She continued. “Our analysts are still researching that. We have two things to go on. One is the present events. Namely, the canister salvage mission and now the U.S. Embassy attack. We know they’re connected, so we have to take every morsel of evidence and cross-reference them. We also have von Zwick’s research and the pile of dead bodies left behind in the woods.”
“Dead bodies?” asked Harper.
Cam replied, “Um, yeah. During our investigation, we were being stalked by two hit teams. I believe they were tipped off by the professor we interviewed in Berlin.”
Ghost elaborated, “They had no identification. No prior criminal history. In fact, their prints turned up nothing on the FBI or Interpol databases.”
“Did you try the BND?” asked Kwon. The BND was the foreign intelligence service of Germany.
“Yes, but they haven’t responded yet,” replied Jackal.
Kwon thought for a moment before making a suggestion. “Try KSK. German special forces. They’re no different than we are. Nonexistent. Disavowed. Unofficial. You pick the word.”
Gunner sat up in his chair. “Do you think the German government ordered a hit on us?”
Kwon replied with a theory. “Maybe you were getting too close to something they were hiding?”
“Or they were former KSK,” Cam thought aloud. She turned to Jackal. “Can you run that angle?”
“I will.”
Kwon had another idea. “If they were former KSK, then it’s possible a similar team was used for the embassy attack. The logical line of thinking corresponds to Jackal’s powerful argument that a group of Nazi ideologists may be behind all of this. They’d only trust their own.”
“Which also explains why it was an Azerbaijani with ties to Iran left behind for dead at the embassy,” said Gunner. “Sure, he was a form of planted evidence. But also, he wasn’t one of them. Nazis were all about purity of race. I can’t imagine they’d take a mercenary into their group who was probably of Turkish or Iranian descent.”
“Agreed,” said Kwon.
Ghost was pleased with the brainstorming session. “Okay. Okay. Good work. We have an unsub, as the LEOs like to say. Until someone claims responsibility for the embassy attack, it’s our most logical lead. Harper, Kwon, please provide me some logical targets and methods of attack to provide the president. My guys, this is just a hunch, but I think I need you in South America running down the families of these escaped Nazis. You know, shake the trees. Rattle some cages. See who sticks their head out of a hole.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The White House
Washington, DC
That daily briefing in the Situation Room started like any of the others Ghost had attended in the past. He arrived as always with a military escort, who led him into the West Wing, where he marveled at the level of activity for the early, seven a.m. meeting. The Secret Service officer checked his credentials. A member of the medical team checked his temperature and then swabbed his nasal passages, a practice made permanent due to the continuous threats of infectious diseases spreading around the planet. Then he waited his turn to enter the Situation Room.
The watch officer, Colonel Pete Hawkins, approached him an hour later. He was jovial, yet professional, as always.
“Greg, how’s your shootin’ these days?” The native Texan, who’d been an acquaintance of Ghost’s for many years, always referred to him by his legal name—Gregory Smith. He was unaware of his code name, as was the rest of the world, including Ghost’s wife.
“Rusty as hell. If I don’t get out there and practice, Virginia will take away my CCW.”
Colonel Hawkins chuckled and leaned into Ghost to whisper, “I hear they wanna do that to everybody. They’re on this gun-control bandwagon, much like the man in the Oval.”
Ghost changed the subject. In his line of work, he knew the walls could have ears, literally. President Taylor was known to be paranoid of his surroundings and those he met with. There were only a select few within his administration he truly trusted.
“How’s he taking the embassy attack?” asked Ghost.
Hawkins patted Ghost on the back and gestured for him to walk alongside as they made their way to the elevator that would carry them to the ground floor of the West Wing, where the Situation Room was located. He replied as they walked.
“I’d describe it as pissed and puzzled. Naturally, no president wants something like this to happen on their watch. The loss of life is bad enough. The political fallout pisses him off. Mostly, he’s puzzled and confused by the Iranian connection. He’s bent over backwards to appease those assholes. He’s lifted sanctions and released prisoners in exchange for paltry concessions. All in an effort to normalize relations.”
“So they’ll love us, right?” asked Ghost facetiously.
“You got it. It’s never worked before, and it’ll never work in the future. Somehow, these presidents think they have the magic wand to wave over the heads of our haters to turn them into friends.”
Hawkins spoke to the duty officer guarding the elevator often used by the president, to confirm Ghost had been cleared. They arrived at the entrance to the Situation Room and Colonel Hawkins asked Ghost to wait for a moment. He chatted briefly with the watch officers stationed outside the Situation Room before they turned their eyes back to the triple monitors scanning the hallways of the ground floor. Finally, it was Ghost’s turn to address the president and his national security team.
He entered to more than a dozen set of eyes assessing him. These people had spent most of their careers in Washington, and like human nature, they’d grown accustomed to sizing up any potential opponent. It was a town in which you had to remain on guard or you’d be eaten alive by the creatures who inhabited it. Ghost knew this and had psyched himself up for the challenge.
The Situation Room wasn’t a room per se. It consisted of a suite of offices and conference rooms located under the West Wing. There were workstations scattered throughout the space, filled
