72
Kurt hung up, and George Wolffe said, “So they got Travis Deleon? Clean? No compromise?”
“Looks that way.”
George picked up a phone and said, “That’s great news. Palmer will want to kiss you. Of course, he’d want to hang you if it had gone bad.” He started to dial and said, “You want me to tell him about the unilateral decision to assault, or wait until you brief?”
Kurt said, “Don’t call just yet.” George held the phone, a question on his face. Kurt turned to Knuckles. “What do you have?”
Knuckles held out a transcript. “A guy initiated contact with our bait. Wants to talk about the Breedlove story. Claims to have inside information that can be used to leverage the secretary of Homeland Security during his ‘interview.’”
From behind his desk, George hung up the phone and said, “Man, that was quick.”
Four hours earlier, Kurt had enlisted the help of Bartholomew Creedwater, the Taskforce computer specialist, to spoof the number of the secretary’s direct office line, then pretend to be his personal assistant, asking for Kincaid. The reporter had eaten it up, setting a meeting later on in the evening. Kurt had intended to reschedule at the last minute, rolling the meeting to the next night, and continue doing so until it became apparent his plan wasn’t going to work, or the terrorist made contact. He never expected it to happen so soon.
Kurt said, “Creed’s still confident his little intrusion is hidden?”
“Yeah,” Knuckles said. “That stuff is all black magic to me, but he seems to think he can get away with anything.”
“Funny, he thought that same thing when they put on the handcuffs that got him to the Taskforce. I hope he’s right.”
Kurt had two choices to gain access to Kincaid’s telecommunications: Go get a warrant with a judge and legally access his phones using FBI architecture, or see if he had the means to do so locally, using Taskforce assets.
The first choice was the direction he wanted to go, but it was clearly out of the question. He might have convinced the president, but the Oversight Council would have balked, specifically because the Taskforce was forbidden from working domestically, and more generally because nobody in the Justice Department was read onto their very existence. It would invite compromise.
That left option two. Which was decidedly illegal, and Kurt knew he was walking on dangerous ground. As the commander he bore the responsibility to ensure the Taskforce operated within a moral and legal framework. Its very secrecy had always been ripe for abuse, and he understood that well. The last thing he wanted was the unit to metastasize into an American gestapo, and it was his job to lead by example. He couldn’t very well count on his men to exercise sound judgment, only executing operations that were within their charter, if he didn’t.
In the end, Kylie’s fate had won the debate. He’d come back and asked Creed some pointed questions, and there was a reason Creed was chosen. The Taskforce computer network operations cell had plenty of genius-level specialists—hackers—but all had gleaned their skills through the US government. All but one. Creed had been nabbed doing some nasty computer things to unsavory people he deemed worthy of the abuse, and his skill had caught the eye of the Taskforce. In exchange for staying out of jail, he’d left the dark side and come to work for Kurt. It had been a fairly easy fix, because, while he’d definitely broken the law, his actions had led to some racketeering prosecutions and nobody was really itching to make him pay.
Kurt had pulled him out of the fire, and he knew Creed felt undying loyalty—along with no compunction about breaking the law. Especially if Kurt asked.
Technically, the Taskforce charter forbade the collection of content from any cellular or landline communications. They were restricted to geolocation only, using the greater intelligence community for any “chatter” they needed to hear, since the IC already had a robust oversight structure in place. The Oversight Council didn’t want to reinvent the wheel, giving their small organization the ability to start reading emails and listening to calls. When Kurt had asked Creed if it was possible, given the equipment they had, he’d said it could be done—if one had the skill. Kurt had handed him Kincaid’s business card, giving the order, and Creed had grinned, turning to a keyboard. And he’d produced.
Kurt scanned the transcript, stopping on the time. “Shit, this thing’s going down in the next thirty minutes. A daylight meeting?”
Knuckles said, “Yep. Looks like it.”
Reading further, Kurt said, “Garage on Wilson Boulevard. That’s straight up the street in Rosslyn. We can be there in five minutes.”
George took the transcript and read the address. “This guy sure has a sense of humor.”
“What?”
“The garage address is 1401 Wilson Boulevard. It’s a special place for spilling secrets to reporters. It’s where Woodward met Deep Throat.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Same spot.”
Knuckles said, “I’m sure that’s a coincidence. No way is that intentional.”
“Why?” asked Kurt.
“I didn’t tell you the best part. Creed said he spoke with an Irish accent.”
Kurt grinned and pointed to Knuckles’s leg. “Can you fight?”
“Hell yes. I told you that in Europe. Just can’t run very fast, but it sure isn’t affecting my aim.”
Kurt turned to George. “Get the med lab ready for a detainee. I want two interrogators on immediate standby, with a full suite, including drugs.”
George raised an eyebrow and said, “You plan on bringing him here?”
“Where else? We’re going to need answers immediately. Also, you can now call Alexander Palmer. Tell them I need an emergency meeting of the Oversight Council in . . . say . . . two hours. Tell them to make sure the president’s there.”
“Why? What are you going to ask for?”
“Blanket Omega. This pans out, and we’re about to execute multiple hits.”
“They aren’t going to let you do that, Kurt. You’ve tried before to get Omega for a single follow-on hit, and they’ve always said no. Always directed you to come back again for approval.”
“Don’t tell him that’s what I’m asking for.”
George said, “Knuckles, could you give us a moment?”
He left, and George said, “Is this about Kylie? Or the VP’s son?”
“It’s the same damn thing.”
George said, “I’ll follow you. You know that. Just don’t let emotion get in the way here. This whole reporter thing would never have happened if it were just the VP’s son. We’re leaning way, way over the edge. Is she worth the Taskforce?”
Kurt nodded and said, “Yes. She’s coming home. I would have no leverage at all if it weren’t for Nick Seacrest, but I do, and I’m using it. She will not end up on a tape.”
George remained quiet. Kurt said, “Butter Palmer up with the recovery of Travis. Let him know we’re working other leads and it’s moving fast.”
He caught Kurt’s eye, hesitated, then said, “Okay. I will.”
Kurt said, “George, I understand your concerns. I’ll protect you. It’s my call.”
George scoffed and said, “Screw that. I told you I’m with you. One hundred percent. But you know they’re going to tell you to pound sand.”
“They can’t. I’ve already gotten permission from the president.”
“The president? When did he say we had blanket Omega authority?”
“When he told me to burn these fucks to the ground.”