The Asset

  In 2000, the CIA believed the new Russian president, Vladimir Putin, may have tried to have Lentz killed so that Putin and the rest of the country’s newly formed oligarchy could hijack his oil shares. That was when Lentz went dark and used his fortune to pay his way off the grid. From that point on, there were even fewer Lentz sightings, with Juarez’s photo being the best to date that any agency had. Ironically, this was also the time when Lentz really came into his own, engineering highly lucrative profiteering machines in places of unrest, like Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, and Egypt.

  Lentz’s operations in Egypt from 2012 to 2013 coincided with the first intel reports related to the current threat. Many of his collaborators in North Africa had been detained by the Egyptian government and handed over to the CIA for interrogation. Hundreds of hours of transcripts from these sessions revealed common and consistent threads related to a large-scale US attack. It seemed that Lentz’s contempt for the United States was well known among his associates. He believed that Americans’ conspicuous consumption and stranglehold on global resources caused conflicts that appeared to be region-specific but could really be traced back to US imperialism. Kennedy called Wes Bowman to see if he had been able to dig up any new intel.

  * * *

  “Before I tell you anything, I want to know more about your clandestine romance,” Wes said on the phone.

  At first, Kennedy didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. Then he remembered the white lie he’d told Wes about meeting Alia in a Paris bar. He had to deftly get him off the subject without blowing his cover literally the first day on the job.

  “If you’re looking for gory details, about the sexiest thing she did was show me how she could tie a maraschino cherry stem in a knot with her tongue.”

  “Can’t believe you didn’t close the deal. She’s gorgeous. You always got a lot of ass in college. You must be losing it.”

  Kennedy was well aware that Wes was playing to his vanity, attempting to goad him into telling more than he wanted to in order to save face with his bro.

  “Losing it? I lost it years ago. I think I might be a born-again virgin.”

  “Why’d you want me to pull her file then? Switching to stalking?”

  “You’re going to laugh if I tell you.”

  “What, you thought if you took her out on a few dates and got her tipsy on rosé, she might share classified information that just happened to be associated with your crusade to single-handedly save the world?”

  “Something like that.”

  The light tone of mockery in Wes’s laugh meant he was buying Kennedy’s Alia scenario, along with his self-deprecating amateur role.

  “Laugh it up, Bowman. If you have any better ideas, I’m all ears.”

  “I do have some potentially useful information for you and you don’t have to try to sleep with me to get it.”

  “Hilarious. What do you have?”

  “I may have intercepted an e-mail or two from one of the assistant directors who helped author the threat memo.”

  “Wow, that was ballsy. How bad could they burn you for that?”

  “That could land me a job as a prison bitch. Which would probably be a lateral move from this shit detail. Anyhoo, this guy is hot to trot for a TSA or DHS inside-job theory. He didn’t name names but he alluded to an ability to do so several times. Which means whoever they are, they’re bound to have our boys under their skin by now.”

  Bull’s-eye, Kennedy thought to himself.

  “Jesus, Wes, that’s unbelievable. Could be people I work with.”

  “You better watch your back, man,” Wes warned.

  “Trust me. I am. Is there anything else to go on?” Kennedy asked.

  “Are you gonna call her again? Did she give you her number?”

  “Wes. Come on.”

  “Hey, as Hannibal Lecter says, ‘quid pro quo,’ now let’s have it.”

  “I tried calling her. She gave me a fake number.”

  Wes lost it.

  “I’m glad you find my failures with women so amusing,” Kennedy said, happy that Wes was so easily convinced.

  “Sorry, buddy. Okay, quid pro quo,” Wes said. “My money is on DHS for the inside job. I did a little checking of my own and found out that last year the FBI was investigating some Homeland execs in a potential corruption sting. I wasn’t able to find out who their suspects were, but check this shit out: the bureau agents leading the investigation are dead. Someone found them half dissolved in a bathtub full of acid at a motel in Jersey.”

  “That sounds professional.”

  “Absolutely. That’s why I told you last time—you feel any heat at all and you get the hell out of the kitchen. Whoever they are, these people are not fucking around.”

  Wow, you really know how to treat a lady,” Love joked.

  She and Kennedy were walking through Woodlawn Cemetery in Santa Monica in the late afternoon. Long, feathering palm tree shadows spread across the headstones in the warm fading light.

  “I know, right? Thanks for meeting me out here. I haven’t been for a while, and going alone seemed a little daunting,” Kennedy said.

  “No worries. I have a hard time coming alone too, so you’re helping me get in a long-overdue visit.”

  They stopped at Kennedy’s small family plot and sat in the grass. There was a large headstone with the names of Kennedy’s mother and father. Next to it was another headstone with Belle’s name, marking her empty grave.

  “Voilà,” Love said, pulling a bouquet of silk flowers from her carryall.

  She placed them in the flower cup at the foot of Belle’s stone and sat back down next to Kennedy.

  “Very nice,” he said.

  “You hate it here, don’t you?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Painfully.”

  “Sorry. I like to come here to remember them but I just can’t abide the whole cemetery thing.”

  “I’m with you. But it is peaceful. Find me another place this quiet in LA.”

  “How was New York?”

  “Good. The album is starting to take off. Thanks to Mr. Nic Harcourt.”

  “I never got to tell you that’s how I heard about the show. Great interview.”

  “You think? I thought I sounded like an indie snob.”

  “No, you sounded like the architect of your own destiny.”

  “That was a beautiful, yet utterly esoteric, thing to say.”

  “I wish I could take credit for it. I’m quoting Noah Kruz.”

  “The self-help guy who takes up half the shelves at airport bookstores?”

  “He’s more of a success guru.”

  “You say tomato,” Love joked.

  They sat for a while in silence before Love got up to tidy the stones, pulling weeds and crabgrass around them.

  “Do you ever dream about Belle?” Kennedy asked.

  “All the time,” Love said. “We’re always swimming for some reason. Boogie boarding down by Manhattan Beach Pier or doing cannonballs at my folks’ pool. She was like a fish. You almost had to drag her out of the water or she’d never leave.”

  “Tell me about it. She made my dad buy that cheap-ass aboveground hillbilly pool. I stopped inviting friends over that summer.”

  “That thing was filthy after about two weeks!” Love said, laughing. “What about you? Do you dream about her?”

  “Not really,” he lied. “I’m a light sleeper so I don’t dream much at all.”

  “That sucks. My dreams are more vivid than reality.”

  Kennedy was staring blankly at Belle’s headstone.

  “I’m sorry, what?” he said.

  “Are you all right, dude?”

  “Yeah. I’m cool. Why?”

  “You’re not cool. I can tell. I know that face. It’s your golf face. Ever
y time you had to drag ass off to one of those tournaments, you had that no-vacancy look.”

  “I have this big work thing coming up so I’m a little preoccupied.”

  “What’s the big thing?” she asked, sitting down by him again.

  “It’s kind of like I’m going on tour, actually. I’ve been asked to visit twenty-five airports in about two weeks’ time.”

  “Is that even possible?”

  “Yeah, but it’s going to be a bitch. And I’m really not looking forward to it.”

  “Shocker. Sounds awful.”

  “Yeah . . . You know, if something ever happened to me . . .”

  “Whoa, where’s that coming from?” she asked.

  “Hear me out. If something ever happened to me, you’re my only real next of kin. We’re not blood relatives, but I don’t really have anyone else who would qualify as family, you know?”

  “Do you want me to pull the plug when the time comes?” She tried for a joke but couldn’t hide her look of concern.

  “I’m not saying that. I guess I’m kind of asking if that’s okay with you. If I choke on a PBJ in my hotel room, you’ll tell them where to scatter my ashes.”

  “Wow, you have been on the road way too long, my friend. Yes of course it’s okay with me, but you’re not going to die from a rogue sandwich or anything else. We’re friends again, so I require you to be alive for that. Understood?”

  Kennedy smiled and nodded.

  “Good. And no matter where you say you want to be scattered, I’m just going to chuck you in the fry grease at In-N-Out. You’ve always loved that place and I would get a kick out of watching folks eat fries that day. Cool?”

  “Sounds like a plan. Maybe we should go there now and scout it,” Kennedy said.

  “Graveyard soul session followed by greasy burgers and shakes. Again, you sure know how to treat a lady.”

  Day 8

  I deposited your first payment this morning,” Alia said.

  It was 6:00 A.M. and she and Juarez had come to his hotel for a breakfast briefing. Alia handed him a black credit card with no writing or numbers.

  “When you’re holding this card, you can access your new account at our bank in Grand Cayman. The chip inside will authorize transactions by reading the heat signature emitted by the capillaries in your fingertips. The account can’t be accessed via phone, Internet, or any other electronic means. You have to be there in person to withdraw funds. There are two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in there now. As long as you don’t deposit any of it into any US banks, it’s tax free. And there will be five more of these payments as the assignment progresses. Is that satisfactory?”

  Kennedy was slightly shocked but did his best to hide it.

  “That’s fine. What about my expenses while I’m on assignment?”

  Juarez handed him a leather briefcase.

  “Cash and credit cards for travel are in the case. The cards have no limits. Also, I don’t want you using your iPhone when you’re working for us. Way too risky.”

  Juarez handed him a satellite smartphone.

  “Keep this on you at all times,” Juarez said sternly. “This is a closed sat ­network everyone in Red Carpet is on. Works like any other smartphone—­calls, data, e-mail—but it contains a GPS tracker so we know where you are at all times. Our techs set it up to receive calls, texts, and e-mails forwarded from your clients and personal contacts, so you can stay in touch with them. But only do that with this phone.”

  Game time apprehension was building on Kennedy’s face.

  “Kennedy, I want to make sure you’re clear that, once we begin, there’s no turning back until it’s done,” Alia said in her gentle yet penetrating way.

  “Wow, no pressure,” Kennedy half joked.

  “Last chance to walk away,” Alia said.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Juarez smiled, a silent shot in the arm for Agent Bland.

  “Excellent.” Alia sighed. “Because without you, I don’t have an operation. If you’re successful, you’ll be a true hero. And these days, those are in short supply.”

  Alia briefed Kennedy on the movements of the Red Carpet team already out in the field. Lambert was touring major airline equipment manufacturers in Asia. Like Kennedy, he was going to leave a few souvenirs from the CIA behind—bugs that would enable Alia to have eyes and ears in those companies. Langley analysts had a theory that Lentz may attempt to purchase parts, sabotage them, and get them into airplanes via his airport operatives.

  Trudeau was traveling around Europe and the Middle East, meeting with his contacts to see if he could flush out any leads. He had begun to focus on Eastern Europe and Russia, as they would be the places where Lentz’s buyers could get a lot of firepower for his money with zero governmental interference. With every visit, he also loaded a data surveillance program Nuri had given him into any laptop or workstation he came across. This allowed her to lift transaction data and send it back to Trudeau for analysis.

  Alia was ready to deploy Kennedy that afternoon and get him started planting the CIA’s surveillance equipment in airports. He and Juarez would start at LAX, cover the West Coast and Southwest, and then work their way east. They went over logistics, and Kennedy helped refine the travel plan based on his more extensive knowledge of the airports and routes. When they were finished, bugging twenty-five airports in two weeks seemed doable, but there’d be little room for error.

  After breakfast, Kennedy grabbed his garment bag and they went to the private terminal at LAX to meet Best and the other agent who would be installing the tech. LAX’s private terminal catered to celebrities, government officials, and the über wealthy looking to avoid contamination by the unwashed masses. Alia had chosen it for the meeting because security was much tighter than at the rest of the airport, with a “paparazzi-free” environment constantly swept for listening and viewing devices, and zero exterior vantage points for long-lens peepers.

  Best and Mitchell, the other field agent assisting them, were there waiting, geared up and ready to go. Mitchell was the polar opposite of Best—rough around the edges, dark and brooding. His eyes were predatory slits, and he seemed to be made of nothing but sharp-angled bones and hardened ropes of muscle. And his personality matched his look—quiet and deadly serious, showing no signs of levity or even friendliness. Both men were dressed in starched work shirts with the Hadfield Raith Worldwide logo. HRW was the top airport security equipment vendor in the country. They manufactured the millimeter wave scanners that would be getting the fake upgrade equipment.

  While Best and Mitchell took care of the scanners, Kennedy’s job was to plant the video, audio, and data bugs Alia needed in the airport’s TSA office. Juarez showed him the surveillance tech. The devices were tiny, as small as the point of a golf tee.

  “These are powered by radiant heat, like solar but without sunlight. They need a minuscule amount of juice to operate, emit no signal of their own, and they’re so small you paint one white and it would blend into a bowl of rice. To tap the network, all you need to do is log on to their employee Wi-Fi with the laptop we’re giving you. Nuri has an auto-send virus loaded with decoy programs to send their network security on wild-goose chases. While that’s happening, our data-capture bug loads in the background.”

  When they finished the briefing, Alia left to catch her flight to DC. Kennedy was feeling confident about their planning, but one thing was bothering him. He was skeptical that Best and Mitchell, the two killing machines she’d sent with them, would be able to truly pass as HRW techs. He’d been around those super geeks for years and felt like attempting to fake their knowledge and expertise was a stretch. He decided to test that theory with his traveling companions.

  “Guys, what do I tell my TSA chiefs is the function of this new gear?”

  “New sensors to detect weapons and explosives concealed i
n body cavities.”

  “Too bad it isn’t real,” Kennedy said. “Show me what we’re going to show them to sell this.”

  Mitchell handed him a tablet computer with the HRW logo. It had operational schematics and a white paper about how the “new technology” functioned.

  “Impressive. Can I see the device itself?”

  Juarez showed Kennedy one of the upgrade devices. It was a three-foot copper tube, three inches in diameter, with thick caps on the ends containing the connection wires and power cable. Mitchell showed Kennedy how it exactly matched a part from the millimeter wave scanning machines.

  “And it won’t impede scanner operation?” Kennedy asked.

  “No, it’s designed to work exactly like the part it’s replacing,” Juarez said. “The only difference is we’ve added our tech inside, so unless you physically take it apart, you’re never going to see it.”

  “How the hell are we going to travel with these?”

  “We won’t have to. At each airport, a field agent will meet us outside the security checkpoint to give us the device,” Juarez said.

  Kennedy turned to Best and Mitchell.

  “You guys can walk the walk with the HRW uniforms, but can you talk the talk with the actual working parts of the equipment? This whole thing will come off the rails pretty quickly if one of my more savvy TSA chiefs starts asking questions you can’t answer.”

  “We’ve been training on these specific models for six months,” Mitchell said with annoyance. “We probably know them better than HRW’s techs.”

  “Even though all of this has been cleared through DHS, some of my clients are OCD and/or paranoid, so they’ll definitely want to contact HRW to verify the work. How are we going to handle that?”

  “All work orders have been added to the HRW maintenance logs,” Best said. “If anyone calls it in, the phone center workers will verify it.”