Three Weeks in Washington, page 27
part #3 of Titus Ray Series
“You may not be picky, but you certainly have a hard time making up your mind.”
I raised my voice. “I thought I had made up my mind when I first told you I’d take the Sig.”
“So you want the Sig now?”
I remembered telling Frank Benson I was a man of infinite patience, and I’d be able to handle Pike and his contentious nature.
I was beginning to doubt that.
* * * *
Carlton and Trudy arrived at the safe house around five o’clock. They weren’t alone. As per Agency regulations, Carlton had two Level 3 security guys with him, something the CIA required whenever a division head operated in country.
Once they’d gone through the safe house and verified it wasn’t occupied by someone who might pose a threat to Carlton—evidently, Pike and his closet full of guns didn’t count—they went back outside and hung around the mini-van.
Trudy, who was the tech specialist for the mission, immediately went upstairs to the loft where the communications equipment was located. Carlton told her to notify him the minute an uplink with the Ops Center at Langley had been established.
Even though Carlton had been in transit for the last couple of days, his sports shirt and Khakis still looked crisp and wrinkle free. Despite that, I saw sweat glistening on his baldhead, and there were bags under his eyes.
He walked over and put his briefcase down on the dining table. “Do I smell chili?” he asked.
I detected a note of irritation in his voice.
Pike said, “Titus insisted on making us dinner.”
Carlton looked over at me. “Chili? In this weather?”
I shrugged. “Forget the chili. Tell me about Marwan. Was he cooperative when you met up with him at Gitmo?”
Carlton dabbed at the sweat on his brow with a white handkerchief. “More or less. But I’ve never met a guy who acted paranoid because his prison cell was too comfortable. Evidently, he was expecting something far less accommodating than the facilities he found at Gitmo.”
Pike said, “That place is a luxury hotel compared to how the detainees were living in their own country. At Gitmo, they get free food, free medical care, and an unlimited supply of entertainment.”
“Marwan wasn’t complaining.”
Pike said, “I bet neither one of you can guess the most popular author in the prison library.”
Carlton and I just looked at him and didn’t say a word.
“And the winner is,” he said, pretending to consult an imaginary card in his hand, “Danielle Steel.”
“And how would you know that?” I asked.
Pike looked over at Carlton. “You remember last year when you sent me to Gitmo to interrogate Ismail Abedni?”
Carlton nodded.
“While I was there, I did a piece for one of the news magazines. The article was entitled Surprising Finds at Gitmo. It ran last August. Didn’t either one of you see it?”
I shook my head. “No, last year I was out of the country. Otherwise, I’m sure I would have been the first in line to buy a copy.”
Pike barely cracked a smile. “It wasn’t all fluff, you know. I wrote a lot about—”
Carlton cut him off. “Could we just get back to Marwan?”
Pike shrugged. “Sure, I just thought it was a terrific article.”
Carlton said, “Marwan refused to honor the deal you made with him in Buenos Aires until he knew his wife and daughter were safe. He still wasn’t satisfied after I showed him the photos Sam sent me, so I—”
“You didn’t allow him to call his wife, did you?”
Carlton frowned. “Of course not. I told Sam to send me a video feed of the two women watching a live news program on television. When he sent the feed, I had Marwan watch the same program. After that, he seemed satisfied. At least he ended up signing the agreement.”
I said, “Allowing Marwan to talk to his family is an enticement I want to hold in reserve. If he gets twitchy about attending the meeting with the general, I’ll dangle it in front of him.”
Carlton said, “While he said he’d cooperate with us, he demanded we get him out of Damascus as soon as possible after the meeting.”
Pike said, “I can understand that. His lifespan will be considerably shorter if Naballah finds out he betrayed him.”
I asked, “Were you able to observe Marwan’s actions at the airport when he got off the plane?”
“No, it was the other way around. He kept his eye on me when we landed. I’d told him I’d be boarding a flight to Beirut shortly after we landed in Damascus, and when we deplaned, he followed me over to the next terminal.”
“Did he wait around until your flight was called?”
Carlton nodded. “I played out the whole scenario for him. I’m sure he assumes you have backup here in Damascus, but I doubt if he believes there’s any high-level CIA personnel here on the ground with you. The DDO was insistent we keep him in the dark about that.”
Pike said, “The surveillance team I have on Marwan reported he went straight to his apartment after he left the airport. They wired the whole place and put cameras everywhere, so we’ll be able to keep an eye on him. I’m betting he won’t leave there until he hears from Titus tomorrow.”
Carlton and I agreed with Pike, and then Carlton asked him about the surveillance protocols he’d put in place for General Suleiman’s arrival in the city. Although he seemed pleased with Pike’s plans to install listening devices inside the general’s hotel suite at the Sheraton, he made a few minor changes.
For the next thirty minutes, the three of us discussed the logistics of the operation, along with the procedures the Ops Center had developed for monitoring Marwan’s movements inside Naballah’s headquarters, and the arrangements they’d made for Marwan’s extraction from Syria.
Once Carlton had finished outlining these details, he turned to Pike and said, “I’ll need a weapon before I leave today.”
“Sure thing,” he said, gesturing toward the back bedroom. “Follow me, and you can choose whatever you want.”
Carlton shook his head. “That’s not necessary. Just make sure I have a sidearm before I leave today.”
“I’ll get it for you right now.”
Once Pike was out of the room, Carlton leaned over and said, “Don’t ever let him talk you into choosing your own weapon. Whatever you choose, it’s sure to be the wrong one.”
“I could have used that information earlier.”
I hoped this didn’t mean Carlton had lost his sense of timing when it came to getting me viable intel.
Chapter 36
Before Pike returned with the handgun, Trudy came downstairs and told Carlton the DDO had scheduled a video call with him in five minutes. She said the Ops Center would be updating everyone after that.
Once she and Carlton had gone back upstairs to the loft, I went outside to the EAI van and invited Carlton’s security detail inside for a bowl of chili.
The older guy had thick black hair and a dark moustache and said his name was Dave. Although he insisted we’d met at our forward operating base in eastern Afghanistan in the spring of 2009, I couldn’t place him. Around that time, a suicide bomber had entered the compound and blown himself up, so my memories of that time were understandably sketchy.
As we walked inside the house, Dave introduced his red-headed partner as Finn. With his fair skin and freckled face, I figured Finn had some ancestors from Ireland somewhere in his background.
After I handed each of them a bowl of chili, Finn said, “I hope this stuff tastes as good as it smells.”
“You won’t be disappointed,” Pike said, entering the kitchen and dishing up a bowl for himself.
I put a plate of cheese on the table, along with some Syrian bread—Khubz in Arabic—and Pike grabbed some locally bottled fruit juices out of the refrigerator for us to drink.
The four of us sat around the table together—not exactly like a family but close enough. Once we’d finished eating, we started telling exaggerated stories about our harrowing exploits while serving our country.
It was Pike’s anecdotes that won the day.
Although he had a knack for remembering details, it was his ability to describe people and places that captivated everyone, making it easy for me to understand how he’d been able to turn his creative talents into a successful journalism career.
His observation skills also made him an appealing recruit for the Agency, and I could see why the DDO had gone after him—not to mention the kudos the deputy had received from the suits on the seventh floor by snagging a member of the media and enlisting him as a covert intelligence officer.
From what he’d told me, Pike had also managed to put together a workable surveillance operation in Damascus and hadn’t blown his cover doing it.
I knew from experience that wasn’t an easy thing to do.
Once Pike had exhausted himself—and everyone else—with his colorful stories, I quizzed Dave and Finn about their schedule for the following day.
“We might need your help transporting an asset to the safe house tomorrow,” I said. “Would you be available?”
Dave said, “Mr. Carlton’s not leaving the compound tomorrow, so, as far as I know, I’m available.”
Finn raised his hand. “Count me in.”
I nodded. “Okay, I’ll use both of you, but we’ll need the EAI’s full-size van, and make sure there aren’t any relief supplies inside the vehicle. I don’t want my asset making a connection between us and the EAI organization.
Dave said, “Not a problem.”
“Be here at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. and I’ll brief you then.” I looked over at Pike. “Anything you’d like to add to that?”
“We’ll be heading into a hot zone. Dress accordingly.”
They both smiled. They knew Pike wasn’t talking about the weather.
* * * *
After Dave and Finn went back outside, Pike asked me how I wanted to handle my upcoming meeting with Marwan. Although he wasn’t enthusiastic about my plan, he didn’t nix the idea.
About fifteen minutes later, Trudy came downstairs and said the Ops Center was ready to give us an update on the mission. After making this announcement, she walked over to the stove and sampled a spoonful of chili.
“It needs more salt.”
Pike laughed. “Here’s a woman who’s never cooked a day in her life telling the master chef how to cook.”
Trudy gave Pike a shove as she walked past him. “I may not be able to cook, but I can certainly tell when something’s not salty enough.”
“Take a bowl upstairs with you,” I said, “It won’t hurt my feelings if you want to add more salt.”
She shook her head. “No, that’s probably not a good idea. I don’t think Mr. Carlton particularly likes chili. The whole time he’s been upstairs, he’s been complaining about the odor coming from the kitchen.”
Her statement surprised me because I knew Carlton loved chili.
Then, as we climbed the stairs to the loft, I suddenly realized why he was upset about the smell.
It had nothing to do with the chili.
It had everything to do with Gladys.
* * * *
A few months before Gladys passed away, Carlton had called me up and asked me to drop by his townhouse in McLean. I’d been surprised to hear from him, because the two of us had just been through an exhausting all-day debriefing session following my run into Peshawar, Pakistan, to rescue an American businessman.
When the call had come in, I was staying in an Agency safe house near Langley—identified by Support Services as The Red—and I was looking forward to spending the evening alone. I immediately abandoned those plans and called a taxi, thinking Carlton had some urgent intel to share with me, or that he wanted to alert me about my upcoming operation.
However, the minute I walked in the front door of his townhouse, he pointed at the dining table and told me to have a seat. On the table were two formal place settings with steaming bowls of chili at each of them.
He said, “Gladys made up a batch of chili this weekend. Believe me, there’s nothing like it. I tell her it’s the nectar of the gods.”
After eating just one bowlful, there was little doubt in my mind Gladys’ chili was a winner. When I told him so, his face lit up, and he said he’d tell Gladys I agreed with him about her culinary expertise.
“Don’t bother asking her for her recipe, though. It’s one of her closely guarded secrets.”
He’d laughed when he’d said secrets, as if Gladys having secrets was particularly amusing.
That’s when I realized he had no urgent intel to share with me, nor did he want to talk about my upcoming operation.
Apparently, he simply didn’t want to spend the evening alone.
Unlike me.
A few days later, inside my Agency mail box, I found a pink envelope. It contained a note from Gladys written on a single sheet of rose-scented paper.
The note read, “Thanks for being a friend to him.”
The only other item inside the envelope was a recipe card with Gladys’ chili recipe on it.
Like any good spy, after memorizing the secret formula, I immediately destroyed the evidence.
A couple of months after Gladys’ death, while I was living in an apartment in Beirut with two other operatives, I decided to make Gladys’ recipe for the very first time. Although I had to substitute a couple of ingredients, the guys said they loved it and asked for seconds.
Since then, I’d made batches of the stuff on numerous occasions, but I’d never made it when Carlton was around, and I had never made it on the anniversary of her death.
Until today.
* * * *
The loft at the safe house was a large undivided room with a set of narrow stairs leading up to the roof. Having used a similar set of stairs to make a quick escape from a house in Baghdad once, I immediately noted the stairs availability.
Although the room was filled with communications equipment, along with a couple of sound masking devices, it held little in the way of furnishings, except for a few chairs and a long wooden conference table with a wide screen monitor mounted at the end of it.
Most of the electronic equipment was easily transportable. If all went as planned, a few days from now Pike and I would place the devices inside a van and drive over to a site near Hassan Naballah’s compound where we’d monitor General Suleiman’s conversation with Naballah and his security council.
Carlton was seated at the end of the conference table, and, as soon as we stepped inside the loft, he motioned for us to join him there.
“The DDO has just briefed me on a new development with Citadel Protection,” he said, as we sat down. “The Ops Center is ready to update you on that now.”
He looked over and nodded at Trudy, who keyed in a five-digit code on her computer. A few seconds later, a view of one of the Real Time Management Centers back at Langley immediately appeared on the screen.
The feed looked as if it were coming from Center C, the RTM unit monitoring Component Two of Citadel Protection. This was confirmed a few seconds later when I noticed C.J. Salazar, the chief of the Latin American desk, sitting at a console with his back to the screen.
As soon as someone tapped him on the shoulder, he faced the camera, adjusted the headset wrapped around his head, and entered the identification tag of the operation for the official recording of the update.
“C.J. Salazar, RTM Center C, Component Two, Operation Citadel Protection, OFU, Code 21698.”
The Operational Field Update (OFU) usually followed a certain pattern. At the beginning, the officer was required to establish a timeline. Then, a short narrative of events was given, and finally, a recommendation was offered.
Depending on the personalities of those involved in the process, there might also be some extended discussion of the recommendation, along with some very loud arguments and some very angry disagreements. However, those comments weren’t ever recorded for the official record.
Salazar initiated the OFU by reciting the timeline.
“The three vessels transporting the sarin gas canisters from Syria were due to arrive at the port in Santiago de Cuba on June 28, but, due to a storm in the area, they were delayed until yesterday, June 30. When the ships arrived, there was heavy fog in the area and visibility was poor. That situation changed around midmorning, and that’s the point at which the primary officer begins his narrative on this video.”
Salazar walked over to a nearby console and gestured toward a computer screen. “I’m about to play the operational update from Ben Mitchell, the Primary for Component Two of Citadel Protection. He’s narrating events on the ground in Santiago, and you’ll also be able to view a clip from the video he took of the offloading of the containers.”
Salazar signaled the RTM operator seated at the console next to him, and the moment he hit the play button, the video started streaming across the screen.
The first image was of Mitchell’s face, which wasn’t all that interesting, but the video he sent, along with what he had to say, definitely got everyone’s attention.
Mitchell began the narrative by describing where his surveillance teams were located around the dock, and the technical specifications of the zoom features on the three cameras he’d used to film the shipping containers being offloaded from the cargo ships.
Finally, he got around to the specifics of the narrative; namely, what his surveillance teams had observed when the ships were unloading their deadly cargo at the port in Santiago.
His demeanor changed when he began this section of the report, and I thought I could detect some frustration in his voice the moment he started speaking.
“Because of the heavy fog, it was impossible for any of my surveillance teams to observe the entire unloading process. Once the fog began to lift around nine o’clock, we were able to get a better view of the shipping containers being removed from the ship’s hold. As you can tell from this video, the containers were placed onto flatbed trucks and immediately driven away.”
