The president, Joanna Weston, was relatively new to the job. She had just burned off less than one-eighth of her four-year term. She was wearing a blue pantsuit with a little golden American flag pinned to her breast pocket. Weston came from three generations of politicians. She was outspoken and didn’t really care if she hurt anyone’s feelings; however, she didn’t go out of her way to be insensitive. Weston allowed her military advisors to guide her. But, when she made her decision, the topic was closed to further discussion. The president’s most iconic feature was the shock of gray hair that sprang directly from the middle of her forehead and ran down the center of her head. The streaks of gray got thinner, until thick brown hair gobbled it up near the back of her head. Initially, Rodgers found this anomaly disconcerting when talking to her, but over time, he had become accustomed to the strange sight. Now, he thought it was even kind of cool.
The president began the meeting. “I’m sure all of you are wondering why I asked you here at such short notice.” She gave Trevor Rodgers a knowing glance and continued, “Some of you might be surprised to know that I had an unexpected visitor in the Rose Garden yesterday.”
She let the suspense build for a moment before adding, “It was a drone sent by Mr. Marshall Hail.”
All the men looked at one another curiously for a moment. Rodgers pretended to look equally as perplexed.
“Yes, Mr. Hail landed what I can only describe as a video screen directly across from me on the table in the Rose Garden.”
The president stopped talking and looked inquisitively at the men in the room until the general broke the silence.
“How is that possible?” he said. “White House security has every radio frequency jammed in and around the White House for just that reason. I mean, we can’t have private drones flying in and out of the property.”
The president smiled like she had a secret.
“Well, Mr. Hail pointed out to me that he had another drone flying high above the White House. That drone was sending a signal to the drone on the table via a laser. He explained that you cannot jam light.”
The general began to say something but thought better of it. It was evident that Hail had, yet again, thought of something none of them had, or would have, ever considered.
“With that said,” the president continued, “Mr. Hail is interested in having us provide him with information that will lead to the demise of another valued target on our Top Ten Terrorists list.”
Pepper considered the request from his agency’s perspective. Even though he had recently negotiated the presence of his operative, Kara Ramey, aboard the Hail Nucleus, deep down he hated the entire professional relationship he was forced to endure with Marshall Hail. It was the CIA’s job to bring terrorists to justice — not private citizens with money and time to spend. Pepper viewed Hail and his organization as nothing more than zealot vigilantes on the verge of being out of control. He knew if Hail could continue his quest for vengeance, eventually he would implode. Pepper’s biggest fear was the CIA would become entangled in Hail’s debris field. He had known Hail would resurface to request another target, so Pepper had taken time to consider Hail’s next assignment. Pepper smiled inside, knowing that this new task would be much more difficult for Hail to pull off. It required more skill than simply blowing up someone or a warehouse. There was a level of finesse to this operation. Pepper doubted Hail possessed the patience to see this operation through successfully.
No one currently wanted to take control of the conversation, so Pepper shared his idea. “I would like Hail to turn Victor Kornev for us,” Pepper told the group.
The president considered the magnitude of his proposal. To clarify, she asked, “You mean to turn him from what he is now…a notorious international arms dealer…into a spy for the United States?”
“Yes, exactly,” Pepper said offering no further elaboration.
General Ford inquired, “And just how is he supposed to do that?”
Pepper threw his arms in the air and responded, “How is Hail supposed to do anything? But he always seems to have the answers. So, I don’t see how this should be any different.”
A hush fell over the room and Pepper added, “We have two choices when it comes to Victor Kornev. We either have to kill him or turn him.”
“What about capturing him?” Trevor Rodgers pointed out a third option.
“What good does that do us?” Pepper inquired. “All that does is cost the taxpayers money feeding him and then trying him for his crimes. Then after that, we end up executing him just the same.”
Pepper looked around the room and saw expressions of doubt. Mildly frustrated that no one seemed to understand his vision, he continued, “You see, if we kill Victor Kornev, someone else will just pop up in his place. They will start
selling arms to nations that don’t need them. We won’t know who the dealer(s) are or the nations being supplied, the arms being shipped or the quantities. But if we turn Kornev to work for us, we have all that intelligence at our fingertips.”
The president asked, “So you are suggesting that Kornev continues to sell arms while he is working as our spy?”
“There are ways around that,” Pepper countered. “He could still sell small weapons and make commitments for big ones, like surface-to-air missiles. But for one reason or another, the sale of the big stuff never takes place. There are a million reasons for deals to go bad. The real trick is to keep Kornev in place as long as possible, and then we can collect information about his clients, allowing us to shut down operations.”
The general said, “I kind of like that idea.”
Spearman, who rarely said anything, chimed in, “I think it’s a long shot, but I believe it’s worth taking.”
Trevor Rodgers asked, “How do you think Hail would be able to pull that off?”
“That’s Hail’s problem,” Pepper said. “If he wants to get into the nitty-gritty of this espionage game, then let him figure it out. I think we should use the assignment as a bargaining chip. If he can turn Kornev, then we will give him the whereabouts of another terrorist he can eliminate.”
“Do we know the whereabouts of another terrorist?” the president asked.
“Yes, we do,” Pepper responded smugly as if he alone owned the keys to the kingdom. “The person I have in mind is a very hard target, but we know where he is at this very moment.”
“Should I even ask the name of the target, or is that something I don’t want to know?” the president inquired.
Pepper looked confused and stated, “I don’t see how we could move forward without your approval, concerning this target. There could be some blowback.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” the president responded, flipping her bangs out of her face with a toss of her head. “That’s why we want to use Hail instead of our own forces, isn’t it? To avoid blowback?”
Pepper understood the president’s point. It was critical when they discussed removing a major player from the board — especially a terrorist residing in a war-torn country — she had to be aware of the operational details. It was one of those unpleasant, yet necessary parts of running a country. The president was quiet for a moment. She looked pensively at a portrait of Andrew Jackson on the wall. In the
past, Pepper had noticed when she was pondering an issue, she would stare at that painting. He didn’t know if it gave her some sort of inspiration or divine wisdom. Maybe it just provided her a place to look other than out the window or down at the floor.