19
Kurt hung up the phone, thinking through the ramifications. He heard his name called and saw George Wolffe at the entrance to the West Wing of the White House, where he’d left him when his cell had rung.
“We’re going to be late. I thought you wanted to slip in unnoticed to this meeting. You keep stalling, and you’re going to end up interrupting the briefing with all eyes on you.”
Kurt waved him over, out of earshot of the security at the entrance. He handed George the simple manila folder in his hand. “I’m thinking of skipping this one and sending you in alone.”
“Whoa. Not a good idea. The president called it. You’re not briefing or anything.” He held up the folder. “All you have to do is hand this to Palmer.”
Exactly as George had predicted, the meetings had escalated outside of the small circle that knew about the Taskforce. The president had grown tired with the stovepipe and separate meetings and had scheduled an update briefing in the White House Situation Room. In attendance would be every big shot in the US government, from Homeland Security to the “Gang of Eight” from the House and Senate Intelligence Committees. The majority were not read onto the existence of the Taskforce—much less its activities—so Kurt had been tasked with providing a hard-copy situation report to be hand-carried to Alexander Palmer, the national security advisor. After that, he was supposed to be nothing more than a fly on the wall at the back of the room.
The report itself summarized current Taskforce operations for the missing hostages, which was to say it was a single sheet of paper delineating very little. The only clear lead they had was a ferry receipt from Morocco, but so far Knuckles had turned up zero.
Kurt said, “That call was from Pike. He’s found something out about Kylie. He has a thread.”
“That’s great. Let him work it, and let’s get our asses into the briefing room before it fills up and someone wants to question who we are.”
As the national security advisor, Palmer had given them cover as members of the NSC watch team, a thirty-man cell that maintained 24/7 operations inside the Situation Room, but that cover would work only if they were at the back, in the cheap seats. Not if they interrupted the briefing as it was in progress, like a couple of prima donnas.
Kurt said, “George, the thread runs through the vice president’s son.”
George’s mouth opened and nothing came out. Kurt didn’t wait for him to speak, giving him what little he knew.
George took in the information, then said, “We have to tell Palmer.”
Kurt shook his head in frustration. “How? I can’t brief in that room, and the information isn’t on this hard copy. I’m not even sure it’s real. On top of that, it’s fucking Pike. How am I going to brief the Oversight Council that the one lead we have is from a man they expressly forbade me from using on Taskforce operations? They’ll fire me on the spot.”
George smiled. “No they won’t. Not if it pans out. Nobody argues with success.”
“That’s just it. That ass-hat Billings will blow a gasket and demand something stupid, like recalling Pike and throwing other assets at the problem. They’ll screw up the one lead we have. They’ll get Kylie killed. There won’t be any success.”
George heard the words, now seeing what was really weighing on Kurt’s mind. He said, “Okay, look, we let Pike explore. Get the surveillance tapes, see if it’s real. If it is, we redirect someone else. Maybe Knuckles. Let them start the chase and then brief the council. Control the mission and preempt any shenanigans. Either way, if it’s real, we have to brief.”
Kurt started walking toward the entrance to the West Wing, saying, “What a mess.”
George fell into step behind him and said, “Well, I have to hand it to you. Sending Pike was a stroke of genius. That guy is a magnet for finding bad things.”
They signed in at the entrance, received their badges, and wound their way through the lobby, skirting by the groups starting to form outside the Situation Room, Kurt recognizing several faces as guests from Sunday news shows. Men and women he’d never met in real life. George took a seat at the back while Kurt walked up to Palmer, interrupting his discussion with the director of the CIA.
Palmer took the folder and said, “Anything good?”
“No, sir. Nothing much at all.”
He simply nodded, dismissing Kurt to sit with George. Kurt walked away, a feeling of deceit flowing through him, causing conflicting emotions. On the one hand, he wanted any lead on Kylie to pan out. On the other, a part of him hoped it didn’t involve the vice president’s son.
Lost in his thoughts, he failed to register President Warren entering the room. George elbowed him, and they stood, along with everyone else. To Kurt’s surprise, the vice president followed behind. The sight of him brought another twinge of regret for keeping silent.
President Warren said, “Have a seat. Let’s get this going.”
This time, it was Alexander Palmer himself giving the briefing. He started by stating where they stood on the search, which was basically nowhere. All the investigative effort had come up with very little. The murder of the secretary of defense’s son was a bust, with the command in Honduras stating he was supposed to be on duty, and since he’d basically gone AWOL, they had no thread at all. The information on the twins was no better. They had simply disappeared without a trace, and there wasn’t the faintest clue as to whether they were still on Okinawa or not. Still alive or not. The only lead was the Morocco ferry receipt from England related to the VP’s son, but that, too, had produced little.
Palmer finished the section and the president said, “That’s all we’ve got? The most powerful government on earth and we come up with nothing?”
Kurt had to physically stop himself from rising up at that point. Palmer saved him. “No, sir. All it will take is one break, and this thing could crack open completely. And we might have that break.”
He flipped a slide and said, “We received more communication from the terrorists, which is good. Every time they talk to us, they open themselves up to being found.”
The president said, “So we got something from this communication? A possible location? The name of the group?”
“Well, no. Not exactly. They once again masked their ISP.” Palmer tilted his head at the side and said, “We don’t know where it came from, but here it is:”
We could keep these men forever, much like you have at Guantánamo Bay and your secret prisons, but we are not like you. Lives matter. Even these lives. In the words of the prophet,“. . . if any one slew a person—unless it be for murder or for spreading mischief in the land—it would be as if he slew the whole people: and if any one saved a life, it would be as if he saved the life of the whole people.” You are the ones spreading mischief in our lands, but these men are mere puppets of your blasphemous regime. How much are they worth to you? How much are you willing to pay?
President Warren said, “So here we go. Let me guess, get all US persons out of the Middle East?”
“Actually, no. In this case, they’re talking about real money.”
Kerry Bostwick, the D/CIA, said, “What the hell? They want to ransom them? That makes no sense whatsoever.”
The SECDEF said, “What’s the price?”
“One hundred thousand Bitcoins.”
Secretary Billings said, “What the hell is a Bitcoin?”