“And hijacker DNA?” asked Turq.
“Can we get additional middle-eastern samples? It doesn’t have to be from the actual hijackers,” added Bates helpfully.
“Sure,” said Indigo, taking notes.
“And al-Qaeda’s statement of responsibility?”
Indigo looked around to Lilac, a thick-set, forty year blonde woman, who said in a high voice, “I’m working on that. We are working with the Insurgent Liaison Team on the wording. We have some audiotape supplied by Hiijii, but we’re not too happy about it at the moment. We’re re-editing it.55”
Planner nodded.
Bates said, “Ok. There’s an action here on getting data for the flight data recorders.56”
There were no takers for this action so Planner said, “Pass that action over to Colonel Purple. He should be able to get the data off one of his computers.57”
“Final action I have here is the TV news script,” said Bates.
“That’s being compiled by Violet. She’s off sick today,” said Indigo. “It’s being progressed with one of the other operations, I believe.”
“Oh? Well ok. Just make sure we keep it simple,” said Planner. “No stewardesses found tied up in the wreckage5859, or anything like that.”
* * * *
Planner’s schedule was hectic but he was keen to fit another meeting in with Colonel Nicholas.
Nicholas welcomed Bates and Planner into his new New York office. He had moved up from Langley the previous week. Apparently the poster of the jet-fighter-in-the-cage logo did not follow him to WTC7 and his office seemed bare without the posters and bookshelves he had at his old office. The plain painted room housed just a white board, desk and laptop computer.
“How’s it going?” asked Planner.
Sitting on his desk, the Colonel replied, “We’ll be having the biggest Global Guardian exercise60 ever. So much so, that the Russians have stepped up their exercises too, which means…”
Bates finished off the sentence, “More aircraft needed to spy on their exercises?”
“Precisely,” beamed Nicholas. “So what can I help you with, Gentleman?”
“Options for the targets, the number of aircraft, the number of drones,” said Planner. “I presume you’ve been over this before. There’s been some debate on whether we save some money by reducing the number of real 757s and 767s in favor of a pre-existing military drone and some cover-story work in Stage C.”
Nicholas sighed. “Well, in the early days of planning I was told to reduce costs. It doesn’t apply now, with all the deadlines approaching. But I was caught in some crossfire from the top: save money, while at the time, the number of operations was increasing. As you know, my health suffered. There are only so many 16 hour days in a row you can do, without collapsing.”
“Indeed, we’re feeling the pressure already ourselves,” said Planner, but Bates gave a haughty look; he was apparently untroubled by the pace.
“I had to speculate on a number of different scenarios: real aircraft, with real people killed; airliner drones, with and without real passengers; or some cheaper drone with computer generated imagery or other means of story substantiation,” explained Nicholas.
“What did you conclude?” asked Planner.
“I stuck my heels in. I insisted on real airliner drones but without real passengers. It was the most expensive option. Faking deaths apparently is much more expensive than actually accepting collateral damage,” sighed Nicholas.
“Yes, I know about these costs,” said Bates. “A real death is estimated at $1million. That’s the insurance pay out. For a fake death, it is still $1million insurance, plus $1million as payment to the faker, plus anywhere up to a $1million on administration, WITSEC, etc. So three times more expensive.”
“The real money, though, is spent on the airliner drones,” said Nicholas. “An airliner is typically $80million. And a drone version is another $20million. Plus slush money, another $10 million. If you substitute an old military aircraft as the drone, there’s a ton of money to be saved. Well, I refused, as I said. Didn’t go down well with the higher-ups,” he confided.
“So is that still your recommendation?” asked Planner.
“Well, actually,” said Nicholas slowly. “I did come up with a plan that saved 25 % that you might be interested in. The COG never got to see it before I moved over full time to Operation Nicholas. At the very least, the options paper may be useful for Stage C PsyOps. I’ll send it to you…”
“Can I have a copy too?” said Bates red-cheeked.
Nicholas fixed him with a stare, “No problem,” he said, although clearly it was.
* * * *
The following Monday, Planner did not fly to New York. He picked up Bates and Turq mid-morning from CIA HQ at Langley and drove 50 minutes to Fort Detrick, a giant military establishment, the headquarters of U.S. Army Medical Research And Materiel Command61. Within the gatehouse, with the motto “Protect, Project and Sustain” was prominently displayed. They lined up to pass through security under the watchful gaze of two fully armed guards.
Planner received a text on his cell phone. It said, “I had a great time last week. Are you free this evening? The jerks may be giving me time off again. Katherine.”
The first guard barked brusquely, “Sir, all cell phones are to be switched off and put into lockers.”
“Right, of course,” said Planner.
Planner, Bates and Turquoise turned to see a row of lockers and put their bags and cell phones into them.
Finally it was their turn to pass through the arch of the metal detector. Turq pointed to her case, “I’ll need to take this.” The case was successfully passed through a metal detector.
They approached the desk where the burly receptionist had just finished dealing with other visitors. The receptionist was as broad as he was high, he could have been a retired Police Officer; he certainly had the manner of man used to dealing with crowds. “Can I just get you to sign in, Sir?” he said in a deep, gravelly voice.
The receptionist offered a logbook to sign but Planner handed him a letter. With just a glance at the letter, the receptionist hastily pulled the logbook away, unsigned. In a loud whisper, he said “Ah. Yes, Sir. We’re expecting you. Um, could you wear these badges, perhaps, Sir?” He pushed over three “Unescorted Visitor” passes and waved at the second guard. “Guard,” he boomed again. “Please show these gentlemen to Block 5.”
The guard saluted and kindly offered the door to exit gatehouse.
* * * *
In Block 5, they met Malcolm, a microbiologist in his late fifties with a short, gray beard, wearing a tieless, short-sleeved shirt and slacks. He welcomed Planner, Bates and Turq into a clean, bare office. They shook hands and sat around a bare metal table.
“It is good for you to see us at such notice, Malcolm,” said Planner.
Malcolm laughed. “Well, I didn’t really have much choice about that. The chief cleared my diary and said I needed to be here.”
“I hope we haven’t inconvenienced you too much,” said Planner.
“Just a flight re-arrangement, no problem really. I think I was just surprised. It’s a bit of a sleepy hollow around here. We’re not used to Executive Directives,” he continued jovially.
“I assume you have only been informed verbally?” Planner asked.
“Um, yes, just from my boss,” confirmed Malcolm.
“Good,” said Planner, “Because this visit and this discussion is Top Secret Strap-3. The codeword is Bald Eagle.”
Turq took a document from her briefcase. “This is just a formality, could you sign here, please?”
Malcolm took the document and quickly scanned it. “This is just a standard non-disclosure agreement,” he said. “What am I not to disclose?”
“After you sign, we can tell you,” smiled Turq.