Remington was aware of the growing energy-crunch situation. Besides being informed through military connections, similar concerns were voiced in the international media, though not much attention was paid in the United States to the fact that the Chinese were about to become a major competitor for that oil. No one much wanted to rattle Joe U.S. Citizen about the coming petroleum wars with China. In time, Remington figured, the United States government would lobby for an increased military presence in the Middle East on behalf of big business, and the votes would get counted at the gas pump as U.S. consumers felt the bite.
“China jumped into the Afghanistan situation as opposed to the American military strikes,” Winters said. “They took a stand, but didn’t pony up the army. But they made every effort they could to glad-hand the Afghanistan government.”
“To build up a rapport they could utilize later.” Remington had talked about those prospects with other career officers who had years to go before they pulled the pin.
“Yes, sir.”
The Chinese government’s efforts to win over the Middle East had consumed much of China’s diplomatic time and financial resources. Those behind-closed-doors discussions had included trade concessions that favored the Middle East as well as overland and sea access between China and Singapore. Not to mention the fact that it was cheaper to ship to China than to the United States. The Middle East had quietly entered into a seller’s market as the demands started pushing past their ability to produce.
“The strikes against Al-Qaeda and Osama bin Laden,” Winters continued, “just added fuel to the fire, sir.”
Remington knew the agent didn’t even recognize the irony of the metaphor he’d used. “What does this have to do with Icarus?”
“Remember what I said about Icarus being a double agent, sir?” Winters wiped his mouth on his shoulder again. Blood streaked his shirt. “Agency resources—HUMINT, SIGNIT—all involve traces of a terrorist organization that’s grown since the U.S. Army took down Iraq.”
Human intelligence and signals intelligence were part of Remington’s operations as well. HUMINT involved spying, individuals inserted into an area or bought off by an espionage agency. SIGNIT referred to high-tech machines like spy satellites and low-tech devices like simple phone taps. The military used them these days, too, but most of that information was gathered by outside agencies—at least until the military occupied an area. Then they supplemented what they received with efforts by their own people trained for those jobs.
“American strikes against the terrorists were the catalysts for the growth,” Winters whispered. “Like hitting the common flu with antibiotics every time someone gets a sniffle. We didn’t kill them all and they had no choice but to go more underground, get craftier, and grow stronger.”
During the last few years, Remington had heard a lot of the same scenarios spelled out by paranoid officers and intelligence operatives. But as far as he could see, there hadn’t been any real evidence of such growth.
“The terrorist groups have banded more tightly together during the last year,” Winters said, “and Syria stepped into a leadership role.”
“No,” Remington objected. “If that had happened, I would have known. A lot of people would have known.”
“You didn’t,” Winters responded with a little heat; then he bowed his head when Hardin moved toward him. “Sir. You didn’t know. The people who thought they knew? They weren’t talking. They had orders not to talk. You can bet on that.” He paused. “But others knew. That was Icarus’s true assignment, Captain Remington: he was supposed to find out how big that terrorist organization had gotten.”
“But he didn’t do that.”
“No, sir. He didn’t. Turns out, Icarus was a double agent.”
“That was confirmed?”
“Yes, sir.” Now that he’d decided to talk, Winters seemed to have no problem spilling his guts. “Only hours before the attempt on Rosenzweig, an agency informant gave us information that Icarus was a double.” He coughed and spat out a blob of blood. “Know why we continue to call him Icarus, Captain?”
Remington made no response.
“Because we don’t know his real name. After the agency got the tip, they pulled Icarus’s jacket and went through his file again. All the information on him was false. Looked good on paper because there had been a guy by the name he was using at one time. Somewhere along the way, Icarus—or someone working with Icarus—killed him. Then Icarus replaced him.”
“How?” Remington marveled at the concept.
“We’re the agency, sir.” Winters grinned a little, getting some of his confidence back now. “Guys like us, guys who do deep recon, surgical strikes, who know governmental disavowal of actions is our middle name—sir, we don’t have friends. If we did, we give them up and don’t make anymore. If we have family, we walk away. As soon as you step into the truly covert action in the CIA, man, you just don’t exist as a person anymore.”
“A strength,” Remington said, recognizing the behavior for what it was, “and a vulnerability.”
“Right.” Winters warmed to the story now that Remington seemed won over.
“How did the agency know Icarus’s identity was false? It could have been bad information. Or even a ruse on the part of someone else.”
“Someone else who, sir? Not the terrorists. They don’t have ways into our encrypted computer files.” Winters shook his head, then seemed to immediately regret the effort. Hardin’s blows had that effect on people. “No. The agency turned up evidence that Icarus wasn’t who he said he was. Went back to a girlfriend he dated in high school. The agency’s got a long reach once they start. Found cards he’d sent her while in high school and college. Letters.”
“Fingerprints,” Remington said, his clever mind catching the direction the conversation was going.
“Exactly.” Winters smiled, but the effort
