“Arnold told me the president wants to get deep inside,” I said. “I flat out asked him if he could tell me what ‘inside’ means. All he said was Rosetta. I’m guessing the CIA is already inside.”
“You’re the only one I would say this to, Rick, but yes we are inside—deep inside. We’ve had a few key people there for months, long before this weather crap. Any company that launches 20 satellites with moveable solar panels needs to be watched. So far, nothing. What Morgan the CEO told you, Rick, is pretty much what we’ve come up with. The weather events appear to have been caused by malfunctioning solar panels, and by that I mean a malfunction of the fail-safe system. Our pretty astronaut friend, Nancy Mullin, was the chief designer of the system and she thinks it’s impossible for the system to fail. But she admits that it did fail—big time. So, the White House wants us to get inside more so than we already are, which brings us back to your question—inside where?”
“That’s what spooks are for, no?” I said.
“Yes, and with your permission I’d like to send a visitor your way.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “Buster?”
“The one and only, Mr. Super Spook himself. He’s on assignment on another matter in New Jersey. He can be at your office within an hour.”
I couldn’t have been happier with that phone call. Buster, aka George Atkins, aka Gamal Akhbar, aka a ton of other aliases, is a true spy, and a brilliant one. He’s tall and looks Middle Eastern, an appearance he inherited from his Coptic Christian Egyptian parents. He’s fluent in Arabic and has the brassiest pair of balls imaginable. He’s just the guy we need for this operation, whatever the hell this operation is.
“Sarah, it’s Rick. I want you to come to my office. We’re about to get a visit from our old friend Buster.”
“Mr. Secretary, an Agent Atkins is here to see you. He says that you’re expecting him.” Sally Boynton, my assistant, knows Buster well, but, like the trained agent she is, you’d never know it because she’d never tell you.
Buster walked in, smiling broadly. With a warm, outgoing personality like his, you’d never suspect that he’s a hard-nosed CIA agent.
“Mr. Secretary, Madam Director, a pleasure to see you folks again.”
“You can make it Rick and Sarah, Buster,” I said. “No need for formalities. We all know one another. Bill Carlini tells me you have some ideas to share with us.”
“I do, Rick, and I’m not sure where I’m going with them yet, but I never do at the start of an investigation. As you know, my background is in science and engineering. I’m not the only techie to suspect that the bullshit we’ve been going through isn’t a natural phenomenon. I’ve huddled with some very sharp scientists from NASA and we all concluded the same thing—that human actors are involved. Having said that, not one of us can explain how the solar panels on those satellites can be manipulated to bypass the fail-safe system.”
“With all due respect, my friend,” Sarah Watson said, “you’re telling us that you’ve come to the same conclusion we have.”
“It’s a bit more nuanced than that, Sarah,” Buster said. “Obviously we’re talking about terror, and when we say terror, especially terror of a sophisticated quality, we suspect the Islamic State, ISIS. They haven’t been quiet recently, as the recent attacks tell us. But there’s a big difference between the recent ISIS operations and our current problem. ISIS has begun to launch actions all over the world, but the attacks are similar in one respect: they’re simple. They use cars, trucks, knives, guns, and explosives, and train their sights on soft targets. Any psychopath could pull off the shit they’ve been engaging in lately. I think we’re dealing with something we’ve never seen before, a highly sophisticated attack on something that’s basic to all of us, the weather. If it is ISIS, and I have my doubts, they must be aligned with some people who are a hell of a lot more advanced than they are. To make sure we’re all thinking in the right direction, let me ask you folks who you suspect.”
“Have you ever watched my wife’s show, The Ellen Bellamy Show?” I asked.
“Sure, it’s my favorite show next to Homeland,” Buster said. “If I can’t watch it live, I DVR it. Your wife has a rare talent for getting people to talk. I’ve fantasized about hiring her to help me interrogate suspects.”
“Then you’ve no doubt seen her interview climate change experts,” I said. “I’m not sure when NBC will book the next one because those experts seem to be afraid of Ellen. Over coffee the other day she asked me if I thought these climate fanatics could have something to do with the weather. They have a vested interest in millions of dollars in grant money. If they can convince the world that climate change is the cause of these weather anomalies, the grant money spigots will open and flow. Hell, an article in today’s Wall Street Journal talked about the sudden increase in foundation spending on climate change. It may sound conspiratorial, but it’s a valid area of inquiry.”
“What Rick just said makes a lot of sense, Buster. What do you think?” Sarah Watson said.
“Rick is one smart cookie, and I would never dismiss his thoughts on anything, but, as I just said, these weather events are terror. It would be out of character for these timid scientist types to collude and plunge the world into chaos. No, my money is on somebody else, somebody we haven’t identified yet. Square one is obviously the Rosetta Corporation. As I said, I’ve got people inside, and I’m going to recommend that the FBI send in a team, not clandestinely like my guys, but as the investigators they are. I must humbly admit that FBI agents are fabulous interrogators. In a shootout, I’ll pick my people, but the FBI people know how to ask the right questions without drawing a gun.”
“Do you think you might find some of the people responsible right there at Rosetta?” Sarah asked.
“No, I don’t, but if we did it would be a welcome gift. What I’m looking for are leads. That’s the whole point of the operation at this stage. I recommend that all these efforts be channeled through Homeland Security to keep the CIA and FBI agents out of each other’s hair. We’ve been working well together in the past few years, but there’s got to be a coordinating command, and I suggest that Secretary Rick is the perfect man. Hey, the three of us know that there are leads out there—it always happens, and it will happen with this operation. Then we can nail those bastards—hopefully before the next blizzard.”
Chapter 29
July 25
NYPD Officer Frank Monroe walked down Seventh Avenue in Manhattan on his regular foot patrol. He wore a pair of special nonskid shoes designed for walking on snow and ice. He didn’t know if he would be reimbursed by the department, but he didn’t care. He had spent enough time in the past few days falling on his ass, so he knew he had to do something about it. The temperature was 24 degrees on the bright July day. The temperature had warmed a bit yesterday, actually rising above freezing at one point. The slight thaw, combined with this morning’s bright sun, worried Monroe. He could see chunks—chunks—of ice falling onto Seventh Avenue. He had just crossed 56th Street when he saw a man in front of him almost hit by a falling shard of heavy ice. Then he saw another sheet of ice hit the ground. He placed his whistle in his mouth and blew as hard as his lungs allowed.
“Everybody get inside a building,” he yelled. “Get inside now, RIGHT NOW.”
Jeanine Fogarty, a clerk at the Midtown North Precinct, was a good friend Frank Monroe. They dated occasionally, but not as much as she would like. Jeannine was about to enter an office building on Monroe’s command when she stopped, turned around, and yelled.