“A piece of the action,” Jason said. “Exclusive firsthand coverage of the first American high-tech joint civil-military antiterrorist assault force in action.”
“Jason!” Ari exclaimed. “You can’t invite the media along on a secret mission—especially when it’s not authorized!”
“It’ll be our mission,” Jason said. “CID alone.”
“Sounds very tempting,” Kristen said.
“I’ll bet it does!” Ari interjected. “It could also land us all in prison.”
“Not if we get the bad guys,” Jason said. “Kristen, you have to promise me that if you can’t or don’t help us find the terrorists, then you sit on all the information you gather on us and our other units and their missions forever—no ‘deep background,’ no anything. It stays with you to the grave.”
“Unless I get information from other sources…”
“That’s not good enough,” Jason said. “I don’t want to blow any chances for the powers-that-be to find the terrorists and go after them their way. You either help us to close in on the terrorists, chase them out of hiding or plant them six feet under, or you forget we ever had this conversation.”
“You sound like you don’t trust me, Major,” Kristen said playfully. “I’m hurt.”
“That’s the way it’s going to have to be, Kristen,” Jason said seriously, but inwardly he was thinking: boy, I’ll bet that smile opens a lot of doors for her. She still appeared as if she wanted to argue. “You’ll have front-row seats to the future of war fighting, Kristen,” he added. “You saw CID in action once in Kingman City—but you haven’t seen anything yet.”
It didn’t take any more convincing. “I’m in, Jason,” she said, extending a hand. Jason shook it. “Tell me what you got.”
“Two words: GAMMA and Brazil.”
Kristen looked surprised, then skeptical. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, that’s it? That’s all you have? And I was getting pretty excited there for a minute!”
“Who is GAMMA?” asked Jason.
“GAMMA is a radical environmental terrorist group formed in central Brazil years ago that opposes what they call oppressive multinational corporations, mostly big oil, and specifically TransGlobal Energy,” Kristen explained. “But they’re small potatoes, Jason. They’ve harassed TGE for years, mostly in South America—recently in fact. But they take great pains to avoid human casualties—I don’t believe GAMMA would ever use a nuclear weapon, even if they had access to one. And they haven’t been responsible for any activities north of the equator that I’m aware of.”
“Our intel says otherwise.”
“Are you sure you’re getting reliable information? You sure no one’s feeding you bogus information just to throw you off the trail of the real terrorists?”
“Like I said, we obtained this information by ourselves, our own means—it wasn’t contained in a briefing or field report.”
“If you think it’s so good, why don’t you stay plugged in to this source?”
“Someone blew the whistle on us, and we had to shut down or be cut out completely.”
“I’m surprised you weren’t busted, given the security climate around the country these days,” Kristen observed. “The feds would just as soon throw you in jail first and then investigate, just to be on the safe side.”
“We’ve managed to keep it in-house for now, but if we kept the pipeline open and got caught again, they would definitely lock us up and throw away the keys,” Jason said. “Can you help us?”
“Well, you sure didn’t give me much to go on,” Kristen said, “but I do have pretty good sources in the Brazilian paramilitary, the PME, which is their combined municipal police and interior military. Problem is, when they find a terrorist group, drug smugglers, poachers, insurgents, or anyone else stepping outside the law—or on their own turf—the PME tends to interrogate, torture, kill, display, and claim victory—they rarely jail anyone, and they don’t share too much information outside their provincial headquarters.”
“You seem to know a lot about them,” Ari observed.
“I go to Brazil a lot, and I don’t just hang out at Copacabana or Ipanema,” Kristen said. A brief image of Kristen Skyy strolling down the famous clothing-optional Brazilian beaches in nothing but a thong and suntan oil flashed in Jason’s mind, but he forced it away—unfortunately not fast enough to keep Ari from elbowing him in the ribs. “Fact is, if you have a PME officer on your side, especially a Colonel, you are completely safe from anyone and you can do pretty much whatever you like.”
“Something tells me,” Ari said, “that you’ve charmed your way into the hearts of a lot of officers.”
If Kristen Skyy was stung by that remark, she didn’t seem to care. “International broadcast journalism isn’t like sitting in a lab all day and having your professional life judged by lines of computer code, sister—it’s about taking chances, running hard, and not being afraid to take a few shots in the gut to get the story,” she said. “I get the big fish because I’m thorough and fair, not because I sleep around or hand out bigger bribes than the next guy.”
“Being rich, famous, and beautiful doesn’t hurt.”
“Dr. Vega, in places like Brazil and most of the real world, the men in charge are richer and more powerful than the presidents of most countries in the world—including the United States—and they suck rich, famous, and beautiful women dry and discard them every week. I would be just another trophy on their walls if I was just a news whore.”
She turned to Jason and went on: “The only way we’re going to get information from the PME commandants in the provinces is to give them something they don’t already have. They’re already as wealthy as they want to be in their own regions: they are the federal, state, and local government; they can have any woman or any politician they want just for the asking. You can scare them, but they’ll turn on you faster than you can take a breath as soon as you’re out of sight. About the only thing of yours they may want is your robot.”
“Then let’s not get information from the commandants,” Jason said. “Ari’s right, Kristen: you’re rich, famous, and beautiful. That might not impress the commandants, but speaking as a lowly field-grade officer, it impresses the hell out of me. I’ll bet there’s a lot of young bucks down there who would love to talk to Kristen Skyy of SATCOM One News and give her anything her heart desires.”
“Maybe.” She gave Jason another mind-blowing smile and nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Once you find them, we’ll need transportation,” Jason said. “We’ll need a plane big enough to carry a Humvee.”
“We’re a satellite news organization, Jason, not the Air Mobility Command,” Kristen said. “Why can’t the army fly us down?”
“If your information is timely, accurate, and actionable, and if I can convince my bosses that we should act, then maybe they can,” Jason said. “But I’m assuming no one will believe us or that no one will support us even if they do believe us. SATCOM One must have jets that fly all over the world all the time that carry thousands of pounds of equipment…”
“Sure—for the VIPs going on vacation or for coverage of the World Cup, not for me,” Kristen said. “But I do have fairly ready access to a medium jet that can make it around Central and South America with very few customs hassles—assuming the airspace in the United States isn’t shut down and I can fly it out of the country. It can carry a crew of two, six passengers—that means you two and four for me—and all the cargo and supplies we can carry. One full day of flying to get to Brazil, maybe two depending on weather. That’s the best I can do until I have something juicy to show my boss.”