He walked past the staircase to a wall of glass under the second-floor catwalk. The glass spanned the entire back wall of the room, only interrupted by four evenly spaced handles protruding gently from the shiny surface. Upon first glance, the handles looked misplaced, but as Sharpe approached the wall, the vague outlines of doors became apparent.
The first level of the NCTC watch floor contained only four offices, two of which were permanently occupied by NCTC staff. The watch floor director, Karen Wilhelm, occupied one of these offices. She was directly supported by six watch floor supervisors, who maintained stations on the floor and alternated shifts to keep the floor running twenty-four hours a day. In reality, she was the only senior level NCTC employee that required an office here, however, Joel Garrity, NCTC director, also maintained a rarely used office.
Even today Garrity wouldn't spend much of his time on the floor. For the most part, his center would continue with business as usual. Hundreds of offices and cubicles forming the rest of NCTC would have no direct involvement in Task Force Scorpion's desperate mission. Garrity's watch floor had been essentially commandeered to house the multi-agency task force, which was neither unusual nor unwelcome for Garrity. Upon their arrival, he'd admitted to Sharpe that they needed to host more operations like this to justify the continued existence of their high-tech center. For most of the year, he said the watch floor served as one of the most expensive offices in the country, with most of the analysts and techs working on tasks that could just as easily be accomplished in the cubicle blocks of the main building.
The third office was reserved for the president or members of the National Security Council. This room remained locked and empty most of the year, since visits to the watch floor by anyone from this senior group seemed limited to the occasional speaking event that needed a high-tech background to impress upon the world that the United States took terrorism seriously.
That left one office for the task force leader, which could be reconfigured in any way to accommodate the person who would briefly occupy the space. He had asked that the office be configured for two people — himself and Mendoza, though he suspected that Mendoza would spend most of his time on the floor managing the task force. He felt that it was important for Mendoza to share the office. Though Sharpe was technically the task force leader, they had been called in together to form the task force, and Sharpe wouldn't have been the least bit surprised if Shelby had given command of Scorpion to Mendoza. Mendoza had recently been promoted to a position within the Terrorist Operations Division that clearly outranked Sharpe's sidelined assignment to the Domestic Terrorism Branch, but the FBI still informally followed a set of antiquated rules that often rewarded seniority and favors over performance. He wanted to send a clear message to the task force that Mendoza was just as much in command of Task Force Scorpion as himself.
He swiped his NCTC key card over a faint blue light that materialized in the glass by the handle as he neared. The light turned green, and he pulled the door open for his visitors, who filed inside the office and stood to the right of the door as he entered. Sharpe moved past them and pressed a button on his desk, which brightened the lighting in the room, while simultaneously clouding the windows. Stewart noticed the change, glancing furtively at the windows while raising an approving eyebrow.
"I bet you don't have anything like that back in Argentina," Sharpe said, wondering how she would respond.
"It turned out to be a little more rustic than I had anticipated. This is more my style," she replied, smiling.
He eyed Stewart for a brief second, before the admiral could introduce them. Callie Stewart returned his gaze with deep brown eyes that blazed with warmth and intelligence. He had expected the same cold, emotionless stare perfected by the rest of Sanderson's rogues’ gallery. The interrogation videos and surveillance shots collected two years ago still haunted him. Munoz never changed his expression once during his short stint in captivity. Images of Farrington and Petrovich proved even more disturbing, betraying no emotional response to murders committed minutes before.
Despite her slightly disarming smile, he suspected she was just as lethal and unreadable as the rest of Sanderson's crew. He could tell by the cut of her suit and the way she carried herself that she had an athletic, well-toned physique. Her blond hair was cropped just above the light blue, starched collar protruding from her gray blazer. Instead of suit pants, she wore a conservative length matching skirt. She was by far the most sharply dressed, attractive woman on the watch floor. He surmised it to be a carefully crafted look. She was already turning heads on the watch floor. He'd have to keep a close watch on her to figure out exactly why Sanderson had sent her. He still didn't buy off on Sanderson's sudden goodwill mission.
"Agent Sharpe, this is Callie Stewart. Former Marine Corps counterintelligence officer. She'll serve as our direct liaison to assets provided by General Terrence Sanderson. I've already gone over the ground rules," DeSantos said.
"Welcome aboard, Ms. Stewart," he said, extending his hand. "If you don't mind, I'd like to go over them again. Please take a seat."
Stewart spoke as she moved one of the chairs closer to Sharpe's desk. "I completely understand, Agent Sharpe. My role is limited to interaction between your task force and the operatives assigned to work with Special Agent Kerem Demir."
"Perfect. Everyone is extremely impressed with your team…"
"Thank you, sir. They're capable of undercov—"
"And everyone is extremely wary of exactly how this will work."
Stewart's expression changed slightly. He couldn't tell much from the shift, but she certainly didn't appreciate being interrupted with a vague accusation.
"Understandable. This is untested ground for both of our organizations, and given the history between Sanderson and Task Force Hydra, I can't imagine this sits well with anyone here. We're onboard to augment your street-level investigative and intelligence gathering capabilities. The team we have provided to the mobile task force is impressive on many levels. Please don't let your reservations sideline them. Get them out on the streets. Get them into that mosque and—"
"I can't put your people into that mosque. I can't put anyone in that mosque right now, especially operatives that I am not yet comfortable with. Your people are part of an official law enforcement operation targeting Islamic extremists in the area. We'll work on getting a warrant that could enable this, but I wouldn't raise your hopes too high. Welcome to my world, Ms. Stewart. As much as I'd like to march into Hamid Muhammed's mosque and tear the place apart looking for him, we have laws to obey and procedures to follow. I get the distinct feeling that General Sanderson doesn't place very much emphasis on these concepts."
She regarded him carefully and he could sense that she would restrain her response.
"It's a different world for us, yes," she conceded, "but we'll play by your rules."
"As long as your people understand that, this joint venture should be a success. I have a few more ground rules for you. No weapons of any kind."
"For me or the field team?" she immediately responded.
"For either."
"That's unacceptable for the field team. If they're put into harm's way, they need to be able to defend themselves."
"This is non-negotiable. I have agents on this task force that have been shot by Sanderson's people. If we use your operatives, their involvement will be strictly limited to undercover work alongside real law enforcement agents. My agents will ensure their safety, and if they can't…then your people will not be utilized."