The Phoenix Affair

  *****

  Bert Phillips was the duty officer in the Agency’s 24-hour Operations Center on this early morning in April. He nodded and took another sip of coffee as the intercepts officer handed him a sheet of paper. He read it quickly, another of these phone intercepts that the guys who were pissing off half of Paris were interested in and wanted hot off the wire, day or night. He’d talked with the DDO just about an hour ago, this looked pretty harmless, so he decided not to bother him with it. He checked the row of clocks on the wall—just after eleven in the morning Paris time.

  “Can you get me a number for this Viper guy in Paris, or get him on that phone?” he asked the intercepts guy, pointing at the big multi-line secure phone on the desk next to his feet.

  “Yep, take about two minutes, you pick it up when it flashes.”

  The flashes came, he picked up the phone, watched as the lights on the line went from amber to green, and said, “We’re secure. This is the duty officer, you Viper?”

  “Viper,” Ripley replied, slightly annoyed.

  “I have another intercept on your line in Saudi Arabia. You still want it, or have you guys killed everyone that matters in Paris already in the last twelve hours?”

  “Very funny, asshole,” Ripley said. “At least I’m not some piss-ant REMF Ops Center clown with my feet up on a desk and a bad cup of coffee in my gut in the bowels of Langley. Maybe I’ll kill you next, pal.”

  Bert took his feet off the desk. “OK, OK, so you don’t have a sense of humor. I can send this stuff to the Embassy if you don’t want it now. What’s it going to be?”

  “Read it. Please.”

  Bert read it. “Sounds like somebody called off a birthday party. Wait one,” Bert signaled the intercepts officer, asked “are we following this number, the one our guy called?”

  “Not yet, but we can.”

  Bert returned to the phone. “Viper, we can watch the new number. Do you want it?”

  “Yeah, I want it. Send it all to Paris Station, my attention. I’m going to be busy for the next couple of hours. What’s happening on the Paris Police net?”

  “Not much. They’re looking for a Saudi named al-something and a guy named Cameron, but it’s all background stuff. Nobody’s said anything about ‘em for the last hour.”

  “Anybody mention an airport called Aérodrome de Toussus-le-Noble?” Ripley asked.

  “Not that I recall, but I’ll ask the guy who worked it and call you back.” He tossed a wad of paper at the back of a sleeping head, the head turned, Bert made a hand signal, the man went to work on his keyboard.

  “Good. If they did, send it to the Station, I don’t need it now. Any heat from the Boss?”

  “Nope. I woke him just after 4 with your initial report. No fireworks, I guess he knew what you were up to. Anything you want me to pass on before the telecom at seven Langley time?”

  “Nope, the other guys will handle that, I’m just a professional killer.” Ripley replied. “Anything else?”

  “Nope. Ops out.” Bert killed his end of the line. “Asshole,” he said to nobody in particular.