Chapter 62
Karl Berg sat partially upright in the same patio lounge chair they had taken from the Virginia safe house. It was the best he could do under the circumstances and would have to suffice for this critical meeting. He no longer felt like his skin would come apart at the seams when he wasn’t lying flat on his back, but he didn’t want to push his luck.
The doctor had been crystal clear about the complicated nature of healing seventy-six separate and varying wounds. His body’s repair system would be overtaxed for weeks, requiring constant care and significant rest. With limited medical support on-site, a runaway systemic infection would require hospitalization, where Berg’s wounds would undoubtedly draw the wrong kind of attention, putting his life at risk in more than one way.
Playing the good patient once again made him feel ridiculous as the weekend’s guests filtered into the modern, remarkably well-equipped conference room. Remarkable because the entire property had looked condemned when they arrived, which turned out to be a carefully maintained façade.
The oversized barn adjacent to the farmhouse looked ready to collapse. Faded red paint, splintered wood sides, and a buckled roof combined to portray decades of neglect. Inside the securely locked barn doors, a cage of steel beams and thick wooden planks enclosed the main floor, protecting the generous space from imminent collapse. Several four-wheel ATVs and three mint-condition SUVs sat under blue tarps on the immaculate concrete floor. The house hadn’t looked promising either. Chipped white paint, missing porch spindles, and broken window lattices matched the exterior conditions of the barn.
Even the massively long, one-story cow shed behind the main house had looked sketchy, though it was clearly a more recent addition to the farm. Connected to the house by a breezeway, the worn sides and roof of the fully enclosed shed served as a shell to conceal the recently constructed barracks, armory, and briefing room, where they now gathered.
Berg eyed the odd collection seated in front of him, or in the case of Special Agents Ryan Sharpe and Dana O’Reilly, standing cautiously next to the exit. He didn’t blame them. There was nothing normal about this meeting, particularly its attendees. In fact, he was surprised Sharpe had even agreed to attend, given the circumstances.
Graves caught his attention and nodded, indicating that Sanderson had joined via teleconference. Since everyone in the room had been introduced, he started the meeting.
“Looks like we have everyone,” said Berg. “General Sanderson?”
“Still here, despite everyone’s best efforts,” said the general.
“You’ll be pleased to know that the guests we discussed earlier have joined us,” said Berg. “Though they don’t look like they’ll be straying too far from the exit anytime soon.”
“I would be highly suspicious of them if they did,” said Sanderson. “Welcome, and thank you for hearing us out. If you still think we’re nuts by the end of this meeting, all I ask is that you give us a heads-up before revealing this location.”
“Your secret is safe as long as you deal straight on this,” said Sharpe. “The moment you stray from that path, I will shut you down.”
“I’d expect nothing less,” said Sanderson. “I have the highest respect for you and your colleague.”
O’Reilly’s face tightened, her mouth opening to respond, but Sharpe stopped her with a quick whisper. She glanced at Abraham Sayar, her angry look easing slightly. Sayar had played a key role on Sharpe’s task force in 2007, nearly giving his life to stop the bioweapons plot against the United States.
“Now that we have the pleasantries out of the way,” said Sharpe. “Every known or suspected member of your current or previous organization is once again wanted for terrorism against the United States. What are we looking at here?”
“We’re looking at a coordinated effort to destroy my organization and anyone currently looking into the whereabouts of Anatoly Reznikov,” said Sanderson. “I lost seventeen operatives in a double-cross ambush on Ascension Island. They were on their way to Gabon to pick up the scientist’s trail, accompanied by a team of SEALs. Everything about this mission turned out to be fake, right down to the SEALs and U.S. Air Force flight crew. The entire operation was sanctioned by the National Security Council and confirmed by independent sources high up in the Department of Defense and White House chain of command.”
“I assume you’ve contacted your sources since the ambush?” said Sharpe.
Sanderson shook his head. “General Frank Gordon at SOCOM won’t take my call.”
“That’s not a good sign.” Sharpe frowned.
“No, it’s not. My other source, who will remain unnamed for now, shed some light on why Gordon wouldn’t take my call.”
“Let me guess,” said Sharpe. “The official government story differs significantly.”
“A one-hundred-and-eighty-degree flip. In their version, my team murdered the SEALs and aircrew during the refueling stop, stealing the aircraft. A C-17 Globemaster.”
“Where are your survivors now?”
“They parachuted into eastern Brazil after starting the C-17 on a slow descent and pointing it toward the Atlantic,” Sanderson explained.
“I’m sorry for the loss, General,” said Sharpe. “This Reznikov business has killed a lot of good people. I had no idea the Sokolov intelligence was connected to any of this.”
“That’s what’s so interesting about all of this,” said Berg. “Grigor Sokolov wasn’t on the CIA’s radar.”
“I ran his name through all of our databases before issuing a watch-list addendum with his information,” Audra Bauer interjected. “He wasn’t cited in any ongoing or previous intelligence-gathering effort. We had a short file, which had likely been compiled from Interpol data.”
“The request from DNI mimicked yours,” said Sharpe. “I got their call the morning you called.”
“They called?” Bauer asked. “That’s a little unusual.”
“Not if you’re working off the books,” said Berg. “Like I was.”
“Requests like this are usually electronically submitted, but the call came from my old boss. I didn’t think anything of it. He checks in on me now and then.”
“Frederick Shelby?” said Berg. “That’s pretty high up the food chain for something like this, regardless of your relationship.”
“Given the ultimate reason for the request, maybe it’s not that unusual,” said Sharpe. “Calling me directly was a not so subtle way of making sure it got prioritized.”
“The timing is suspect,” said Berg. “I talk to Audra, Audra submits the watch list addendum for Sokolov, and suddenly the deputy director of National Intelligence calls you, requesting an international law enforcement bulletin for Sokolov. Shelby was one of the most obvious beneficiaries of True America’s sudden rise to power.”
“You’re sure Sokolov wasn’t on the CIA’s radar?” said Sharpe. “It seems to me that you guys do a pretty good job of keeping secrets from each other over there.”
“It’s remotely possible,” said Bauer.
“I don’t think so,” said Berg. “The Sokolov connection originated from a unique source, based on information unlikely to be available to the CIA.”
Sharpe shrugged. “We can theorize all day. The bottom line is that Sanderson’s people were attacked on the way to Africa to investigate intelligence requested by and passed to DNI. Berg and Bauer were attacked after Bauer drew attention to Sokolov. The crew sent after Berg and Bauer is connected to Brown River, presumably paid through Brown River. And they appear to be part of a geographically distributed, structured organization, based on what my colleague determined and you already knew. Where do we go from here?”