were quietly pulled closed behind the two staffers that Wolfe's gaze shifted to the thirteen men and women seated around the huge table.
'I hope the breakfast was to your satisfaction.'
There were polite murmurs of approval. Wolfe had expected no less, since the iced king crab and fresh shrimp for the omelets had been flown in fresh from Anchorage and New Orleans that morning.
'In that case,' he said with quiet firmness, 'we will return to business.' He noted that the three groups continued to sit apart. In the middle, the Germans-Maas, Gunter Aben, Felix Steinhauser, and Carine Mueller; to the left, the Japanese-Asai, Kiro Nakamura, Shoshin Watanabe, and Kimiko Osan; and to the right, the Americans-Paul Saltmann, Arturo Bolin, Roy Parker, and Corrie James.
They didn't trust each other yet, Wolfe realized, knowing that that would have to change before he and Abercombie sent them out on a mission, where there could be no room for failure. It would be up to Maas, the assault-group leader, and his two primary assistants Asai and Saltmann, to forge the necessary links. And they would have to hurry, he reminded himself, because there wasn't much time.
'We spent the better part of yesterday providing you with some of the tools necessary for you to carry out your mission,' Wolfe began, comfortable in his role as project director. 'Clothing, cash, credit cards, as well as the means to access houses, land vehicles, air transportation, and virtually any other resource you might need.'
Wolfe paused for effect.
'Later on this evening, we will distribute a wide range of firearms and other weapons for your use.'
As Wolfe fully expected, the topic of weaponry drew the complete attention of everyone in the room.
'I realize that given a choice, you would prefer weapons with which you are intimately familiar. I certainly understand your reasoning. But here I must emphasize a crucial element of our operational planning.
'As far as we are concerned,' Wolfe said as he looked around the room, 'all weapons used in Operation Counter Wrench are disposable. In the event that it ever becomes necessary for one of you to use any weapon against any opponent in the field-and by this I mean not only firearms, but also knives, arrows, clubs, darts, et cetera-that weapon is to be wiped down for fingerprints and then destroyed or discarded at the first opportunity. The same goes for any related ammunition, magazines, and expended casings to the extent possible and practical. This is the only way we can be sure that a projectile, an explosive, or an injury cannot be traced back to our operation.
'For reasons that I hope are obvious,' Wolfe placed the palms of his hands on the table for emphasis, 'that must not happen with Operation Counter Wrench.'
Knowing the background of some of the group members, Wolfe had expected some sort of negative reaction to this announcement, but all he received were a few silent nods of approval.
'Because of this policy, we have not only stockpiled several dozen replacement weapons for each of you, but we have also made certain that the make, model, and manufacture of these weapons vary considerably. Here again, we are making a determined effort to avoid patterns that law-enforcement investigators traditionally use to link suspects to victims or crime scenes.
'To aid you in familiarizing yourself with these weapons,' he went on, 'you will be given full and unrestricted access to the state-of-the-art training facilities we have constructed on the Whitehorse Cabin grounds. These facilities include underground firing ranges, combat simulators, advanced robotics. The staff we have hired to design, equip, and run this facility is the absolute best.'
That comment caused considerable murmuring among the ICER assault group members.
'You will be given access to your weapons and some of the automated firing ranges beginning this evening,' Wolfe said. 'Meanwhile, it is now time to explain to you exactly what the mission of Operation Counter Wrench is, and what we expect from each of you.'
In spite of Lisa Abercombie's political connections and the extensive technical and military skills possessed by the other individuals sitting around the table, at this moment Dr. Reston Wolfe truly felt that he was the one in charge, and he liked that feeling.
He could also feel Lisa Abercombie's eyes on him from the far back of the room, and he liked that, too.
'Your specific assignments,' he said, his confidence growing with every passing moment, 'are described in detail in the sealed folders before you. I want you to read them carefully. But not now.'
Wolfe was pleased to note that not one of the twelve assault group members had reached for his stack of folders and envelopes. Instead, each watched him with a quiet and easy patience that suggested a strong sense of discipline and training. He liked to think of himself as a leader of such men.
'There will be time to read this material this afternoon and this evening,' he went on, 'and we will discuss it at great length tomorrow afternoon. I have a few other matters to address at this time.
'First, as you know, you are all posing as highly specialized biologists. You have been given the necessary background materials, passports and visas, and should have no trouble in maintaining your specific identity. If you are ever queried about your work, please remember that you need only respond in meaningless generalities. You are working on a government project that has certain biological sensitivities, none of which you are free to discuss. I might add that a little bit of bureaucratic arrogance-but not too much-is always a nice touch.
'Which brings us to your real work.' Wolfe paused to look at each of the twelve faces.
'To begin, I would simply remind you that you were selected for Operation Counter Wrench on the basis of your technical expertise and previous experience, with specific emphasis on your military skills. We have considered these skills very carefully in making the team assignments, which, as I said, are in the folders before you.
'The basic plan is for ICER to operate as an assault group made up of three teams, each team being comprised of one German, one Japanese, and one American. While we may need to vary the team composition from time to time, the German member of each team will always function as the team leader. Accordingly, they will report to Mr. Maas, the assault-group leader, who in turn will report to me.'
Wolfe gestured across the table to Maas, who responded with a brief nod of his white-haired head.
'Technical support,' Wolfe went on, 'in the form of surreptitious entries, electronic monitoring systems and countermeasures, photo and video surveillance, computer access and transportation, will be the responsibility of the Japanese member of each team, with Dr. Asai functioning as the technical support coordinator.'
Dr. Morito Asai responded to the mention of his name with a formal nod.
'Intelligence, in terms of data gathering, analysis, and dissemination to the other team leaders, will be the responsibility of the American member of each team, with Mr. Saltmann functioning as the intelligence support coordinator.'
Wolfe gestured toward the curly-haired, well-built individual who looked far more like an advertisement for Golds Gym than an intelligence analyst.
'And finally, should anything go wrong during the course of our activities, as things inevitably do,' Wolfe added with a knowing smile, 'it will be the responsibility of the American members of each team to provide the necessary covers, escape routes, and what we might describe as appropriate distractions.'
There were a few nods, smiles, and murmurs of approval around the room, although Wolfe noted that Gerd Maas was now staring at the muscular, curly-haired Saltmann in a cold and reflective manner.
'Having said that much,' Wolfe went on, deliberately lowering his voice to underscore the perception that he was in charge, 'I would remind you that Operation Counter Wrench was not, and I repeat, not designed to be a military operation. At least not in the sense that you are accustomed to. Operation Counter Wrench is a covert operation. We will have to take aggressive action, but we will never do so openly. Every action we take will be from a point of concealment, hidden from the eyes of the world. If we are to succeed, nothing can ever be traced back to any of the people in this room.
'In effect, all of you here today will be the hidden warriors of our operation-the ones who will confront our enemies and cause them to destroy themselves with their own weapons.'
'Dr. Wolfe.'
The voice had come from the far end of the table, and Wolfe turned to look at the blond West German, who seemed perfectly comfortable sitting next to Gerd Maas.
Gunter Aben, Wolfe nodded, immediately recognizing the face from the file photos and remembering the summary notations under the photo. Aggressive, fearless, and extremely deceptive in his mannerisms. Excellent covert operator. Can't ever tell what he's thinking. Good man. Ruthless and lethal. Controllable only by someone he respects.
Someone like Maas.
