Darren threw his hands in the air. “He fell from the fucking sky?”
Nelson shook his head again. “There are sensors on the roof. If a bird takes a dump after too heavy a breakfast, they go off.”
Darren sat back and shook his head. “Magic portal? That’s all you’re leaving me here.”
Nelson leaned back in his chair again and raised a brow at him. “Figure this one out and you just may save your own ass, Chesterfield. If he got what we think he got, you’re going to need all the help you can get.”
Darren ground his teeth in silence, the stress building up within. “You know, I wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t insisted we use Bridger as the scapegoat.” He lifted his eyes and glared at the older man. “You were the one who cleared the flag on him when the groundwork was still being laid.”
Colonel Nelson stared at him, his face unreadable.
“In fact, I was told that he was working for the feebs and you told me to ignore that little fact. Remember telling me that the man was the perfect target and it would take too long to find another that fit our criteria?”
Colonel Nelson leaned forward and continued to stare at the younger man. “Are you done?” He stood up slowly and glared down at Chesterfield. “When you’re through trying to point blame, get your ass to work and pull it out of the fire.”
Darren stood and turned for the door.
“And remember…”
Darren spun on him. “I fucking remember, okay?”
Colonel Nelson crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his gaze at the young agent. “I was about to say, remember, don’t bite the hand that feeds you.” He sat back down then added, “But you are correct. I have no knowledge of the op you speak of.”
Baltimore, MD
GREGG OPENED HIS laptop and slid it across the narrow table. “Sir Slippyfist is here to serve!”
Bobby glanced around the empty classroom, an uneasy feeling creeping into the back of his mind. He handed him the SD card and Gregg inserted it into the slot of his computer. “Let’s just see what you have here….oh. Wow. This is a shit ton of…” his voice trailed off.
“What?”
Gregg held a finger up, putting them off a moment. “Okay. Everybody needs to see this shit.” He pulled out a cable and attached the computer to the white board in the room. “This may seem convoluted because none of this is really in order, but…” he trailed off again.
Roger paced slowly behind the group, his mind reeling from the fact that they had just infiltrated one of the most secure buildings in the civilized world. “We’re all dead men.”
Jay placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and shook his head. “We’ve all been dead before. It’s not that big a deal.” He gave him a crooked smile.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Ryan pointed at the man. “It means shut up and listen.” He turned to Gregg. “Show us, Slippy.”
“Okay.” Gregg brought up the first image. “This one shows that a certain Darren Chesterfield is the brains behind this little fuckfest. You can see where he laid out the plans for the attack as a CIA operation rather than a military op.”
“Because Pakistan is supposed to be an ally,” Jay added.
“Exactamundo.” Gregg flipped to the next image. “This is the heads of all of the alphabet soup groups that were included in the original memo.” He cleared his throat for effect. “Anybody notice whose name isn’t on there?”
Steve snapped his fingers. “Secretary of Defense.”
“Winner, winner chicken dinner.” Gregg switched to the next image. “This is a memo from one Colonel Nelson to the Deputy Director of the NSA. In this one, he specifically states that the SecDef should be excluded for ‘plausible deniability.’”
Deric grunted. “I hate that term.”
Jim nodded. “It’s just another way to leave somebody twisting in the wind and claim you had no idea.”
“But wait, this gets better.” Gregg brought up another image. “The director of the CIA, who is constitutionally mandated to steer clear of any operations on American soil, specifically okays the actionable event of selecting a qualified civilian target…” Gregg turned to Bobby. “That’s you, by the way.”
“Should have bought a lottery ticket, buddy.” Jay clapped his shoulder as he walked by.
“Yeah, I got all the luck.”
Viktor pointed to the image and asked: “Who is this here?”
“That is the Director of the NSA. He, also, was excluded from the foundational meetings of this little shit storm.” Gregg brought up another image. “Because this shit stain…Deputy Director Ingram, wants his job.”
Bobby stood and fought to remain calm. “So what we have here is a conspiracy to kill hundreds, if not thousands, of foreign nationals on their own soil. To what end?”
Gregg sighed and pulled up another image. “They wanted to turn the tide of public opinion.” He brought up a second image and placed them side by side. “Too many weapons are being pushed through the Pak through black markets.”
“By people like our new little buddy, al-Abadi.” Jay turned and glared at the smaller man.
Muhammed shook his head. “I deal in arms. Not weapons like this.”
“It was your boss’s factory that got blown to hell. All of that toxic gas was meant to be used somewhere,” Bobby practically yelled.
Muhammed sat back and bit his tongue. He knew that arguing would do no good. Instead, he tried reason. “Asma is the one who organized this, not I. If I had known, I would have told her not to do this.”
“The money was just too good, eh?” Jim asked as he stood and poured a cup of coffee.
“We can point fingers all day,” Jay stated, coming to his feet again. “The real question is, what do we do with this information?”
Gregg shook his head. “We already have targets on our backs. But if we went public with this?”
“Even though
