“This compound has over five-hundred cameras mounted throughout. He has twenty monitors tucked away in a secure location. His computer analyzes every guest’s motions and body language — he programmed it himself — and alerts security of any behavior not fitting his parameters. A security guard, disguised as a chef, will then approach the table and ask a few questions, you know things like, ‘How is your dinner?’ ‘Is everything satisfactory?’ ‘May I get anything else for you?’ The kind of stuff you’d expect but in such a manner and in such an order as to invoke certain subconscious psychological responses. Then his computer, based on its interpretation of the responses and body language will issue a threat assessment. Further action, or inaction, is based on the computer’s assessment.”
“You’re yanking my chain.” Jake said in disbelief.
“No, Jake, I’m not. The man you’re about to meet is probably one of the smartest, if not the smartest person I know. He’s in his early seventies and has been in the intelligence business a very long time. He can’t afford to be careless or let his guard down.”
“He’s a spy?” Jake asked.
“No, he’s not a spook and he’s never been a spook. But the entire intelligence community, CIA, NSA, Special Forces — and not just our country but also several ally countries, have relied heavily on his technology for decades. He provides us with specialty items to help us accomplish our missions. He’s been doing it for over fifty years. Hell, I’ve known him for thirty. You know that copper tent and the TEMPEST setup you used in Australia?”
Jake nodded.
“You’re about to meet the man who invented the technology that made it possible. It is his design.”
Cowboy interrupted them. “Director, Mr. Pendleton, this way please.”
Jake gulped down the last of his sweet tea. He and Bentley followed Cowboy through a maze of rooms then down a long rustic hallway of knotted pine paneling littered with posters from movies, mostly Westerns, which were filmed on the property. Cowboy called it the Movie Showcase Wall. Wagon wheel lights hung from the fifteen-foot ceilings. They entered an unmarked room at the end of the hall.
Cowboy opened the door allowing Jake and Bentley to enter first. “Please make yourself comfortable. It should only be a few more minutes.”
Cowboy walked out and left them alone. Bentley sat down in one of the two over-stuffed leather chairs facing the oversized mahogany desk. A small gas fireplace on an interior wall was flanked by bookshelves crammed with an assortment of hard cover books.
Jake studied the books. The books were all old and he didn’t recognize any of the titles. “The fireplace. It doesn’t belong with the rest of the room. I would have expected a wood-burning fireplace with a large mantel and brick hearth. Not a gas fireplace”
“Very observant.” Bentley leaned forward, propped his elbows on his knees, and interlocked his fingers. “You’re right, though. It’s not a real fireplace. I mean, it is but it isn’t. By the way, if it’s any consolation, I didn’t know either.”
Jake looked at Bentley. “You’re doing it again, talking cryptic. Didn’t know what?”
“I didn’t know there was an operative planted in Yasir’s camp." Bentley said.
Jake heard a thump behind the fireplace and stepped back. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bentley rise and start walking toward the fireplace. Just as he reached it, the fireplace shifted back several inches and slid to the side behind the bookshelf.
Jake stared into an empty elevator. “That explains the fireplace. What the hell kind of place is this?”
“Follow me and I’ll show you.” Bentley stepped inside. “Come on.”
The elevator doors opened thirty seconds after they closed. Jake guessed they must be at least a hundred feet below the restaurant, but Bentley told him it was only fifty.
Jake scanned the expanse in front of him. Two different worlds separated by fifty feet of rock and dirt. Above, the serene relaxed atmosphere of the restaurant with its vistas of the West Texas desert. Below, the hustle and bustle of a factory floor. A sterile factory floor. Workers wore blue aprons with matching caps and latex gloves. A light buzz of action could be heard as people scurried from station to station. On either side of the expanse were two rooms with exterior staircases leading to work areas atop the rooms.
“As you could tell from the Steakhouse above and the workshop down here, he’s somewhat of an eccentric man. And he has a few quirks. But don’t we all?” Bentley pointed to the far corner. “Recognize that?”
Jake noticed the mock-up of the TEMPEST tent. “I do.”
“That’s his showcase area.” Bentley smiled.
Jake started to move away from the elevator when Bentley grabbed his arm. “Not yet, Jake, stay here. If you wander off, we’ll have an upset host. Even I don’t have carte blanche to walk around freely. You’ll see what he wants you to see when he wants you to see it.”
“Isn’t that a bit much?” Jake furrowed his brows. “I mean, we are on the same team.”
“Sit tight, Jake. You’ll understand after you meet him. He’s a man of—“
“Scott Bentley, you old pirate. How the hell are you?” The old man rounded the corner from behind the elevator, grabbed Bentley’s arm, and shook his hand so hard Bentley’s shoulder was bouncing up and down.
Jake noticed immediately the man looked familiar, but he couldn’t place where he’d seen him.
Bentley motioned toward Jake. “I’d like you to meet Jake Pendleton.” Bentley motioned back toward the old man. “Jake, this is Mr. Wiley.”
Jake shook Wiley’s hand and noticed the old man didn’t greet him with the same enthusiasm he gave Bentley. “You look familiar, have we met?”
Wiley glanced at Bentley. “No, I don’t believe so.”
“I know I’ve seen you somewhere before.” Jake couldn’t shake the feeling of familiarity with the old man. Where had he seen the man before?
“You two follow me.” Wiley turned and walked away.
The old man stopped at the closest station, spoke in Spanish to a young woman who was hand-winding metal coils then motioned for them to follow again. Jake looked at the old man, early seventies, same height as Jake, 5’10”, and appeared to be in good physical shape as he darted from station to station while the three men made their way across the open floor.
Jake noticed Wiley’s gray hair, parted slightly off center, showed visible signs of receding. After almost every movement, the old man pushed his metal-framed glasses up on his nose and swiped each hand through his hair, one slightly behind the other, as if combing his hair with his fingers without actually running his fingers through his hair, more like patting it down. Must be one of the quirks Bentley was referring to. Jake thought it made him more interesting. Left swipe, right swipe. Always in that order, right hand never more than two or three inches behind the left.
The three men stopped in front of an office with an unmarked door and a plate glass window overlooking the factory floor. Bentley instructed Jake to wait outside while he and Wiley entered the office alone. Fifteen minutes passed, Jake wondered why he was being excluded and what the two men were discussing. He was getting anxious but he knew sooner or later he’d find out why he was here.
Wiley’s showcase was next to his office. It reminded Jake of Radio Shack, only more impressive. He saw Wiley pick up the phone then hand it to Bentley, realizing for the first time it was a soundproof room. Jake never heard a phone ring or an intercom or even voices for that matter. Bentley put the phone down, glanced through the window at Jake then continued talking to Wiley. Jake’s puzzlement over why Bentley brought him here gave way to concern.