Titus Ray Thriller Box Set, page 83
part #1 of Titus Ray Series
The Deputy Director of Operations seldom left his office, and, when he did, the occasion was never a happy one.
The DDO was a heavyset man with a chubby face and longish gray hair. He was not a well-liked person, and while he may have believed his lack of popularity was due to the nature of his job, in reality, most people were simply turned off by his Machiavellian attitude.
He governed his office with a results-oriented philosophy based on “the ends justify the means” and appeared willing to do anything to accomplish his goals. Using the same duplicitous skills he’d perfected as a covert intelligence officer, he tended to manipulate both co-workers and politicians alike.
On the flip side, he had an uncanny ability to exploit the weaknesses of America’s enemies, a feat which continually earned him the respect of the intelligence community, both here and abroad.
Although I knew Ira and Carlton had gone through several rough patches in their relationship, I had the distinct impression the DDO admired Carlton. I suspected this was because Carlton refused to act as the DDO’s lapdog and also because Carlton knew a thing or two about manipulating people.
The last time I’d seen Robert Ira had been a few months ago when he’d shown up at my debrief following my failed mission in Tehran. After learning of his role in the deaths of my assets, I’d accused him of being responsible for bringing down my network in Iran.
After that, he’d put me on medical leave.
Now that he’d restored me to active duty status, I was hoping for a more amicable relationship with him.
Or, at the very least, a less hostile one.
* * * *
Carlton began the briefing by noting the presence of the DDO, who bobbed his head a couple of times and acknowledged the introduction.
Afterward, the deputy gave his attention to the open laptop in front of him and didn’t say a word until we were more than halfway through the proceedings.
Deputy Ira and Carlton were seated across the table from me. At the end of the table was Nolan Wilson and next to him was Katherine Broward, plus several other counterintelligence analysts. Dispersed along the outer perimeter of the conference room were various Agency employees. Most of them represented Support Services, but I also saw a couple of people from Legal there as well.
After Carlton mentioned C.J. Salazar would not be joining us due to his own ongoing operation, he instructed Wilson to initiate the video call to Keever Pike in Damascus.
Pike had obviously been waiting for the call and immediately came on the screen. He was sitting in what appeared to be a loft, and I was guessing he was inside an Agency safe house in Damascus. The satellite feed was excellent, and he could have been sitting in the room next to us and no one would have been able to tell the difference in the quality of the transmission.
Pike was operating in Damascus as a freelance journalist, a career he’d had before coming to work for the Agency. For almost a year now, he’d been covering the war in Syria for several newspapers who could no longer afford to send out their own correspondents. Pike’s work was high quality stuff, and he’d once been given a SCROLL award in recognition for his excellence in journalism. However, none of the newspapers who paid him for his stories had the slightest inkling he was a covert intelligence operative employed by the CIA.
Pike’s cover made it possible for him to travel throughout the area without being questioned and to scout out potential assets and conduct interviews with known terrorists. His cover story wouldn’t have held up, though, had he not been able to tell the difference between a verb and a noun, which was why I was a little worried about the cover story Legends had fashioned for me as Pike’s friend and fellow journalist.
Unfortunately, posing as an executive from Bub’s Subs wouldn’t have been appropriate in war-torn Syria, so I needed to brush up on my grammar before arriving in Damascus.
Carlton made reference to the seven-hour time difference between Langley and Damascus when he greeted Pike.
“Good afternoon, Keever,” he said. “We’re about to get started here.”
“Ready on this end as well.”
Pike, who was dressed in a loose-fitting brown shirt, with a pair of sunglasses dangling from his front pocket, had an angular face, sandy colored hair, and blue eyes. I’d always found him to be an easy man to read, but as I studied his reaction when he recognized the DDO was present in the room, he hardly showed any emotion at all.
Once the preliminaries were out of the way, Carlton asked Wilson to explain how the Agency planned to get Marwan Farage out of Gitmo and back to Damascus.
Wilson pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and looked over at Carlton.
“If Marwan agrees to be played back into Syria when he meets with you tonight, then the two of you will be flown by military transport to our air base in Morón, Spain. From there, you’ll both be on a commercial flight out of Seville to Damascus. After that, you’ll part ways with Marwan at the airport until Titus contacts him the next day.”
Wilson gestured at me. “You’ll be leaving tonight and taking a commercial flight into Damascus from Washington, with a layover in London. Your arrival in Damascus is scheduled for Wednesday morning and Douglas and Marwan will arrive a few hours later.”
Pike spoke up. “I plan to pick Titus up at the airport myself so we can maintain our cover story of being best friends.”
I said, “Please don’t refer to me as your BFF, at least not in public.”
My remark barely got a smile from the DDO, but it got a laugh from Pike, who was a humorous kind of guy.
Wilson turned and looked over at Carlton. “Douglas, when you arrive at the airport, a group of EAI workers will pick you up and take you across town to the EAI compound.”
Carlton’s legend in Damascus would be a familiar one for him. Whenever he was running his operatives in country, more often than not, he posed as one of the directors of Emergency Aid International (EAI), a not-for-profit relief agency, providing food and other aid for countries whose citizens were living in chaos.
Although EAI was an Agency-funded organization, it was a legitimate non-profit whose workers were committed to helping people. However, no more than a handful of EAI employees knew the organization they worked for was a CIA-run entity.
After Carlton discussed a few more of the logistical aspects of the operation, he turned the meeting over to Katherine for her input.
Katherine stood up and hit a few keys on her laptop, projecting a slide of General Suleiman on a screen opposite the one displaying Pike’s satellite feed.
“We’ve confirmed General Suleiman will be traveling from Tehran to Damascus on July 3rd. He’s booked into the Sheraton, along with a small staff.”
Her next slides showed transcripts of the chatter taking place among Hezbollah’s inner circle in Damascus.
Katherine continued, “While there’s been no official confirmation yet, as you can see in these transcripts, Naballah and Suleiman have set up a meeting for July 4th. That meeting will take place at Naballah’s compound in Damascus.”
She wrapped up her report by emphasizing the volatile nature of the civil war in Syria brought on by the rebel groups fighting the Assad regime on the outskirts of Damascus. She also cited new evidence indicating ISIS fighters were seeking to penetrate the hierarchy of some of these groups, particularly, the al-Nusra group affiliated with al-Qaeda.
“These rebel groups are operating outside the city and shouldn’t pose a threat to you, but we’ll continue to keep an eye on their activities throughout the mission.”
As she sat back down, she looked over at the side of the table where Carlton and the DDO were seated and gave them her best smile. “That’s all I have for now, but I’ll be more than happy to answer any questions you may have.”
The DDO returned her smile, but Carlton simply acknowledged her offer and noted he would reserve time for questions later.
Turning his attention to Pike, Carlton asked, “Do you agree with this assessment, Keever?”
As if the question were a difficult one, Pike pressed two fingers to his forehead and closed his eyes for a moment.
“Yes and no. Even though the Free Syrian Army continues to fight Assad’s forces in the outlying areas, only a few neighborhoods in Damascus have been affected. So, yes, I agree our mission shouldn’t be endangered by the fighting.”
He paused and shook his head. “But I disagree with Katherine if she believes the civil war in Syria was brought on by the rebel fighters. This war is a direct result of the atrocities Assad has continually inflicted on his own people, including the use of chemical weapons.”
Katherine immediately spoke up. “I don’t believe I said that, and I certainly didn’t mean to imply it. I am more than aware of Assad’s vicious attacks on the civilian population. If anyone is to blame for this war, it’s Assad himself.”
Pike said, “It’s not just Assad. His whole power structure is—”
“Let’s save that topic for another day,” Carlton said.
Carlton seldom tolerated superfluous talk during a briefing, so it didn’t surprise me to hear him refuse to allow Pike to pontificate on the subject.
Pike was a big pontificator.
After Carlton consulted his notes, he instructed Wilson to explain the status of Marwan’s wife and daughter, Yamina and Samira.
Wilson said, “The two ladies have now been taken to a secure location. If Marwan needs some extra incentive to cooperate with us, Sam Wylie is offering to supply us with the photographs necessary to do that.”
Carlton nodded. “Tell him I’ll need several of those for my meeting with Marwan later this evening.”
For the next thirty minutes, we discussed the nuts and bolts of the operation and viewed aerial satellite photographs of Naballah’s headquarters. We were also shown photographs of Rehman Zaidi and Abdul Latif, members of Naballah’s security council who would be attending the meeting with General Suleiman. Most of the photographs were either taken by Pike or by the asset he’d been running, the man Hezbollah had recently beheaded for being a traitor.
I suspected this man’s death was on Pike’s mind when he brought up the subject of Marwan. “These Jihadists are always on the lookout for suspicious behavior, and they don’t tolerate betrayal. If Marwan gets skittish about attending the meeting with Suleiman, what happens then?”
The DDO spoke up for the first time. “If that happens, then I’ll issue an order for his removal.”
Chapter 32
Whether it was the DDO’s statement, or the fact he hadn’t said anything prior to uttering the words, there was a brief lull in the proceedings after his pronouncement. During those few seconds of silence, I was battling a loud voice telling me to keep quiet.
However, I lost that battle.
“Look,” I said, “Marwan is aware of what’s at stake here. If he doesn’t get us the intel we need, he knows he’ll never see his family again. That motivation alone will be enough to calm his nerves and execute the plan. It isn’t necessary to issue a call for removal.”
The DDO didn’t bother to mask his displeasure at my remark.
“I’m trying to prevent an attack on our nation’s capital. That means I’m keeping all my options on the table. Convince your man to deliver the goods and there won’t be a problem.”
I didn’t like the sound of Marwan Farage being “my man,” but common sense finally prevailed, and I didn’t respond.
I’d noticed Carlton’s eyes were glued to his legal pad during my exchange with the DDO, and although he’d appeared disinterested in my conversation, I seriously doubted his lack of concern.
Once it was obvious I had nothing else to say, Carlton immediately turned his attention to Pike. “I want at least two surveillance teams assigned to Hassan Naballah for the next several days.”
“I may need extra personnel to do that, and, if you can spare it, a surveillance drone wouldn’t hurt my feelings.”
Carlton said, “I’ll check on the drone, and once I arrive in country, I’ll also look at putting some additional watchers on the members of Naballah’s council. What’s happening with Rehman Zaidi?”
“My surveillance on him is continuing, and I’d suggest we keep that up. According to my asset, Rehman knew more about the chemical weapons than anyone else on the council.”
I nodded. “I agree with Keever. If Naballah sends someone to Cuba to oversee those weapons, more than likely, it will be Rehman.”
Pike asked, “What about the gas canisters? Have they arrived in Cuba yet?”
“No, they—”
Robert Ira interrupted Carlton, never missing an opportunity to demonstrate he was a hands-on administrator.
“There was a tropical storm off the coast of Cuba yesterday. The ships weren’t able to dock at the port in Santiago last night, but they should arrive sometime tomorrow. C.J. has Agency personnel covering the docks and warehouse, and he’s also ordered UAV coverage for the entire area.”
The DDO’s update made me wonder how Mitchell was handling the delay in the ships’ arrival, but since Juliana was with him, I was betting he was handling it pretty well.
“That’s all I have for now,” Carlton said, looking first at Pike and then at me. “Do either of you have any questions?”
“I have one for Ms. Broward,” I said.
After Carlton gestured for me to go ahead, I asked Katherine, “Have you come up with anything new on Walid Khouri?”
I was surprised to see her glance over at the DDO before saying anything. Once he’d nodded at her, she said, “Deputy Ira has the update on Khouri.”
The DDO eased his considerable bulk out of his chair and stood to his feet. With his wide girth and short stature, he didn’t cut a very impressive figure, but when he spoke, his authoritative voice garnered everyone’s attention.
“After receiving the analysis report from Ms. Broward’s ASA team last night, I made the decision to deliver the results of the background check on Walid Khouri myself.”
I could only recall one other instance when the DDO had attended a briefing in order to present the findings from an ASA report himself. That had been several years ago when a full data probe had been executed on a U.S. ambassador suspected of sharing intel with the Saudis. Everyone in that meeting had been required to sign a separate confidentiality agreement following the DDO’s presentation, and I had been the person assigned to deliver the Director’s message to the ambassador.
Ira lifted a sheet of paper from his briefcase. “Here’s a bio Walid Khouri’s public relations office released on him for a recent newspaper story.”
“In 2005, when Walid Khouri arrived in the Washington, D.C., area from Amman, Jordan, he opened up a studio in Brentwood, where he specialized in portraits and headshots. In 2009, after expanding his portfolio to include commercial advertising, he moved his studio to its present facility in the Dover district to accommodate his growing reputation. Today, he employs several photographers, and his client base includes commercial establishments, celebrities, government agencies, as well as several Congressional leaders. Just recently, he broke ground on a new studio facility, which includes a photography showroom, plus outdoor landscapes for accommodating creative wedding photos and family portraits.”
The DDO put down his notes and picked up a remote mouse from the table. He clicked it once and a man’s image appeared on the screen.
“Here’s a photograph of Walid Khouri as seen on his website.”
The photograph was of a Middle Eastern man in his late forties with thick, heavily gelled black hair and a sparse beard. His dark eyes held a look of surprise, almost as if he hadn’t been expecting the camera’s flash. Since I knew he was in the business of taking photographs for a living, I had to believe his startled look was totally staged, perhaps intending to show his vulnerable side.
Khouri was wearing a light-colored, open-collared shirt under a navy-blue blazer, and his left hand was hooked around a leather camera bag slung over his shoulder. If Khouri had chosen this particular shot because it portrayed a sophisticated, yet approachable photographer, he had definitely accomplished his purpose.
The DDO said, “The background information Khouri gives out on himself is short on details. Here’s what it says on his professional website.”
He picked up his notes and read from them again. “Following the death of his father, Walid Khouri arrived in the United States from Jordan and decided to invest his inheritance in a photography studio, fulfilling his lifelong dream of living in America and pursuing his love affair with photography.”
The DDO laid aside his notes. “While there’s evidence Khouri spent his early years in Jordan, Ms. Broward’s team of analysts have determined Khouri’s father worked in a bicycle shop in Amman for most of his life and barely eked out a living for his family.”
This discrepancy didn’t surprise me.
I suspected it was one of the red flags Katherine had spotted as soon as she’d run a preliminary data scan on him. The DDO said as much when he clicked on the next slide.
“This red flag is one of many inconsistencies in Khouri’s background, inconsistencies which were only revealed when our analysts initiated a full investigation on him. I’ve asked Ms. Broward to present those findings for you now.”
The DDO sat back down, and, for the next hour, Katherine laid out what she and her team of analysts had turned up on Walid Khouri, including his source of revenue.
As much as I appreciated the analysts’ work, some of the stuff was mind-numbing—especially the explanation of the money trail—and I was getting really bored by the time Katherine made her summary statement.
“I’ll try to pull all these threads together for you now,” she said, displaying a slide with several bullet points.
Circling the first one with her laser pointer, she said, “First, we discovered Walid Khouri left Amman, Jordan, in the late 1990’s and moved to Iran where he attended Tehran University. There, for reasons unclear at this time, he drew the attention of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC), who ended up paying for his education and directing his studies. Second, following his graduation, the records show he joined the IRGC, where he received further training in photography.”
