Black Flagged Apex

Chapter 8





4:27 PM

National Counterterrorism Center (NCTC)

McLean, Virginia



Special Agent-in-Charge Ryan Sharpe stood ready to address Task Force Scorpion on the ground level of the National Counterterrorism Center's watch floor. NCTC's director, Joel Garrity, had made significant changes to the floor's configuration for the purpose of accommodating Sharpe's task force. Garrity integrated his own personnel into the task force to ensure a smooth transition for the multi-agency team working under Sharpe's direction, but still retained enough space and manpower to carry out the terrorist intelligence and analysis functions assigned to him by the director of National Intelligence. Given the scope of the potential terrorist threat posed by the Zulu virus, most of the center's energy and resources would be committed to Task Force Scorpion.

Sharpe looked up at the second-floor scaffolding that ringed the entire watch floor. The second floor mostly contained offices that would be occupied by the various liaisons assigned to the task force, giving each separate agency a reasonable modicum of privacy. Despite the overall spirit of cooperation and transparency fostered by the open NCTC layout, each liaison would be given the privacy to communicate freely with their parent organization. In addition to a massive FBI contingent, his task force was comprised of representatives from the Department of Defense, CIA, Homeland Security, White House, Department of Energy, Department of Health and Human Services, Centers for Disease Control, National Security Agency and the Department of Justice. Garrity had run out of offices to house each separate entity and had modified a few of the smaller conference rooms to suit their purposes.

Keeping this task force focused would prove difficult at best, but Director Shelby had made it clear to him that the president wanted "all hands communicating" for this one. "No secrets." Sharpe had been kept in the dark about the attempted raid on Sanderson's compound; however, he now understood how close the raid had come to possibly derailing the CIA's efforts to track down the Zulu virus in Europe. As much as he despised Sanderson and didn't trust the CIA, their work had uncovered and stopped the first phase of Al Qaeda's twisted plan. But had it been Al Qaeda's plan from the beginning? Information passed to him minutes ago by Phillip Duncan, the task force's CIA liaison, suggested otherwise.

"Do we have everyone? Mobile HQ?" he said to Special Agent Mendoza.

Mendoza nodded and pointed to an immense projection screen to their right, as they faced the group assembled in the middle of the watch floor.

"Mobile HQ is up. Everyone is present."

The screen showed a grainy, live image of the Task Force Scorpion's mobile HQ leadership team. The screen was one of several mounted to the second-floor decking. The largest screen, twice the size of the others, loomed directly above and behind their heads. It contained a map of the east coast, featuring the New York tri-state area to the far right. All of the known Al Qaeda cell locations within the tri-state area were mapped in red, along with several yellow markers indicating locations of interest. He'd explain these to the group. A lone red marker suddenly appeared on the far left edge of the screen, in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.

Sharpe was about to begin, but instead focused on an admiral standing to the far right of the group. Next to him stood an intense-looking blond woman wearing a dark gray suit.

"Who's the pair on the far right? The admiral and…"

"They just arrived. The woman is Sanderson's liaison to your task force. Callie Stewart. The Navy SEAL is Rear Admiral Mark DeSantos, director of the DIA's Strategic Services Branch. He's accepted full accountability for the integration of Sanderson's people into the task force," Mendoza said.

Sharpe kept his gaze focused on Admiral DeSantos, receiving a quick nod from the SEAL, which he returned.

"Damn it, I'm not comfortable with Sanderson's people on the task force. Especially someone right in the nerve center," Sharpe muttered.

"How do you think O'Reilly feels? She nearly lost an arm thanks to these a*sholes," Mendoza replied.

"Keep O'Reilly and Ms. Stewart as far apart as humanly possible. You know how O'Reilly can get."

"Better than anyone. I'm not too worried. None of the operatives provided by Sanderson had any involvement with the events two years ago. Agent Demir was seriously impressed with the team assigned to Mobile HQ. Moriarty liked what she saw too."

"I'm less concerned about the field operatives. Let's keep a tight watch on Ms. Stewart. I find it odd that Sanderson would insist on placing a liaison with us. Call me paranoid," Sharpe said.

"I feel the same way. I'll make sure they understand the ground rules when your briefing is finished."

"I want to talk to her myself," he said, turning his stare toward Mendoza.

Mendoza nodded as Sharpe addressed the group. As soon as it was apparent that he would speak, the entire watch floor quieted.

"We have a few new developments. Intelligence provided a few minutes ago by the CIA has identified and confirmed all of the addresses that received canisters of the Zulu virus. Eleven in total. Ten of the addresses are located in the tri-state area. We already knew about seven of these locations. The eleventh address is in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. FedEx. Agent Moriarty, I want FBI rapid-response teams at the three remaining tri-state area locations immediately. The data just went live on your feed. I'll coordinate a response for the Harrisburg location."

Kathryn Moriarty, special agent-in-charge of Task Force Scorpion's Mobile HQ, acknowledged Sharpe's order with the word "understood." She didn't waste words or time like so many other agents of her tenure, which was one of the primary reasons that Sharpe had chosen her as Field Lead for the task force. Like Agent Mendoza, she was also one of the most capable and decisive agents he had ever met. He had considered sending Mendoza out into the field to lead the team, but felt his skills would be better served helping him run the show at NCTC. He had worked extensively with Mendoza on Task Force Hydra and had grown comfortable with the agent's unflappable sense of guarded optimism. Mendoza had talked him off the ledge more than once. If the Zulu virus conspiracy was about to take the turn he suspected, he'd need Mendoza more than ever before.

"At this point, we haven't recovered a single canister of the virus. We know that four canisters were shipped to each location around New York and that the rest were likely sent to Pennsylvania. Let's get with our FedEx contacts and confirm this," Sharpe said.

"Already on it, sir," Special Agent O'Reilly replied.

"It appears that forty canisters went to Al Qaeda cells clustered in the tri-state area. Seven of these cells were already under FBI surveillance. A coordinated strike by an unknown force took down six of them. No canisters were recovered. One cell is missing and presumably retained their canister. We'll see what we find at the other three locations. Surveillance records have provided us with a possible avenue to investigate. One of the killers removed his ski mask at the wrong time, and we captured an image of his face. This person has just been identified as Julius Grimes, a member of the fringe political group True America. A connection between True America and the virus is speculative at this point, but I want to dig deeper into this organization. True America is one of several groups that my team has tracked for the past year, and I don't believe this is a coincidence. They've been stockpiling high-end weaponry and recruiting ex-military types. Apparently, Grimes is a Best Buy manager by day and an assassination team leader by night."

"What is his status at the moment?" asked Jason Volk, NCTC watch floor supervisor.

"Missing. He didn't report for work this morning. I have a feeling we won't catch any easy breaks on this one, ladies and gentlemen."

"Will we be putting other possible True America militants under surveillance? How extensive is the list that you've developed?" asked Salvador Guerrero, Homeland Security's primary liaison to the NCTC.

"Yes. That'll be one of our primary tasks. We'll start to break down these assignments immediately. My list of possible militants is a short one. As a legitimate political movement, True America has rapidly expanded over the past three years, with political action offices in every major city and thousands of volunteers. The early extremist views and calls for a government overthrow were quickly moderated as its popularity grew. Lee Harding, one of the group's founders, used to give speeches every week, espousing a violent overthrow of the government. Same with Jackson. As it stands, we rarely ever see True America's original leadership council. They've been replaced by a growing number of governors, legislators and public sector types that have pledged to support the movement to retake America in 2008."

"This is a vast, well-connected organization. We'll need to move cautiously in the direction of True America," added Dan Moreno, counsel for the Department of Justice.

"Mr. Moreno is right. True America is a multi-faceted organization, with over twenty million supporters and thousands of grassroots volunteers. We'll need more than Grimes' involvement to take this outside of the task force. Currently, there is no detectable nexus between the militant arm and the mainstream political movement. We tried to tie the two together, but the sidelining of Greely and Harding severely hampered our efforts. We don't know if their vanishing act was purposely orchestrated to draw attention away from the extremist elements of the organization or if it was a forced 'retirement' imposed by mainstream leadership. Either way, it doesn't matter. The militant arm has been stockpiling sophisticated weaponry through several known arms dealers. They're up to something. Grimes' appearance at an Al Qaeda safe house wasn't a coincidence. More like an extremely bad omen. We'll start with the list my team has cultivated and see where it takes us. Special Agent O'Reilly will take the lead on this and provide tasking," he said, nodding to O'Reilly.

"The majority of this task force will continue to investigate leads related to the confirmed Al Qaeda network in the New York tri-state area. At least three of the cells are connected to Imam Hamid Abdul Mohammed, the radical founder of Masjid Muhammad, his own mosque right in the heart of these neighborhoods. Hamid Mohammed is without a doubt connected to Muslim extremists and has been under surveillance for years. He's been preaching to young Muslims since he arrived in the U.S. from Saudi Arabia six years ago, and he is suspected of recruiting at least one of the men involved in plotting to blow up a police station in Philadelphia. The White House has been looking for a reason to send him to Guantanamo Bay ever since he landed on U.S. soil."

"This should be more than enough to bring him in for questioning," said Guerrero from Homeland, glancing over at the representative from the Department of Justice.

"We'd love to bring him in, but he never returned to his apartment after leaving his mosque on the night of the killings. According to the Newark field office, he vanished without a trace," Sharpe said.

"Has the FBI searched the mosque?" Callie Stewart yelled from the back of the room.

Agent Sharpe glanced sharply in her direction and responded. "On what grounds? I would need a warrant to authorize a search of the mosque, and as it stands, I don't think there's a judge out there that would issue one based on my strong suspicion that Muhammad is connected to some of the men killed yesterday. The men attended his mosque, but beyond that, we have no evidence that the men are directly connected to the Imam. Quite frankly, we had no evidence that the men under surveillance in the houses were connected to Al Qaeda."

"Then how could the FBI authorize the surveillance?" she persisted.

"The Patriot Act provides us with an expanded range of options for intelligence gathering, with fewer restrictions. However, it does not give us the right to search Hamid Muhammed's mosque. Unless Justice can find me a judge that will approve a warrant to enter one of the most controversial mosques in the country," Sharpe said.

Before Dan Moreno from the Department of Justice could answer Sharpe's rhetorical question, Stewart continued. "What if you suspected that some of the canisters might be hidden in the mosque? Are any of the missing cells connected to Hamid Muhammed?"

"None of them directly. The three cells with solid ties were eliminated last night. Special Agent Moriarty and her crew will turn Newark inside out to find Mr. Muhammed. If he's alive, we'll find him shortly," he said, not exactly sure why he was answering to one of Sanderson's lackeys.

"Unless he's hiding in his own mosque. I'd keep a close watch for anyone bringing takeout orders to 38 Jay Street," she said and whispered something to Admiral DeSantos.

"Since a warrant to raid any of the area mosques is off the table, we need to focus on finding Hamid Muhammed and the missing cell. Like Mr. Muhammed, the cell under surveillance on Sherman Avenue never returned to their apartment after sunset prayer at the Islamic Cultural Center. We have three additional addresses to investigate, which will add more names to the list."

"I have SWAT assets headed to each site. They should all be secured in under ten minutes," Agent Moriarty said through the teleconference feed displayed on the large screen to his right.

"We'll hit a good lead if we keep adding more data to the crunch pile. Any last questions? Good," he said, without really waiting for anyone to respond.

"I want to give Agent Moriarty something solid to pursue by tomorrow morning. It's going to be a long night."

Sharpe watched the crowd of agents, analysts and technicians head to their assigned stations on the floor. He was amazed how nearly seventy people could be swallowed whole by the vast watch floor. Once the group assembled in front of him had dispersed, the room fell silent again, giving him the false sense that nothing would be accomplished here. He missed the crowded, poorly ventilated operations rooms at the J. Edgar Hoover building, where he couldn't yell across the room and expect to be heard above the din of activity and voices.

Everything was different here. Everyone wore Bluetooth earpieces, which connected each person to both their desk node and NCTC issued touch-screen phone. Using the NCTC application on the touch-screen phone, they could access the approved external and internal directories from anywhere inside NCTC, allowing them to quickly communicate with any other station in the building or place a secured call outside of NCTC. The level of activity in the room would soon rival the New York Stock Exchange trading floor, yet he still felt like he might be interrupting someone's concentration if he used a normal voice to talk to Agent Mendoza, who stood right next to him waiting for his marching orders.

"Frank. Get O'Reilly moving in the right direction with True America and stand by to hit the ground running with any new leads from the three new Al Qaeda locations. We need to turn something over quickly," he said, glancing in Callie Stewart's direction.

"You could have just texted me that message with your new gadget," Mendoza said.

"You know damned well I don't know how to send a text message. And I have no intention of looking like one of those idiots talking to himself," Sharpe said.

Sharpe's earpiece emitted a soft electronic tone, which only he could hear. His touch phone vibrated at the same time.

"Looks like you have a call," Mendoza said.

Sharpe pulled the phone out of his NCTC issued holster and read the screen. "Special Agent O'Reilly." A green button on the screen said "Press to Accept."

"I just press the button on the screen?" Sharpe said.

"Jesus. Haven't you seen an iPhone before? How old is your daughter?"

"Fourteen. She has my wife's old phone," Sharpe said.

"Getting a little old for hand-me-down phones," Mendoza said. "Better get that call," he added.

Sharpe pressed the button on the screen. "How can I help you, Dana?"

"No. I don't need anything. Just wanted to say hi," she said, waving from her station fifteen feet away.

"Are you kidding me?" he yelled across to her, attracting everyone's attention.

"You don't need to speak that loudly. The earpiece is really sensitive," she said.

"I can hear you talking at your station," he said, directing the comment at her crescent-shaped work area.

"Frank, square her away. I need to speak with our new friends before they disappear," he said, brushing past Mendoza.

Stewart and Admiral DeSantos had started walking with an army colonel to the closest staircase, most likely with the intent of disappearing into the Defense Intelligence Agency's office to discuss their apparent non-role in the task force. As far as he was concerned, Department of Defense (DoD) assets would be used as a last resort. He hadn't been comfortable giving them full access to the NCTC watch floor and their data stream, but the order to fully integrate DoD assets had trickled down from the very top.

Still, he needed to establish a few ground rules with Stewart and her minders. Director Shelby had given him a positive appraisal of the admiral, but was suspicious of the DIA's involvement. Shelby was suspicious of everyone, which was probably why he had survived the administrative and political game at the bureau long enough to be named director. He had good reason to be wary of DeSantos.

The SEAL admiral ran the Defense Intelligence Agency's Strategic Services Branch (SSB), which was essentially a legalized, "on the books" version of Sanderson's original Black Flag program. The SSB rose from the ashes of Sanderson's disgraced Black Flag program, allowing the Department of Defense to retain their own field intelligence gathering capability. Strict legislative oversight ensured that the SSB would never morph back into the black hole of misappropriated funding and undocumented intelligence activity that defined the Black Flag program. Old habits died hard, and Shelby didn't want Sanderson's people infecting Task Force Scorpion. The director already suspected that Sanderson had some key allies inside the Beltway. Allies that appeared enthusiastic about his return.

"Admiral DeSantos, Ms. Stewart, may I have a quick word with you in my office?" he said, before they started to ascend the stairs.

"Absolutely. I wasn't sure how you wanted to handle introductions, so we thought we'd sneak off and seek you out a little later when everything had settled down," DeSantos said.

"I appreciate your understanding of the situation, Admiral, but we need to go over a few things before the investigation starts to build momentum. My office is right here," Sharpe said.

He walked past the staircase to a wall of glass under the second-floor catwalk. The glass spanned the entire back wall of the room, only interrupted by four evenly spaced handles protruding gently from the shiny surface. Upon first glance, the handles looked misplaced, but as Sharpe approached the wall, the vague outlines of doors became apparent.

The first level of the NCTC watch floor contained only four offices, two of which were permanently occupied by NCTC staff. The watch floor director, Karen Wilhelm, occupied one of these offices. She was directly supported by six watch floor supervisors, who maintained stations on the floor and alternated shifts to keep the floor running twenty-four hours a day. In reality, she was the only senior level NCTC employee that required an office here, however, Joel Garrity, NCTC director, also maintained a rarely used office.

Even today Garrity wouldn't spend much of his time on the floor. For the most part, his center would continue with business as usual. Hundreds of offices and cubicles forming the rest of NCTC would have no direct involvement in Task Force Scorpion's desperate mission. Garrity's watch floor had been essentially commandeered to house the multi-agency task force, which was neither unusual nor unwelcome for Garrity. Upon their arrival, he'd admitted to Sharpe that they needed to host more operations like this to justify the continued existence of their high-tech center. For most of the year, he said the watch floor served as one of the most expensive offices in the country, with most of the analysts and techs working on tasks that could just as easily be accomplished in the cubicle blocks of the main building.

The third office was reserved for the president or members of the National Security Council. This room remained locked and empty most of the year, since visits to the watch floor by anyone from this senior group seemed limited to the occasional speaking event that needed a high-tech background to impress upon the world that the United States took terrorism seriously.

That left one office for the task force leader, which could be reconfigured in any way to accommodate the person who would briefly occupy the space. He had asked that the office be configured for two people—himself and Mendoza, though he suspected that Mendoza would spend most of his time on the floor managing the task force. He felt that it was important for Mendoza to share the office. Though Sharpe was technically the task force leader, they had been called in together to form the task force, and Sharpe wouldn't have been the least bit surprised if Shelby had given command of Scorpion to Mendoza. Mendoza had recently been promoted to a position within the Terrorist Operations Division that clearly outranked Sharpe's sidelined assignment to the Domestic Terrorism Branch, but the FBI still informally followed a set of antiquated rules that often rewarded seniority and favors over performance. He wanted to send a clear message to the task force that Mendoza was just as much in command of Task Force Scorpion as himself.

He swiped his NCTC key card over a faint blue light that materialized in the glass by the handle as he neared. The light turned green, and he pulled the door open for his visitors, who filed inside the office and stood to the right of the door as he entered. Sharpe moved past them and pressed a button on his desk, which brightened the lighting in the room, while simultaneously clouding the windows. Stewart noticed the change, glancing furtively at the windows while raising an approving eyebrow.

"I bet you don't have anything like that back in Argentina," Sharpe said, wondering how she would respond.

"It turned out to be a little more rustic than I had anticipated. This is more my style," she replied, smiling.

He eyed Stewart for a brief second, before the admiral could introduce them. Callie Stewart returned his gaze with deep brown eyes that blazed with warmth and intelligence. He had expected the same cold, emotionless stare perfected by the rest of Sanderson's rogues’ gallery. The interrogation videos and surveillance shots collected two years ago still haunted him. Munoz never changed his expression once during his short stint in captivity. Images of Farrington and Petrovich proved even more disturbing, betraying no emotional response to murders committed minutes before.

Despite her slightly disarming smile, he suspected she was just as lethal and unreadable as the rest of Sanderson's crew. He could tell by the cut of her suit and the way she carried herself that she had an athletic, well-toned physique. Her blond hair was cropped just above the light blue, starched collar protruding from her gray blazer. Instead of suit pants, she wore a conservative length matching skirt. She was by far the most sharply dressed, attractive woman on the watch floor. He surmised it to be a carefully crafted look. She was already turning heads on the watch floor. He'd have to keep a close watch on her to figure out exactly why Sanderson had sent her. He still didn't buy off on Sanderson's sudden goodwill mission.

"Agent Sharpe, this is Callie Stewart. Former Marine Corps counterintelligence officer. She'll serve as our direct liaison to assets provided by General Terrence Sanderson. I've already gone over the ground rules," DeSantos said.

"Welcome aboard, Ms. Stewart," he said, extending his hand. "If you don't mind, I'd like to go over them again. Please take a seat."

Stewart spoke as she moved one of the chairs closer to Sharpe's desk. "I completely understand, Agent Sharpe. My role is limited to interaction between your task force and the operatives assigned to work with Special Agent Kerem Demir."

"Perfect. Everyone is extremely impressed with your team…"

"Thank you, sir. They're capable of undercov—"

"And everyone is extremely wary of exactly how this will work."

Stewart's expression changed slightly. He couldn't tell much from the shift, but she certainly didn't appreciate being interrupted with a vague accusation.

"Understandable. This is untested ground for both of our organizations, and given the history between Sanderson and Task Force Hydra, I can't imagine this sits well with anyone here. We're onboard to augment your street-level investigative and intelligence gathering capabilities. The team we have provided to the mobile task force is impressive on many levels. Please don't let your reservations sideline them. Get them out on the streets. Get them into that mosque and—"

"I can't put your people into that mosque. I can't put anyone in that mosque right now, especially operatives that I am not yet comfortable with. Your people are part of an official law enforcement operation targeting Islamic extremists in the area. We'll work on getting a warrant that could enable this, but I wouldn't raise your hopes too high. Welcome to my world, Ms. Stewart. As much as I'd like to march into Hamid Muhammed's mosque and tear the place apart looking for him, we have laws to obey and procedures to follow. I get the distinct feeling that General Sanderson doesn't place very much emphasis on these concepts."

She regarded him carefully and he could sense that she would restrain her response.

"It's a different world for us, yes," she conceded, "but we'll play by your rules."

"As long as your people understand that, this joint venture should be a success. I have a few more ground rules for you. No weapons of any kind."

"For me or the field team?" she immediately responded.

"For either."

"That's unacceptable for the field team. If they're put into harm's way, they need to be able to defend themselves."

"This is non-negotiable. I have agents on this task force that have been shot by Sanderson's people. If we use your operatives, their involvement will be strictly limited to undercover work alongside real law enforcement agents. My agents will ensure their safety, and if they can't…then your people will not be utilized."

"I'll have to speak with Sayar about this. He's the team leader, so this will be his call," Stewart said.

Dressed to blend in with the local Arab immigrant population, Abraham Sayar and three operatives from Sanderson's Middle East team sat ignored in a corner office at the Newark Field Office, having tried unsuccessfully to interject themselves into Task Force Scorpion's Mobile Investigative Team. So far, Special Agent Kerem Demir had been highly impressed with their potential for undercover work, expressing an early interest in deploying them near Hamid Abdul Muhammad's mosque to start working the locals, but his enthusiasm had apparently been quelled by someone higher up in the food chain. Sayar suspected that the task force's commander, Special Agent-in-Charge Moriarty, didn't share in Demir's excitement. She had read him the same ground rules upon their arrival at the field office from Newark Liberty International Airport.

"As long as he understands that it's not his call to procure weapons for this operation. If they are found with any weapons, they will be arrested," Sharpe said.

"Even if they have legal permits to carry the weapons?" Stewart said.

"I'm well aware of your organization's seemingly epic ability to procure documents, but that isn't the point. If I say they don't carry weapons, then they don't carry weapons. Period. If I banned a special agent from carrying a weapon on an operation, then the same rules would apply," Sharpe said.

"I know your back is up against the wall on this. I saw the looks cast in my direction and yours when I walked onto the watch floor. Everyone will be keeping a close eye on how you handle the rogues. I get it. Will you at least promise to personally review the roles our operatives may be assigned, and see if carrying a weapon can be allowed? Just keep the option open. My people can be very discreet."

"I'll consider this request. Either myself or Special Agent Mendoza will review the circumstances surrounding their field deployments and make the call. You've been awfully quiet, Admiral. What do you think?"

"I think Ms. Stewart's suggestion makes sense. No weapons as a general rule. Each field situation could be proactively reviewed and the policy reassessed. I do think they should at least be allowed to carry discreet knives at all times in the field. A knife can be a great equalizer for an undercover operative if a situation takes an unexpected turn."

"I've seen firsthand what Sanderson's people can do with knives. No weapons unless approved by Agent Mendoza or me," Sharpe said.

"Understood," Stewart said.

"The second ground rule regards communications. All contact with the outside is subject to strict monitoring. No exceptions. I assume they confiscated your cell phone upon check-in and transferred all of your contacts to the new phone?"

"Yes. That was very nice of them," she said.

"If you want to talk to Sanderson or your field team, you'll have to route through a special channel that has been created just for you. One of my agents will monitor all of your calls. You'll pass no operational information to Sanderson. He's not part of the task force. Special Agent Demir will pass information to your field team, so there really isn't a need for you to do that either," he said.

"That's fine. I may check in once or twice with Sanderson, but I'll probably do this via email, which should make it even easier for your techs to monitor. As for the field team, Sayar is in charge of executing whatever tasks they are given. If he's not getting the information he needs, he'll let me know, and I'll bring it up with you or Agent Mendoza," she said.

"Why exactly are you here?" Sharpe said.

"Because someone at a much higher pay grade than either of us thinks that Sanderson's assets could prove decisive to the task force's success. I'm here to make sure they're employed at these decisive moments."

"Which brings me to ground rule number three. I don't want you walking the floor and sticking your nose into everyone's business. These people still see you as an agent of the enemy, presidential pardon aside. Barely two years ago, Sanderson crippled the most promising counterterrorist investigation in FBI history, severely injuring dozens of FBI agents and police officers in the process. On top of that, his agents ruthlessly killed an off-duty police officer, several civilian military contractors and a loyal DIA employee in the process of accomplishing Sanderson's mission, which turned out to be little more than a cover up of information," he said, turning to DeSantos.

"The less time you spend out there, the better. You can access all posted workflow from the Department of Defense's office on the second level. I expect you to stay close to that office. If we need your expertise in a planning session, I'll teleconference you into the meeting. I need to keep the task force focused on the investigation, and your presence here is already enough of a distraction. Stay out of sight."

"I hope to find bathrooms on the second floor, where I will be sequestered. I don't want to have to use the office waste can out of desperation. I've used worse in the field, but this is such a nice place," she said.

Admiral DeSantos stifled a laugh, but couldn't suppress a sly smile.

"Figures. All of the women assigned to my task force are professional comedians."

"I thought they beat that out of probationary agents in Quantico," Stewart said.

"And I thought the same about the Marine Corps," he said.

"Some personality traits can't be removed, no matter how hard they try. I won't get in your way here. If it makes a difference to your team, you can let them know that I joined Sanderson's crew four months ago as a consultant. I've spent about three weeks at his compound, where his planning staff brought me up to speed on their capabilities, and I briefly joined teams in the field to make a firsthand assessment. I was contacted yesterday regarding this assignment."

"Where do you currently work? I didn't see that in your background," Sharpe asked.

"A small think tank right here in D.C. That's all I can say," she said.

"Great. More secrets. Are we clear on the ground rules?"

"Crystal clear, Agent Sharpe."

"Perfect. Admiral DeSantos, will you be staying with us for the duration?"

"Negative. Colonel Hanson, the Special Operations liaison, will remain on-site to represent the Department of Defense. I'll get her settled in upstairs before I leave. I'll be back and forth as my schedule permits," he said.

"Very well. I'll get to work on a snack station with coffee for you on the second floor. Toilets are up there, to the right of the staircase you were about to use," Sharpe said.

Stewart nodded and smiled, before following DeSantos out of the office. Sharpe was surprised that she agreed to his stipulations so easily. He had expected more resistance to this demand. In truth, the entire conversation had played out more smoothly than he had envisioned. He had secretly hoped that she would refuse to abide by his rules, giving him solid ground to remove her from NCTC. Instead, she had been agreeable, almost pleasant even.

He had been surprised to learn that she wasn't a permanent part of Sanderson's entourage and still wasn't sure what to make of this disclosure. Her current employer was a mystery that a basic background check hadn't resolved, though her security clearance had sailed through without issue. She had provided his administrative personnel with a phone number that had apparently satisfied all of their requirements, without disclosing any information. He'd asked O'Reilly to dig further, but she came back with the same results. She'd never seen anything like this before, but agreed that it was completely legitimate. Callie Stewart, former marine counterintelligence officer, worked for a highly secretive, extremely well-connected private group within the Beltway. He didn't like it.

He activated his computer screen and selected O'Reilly's name from the communications directory. His earpiece came to life with the sound of a ring tone.

"Panera Bread. Will this be for pickup?" he heard.

"I'm sorry. What the…I think…"

"Just messing with you, boss. What's up?" she said.

"Do you see the two walking up the stairs by my office?"

"The snake charmer and his cobra?"

"Don't worry. Admiral DeSantos will make sure she stays in her basket," he said.

"Good. Because if I run into her in the bathroom down here, I might not be able to restrain myself."

"She'll be using the second-floor bathroom."

"You better keep the ladies’ room down here clear for me. You don't want me wandering upstairs."

"She's under orders to steer clear of the task force personnel, and you're now under orders to stay away from her. Are we clear on that?" he said.

"Yes. Is that why you called, sir?"

"No. I need you to personally track her communications. I don't trust her any more than you do. You can tap into her communications node. I don't expect you to monitor her calls and emails live, but I want you to review them as soon as possible. She's not to pass operational information to Sanderson. If she violates that rule, she's out of here. I also want to know what she's telling the field team."

"Easy enough. I'll brief you as soon as I review any outgoing communications."

"Thank you, Dana. I'll be out on the floor in a few minutes," he said.

"Sir, I think the whole purpose of this communication system is to keep you in your office."

"Am I really that bad?"

"Better than Mendoza," she admitted.

"I presume he's standing right next to you?"

"Of course. I just texted him the context of our conversation. He looks confused. This is too much fun for me. Technology is like old guys' kryptonite. You should see him fumbling with his phone, while trying to interpret my veiled insults. How long are we going to be trapped in this room?"

"Too long. Now get back to work."


**

Callie Stewart walked along the second floor catwalk with Admiral DeSantos. Neither of them said a word until they had entered the Department of Defense's assigned office and closed the door. The office had been configured with two sparse inward facing workstations that occupied the rear half of the space. One of the workstations had been labeled with a placard reading "DIA," which she would share with DeSantos, and the other read "SOCOM." A small couch had been pushed up against the floor-to-ceiling window at the front, crowded against a small wire and glass end table. She stepped several feet into the crowded office and turned to the window, hoping the glass had been equipped with the same privacy feature as Sharpe's office.

"How was my performance?"

"Convincing. I think he expected more of a fight, but that would have given him a reason to boot you off the task force. I think you skirted the line appropriately with a few well-placed, sarcastic comments. I guarantee they'll be watching your calls closely."

"Our people have full access to their system, so they won't be able to spy on me unless I want them to," she said.

"Already?" he said, staring at her with a look of disbelief.

"I'm pretty sure Sanderson's people had full access even before we went into Sharpe's office."

"I probably don't want to know how you pulled that off."

One of her first acts of subterfuge upon arriving was a little sleight-of-hand trick. She knew about NCTC procedure better than most of the members of the task force, having spent plenty of time here in the course of her duties at Aegis Corporation. Of course, nobody assigned to Task Force Scorpion was aware of this, and any of the duty personnel assigned to NCTC would be strictly forbidden to mention it. She knew that the NCTC check-in technicians would kindly transfer all of her cell phone contacts to the "loaner" phone provided by NCTC. She also knew that this would be one of the last parts of the check-in process, which would provide her with the opportunity to pull her trick.

The cell phone she brought with her had been equipped with a sophisticated bar code scanner, which she used to scan her security pass card. Prior to surrendering the phone, she insisted on placing one call to her office, to give them her "loaner" cell phone number. She told NCTC personnel that her office colleagues might not answer a strange number and the task force couldn't afford to waste time squaring away the situation in the middle of this crisis. Everyone at NCTC knew what was at stake on the watch floor, so her request drew no attention from the technicians. Her call transmitted the security pass card's data to a Black Flag cyber-operations team that had set up shop within a small office in nearby Merrifield, Virginia. The team wasn't sure if this would be enough for them to hack into NCTC's system, so they had given her other options.

One of the "contacts" transferred from her phone to the NCTC "loaner" contained a designer virus engineered to access NCTC's computer network. The virus would install a backdoor into the system for the waiting cyber-ops team, while covering its own tracks with the latest generation rootkit software. Once the team had access to the system, they would download a more sophisticated and robust kernel-mode rootkit to conceal their direct access to the operating system. Since kernel-mode rootkits operated at the same security level as the operating system itself, they were difficult to detect and nearly impossible to remove without rebooting the entire system.

Activation of the virus had been simple. Before walking onto the watch floor with Admiral DeSantos, she placed a quick "check in" call to General Sanderson on her new phone, which was digitally routed through NCTC's computer system. Once her "loaner" phone started negotiating NCTC network protocols, the virus took off for its destination, and her job was done. She chatted with Sanderson for less than thirty seconds, which was twenty-nine seconds longer than necessary.

She had checked the contact list on her NCTC phone upon leaving Sharpe's office, noticing that the contact containing the virus had disappeared. The cyber team had told her that they would erase the contact once they had full access. At this point, she could place and receive calls on her phone, which would remain invisible to Sharpe's surveillance efforts. She could also access Sharpe's desktop, eavesdrop on his calls and "attend" all of his videoconferences. She wouldn't have to do any of this, of course, since Sanderson had over a dozen operatives tracking Task Force Scorpion from his own operations center at the headquarters lodge in Argentina.

At this point, her job was to maintain a semblance of legitimacy for Sanderson's organization. She'd push the envelope a few times, as would be expected by Sharpe's team, but overall she'd demonstrate respect for his ground rules. Ground rules that had been rendered meaningless by Sanderson's cyber-warfare operations, but would appear to remain intact.

"Sorry. Trade secret. And you never know when I might have to pay the DIA a little visit for Sanderson."

"I'll make sure we confiscate your cell phone before issuing a security badge."

"You saw that? Impressive."

"I'll be back later tonight with some dinner. The food here sucks, and I'd hate to think of you eating alone. I'm not even sure Colonel Hanson will want to be seen with you. Looks like he's made himself at home in one of the conference rooms."

"And you don't mind being seen with me?"

"Well, it's too late to save my reputation. I was seen escorting you into the building," he said.

"Poor you."

"Someone has to take the dirty jobs," he said.

"They really hate Sanderson that badly?" she said.

"With a passion. All they remember is what he did two years ago. F*cking over the FBI was bad enough, but that's not what everyone remembers. He made a huge mistake killing Derren McKie inside the Pentagon. McKie had sold him out to General Tierney, who in turn blew the lid on the Black Flag program, so I can understand the feeling of betrayal…but he had the man killed right inside the Pentagon. Pretty high profile to say the least.

"Then one of his operatives accidentally killed an off-duty police officer the same night, in the middle of massacring several Brown River contractors at a grocery store in Silver Spring. Not a good public relations night for Sanderson. He's back in the fold because they need him. Beyond that, nobody will touch him."

"I think they'll always need someone like Sanderson," she said.

"You're absolutely right, but I don't think the general will ever get to point where he can put a for sale sign up in Argentina. He's stuck there. So, I'll be back around 7 p.m. with some Thai food."

"I can't wait," she said.

"Stay out of trouble."

"That's what I do best."

"We'll see," DeSantos said and left.

As soon as the door closed, Stewart searched her desk for the controls to obscure the window. The last thing she needed was for someone suspicious like O'Reilly to glance up and see her talking on a call that didn't show up in the NCTC system. She looked around the room until she spotted a second light switch near the door. She flipped the switch down, and the glass fogged, leaving a translucent screen to cover the front of her office. Satisfied with her privacy, she dialed Sanderson's number, which was instantaneously masked within the system. Her call was connected within seconds.

"Nice job. I have full access to the system. I saw a request go to the Department of Justice to authorize surveillance at Muhammad's mosque."

"Sharpe and I had a little talk about putting people on the inside. He didn't seem optimistic about the chances of securing a warrant."

"At least he's not opposed to the idea. We can still get a head start on finding Muhammad with the two operatives working outside of the task force."

Sanderson had wisely chosen to send two of his best Al Qaeda group operatives ahead of the Sayar's group, traveling under their flawlessly crafted false identities, well below FBI radar. Aleem Fayed, of Saudi descent, was the head of the Middle East-Al Qaeda (MEAQ) group. A former army intelligence officer, he had been marginalized for years until 9/11 brought the war on terror into focus. Fortunately for Sanderson, Fayed had resigned his commission in May 2001, opting to help a forward-thinking Sanderson recruit operatives for the Middle East group.

Tariq Paracha, a native-born Pakistani, was the second operative to join Sanderson, recruited by Fayed while still in college. Paracha's family had moved to the U.S. when he was ten, leaving Pakistan behind to put their engineering degrees to work, while removing their son from the ever-tightening clutches of the Pakistani madrasa system. Tariq had been approached by Fayed in 2002, during the spring of his senior year at the University of Colorado Boulder. By July he was back in Pakistan, attending madrasa school for six months to bring back everything he learned.

"I'll put Fayed into the mosque for now and keep the mobile surveillance team close by. Paracha is with the surveillance group and can join Fayed at a moment's notice if necessary. Unmask your phone and contact Sayar to explain the official situation to him. He'll put up a fight, you'll agree, but in the end, everyone will respect and observe the FBI's lead on this one."

"I know the drill."

"I'm sure you do. We'll keep you posted through emails to your phone. They'll look like basic updates to anyone that grabs the phone out of your hand, but one of the words will be linked to the real message. Anything that requires immediate attention will be preceded by an innocuous check-in call from me or someone at my ops center. Other than that, have fun on your little vacation."

"This is what I do for a living, General."

"Until I can convince you to join us full time down in Argentina," Sanderson said.

"Offering a full-time paycheck would be a good start. I'll be in touch," Stewart said and hung up.

She had a good feeling about Sanderson. Everything about his group was run professionally, leaving nothing to chance, and she liked his philosophy. He was a rogue, a fallen angel thrown out of paradise for refusing to sacrifice his ideals in a world that rewarded compromise. He wasn't afraid to bend the rules to make the hard decisions that everyone else avoided, or tell the truths that needed to be heard to make progress. He told her from the very start that he "makes a living in that gray area where the best decisions rarely sit well with anyone."

She liked the idea of working on the "outside" and secretly hoped that Sanderson would make her an offer she couldn't refuse. She worked on a consulting basis for the Aegis group, so she could most likely fit her work for Sanderson into that schedule, but eventually she would run into a conflict. She'd risk her job with Aegis every time she stepped into Sanderson's world. D.C. was a small world, especially among private contractors working the counterintelligence circles. Worst-case scenario, she would be "outed" to the Aegis group, and they would blackball her in D.C., forcing her to join Sanderson's merry band of outlaws living in the pristine wilderness of western Argentina. She could think of worse outcomes.

She turned her attention back to the task at hand and dialed the six-digit prefix that would "unmask" her call to Abraham Sayar from the watchful eyes of Task Force Scorpion.