“What if he has a gun?”
“If he keeps coming at you, kneecap him. Once both of you are on the boat, I want you to head straight out into the Bay. No one is going to be around to cover you, and I don’t want one of the guards taking potshots at you from the cliff. When you are about three hundred yards from shore, head south. Run at full throttle and keep your running lights off. I’m estimating that you should be able to do about seventy knots in that boat. If the CIA is on the ball, I’m estimating that the quickest they could get a chopper up to intercept you would be fifteen minutes from the time the alarm is sounded. Kevin, after you’re done taking the guard out, mark the time. At seventy knots it should take you approximately fifteen minutes to reach Cove Point. Seventeen minutes after we go over the wall, I want both of you out of the boat! Even if you haven’t made it to Cove Point, jump ship. I don’t want you on board a second longer. Tim O’Rourke will be waiting to pick you up. He has a radio and a red filter light. When you go over, ask him to give you a signal for bearing.”
Coleman paused and looked all of them in the eye. “I know we’re not as prepared for this as we’d like to be, but we don’t have the time. Just stay cool and everything will be fine. Any questions?”
They all shook their heads, and then Coleman went to the trunk of the car. He grabbed four bundles of rope and handed one to each man. “Let’s get moving. Be careful and stay cool.” Coleman patted each of them on the shoulder as they started down the path. The former SEAL team commander took up the rear and fell in step. The four dark figures moved one by one into the black night.
Six floors beneath the main level of the Central Intelligence Agency was a room that never slept. The Operations Center of the CIA was the Agency’s version of NASA’s Mission Control. But instead of monitoring space missions, these men and women monitored spy missions. They were in constant contact with every U.S. embassy and consulate around the globe. The men and women who worked in the Operations Center were not in charge of running spy operations. Their function was to serve as the main communications link between the field and the rest of the Agency. Information was what the Agency was all about, and disseminating it in a quick, secretive, and orderly fashion was crucial to the overall mission.
The Operations Center was divided into four separate clusters of desks. In the front of the room, beneath three twelve-by-twelve-foot computerprojection screens, was the European Section. The section had one supervisor and three operators who handled Western Europe, Eastern Europe, and the former Soviet republics. The next section handled the Middle East and Africa. The third section monitored Asia and the South Pacific, and the last section handled Central America, South America, and the United States. In the rear of the room, elevated and watching over the section supervisors and operators, were two watch officers. Just behind them, elevated still farther and behind a wall of Plexiglas, was the Operations Center’s watch commander.
The room was softly lit and comfortable. Every operator had three monitors on his or her desk and multiple phone lines. To battle boredom, they were encouraged to read or play computer games while on watch. If they received any flash traffic, their computers would beep, letting them know it was time to pay attention. The supervisors and watch commanders often kept the operators on their toes by running drills. Day to day, the Operations Center was one of the most boring places in the Agency to work, but when a crisis erupted, it was one of the most exciting.
Charlie Dobbs sat behind the Plexiglas wall of the watch commander’s office and looked at the computer monitor to his far left. A chessboard was on the screen. Charlie was sixteen moves into the game at the grand-master level and was holding his own. The computer monitor to the right beeped once, and his eyes jumped from one screen to the other. A routine message was coming in from the Tokyo embassy. Charlie noted that it was on time and went back to calculating what the computer’s next move would be.
Five computers were on Dobbs’s desk, and at any time he could check on his operators and see what they were doing. He could do this manually or let the system run on automatic. Messages came in off their satellite system and were encoded with a number designating their importance. Routine traffic came in preceded by the number one, and emergency traffic came in preceded by the number five. The computer prioritized these messages and queued them according to their importance. Level five traffic was not uncommon during a crisis in a given region, but since the global scene had been pretty quiet for the last several weeks, Dobbs was expecting a slow night.
When they reached the large yard to the south of Arthur’s estate, Stroble and Hackett headed for the stairs that led down to the water. Michael and Coleman watched from the trees with their nightvision goggles. Michael kept an eye on the neighbor’s house and Coleman watched his two men. Stroble and Hackett disappeared down the stairs. From there, they were to get in the water and swim past Arthur’s to the neighbor’s just to the north, where the Cigarette boat was docked.
Coleman and Michael ran across the open lawn to the brick wall that separated Arthur’s compound from the neighbor to the south. They found the large oak tree that they had scouted out the night before and climbed it in silence. Stopping at the first rung of branches, they pulled their night-vision goggles back down and surveyed Arthur’s estate. The wall was ten feet high and the base of the tree was about six feet away from it. No one was in sight, so Coleman climbed another ten feet up the tree and scooted out onto a thick branch that hung just over the wall. He tied both ropes around the branch and carried the remainder of the bundle back down. Michael stood on the east side of the base of the tree and Coleman stood on the west side. Both of them hung on to branches that jutted out from overhead. Michael was just about to comment on how difficult it was going to be to hang out in this tree all night when a guard and dog came around the side of the house. Michael and Coleman moved as close to the main trunk as possible. The old oak still had most of its leaves, although they had turned to a dry, dark maroon. They would be safe unless the guard got close and shone a light on them from underneath.
The guard continued his walk past the patio and down toward the water. Coleman spoke into his mike. “Hermes and Cyclops, this is Zeus, where are you, over?” Coleman watched the guard while he waited for the reply.
Hackett and Stroble were on the narrow shoreline next to the dock unpacking their weapons when the call came over their headsets. Hackett responded, “We just got out of the water and are getting ready to move up the stairs, over.”
“You’ve got a guard and a dog approaching the cliff. You have about ten seconds before he gets there, so hurry up, over!”
Without hesitation, they grabbed their waterproof backpacks and scurried up the steep, zigzagging flight of stairs. The whole time, they looked to their left waiting for the guard to appear a mere hundred feet away. They reached the top with seconds to spare.
While Coleman was watching the guard, Michael kept an eye on the house. He listened to Coleman give Hackett and Stroble a second-by-second update of what the guard was doing. Seconds after Coleman announced that the guard had reached the edge of the cliff, the French doors of Arthur’s study opened, and the owner of the estate strode out onto the brick veranda. Michael felt his heartbeat quicken as he watched Arthur approach the far edge. As quietly as possible, he whispered to Coleman, “Our target has appeared. I repeat, our target has appeared, over.”
Coleman turned around just in time to see the bright orange flame of Arthur’s lighter licking away at the tip of the cigar. Hackett and Stroble were asking for a verification, and Coleman gave it to them. “Hermes and Cyclops, our target is in sight, and I have no idea how long he’s going to be there. Move into position as quickly as possible, and give me the play-by-play, over.”
Hackett and Stroble ran toward the tree where Hackett had sat the night before and stopped at the base. Hackett whispered into his mike, “How many guards in the backyard, over?”
“One guard, over,” answered Coleman. Col
eman leaned around the back side of the tree and whispered to Michael, “You keep an eye on Arthur, and I’ll watch the guard.” O’Rourke nodded.
Stroble and Hackett quickly affixed the silencers to the end of their weapons and put on their backpacks. Stroble slung his MP-5 over his shoulder and clasped his hands in front of his stomach. Hackett slung his rifle over his back and put his right foot in Stroble’s clasped hands. Stroble boosted Hackett up and he grabbed the first branch, pulling himself quietly into the tree. Not wasting any time, Stroble turned and ran along the wall toward the front of the house. When he reached the tree where he had been the night before, he stopped and checked for noise. Then, pulling himself up into the tree, he looked for the guard standing by the front door. He peered over the top of the wall and saw nothing. Quietly, he swore to himself and then called Coleman. “Zeus, this is Hermes. I’ve got a problem. The guard by the front door is not at his post, over.”
“Can you see him anywhere in the front yard, over?”
“That’s a negative, over.”
“Get your rope set up, and we’ll wait as long as we can, over.” Coleman stayed calm, telling himself these things never went exactly as planned. “Gentlemen, let’s be patient. Get ready to go on a moment’s notice. As soon as the other guard appears, we’ll move, over.”
Now that Hackett was in position, Coleman could watch Arthur. He judged the distance between Arthur and the house to be about forty feet. There was no way he could beat him to the door, so he would have to fire some warning shots in his path. He’d thought about shooting him in the leg, but the old man might bleed to death before they found out what they needed to know.
Stroble’s voice came over their headsets. “The missing guard just appeared from inside the house, over.”
Coleman took a deep breath and stared at Arthur, who was puffing away on his cigar. “Do we have any other surprises, over?”
One by one they responded that they were ready to go. Coleman gave Michael the thumbs-up signal and they grabbed their ropes. “Cyclops, do you have a clear shot, over?”
“That’s a roger, over.”
“Hermes, do you have a clear shot, over?”
“That’s a roger, over.”
Coleman took one more deep breath and said, “On my mark, boys. Three . . . two . . . one . . . bingo!”
Hackett squeezed the trigger and sent a bullet smashing into the head of the guard by the cliff and then pumped a quick round into the dog.
Out in front of the house Stroble fired three silent shots at the head of the guard by the front door. The first one hit him in the temple, killing him instantly. Grabbing the rope, Stroble swung from the tree and landed just on the other side of the fence. Stroble dropped to one knee and searched for the dog. It was nowhere in sight. Without hesitation, he snapped his gun up toward the roof and squeezed off a dozen shots. The bullets thudded into the metal casings that covered the cameras, sending sparks flying. He heard a growl to his right, and the thick, black muzzle of the silencer snapped back to a level position, sweeping from left to right.
The dog was closing fast, growling as he ran. Stroble sent one bullet into the snout of the dog, and the creature skidded to the ground. Slamming a fresh magazine into his gun, Stroble rose and ran for the other set of cameras, firing bullets into the windows as he went.
Coleman hit the ground a second before Michael, and as he sprinted for the patio, he could hear the bullets from Michael’s gun striking the cameras above and to his left. The noise of the bullets hitting the cameras must have caught Arthur’s attention because he looked in their direction. Coleman thought he was reaching for a gun at first, and then he noticed that it was his watch. Arthur broke into a decrepit run for the house, and Coleman laid down a wall of bullets that sent chips of brick flying into the air. Arthur stopped in his tracks. As Coleman closed on him, he screamed for Arthur to put his hands in the air while he unleashed a volley of bullets at the second set of cameras. Just as he got to Arthur, the floodlights came on. Coleman brought his boot up and kicked Arthur in the stomach, sending him to the ground. Coleman wheeled, firing at the floodlights hanging from the gutter of the house. Michael did the same, and within seconds, darkness was restored.
Arthur was curled up and holding on to his stomach with both hands, gasping for air. Michael pulled a chloroform patch from his thigh pocket and ripped it open. Shoving his gloved hand into Arthur’s face, he forced the old man to breathe in the fumes. After about ten seconds, Michael tossed the patch to the side and went to work on getting Arthur’s clothes off. Less than thirty seconds had passed since they’d gone over the fence.
Stroble approached a moment later and helped Michael finish the job. Before leaving, he made sure everything was in the bag and then sprinted for the north wall. All that remained on Arthur were his boxers. Michael threw the skinny old man over his shoulder and ran for the south wall with Coleman covering the way. When they reached the wall, Coleman jumped up, sat on the top of the wall, and pulled Arthur up by his arms. Michael went up and over, and then Coleman dropped Arthur into Michael’s arms. Coleman jumped down and the three of them disappeared into the darkness and onto the grounds of the old estate.
Hackett watched from the tree and made sure Michael and Coleman got over the wall safely. As soon as they were over, he fired three shots into the door of Arthur’s study and rappelled down the tree. He landed like a cat and turned for the cliff. By the time he reached the top of the steps, he could hear the twin engines of the Cigarette boat revving. He bounded down the steps, taking them three at a time. When he hit the dock, he broke into a dash for the boat.
Stroble already had the boat turned around and pointing toward the open water. Hackett leapt through the air and landed on the cushioned pad that covered the engines and then he jumped into the cockpit. Both engines roared to life as Stroble punched the two black throttles all the way down. The bow rose out of the water as the props forced the boat forward. Hackett turned and scanned the cliff for any movement. The long, sleek boat quickly gained speed and planed out. Stroble checked his watch. One minute and forty-three seconds had elapsed since they’d gone over the wall.
35
CHARLIE DOBBS WAS CONTEMPLATING HIS next move when the monitor to his right started beeping. Dobbs glanced over his shoulder after the second beep and moved his chair. The monitor beeped three more times, and the information came up on the screen.
FLASH TRAFFIC: LEVEL 5
TYPE: PERSONAL ALARM
SUBJECT CODE NAME: RED COYOTE
Dobbs stared at the code name and tried to match it with a face but couldn’t. These personal alarms had become kind of a pain in the ass for the Operations Center. They were receiving more and more false alarms. Dobbs punched in his password so he could access the real identity of Red Coyote. A second later, the name Arthur Higgins appeared on the screen. That’s a first for him, Dobbs thought. No need to get excited yet. He probably hit it by mistake. Dobbs looked through the Plexiglas and watched the operator for the United States work to verify the alarm. The home phone number for Red Coyote came up on the screen along with several others. Dobbs tapped in a keystroke so he could listen to the operator handle the situation. Their system told them that the alarm was coming from his estate, but no one was answering. He listened to the phone ring. After about thirty seconds, Dobbs started to get nervous. The file on Red Coyote said that he had around-the-clock security. Someone should have been answering the phone.
A second later, a frantic voice did.
Director Stansfield was sitting at his desk reading a report on the mental stability of North Korea’s leadership. Because of the recent flurry of assassinations his regular work was suffering. He didn’t like falling behind, there were too many potential problems just over the horizon. As director of the Agency, Stansfield saw it as his job to know and understand who the players were in each country that had an adversarial relationship with the United States. When things turned sour, he wanted to be able to
predict the behavior of the men he was up against.
The phone rang and Stansfield removed his spectacles, rubbed his eyes, and then picked it up. “Hello.”
“Thomas, it’s Charlie. We’ve got a major problem! Someone just grabbed Arthur Higgins!”
Stansfield sat up straight. “How long ago?”
“His personal alarm went off about four minutes ago. We called his estate and one of the security guards verified that they’d been hit.”
“I’m on my way down.” Stansfield hung up the phone and headed for the door. When he reached the outer room, his bodyguard looked up from behind a desk and Stansfield said, “Come on, we’re going downstairs.” The director continued into the hallway and shoved his ID card into the slot next to the elevator. Five seconds later, the doors opened and they stepped in. While the elevator descended, Stansfield battled to suppress the hope that Arthur had been killed. He hoped so for two reasons. The first, which embarrassed him, was personal. Arthur had ignored Stansfield’s warnings to cease his activities in the intelligence community. He was a growing security risk and a thorn in Stansfield’s side. The second reason was purely professional. If Arthur was dead, he couldn’t be interrogated. He had more damaging secrets in his head than any other person in the Agency. Arthur had conducted unofficial operations that no one else knew about, and his knowledge of official CIA operations was thorough. If he was taken alive and interrogated, the Agency would be compromised at every level. The damage would be unimaginable.