Tracking.” The director’s glare was murderous.

“Now wait, Harlan, there is nothing to that. Vickers won’t even wipe his nose without permission from me.” Peachtree began feeling very uncomfortable under the intense scrutiny of the director.

“Is that right, Mr. Peachtree? Does that mean you gave him authorization to bug and then tail this Colonel Collins? Did he inform you when he wiped his nose that time?” he asked angrily, tossing his fountain pen on his desk.

“I assure you that everything Vickers and his desk do to fulfill their task is completely aboveboard. Look at the technology he’s uncovered. He has been an asset we cannot lose with the trouble coming this way.”

“Well, I can damn well get along without that little weasel bastard!” Easterbrook’s voice rose to an uncomfortable level.

Peachtree started to say something but the director held up his right hand, staying the response to the insult of a division under the control operations director.

“I was informed that your Mr. Vickers paid a visit to USP Leavenworth to visit a prisoner with no official name or life. A man that it is forbidden to even know exists.”

“This I know nothing about,” Peachtree said in all honesty. “May I learn the name of this nonexistent prisoner?”

“Not if you want to keep your own freedom. Believe me, you don’t want to know. That subject, Mr. Peachtree, is so far above your pay-grade you would think that God himself issued the order that put this man away.”

Peachtree hated the silver-haired man sitting before him. He knew him to be, as himself, nothing more than a political appointee by men in the midst of a power struggle. The president of the United States, who appointed the director, and Speaker of the House Giles Camden, who pushed his own appointment through the hard way, were at extreme odds in the world of heavy-duty politics. His main job after the appointment Camden secured for him under Easterbrook was to keep close tabs on the director and his dealings with the president, whom Camden hated with a passion only reserved for the staunchest of political enemies.

“What do you want me to do—shut down Senator Camden’s pet project on technology gathering?”

“The Speaker of the House can appoint anyone to any project he wants, but not here. This ends today. I want the Technology Acquisitions desk shut down before too much light is pointed in our direction, as I don’t think you really know what your man Vickers has done. I believe he may or may not have informed you about all of his activities. And one more thing, if I hear that stupid phrase ‘dirty tricks’ around here one more time I’ll start firing people in a very public manner. Those days have to be over. We have got to stop making enemies here and overseas if the world is going to get through this crap, and we don’t need your Mr. Vickers creating enemies when we need everyone on the planet in the same damn huddle. Am I understood?”

“What do I do with Vickers?”

The CIA director leaned as far forward as his chair and desk would allow.

“I’ll tell you what, Mr. Peachtree, you either find a way to get rid of him, or I just may drop a note to an interested party serving with the army about the last official person to see his sister alive only hours before she was murdered. We can go that route if you like.”

Peachtree stared silently at the director, as he didn’t trust his voice to stay at a calm decibel level. Instead of protesting or giving any credence to the rumors swirling around about Vickers’s involvement, which would eventually lead to him knowing the truth about young Lynn Simpson’s murder, he would just stall as long as he could to keep Speaker of the House Camden from knowing his man was being fired. He would have to hide Hiram Vickers so deep that no one would ever find him.

“Until I find a way to get Vickers out of here I’ll assign him to a post as far away as I can find.”

“You can bury your trash as far away as possible, Mr. Peachtree, but the stink may still linger.”

Peachtree stood and buttoned his jacket. The director raised his brow, wondering if the assistant director of Operations would try to sway his harsh decision on Vickers. He didn’t as he turned and left the director’s large office.

Peachtree went to his own office, which was directly connected to the assistant director of Intelligence and her staff. As he walked by the enemy camp—as he came to know it after the Simpson murder—many eyes followed him. He walked past his own assistant and into the seclusion of his inner sanctum. He immediately picked up his secure phone. Peachtree waited while the call was connected.

“Vickers,” the voice said.

“Where are you?” Peachtree asked.

“I’m at the Pentagon.”

“What are you doing there? I would have thought you would want to stay away from the guys that wear uniforms as much as possible, especially since one of them wants to find and kill you.”

“Well, that’s what you think. I think I’ll find him first. Did you learn anything from the director?”

“Yes, I confirmed he’s a colonel and he’s in the army. The same thing we always knew.”

“Well, I have a lead from a very promising source.”

“Yes, and I suspect that is why we need to talk. That source you visited in Kansas doesn’t exist and it was reported to the president that you went to see this invisible man. Since he gave us the Kansas asset Black Teams he used to run for his corporate gains, it won’t be long before either the president or the FBI put two and two together and realize it was you who hit that secret archives facility in Nevada during that Ripper formula case. The director has ordered me to reassign you to another area of endeavor and then eventually fire you.”

“Number one, Daniel,” Vickers snidely said, making the name sound dirty, “the use of the Black Teams to secure advanced technology was a plan Senator Camden, yourself, and I agreed upon, so don’t even bother to threaten me on that point again. Secondly, as soon as I protect my own ass, Director Easterbrook can have my resignation.”

“I can’t give you the time it will take to find this man. I have to reassign you now or our dear director will know because now he’s watching things much too closely. With the president’s approval ratings plummeting over this military buildup we may be able to hide you in the periphery until he’s impeached.”

Vickers laughed in that irritating way he had that would set off the normally kind temperament of even the late Mother Teresa.

“And with you knowing what really happened to Lynn Simpson you feel comfortable stabbing me in the back and hiding me away?” He laughed again. “That’s the bravest thing I have ever heard, Daniel. I mean, if I’m gone from the CIA this colonel will only have one way to find me, and that’s through you.”

Peachtree didn’t like being threatened by Vickers. But he also realized that the man had the only ace in the deck up
his
sleeve—and that ace was Speaker of the House Camden, the man he owed his allegiance to. He was stuck and knew the only way out was to allow Vickers to track down this colonel and end the threat to their freedom because of the now-defunct Technology Acquisition department. The assistant director knew that this would be the only way he escaped this murderous mess intact.

“You have five days before I have to remove you from your desk. That’s all I can give you without the director frying my ass instead of just yours.”

“I may not even need that many days. I have a resignation letter in my hand that was filed with the Department of the Navy.”

“So, what does that do for you finding out who this army colonel is?”

“Let’s just say we may now have a stepping-stone to our army friend.”

“Okay, you have your five days, Vickers.”

“I need one thing from you to pay off my source that doesn’t officially exist.”

Peachtree exhaled in frustration and waited silently.

“I need you to get with our Mr. Speaker since he is in the know on most secret affairs, and ask him what he knows about a project called
Magic
. I need to know the name of that particular asset and where it is I can find her or him. That is the price my prisoner friend demanded. I just need that one thing from our benefactor and this one act will make
his
main enemy in life uncomfortable, to say the least.”

“And just what is that one thing, Mr. Vickers?”

“We need to know anything he has on a special project.” Vickers hesitated a moment as he thought about the name he was about to say aloud.

“Vickers, you are trying my patience.”

“We need to learn what the code word
Matchstick Man
means.”

3

UNIVERSITY OF APPLIED SCIENCE AND TECHNOLOGY

BIRJAND, IRAN

Former Iranian president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad was six hundred and ninety feet below the street level of the university. He stared through the two-foot-thick blast-proof glass walls into the chamber where the two hundred men and women who made up the Divine Prophet project crawled in and around the device in anticipation of the next round of tests. The ex-president narrowed his eyes as his aide approached and stood rigid next to his mentor. Ahmadinejad had been at the facility for almost a full year since the edict of the Iranian people that clearly indicated they wanted change and would not support the ex-president’s proxy for the position of president. The new president, Hassan Rouhani, would be a change that would bring on better relations with the West—the United States in particular—and that was not sitting well with the man who used to hold the Iranian presidency.

The device he was again looking at would guarantee no backward movement of the revolution with the election of the moderate, and he would need this device he had hidden away so many years before because it was suspected that the next act of the new president would be to start making overtures of recognition to the outlaw state of Israel. This could never, ever happen.

His aide cleared his throat and Ahmadinejad gave the man a look that almost made him freeze. The man’s beard had grown longer and his face was starting to show the extreme pressure he was under after the defeat of his man at the voting booths the year before. The lines in his face were growing deeper and far more ragged than they had been just the previous year. He raised his right brow, waiting for the aide to say something.

“Sir, the new president’s office has been trying to reach you for hours. The regime wishes to know the status of the project’s shutdown.”

Mahmoud Ahmadinejad stared at the assistant for the longest minute of the young man’s life. The look was as if the ex-president was staring at some form of bug that had strayed onto his arm. The aide was relieved to get those haunted eyes off of him when General Hassan Yazdi stepped up to the glass. The general was silent as he looked inside the chamber. He placed his hands behind his back and looked at the young aide in the black suit. He nodded that he should leave the two men alone. The Iranian general remained silent as he stood next to the man who had made his career advancement possible and eventually placed him in charge of operation Divine Prophet. The very same man who had set the ex-president on this course of action in 1978 was now his subordinate who ran the project.

“Soon we will not be able to hide the continuance of this project from the new president. We short-circuited the entire power grid in the province last time the test was run for a full hour. The grid could not withstand the power of the device and our lines from the nuclear power plant at Cernan have yet to be repaired.” The general slightly turned to his left and watched the ex-president as he in turn spied closely the scientists and technicians preparing the Divine Prophet for another test. “They say they need another eighteen hours to find the short in the underground power lines.”

“We were very close this last time. The test was nearly flawless.”

“Close? Flawless? Is that what you call destroying an entire seaside resort and killing God knows how many people? If you call that close and flawless I have a hand grenade course you may want to instruct, old friend.”

Ahmadinejad smiled and then turned fully to face General Yazdi.

“Hand grenades get the job done also, General. I’m sure I need not remind you they kill just as efficiently as any weapon. This hand grenade kills in a wide swath but can also be a little indiscriminate, wouldn’t you say?”

He looked hard at the ex-president of Iran. “Too wide. And too indiscriminate.”

“That’s a matter of opinion. The next test will be closer and we should see the desired effects of the Divine Prophet.”

“You don’t seem worried that our new president has ordered this project of yours shut down?”

“Yes, I am well aware of that. Now, are you prepared to fulfill your promise to the revolution, General Yazdi—a promise you yourself coerced me into over thirty years ago?”

“Loyalists to the revolution swell our ranks. When we strike at the new president and his backward government he will not be able to withstand the army’s wishes, and he will resign to save Iranian lives. Every gaming scenario we have run predicts this fact.”

The ex-president placed a hand on the shoulder of the general and patted it twice.

“I have no fear the people will see our new president for what he really is, a new western patsy. But we will need every loyal man to our cause by our side.” He paused and looked at the general with his penetrating and cold eyes. “And they may have to make the supreme sacrifice when the world learns of our true intent.” He started walking slowly down the curving hallway.