‘What do you mean, Cap’n?’ Gates said defensively. ‘Nolan’s a hell of a SEAL.’
‘Stand down, Master Chief. It’s not an insult, just a fact.’
Kilkenny spoke up. ‘Max, what the captain means is, my heart’s not in it.’
‘You can only go so far on brainpower in this profession. Max, for guys like us, this is more than our job; it’s our way of life.’Dawson threw an arm around Kilkenny’s shoulder. ‘Nolan’s heart is elsewhere, and it’s time for him to get out. For him to stay would be a waste of talent, like using a Porsche to haul trash.’
‘Well, it’s true that this life ain’t for everybody, but you made a hell of a go at it while you were here.’ Gates took a long draw from his bottle. ‘Shit, heart or no heart, I just hope the next officer I’m paired with is half as good as you.’
‘Last call!’ Mike bellowed out from behind the bar. It was going on three in the morning and was well past the bar’s normal closing time.
‘Drink up, Nolan, and let’s get the hell out of here,’ Dawson ordered. ‘I need my beauty rest, and you’ve got a long trip ahead of you. I just hope my wife hasn’t locked me out of the house.’
18
January 5
Jackson Barnett finished glancing over the report prepared for him regarding the death of Michael Cole. He had been away on Christmas holiday in South Carolina when he was notified of the murder. The deputy director of Central Intelligence had briefed him on the situation and Agency people were already in the Dominican Republic investigating with the local authorities. The distillation of those efforts was the ten-page report that now sat on his desk.
Barnett was thinking about what he’d read and watching the snow fall outside his window when his speaker phone buzzed. ‘Yes, Sally?’
‘Everyone has arrived for your ten o’clock meeting.’
‘I’m on my way.’
Barnett gathered his file and entered the conference room adjacent to his office. He immediately recognized two of the men seated at the table: Frank Villano from the CIA’s Information Technology Group and Cal Mosley, the CIA’s in-house investigator. Mosley was forty-eight and about Barnett’s height, but he carried ten inches more around his waist. The combination of a balding pate, a pair of unkempt eyebrows, and a bushy mustache that threatened to cover his entire mouth gave the CIA investigator the appearance of a walrus.
The third man, Dan Harmon of the FBI, was pouring himself a cup of coffee. Barely thirty, Harmon looked every bit like the handsome dark-haired quarterback he’d once been in college. Harmon was a seven-year veteran of the FBI’s Counterintelligence and Surveillance Division and came with his director’s highest recommendation.
‘Mr Harmon,’ Barnett said as he extended his hand, ‘a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard good things about you.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Barnett took his place at the head of the table and pulled the Cole report from his file. ‘Gentlemen, thank you for coming today. We’re here to discuss the unusual circumstances surrounding the death of one of our computer specialists, Michael Cole. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover, so I’d like to start with you, Cal.’
‘Thank you, sir. On December fifteenth, Michael Cole left Washington on an extended Caribbean vacation. On the twenty-fourth, he arrived in Santo Domingo for a scheduled five-day stay. On the twenty-seventh, a tourist dive ship reported Cole as missing and presumed drowned. As yet, the body has not officially been found. On the morning of the twenty-seventh, approximately three hours before Cole allegedly disappeared from the dive ship, a deep-sea fishing boat recovered the body of a scuba diver. The body has been identified as that of Michael Cole. It’s definitely a cover-up, but we don’t know the motive behind it yet.’
‘Mr Harmon,’ Barnett said, turning to the young FBI agent, ‘what is the status of the FBI’s medical investigation?’
‘Since we received the body, our forensics team has gone over every inch of it with a microscope.’ Harmon inched forward, sitting on the edge of his seat as he explained. ‘We have a theory about how Cole was murdered. Based upon the analysis of blood gasses and other fluids, they believe that Cole had been diving just prior to his death. Samples of tissue from his bronchia and lungs showed a massive short-term buildup of carbon and other byproducts of combustion. Analysis of this material and the remaining air in his scuba tanks revealed the chemical signature of diesel exhaust.’
Barnett jotted down a few notes on a legal pad as Harmon spoke. ‘Was Cole killed by the contaminated air in his tanks?’
‘While it’s possible for a person to become ill, or even die, from a scuba tank tainted with carbon monoxide, that’s not what happened here. Not only were his lungs coated with traces of exhaust but so was his wet suit. The salt water washed off exhaust residue from his exposed skin, but not from inside his wet suit. Without going into detail, the forensics lab found minute traces of diesel exhaust all over the body.’
‘What is the FBI’s theory on how the exhaust got there?’ Barnett asked.
‘The short version: Cole went scuba diving. After his dive, somebody put him in a sealed space and smoked him. Once he was dead, they dumped him back in the water. Neat and clean. Other than a small bump on the back of his head, there were no unusual marks on the body, but the forensics people believe that the wet suit would mask any sign of restraint. Traces of an adhesive were found around the ankles and wrists of the wet suit-the same kind of adhesive found on duct tape.’
‘Cal, could the ship that reported Cole missing be involved with the murder?’
‘Not likely, sir. The boat that reported Cole’s disapperance is a large commercial trimaran. We have solid reports that on the night Cole was killed, this boat was chartered for a party.’Mosley doodled a sportfishing boat in the margin of his report; he had been on several during his initial investigation of Cole’s death in the Dominican Republic. ‘That island is a tropical paradise with a lot of boats, and we haven’t been able to place Cole on any of them.’
Barnett added another note to his list.’Unfortunately, none of what we have, thus far, gives us a clue as to who murdered Cole, or why. That’s why I’ve asked you to be here, Frank. What was Cole working on prior to his vacation?’
Villano cleared his throat. ‘Just one project, sir. It’s classified.’
Barnett cocked his head and glared at Villano. ‘Frank, both Cal and Mr Harmon are cleared for any material deemed crucial to this investigation. They have to know what Cole was working on, since it might have some bearing as to why he was killed.’
‘Sorry, sir,’ Villano apologized, ‘but I’m used to being very quiet about projects like this.’
‘No explanation necessary, Frank,’ Mosley reassured him.
Villano relaxed a little and flicked back an errant strand of black hair. ‘For the past year, Cole acted as the CIA’s technical liaison with the Moy Electronics Corporation on the Spyder project.’
‘Spyder?’ Mosley asked.
‘In layman’s terms,’ Barnett instructed, clarifying the request before Villano could respond.
‘Basically, it’s a programmable device that can capture and transmit information from inside a computer network.’ Villano could see that his description didn’t help Mosley or Harmon. ‘Say you wanted to know how the North Koreans are doing in their nuclear weapons program. You know the North Koreans are hot for faster computers, so you let one accidentally fall into their hands. The trick is, you’ve planted a Spyder inside that computer. Once they get their stolen machine up and running, your Spyder is going to ferret out every little secret they put into it. As long as the Spyder can find a phone line, you’ll get every piece of information that it comes into contact with.’
Mosley could only imagine what it would be like to have a direct tap into the immense flow of information passing through the computers at Langley. The volume would be staggering. ‘Is this project finished?’
‘Yes and no. Cole’s work is complete, but the Spyder will remain under wraps until Operations works up a
