The Dark Hour (21 page)

“Yeah, well, that was before they shot out my tire. And now they’ve got a day’s head start on me.”

Miles glanced at his watch. “I have to go. I’ll get back to you.” He disconnected, then ran down the hall to the conference room, where the security task force meeting had already started. Lucky for him the men sitting around the table were too wrapped up in their conversation to notice his tardiness and he relaxed—until he heard the subject matter.

“So what is this team in France planning to do?” Roy Santiago asked. “Walk inside and get this information?”

“They’re waiting for our direction,” McNiel said. “We haven’t yet figured out how to proceed.”

Miles reached for the pitcher of water and poured himself a glass, trying not to appear too interested, as Thorndike said, “What makes them so sure this lab in France is involved?”

“We have an informant who apparently tapped into the lab’s computer.”

Miles’s hand shook, knocking the pitcher into his glass. “Sorry,” he said, setting the pitcher down, worried he might dump water over the entire table.

Thorndike glanced at him, then turned back to McNiel, asking, “How do you know the information is valid?”

“We won’t know until we check it out. But our informant mentioned the stolen freighter, stating that it was hijacked for the specific purpose of testing this new virus.”

To which Miles said, “That freighter has been on every news channel since it went missing however many weeks ago. Anyone could take that and twist it. The
Enquirer
already said it was stolen by space aliens in the Bermuda Triangle, for God’s sake.”

“He’s right,” Thorndike said. “It’s not that much of a stretch to concoct some strange story about viruses.”

“Except,” McNiel said, “we just received a report from the navy saying a freighter was seen off the coast of Brazil with fifteen dead.”

Miles had also seen the report. He just hadn’t expected them to link it to the lab’s virus so quickly. His mouth grew dry, and he eyed his glass of water, wondering if he even dared pick it up.

“And what,” Santiago asked McNiel, “is being done with this information? I’m assuming
someone
is going to determine what is on this freighter?”

“We have a team not too far from it, just off the Cayman Islands,” McNiel said. “We’ll send them out to assist. It’s possible that none of it is related, but we want to discount any terrorist threat.”

“Agreed,” Santiago replied. “Apprise me the moment you know anything. I’d like to know we’re on top of any terrorist activity, especially in light of the upcoming global summit. Hard to brag to the attending countries that terrorism is our top priority when we don’t even know what’s going on near our own backyard.”

Miles felt his stomach clench with each passing minute, and by the conclusion of the meeting he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. He rushed back to his office. When he stepped through the door, his cell phone rang, and he pulled it out, thinking he didn’t have time to deal with the bullshit of Washington right now. Not when he had a bigger problem to handle, he thought, answering the call, fully expecting to hear his secretary droning on about some trivial matter that needed attention. “Hello?”

“We seem to be having a bit of a communication problem, Mr. Cavanaugh.”

Miles froze on hearing the voice. It took him a moment to recover. “No. No problem.”

“Then why hasn’t this matter with Zachary Griffin been handled?”

“A momentary setback. He’ll be dealt with soon. In fact, he and the woman with him are probably headed toward the lab in Paris right now.” He related the information he’d learned at the meeting, concluding with “I intend to send Bose there to cut them off.”

“Tell Bose he is no longer needed.”

“Why?”

“We already have someone in France who can deal with them, which means it is time to redirect attention by pointing out that the CIA is
facilitating
a double agent. One who is currently feeding information to the Black Network.”

Miles sat mute for several seconds. “Thorndike? Running a double agent? Are you sure we can get away with this?”

“If it’s handled correctly, Mr. Cavanaugh, Thorndike and his CIA agents will be scrambling to pick up the pieces. In fact every agency involved in this mess will have to reevaluate their own positions. I expect it will cause quite a stir.”

“How will this help us?”

“Because it’s a win-win situation.”

“So that you can discover the identity of this CIA agent working in France to kill him?”

“No. So when several ATLAS agents end up dead, they’ll attribute it to the act of espionage by this alleged double agent. We learn who he is when they are forced to make an arrest for espionage, they remove him from our midst, and no one is the wiser.”

Miles leaned back in his chair, relaxing for the first time that day.

“And Mr. Cavanaugh? These sorts of opportunities come few and far between. If you value your position, handle this matter with great care. I really don’t want to have to find a new deputy security adviser.”

The sudden dial tone on the other end echoed in his head. He put the phone down, then stared at it for several seconds. The threat wasn’t lost on him. If he didn’t succeed, he’d be found dead. Either by his own hand or theirs. He’d be just another White House statistic. No one ever investigated those deaths beyond the obvious clues conveniently left behind. Something that might titillate the Internet for a few weeks, listed on some conspiracy Web site, then forgotten. The out-and-out murders made to look like suicides were quickly swept under the rug, if for no other reason than to ensure the public that their policymakers weren’t being run by groups no better than the common Mafia.

Hell if he’d become victim to that. Miles was not going to let Griffin live. Or anyone helping him, either. He needed his own ace in the hole. He’d plant Bose near that lab to make sure Griffin didn’t escape. First, however, he needed to handle the Thorndike matter, so he started scrolling through the numbers on his phone until he found the reporter he’d slipped anonymous information to in the past, Merideth Garrett. He called, saying, “Merideth? It’s me. I have something I wanted to let you know in the utmost confidence. It’s about the deaths on board the
Zenobia
and a CIA agent in France who is working as a double agent. If you want the story, however, there are conditions.”

“Such as?” Merideth replied, and he was certain he could hear her salivating.

“You protect your source, for one.”

“That goes without saying. Let me get a fresh pad of paper.”

Chapter 34

December 11 (the following day)

Washington, D.C.

“A
double agent?” Thorndike shouted, slamming the newspaper on the table. “It’s bad enough we had to go to the extremes we did to avoid someone leaking the existence of this agent to the press, now I have to contend with the lies that I’m allowing a double agent to operate in the CIA? This is bullshit!”

Thorndike looked around the room, his face red, the vessel in his temple beating so hard it looked ready to burst. Every other security chief and director shifted in his seat, and Miles imagined that each was trying to think what sort of information might have been compromised.

The only thing that would make Miles any happier in that one moment would be to hear that Griffin was dead. Soon, he told himself. Aloud, he said, “I’m sure it isn’t as bad as it seems.” He reached for the newspaper, careful to keep his expression from reflecting how he truly felt. Not that he needed to read the article. He’d practically dictated it. “After all, it doesn’t state any names. That’s something.”

“Unless,” Thorndike said, “you’re the goddamned agent sitting out there deep undercover and the people you’re moving with begin to put two and two together. This is an unmitigated disaster for us, for the agent, for everyone.”

“Pull the plug on the operation,” Miles said. “Cut your losses and walk away. It’s only money.”

“For God’s sake, are you insane? There are countless lives at issue. I want to know who leaked this information, because if anything happens to my agent, we won’t need to wait for a special investigation. I’ll personally put a bullet through the bastard’s head.”

Roy Santiago steepled his fingers as he looked Thorndike directly in the eye. “You aren’t accusing someone in this room, are you?”

“Tell me who else knew about it?”

“Does anyone even know who the agent is?” Santiago shot back. “Or even the nature of the operation?”

“Someone
knew the op was in France. How the hell did that happen?”

Santiago took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair as his gaze swept the room, then landed on Miles. “He’s right. Someone obviously leaked this to the press. Contact DOJ. I want an investigation started. You’ll report to me with your preliminary findings, and since Pearson is here, we can save the DOJ the extra step of contacting the FBI to provide the investigators.”

Miles grew increasingly hot beneath the man’s scrutiny. “But no name was ever mentioned. There’s no violation of the Intelligence Identities Protection Act.”

To which Pearson said, “There’s still been a breach of national security. If it gets nipped in the bud now, we save this administration from a major scandal later.”

“I agree,” Santiago said. “If you don’t feel comfortable taking this on, Miles, then we’ll wait for Phillip,” he said, naming the other deputy security adviser. “He has experience with this sort of thing, and you’re already assigned to the security detail for the global summit.”

“No,” Miles said. “I’ll get started at once.”

“Thank you. And if there’s nothing further, gentlemen? I have an appointment that can’t wait.”

Santiago stood, and everyone else followed suit, except Pearson, who remained seated, watching Miles as the others filed out of the room. “You seem uncomfortable,” Pearson said.

This was not spinning in the direction Miles had hoped. “I am uncomfortable. There’s speculation of a double agent, and no one else seems too concerned over that fact. I don’t like that it’s in the paper any more than you do. But regardless of where this information came from, what if the real national security breach is that one of our own CIA agents is feeding information to the enemy? Who’s looking into that?”

“Good point,” Pearson said, sliding his chair back. He stood, gathered up his notepapers from the tabletop. “If you happen to know of any firsthand knowledge of information being passed on illegally, I’d like to hear about it.”

Miles nodded. “I’ll contact DOJ right away.”

Pearson left. Miles didn’t move for several seconds, not wanting to give away how much the last few minutes had actually shaken him. It seemed the only thing going in his favor at the moment was that the federal government, no matter which branch, operated slowly. Any ensuing investigation was bound to take weeks, even months. That meant there was time for some damage control. And the first thing he needed to control was making sure the reporter didn’t reveal her source. Ever.

Chapter 35

December 11

FBI Headquarters

Washington, D.C.

“Y
ou can’t go in there!”

“The hell I can’t,” Carillo said, pushing past Pearson’s secretary to throw open the office door, that morning’s paper clutched in his hand.

Pearson, the phone pressed to his ear, eyed Carillo as he stormed into the room. “I’ll get back to you,” he told his caller, then dropped the phone into the cradle. “Shut the door,” he told Carillo.

Carillo reached back, pushed the door closed. “You saw this?”

“The article on the double agent in France? I’m pretty sure everyone in D.C. saw it.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And Sydney is heading to France. Is she walking into a trap?”

Pearson eyed him, as though contemplating what, if anything, he should reveal. Finally, he said, “I’m not entirely sure.”

“Not entirely sure?
Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“The CIA has been running a covert infiltration operation in France for the past two years that may link the lab in Paris to LockeStarr. In addition, Senator Grogan had sat on the committee involved in the investigation of LockeStarr, at least until it stalled with the death of a CIA operative. And as I’m sure you’ve heard, the senator was discussing reopening the investigation just prior to his murder.”

“None of which is new, except it puts someone associated with LockeStarr at the top of the list of suspects.”

“Until we received information that the senator was actually
part
of LockeStarr. What he didn’t know was that he was the focus of the investigation.”

Carillo opened his mouth, but closed it again as he digested Pearson’s last sentence. “
Grogan
was part of LockeStarr?
Senator
Grogan?”

“Per the CIA.”

“And he didn’t know they were investigating him?”

Pearson nodded at the paper Carillo held. “Correct.”

“Thorndike thinks the double CIA agent was working for Grogan?”

“As much as Thorndike won’t want to admit it,” Pearson said, “it looks like his undercover operative may have been feeding information to the senator. There’s no other explanation as to why the senator was suddenly fired up to
open
a new investigation right around the time we were actually about to move into high gear. Had we not suspected him, he could very well have sat on that committee knowing every move we were about to make.”

“Double agents on both ends.”

“Exactly. The fact someone recently leaked information about an infiltrated agent that very few people even knew existed tells me this leak is somewhere high up.”

“So what are you doing about this?”

“What can I do? I just sat through a meeting this morning, knowing that one of my own agents may be in danger, and I couldn’t say a damned thing. But I can tell you what I would be doing if I was on this investigation. I’d be questioning this damned reporter to find out who her source is.”