Three Weeks in Washington, page 28
part #3 of Titus Ray Series
The video appearing on the left side of the screen was hazy at first, and I could barely make out the outline of the cargo ship in the distance. Within a short time, though, the thick clouds had dissipated, and I spotted a crane moving an orange-colored shipping container marked Hazardous Material from the main deck of the ship onto a waiting truck. There were three other containers already positioned on the truck, and, once the fourth one was added, the truck pulled away from the dock.
As a second truck arrived to receive the next containers, Mitchell continued, “There were a total of eighteen containers on this ship, the Sea Star, and there were another twenty on each of the other two ships, the Sea Lady and the Sea Master. In all, we counted fifty-eight containers.”
Mitchell looked directly at the screen and shook his head. “I know the math I’ve given you isn’t good news.”
I immediately glanced over at Carlton, who had no reaction to Mitchell’s numbers. I had no doubt he’d already heard the bad news from the DDO while we were downstairs eating.
In our earlier briefing, Carlton had told us the three ships were transporting twenty shipping containers apiece. This information had come from Mossad, the Israeli intelligence agency, who had verified the intel as extremely reliable.
Mossad seldom got their intel wrong, and I didn’t doubt their numbers. If sixty containers had been onboard the ships when they left Syria, and Mitchell had only counted fifty-eight containers being offloaded in Santiago de Cuba, then this wasn’t just bad news; this was devastating news.
This was the worst possible news.
Two shipping containers were missing. Each container had two pallets inside; each pallet held fifty canisters full of sarin gas.
Now, some unknown party was in possession of two hundred canisters of sarin gas, and the Agency had no idea where they were or who had them.
Mitchell said, “Once the shipping containers arrived at the warehouse, we double checked the accuracy of that number. Unfortunately, that was the correct count. The trucks delivered only fifty-eight containers to the warehouse.”
Mitchell not only sounded frustrated, I detected a note of desperation in his voice as well.
“When the ships first arrived at the port, the entire area was covered in fog, so I believe there’s a possibility the other two containers were offloaded during that time frame and taken elsewhere. I’ve started making inquiries around the dock, and I’m also trying to locate any additional video surveillance of the area.”
Proceed with caution, Ben. Don’t let your emotions get the best of you. Think outside the box. Consider the possibilities.
I realized my telepathic advice was futile, and, even if I’d been there to deliver the advice in person, Mitchell might have ignored my sagely wisdom.
In the end, I did the one thing I knew for sure would make a difference, and I breathed a quick prayer for Mitchell and his success in locating the canisters. Granted, it was hard for me not to suggest some things the God of the Universe might do to help Mitchell achieve that goal, but I decided he probably had a few ideas of his own, so I kept my opinions to myself.
I couldn’t say the same for C.J. Salazar.
Chapter 37
When Mitchell began asking for any satellite images of the port at Santiago to be downloaded to his computer, Salazar immediately stopped the video.
“The rest of Ben’s narrative is taken up with housekeeping items,” Salazar said. “You may have heard him ask for any available signals intelligence, but the heavy cloud cover prohibited the acquisition of any workable images.”
Salazar left the main console and walked over to a cubicle where a UAV specialist was seated. She was manning the controls of an aerial surveillance drone, and there, on the screen in front of her, was a bird’s eye view of a container vessel in the middle of the ocean.
Salazar said, “As soon as the weather cleared yesterday, I ordered satellite reconnaissance of the entire Caribbean Basin. In addition,” he pointed over to the UAV operator, “we have our own surveillance drone monitoring the shipping lanes along the eastern seaboard of the United States.”
The UAV operator, whose left hand was on a joystick, was piloting one of the Agency’s surveillance drones above the unidentified container ship. The cameras, mounted on the wings and underbelly of the drone, were taking multiple sets of pictures while hovering over the vessel.
I knew reconnaissance specialists would later spend hours scrutinizing the photographs for any evidence there were two orange-colored shipping containers marked Hazardous Materials strapped to her deck.
Salazar returned to the main console located at the front of the RTM Center and faced the camera. “I’ve also notified our station chiefs in Latin America about the missing canisters, and I’m requisitioning extra personnel from those areas to be sent to Santiago to help with the search.”
At this point, Salazar should have signed off on the official recording of the OFU without voicing an opinion, but instead, he added, “The Mexican drug cartels would like nothing better than to have their hands on those gas canisters, so it wouldn’t surprise me if that’s exactly what’s happened to them.”
Salazar ended the OFU in the same way he began it: “C.J. Salazar, RTM Center C, Component Two, Operation Citadel Protection, OFU, Code 21698.”
Although I knew Salazar’s ending remarks could be seen as merely reflective of his ongoing paranoia about the cartels, I didn’t dismiss the possibility Hezbollah could have joined forces with one of the drug cartels to carry out their plan to attack Washington.
At the very least, I felt Katherine’s ASA office should be instructed to start data mining any connection between the cartels and the missing containers, especially since Marwan Farage was Hezbollah’s liaison with the drug cartels.
However, I seriously doubted Katherine would ever receive a call from Salazar. When it came to analysis, Salazar seldom saw the need for anything beyond his own studied opinion.
I decided I needed to change his mind about that, and, as soon as he signed off on the OFU, I laid the groundwork to make that happen.
I said, “I agree with your recommendation, C.J. The asset I’m running here in Damascus has ties to the cartel, and he’s known about Hezbollah’s plans for the chemical weapons from the very beginning.”
He looked surprised to hear me say I was in agreement with him.
I rarely was.
“Yeah? Well, what’s the catch?” he asked.
“There’s no catch. I agree with you. Offloading those containers onto a truck or another ship would have been a complicated task, especially with the heavy fog in the area. I believe it would have taken an organization as competent as Los Zetas to pull it off.”
“Exactly,” he said, nodding his head vigorously at my suggestion. “Los Zetas could have orchestrated this whole thing. They have both the expertise and the manpower, and for years now, they’ve used the port in Santiago as their transfer point between their cocaine suppliers in Colombia and their distributors in Mexico.”
“No, I’m not buying it,” Pike said, leaning forward in his chair the way he usually did when he wanted to be argumentative. “There’s a big difference between knowing how to stuff some cocaine bundles in the hold of a fishing boat and having the ability to offload a couple of heavy-duty shipping containers.”
Salazar said, “Los Zetas interests are far more extensive than just heroin and cocaine. In the last ten years they’ve expanded into automobile engines, appliances, machine parts; you name it, they want to control it. Just recently, they’ve acquired their own fleet of container ships, so being able to handle a couple of shipping containers wouldn’t have been a problem for them.”
Although Salazar’s counterpoint made sense, and I knew he was far more qualified than Pike to assess the cartel’s ability to remove the canisters from the ship, Pike continued to disagree with him.
Carlton and I both kept quiet as the two men went back and forth for several minutes. Finally, when it became apparent neither one of the men would be backing down any time soon, Carlton said, “Could I offer a suggestion on this matter?”
Pike immediately said, “Please do.”
A few seconds later, Salazar shrugged and nodded his head.
Carlton said, “One way to know for certain whether or not the Zetas or any of the other drug cartels have their hands on the missing containers is to have our ASA office look at the electronic trails they’ve left behind. My advice is to have our analysts run a data probe on their banking, electronic communications, shipping interests, or anything else they can dig up on them during the last forty-eight hours. By doing so, we’ll have a better handle on what we’re dealing with here.”
I immediately voiced my agreement with Carlton’s suggestion, and Pike chimed in with his own approval. In the face of such overwhelming odds, Salazar couldn’t help but acquiesce.
“Sure, why not?” he said. “I’ll contact the ASA office. But I already know what we’re dealing with here. It’s one of the drug cartels.”
In what appeared to be an effort to change the subject, Carlton asked, “What’s the latest update from Caracas? Have you heard anything about how Marwan’s wife and daughter are handling their confinement?”
“Sam Wylie’s last update indicated the ladies were being very vocal about their kidnapping, but they weren’t giving him any real trouble. If that should change, I’ll let you know. Any other questions?”
I spoke up.
“Before you go, C.J., I’d like to ask Buddy a question.”
Salazar looked surprised at my request to speak with one of the Agency’s maritime specialists, but he motioned for Buddy, whose cubicle was at the far end of the room, to join him over at the main console.
Buddy was a muscled-up guy with reddish-brown hair. I noticed he had a slightly bemused look on his face when he ambled over and faced the camera.
“How’s it going, Titus?”
“Things could be a lot better, Buddy, but I’m sure you know that.”
He nodded. “That’s for sure.”
“You’ve been tracking the ships carrying Syria’s chemical weapons?”
“That would be me, yes.”
“I have a few questions for you.”
He nodded.
“Were you surprised the ships were delayed because of the storms in the area? Did that seem unusual to you?”
He laughed. “Yeah, it was a little unusual. Those storms were just tropical in nature; they certainly weren’t of the hurricane variety. Of course, the dockworkers wouldn’t have been able to unload any cargo during a thunderstorm, so maybe the person in charge just preferred to wait out the storm at sea.”
“Tell me about the heavy fog in the area yesterday. Was it forecast ahead of time?”
“Oh, sure. The harbormaster had alerted all the ships in the area in advance. When it rolled in during the early morning hours, it didn’t take anyone by surprise.”
“That’s all I have. Thanks, Buddy.”
He started to walk away, but then, after a quick glance over at Salazar, he stopped and said, “The fog was particularly dense yesterday morning. Unless you were right there on the dock, you wouldn’t have been able to see a thing. In fact, those conditions were just about perfect for offloading some containers without being observed. If you want my opinion, I’d say someone knew the docks were under surveillance, and that’s the reason the ships remained at sea. They were waiting for the heavy fog to roll in before they made port. That’s just my opinion, though. You can take it or leave it.”
Since it was also my opinion, I took it.
* * * *
As soon as Buddy walked back over to his cubicle, Salazar said he would keep Carlton informed about the missing containers, and then he abruptly ended the transmission.
I had planned to ask Salazar about the likelihood Mitchell’s surveillance teams were themselves under surveillance, either by Hezbollah or some other interested party. Before I could question him further, the screen went blank.
I had the feeling Salazar knew that question was coming, and he’d chosen to make a quick exit before it was asked.
Such actions were typical of him.
He wasn’t necessarily incompetent, but he did have a tendency to have tunnel vision, and, if someone pointed out he’d missed some critical aspect of the operation, it tended to unnerve him.
I told myself to concentrate on my own mission and not worry about Mitchell and his activities, but that didn’t stop me from considering how I could help him in some way, nor did it make the gnawing feeling in my gut go away.
“The transmission from the Ops Center was shut down on their end,” Trudy said, trying to explain the blank video screen we were viewing.
“I’m aware of that,” Carlton said, rubbing his temple.
“Shall I try the call again?” she asked.
Carlton shook his head. “No, Trudy. I think we’re done here. If you’d like to go downstairs and get something to eat before we leave, you should probably do that now.”
Trudy nodded and headed downstairs.
Pike, who’d been unusually quiet during the last few minutes, suddenly slapped his hand down on the table. “I’ve got it now. Ben Mitchell is Senator Elijah Mitchell’s son. When I first saw him on that video, I knew I’d seen him somewhere before.”
Carlton and I both kept quiet.
Pike asked, “When did he come to work for the Agency?”
Carlton never talked about another operative, so I knew he wasn’t about to answer Pike’s question.
“I believe it was about five years ago,” I said.
“Are you kidding me? Didn’t C.J. say he was a Level 1 operative?”
“He got bumped up from Level 2 status a few months ago.”
“I can’t believe C.J. named him as the primary for the mission.”
“He seems competent.”
“Two hundred canisters of sarin gas just disappeared on his watch. You call that competent?”
“No one could have seen that coming,” I said, defending Mitchell. “Even if he’d been able to observe the whole thing, his assignment was a non-engagement surveillance op. He wasn’t allowed to interfere with the transfer.”
“Whose idea was that?”
Carlton spoke up, “I believe the DDO made that decision.”
Pike decided not to respond to that statement—which was definitely a wise move on his part.
Instead, he said, “I interviewed the Senator at his home about eight years ago for an article I was doing on national security. When Ben entered the room, the Senator stopped the interview and proceeded to tell me about the plans he’d made for his son’s future. As I recall, none of those plans included being employed by the CIA.”
“I don’t imagine they did,” I said.
I immediately regretted making that comment, because I figured Pike wouldn’t let it pass without asking me a follow-up question.
Evidently though, he didn’t hear me or he chose to ignore it, because after relating the anecdote, he stood to his feet and said he was headed downstairs for another bowl of chili.
He tapped Carlton on the shoulder. “You should come downstairs and have a bowl.”
Carlton pushed his chair away from the table and said, “Maybe I should.”
I decided it was time to address a certain personal issue. “Douglas, could I have a word with you before you go?”
He nodded and remained seated.
When Pike heard this, he stopped at the landing on the stairs and looked at me. “If you’re about to discuss trading the Makarov for the Sig I picked out for him, I don’t recommend it.”
I assured him I was keeping the Makarov.
He nodded. “You made a good choice.”
Once he was gone, I turned to Carlton and said, “Let’s talk about Gladys.”
* * * *
As Carlton gave me his full attention, his eyes appeared to be twice their normal size.
“What about Gladys?” he asked.
“Was she an equestrian? In one of the guest rooms at The Meadows, I saw several photographs of her standing next to a horse. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you talk about her riding.”
Carlton actually smiled.
“She loved horses. She grew up on a horse farm in Kentucky, and when we met, she’d already won several national competitions in dressage.”
He told me about the circumstances of their meeting and about how he felt when he saw Gladys for the first time.
“She had on this short riding coat, jodhpurs, and black boots.” He shook his head. “From that moment on she had me.”
“That’s the way she was dressed in the photograph.”
He nodded. “That picture was taken a couple of years after our wedding. I believe she’d just won a national championship then.”
He described watching her compete, comparing her moves on a horse to a well-choreographed ballet.
“I really believe she could have made the Olympic dressage team, but then, her father was injured by a horse, and after that, she gave it up. When he died a few years later, I thought she might take it up again, but she never did.”
“The Meadows looks like a great place to raise horses. Is that why you bought the property?”
“That was partly it, but mainly it was because Gladys loved to entertain, and she thought the house would be perfect for that.”
That seemed like a good opening for my confession.
“I realize I haven’t ever told you this, Douglas, but just before Gladys passed away, she sent me her chili recipe. It was right after the two of us ate together at your townhouse following Operation Business Enterprise. The chili I made today was her recipe.”
He bowed his head. For a brief moment, I wasn’t sure how he felt about my revelation.
Seconds later, I heard him laughing, something he seldom did.
“Oh, my,” he said, raising his head. “No, I never knew that. She gave you that recipe?” He shook his head. “She was always able to amaze me.”
