Until an hour ago, he was one of the few who knew of the connection between yesterday’s attacks and David Owen Blake. It turned out that that information had been the final card he and the director needed to start to put together a picture of what exactly was unfolding. The director seemed to have contacts everywhere from the Sixth Fleet to the Pentagon, but the “head of the snake” as the director said was a key piece missing in his intelligence.
It made sense that the attacks on the Bardot and Shepherd were all about redirecting the carrier strike group and ensuring its ships, soldiers and resources were occupied elsewhere at some critical juncture in whatever was being planned. But what had the hours of diversion and blood bought? Why hadn’t the plotters wanted the world to know what was going on? Did they want to ensure it all seemed business as usual until the final moments because it sure seemed that way?
The door opened and Master Chief Roberts walked in. “Chief,” Scott said, extending his hand.
“It’s as big a shit storm as you’d expect and I’m back to the Kearsarge to deal with the fallout as soon as we finish up here,” the chief said, shaking Scott’s hand. “I’m just thankful that we had a head start on all this — and I thank you for that. You’re a good man, Evers. Satellite imagery from the last 48 hours backed up everything from your assessments. Genius to have our teams tie that intel to Treasure Map so we could start looking for needles in haystacks.”
Not genius, Scott thought to himself. His ideas but Ken from the Hawaii field station and Dave from NCI DC were the ones who did the heavy lifting while Big Black did the crunching and munching.
Edie, who had been resting in a chair with her head pressed against the wall, jumped up. “That was quicker than expected. Do you still have field teams tracking Jones?”
“I was already on a chopper when I got your call,” the chief said, walking to Edie and gripping her hand. “Team 3 is in place, waiting for you, Captain Parker. Other teams are setting up around the airport and at the secure CHOGM locales. I want you on point on this and I’ve told the teams as much.”
Scott took the title and name in stride. Edie’s secret had been in the director’s folders. She wasn’t Aleph Bet or even plain-old Mossad. She was Captain Elizabeth “Edie” Parker from Fairmont, West Virginia, a Counterintelligence Special Agent for the US Army out of the 902nd Military Intelligence Group at Fort Huachuca, Arizona. Even though she was about as far afield as a special agent could ever get, her presence in all of this somewhat restored his faith in US national intelligence.
Someone somewhere had seen something to recruit Edie as a deep undercover and position her where she was posted. No one though had known exactly what was coming, but someone had seen enough to take precautions.
Scott fanned out the folders on the table and started opening them. “You’ve looked at the digital copies, I’m sure, but I’ve added some additional notes.”
The chief walked over and eyed the documents. His long quiet was expected. The files were as thorough as any Scott had ever seen, complete with meticulous details. There were things in Scott’s own file that were entirely unanticipated, of which pictures of Cynthia, baby James and his father-in-law were only the beginning. He hadn’t known, as an example, that C wasn’t dating. He’d assumed divorce papers meant she’d found someone else and was possibly even planning to remarry. The fact that she was alone and not dating hadn’t even occurred to him.
The pair of black folders at the end of the stack contained Scott’s follow-up analysis. He watched the chief study the summaries in the final folder, saw the same chill he experienced travel down the chief’s back.
Edie briefly took Scott’s hand in hers, squeezed. They had unfinished business from earlier, when she’d started something with kisses and caresses that they weren’t able to finish.
The chief closed the last file folder. “I had no idea. Or rather, until a few hours ago I had no idea. But this puts it all into perspective, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” Edie said, “and without Scott the Kearsarge and her resources wouldn’t have been anywhere near Malta to help handle this situation in time.”
“Agreed,” the chief said. “You don’t have to sell me on his continued presence, Captain. You two are on this until it’s done and won, and that comes all the way from the top. Sixth Fleet. CentCom. POTUS himself.”
Uncomfortable with the weight of their eyes on him, Scott tapped the photo he’d clipped to the first black folder. Grainy and out of focus though it was, it was the only supposed image of the man who called himself “the director” in the NSA’s collection files.
“Someone with this kind of…” The chief seemed to be searching for the right word, his tone was heated. “Well whatever it is, I’m happy as a pig in shit that he’s come over to our side on this one — and we, meaning the US government, plan to make him an offer he’ll be unable to refuse to keep it that way.”
“Oh, I’m sure the government has plans,” Scott said in a measured voice. “White rooms and black cells would be a good start.” He said this not because he disliked the director, but because it was a simple reality. The director would need to be boxed and caged before all this was done and then in one way or another made to answer for his part.
The chief started to say something, then caught himself. “At any rate, the situation we’ve found ourselves in is what demands our attention. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you the impossible situation we’re in. Dissemination of what we’ve uncovered would only create widespread panic. Even if we were to initiate an evacuation, Malta International as the only airport on the island is our chokepoint and it’d be an ugly, ugly mess.”
Scott looked to Edie, needing no reminder of how impossible the situation was. “An evacuation might even be putting fish in a barrel.” Several thousand security personal were already deployed throughout the sensitive areas. Malta’s 1st Regiment infantry, including reserves from A, B, C and Headquarters Companies, were already working the events and secure locations. Local authorities had even been asked to call up additional reserves and police officers for patrols. “What are our priorities?”
“No changes. Follow the trail, like you planned. Meanwhile, I’ll prepare everything you need for the Heads of State assembly and the general address. There’s an afternoon black tie event at the President’s Palace and an evening gala that our analysts tell us are the likeliest targets. That’s where we’ll be concentrating our screening and protection details.” The chief stabbed a finger at a photo. “Our mystery woman, one Alexis Gosling apparently, do you have any updates?”
“Not since the hospital,” Edie said, “but I’m certain she was the one who eliminated our security detail.”
“Terrible thing,” the chief said. “I didn’t expect…”
Scott clasped the chief’s shoulder as the older man hung his head. “We’re going to sort this. She and the others are going to get what’s coming.”
A petty officer entered, carrying a large manila envelope which he handed to the chief before going to parade rest position to await further orders. The chief removed a set of glossy 8” x 10” photos from the envelope and spread them out on the tabletop. “These are the photos we’ll be distributing to the response and tactical teams. They’ll go to AFM and select police units as well.”
Slowly, Scott turned his head, gazing at the photos. His mind was suddenly flooded with images of Alexis, Peyton and Owen. He stepped back, bumping into Edie, a look of alarm on his face.
“Scott, what is it?” Edie said. “Talk to me.”
He tapped the photo on the end, the picture of a very proper-looking Englishman with thinning brown hair, brown eyes and refined jaw line. “Who is this?”