Two officers already in the room got to their feet and called the room to attention when Jason walked in. Kelsey took the head of the table; Sergeant Major Jefferson sat on her right. As expected, the two officers stared at both Kelsey and Ari, not expecting two women to be involved in this project. “As you were, guys,” Jason said. He stepped over to the first guy and extended a hand. “Jason Richter.”
“Frank Falcone,” he responded, shaking hands. He was an Air Force captain, mid-to late twenties, with very close-cropped hair to mask his early baldness. He was of above average height, maybe a little on the heavy side, and walked with a noticeable limp. “I’ve been assigned as your operations and intelligence officer.”
“Your second in command, sir,” Jefferson said. “Special-operations experience during Operations Enduring Freedom and Iraqi Freedom.”
“Fifty-seven sorties in central Asia in MH-53Js,” Falcone said, “and sixteen in the Iraqi theater before I took an SA-7 in the face.”
“That how you got the limp?”
“The crash took out most of my left thigh and hip,” Falcone said. “I was in Walter Reed and various other hospitals for eight months. After rehabilitation and recertification, I went to Air Force Special Operations Command Headquarters at Hurlburt Field for three months in plans and operations before being assigned to the task force.”
“First Lieutenant Jennifer McCracken, sir,” the woman next to Falcone, a Marine Corps lieutenant, said. She was shorter than Richter, with ear-length straight brown hair, thick glasses, not athletic-looking but sturdy—a female Marine who didn’t look too feminine but didn’t want to look like one of the guys either. She had a firm handshake—a little too firm, Jason thought, as if she thought she had something to prove to her temporary army boss. “Logistics officer, Headquarters Battalion, First Marine Division, Marine Depot Twentynine Palms. I’ll be your adjutant and logistics officer.”
“As you can see, sir, we had to double up on your typical staff assignments because of time constraints,” Jefferson pointed out. “I think we can overcome any difficulties we encounter.”
“You three represent three more staff persons than I’m accustomed to,” Jason admitted. He turned to Ari, who was making faces as she tried to drink a cup of the instant coffee. “This is Dr. Ariadna Vega, the lead design engineer and team leader at the Infantry Transformational BattleLab, Fort Polk, Louisiana. She is also my adjutant, logistics assistant, cleanup gal, and chief cook and bottle washer. Take seats and let’s get going.”
As they sat, Kelsey DeLaine asked, “Mind telling us about yourself, Jason?”
“I think we need to get this meeting started…”
“It is started,” Kelsey said. She smiled at his obvious discomfort at being the center of attention and added, “You look awfully young to be a major in the U.S. Army.”
He rolled his eyes at her, then said, “There’s not much to tell, guys. I come from a long line of career army officers stretching back to the Civil War, but I didn’t go to West Point myself because I got accepted to Georgia Tech’s engineering program when I was in ninth grade. I got my bachelor’s and master’s degrees by the time I was eighteen.” That bit of information got a mix of impressed nods and disbelieving glares from the others in the room. “But my dad is a retired army colonel and really wanted me to join up, so I enrolled in OCS. That’s about it. I’ve worked at the Army Research Lab for the past three years. Any questions? Comments?”
“It was pretty awesome, what you did in Kingman City, sir,” Falcone said. “What other units have you been with? What kind of special-ops training have you had?”
“Uh…well, none, Frank,” Jason replied rather sheepishly. “I got my master’s and doctorate degrees at Georgia Tech and Cal-Poly San Luis Obispo, then went on to Fort Polk and the Army Research Lab, working in weapon system engineering and development. I did a year at the Armed Forces Industrial College in Washington and a year as project officer at Aberdeen Proving Grounds, working on various projects.” No one said anything after that. He shrugged, then motioned to DeLaine. “How about you, Kelsey? Been a G-Man for long?”
Kelsey gave Jason an evil scowl but got to her feet. “Thank you, Major. Welcome, everybody. I’m Special Agent Kelsey DeLaine. I’m the deputy director of intelligence, FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C., second in command at the FBI’s intelligence headquarters, which oversees nationwide and worldwide law-enforcement information-gathering, analysis, dissemination, and operations. Before that, I was deputy special agent in charge of intelligence for the FBI field office in London, with a force of twenty-three agents and a staff of sixty personnel. Before that, I was at the FBI Academy in Quantico, teaching classes in intelligence field operations and international law. I have a prelaw and law degree from Georgetown University.”
“The sergeant major said you had something to do with that huge black market weapons bust in London a couple months ago?” Falcone asked.
Kelsey nodded. “I was the coleader of a joint U.S.-British-Russian task force tracking down terror cells moving into Europe from the Middle East through the Caspian Sea region and southern Europe,” she replied. “Our task force broke the London cell wide open, which led to the discovery of the black market WMD dealers in London and Washington.”
“I heard that op might have saved both capitals from a nuclear or bio-weapon attack,” McCracken said. “You confiscated something like seven billion dollars in secret bank accounts?”
“More like ten billion, plus those four huge chemical weapon caches that we…”
“That’s good, Kelsey, thanks,” Jason said. Kelsey rolled her eyes at Richter but took her seat. “I’m not sure why I was chosen to be in this group, except I have the keys to the gadgets out there in the hangar. Intros over? Good. Frank, get us started. What do you have for us?”
Falcone distributed folders from his briefcase, disguising a smile at DeLaine’s expense as he did so. “This is the latest information we’ve received on the attack in Kingman City,” he said, “mostly details about the explosion itself and the extent of the damage. Over eleven known terrorist and extremist groups have taken responsibility for the attack. The FBI is working with the CIA, State Department, and foreign intelligence and law-enforcement agencies to narrow the list down.”
“Any information on this, Kelsey?” Jason asked.
“Not yet,” Kelsey responded. “We do know that another three dozen or so unknown group or individuals have also claimed responsibility. It’ll take time to track down each and every lead.”
“Any guesses? Anyone stand out?”
“I think that’s very premature,” she said hesitantly. “We need more information.”
Jason glanced at Ari, who made an imperceptible nod in return as she sipped her coffee. “Okay. We don’t have a target yet, so we can’t ascertain exactly who or what our enemy is yet,” Jason said. “But Sun-tzu said that in order to be effective in war you needed to know your enemy and know yourself. I think it’s time to get to know El CID.”
“El Cid?”
“Cybernetic Infantry Device—our little friends in the Humvees,” Jason said. “I brought two with me from Fort Polk, including the one I used in Kingman City. We have four more in various stages of readiness back at Fort Polk —since we use a spiral development program, we can manufacture units one by one and subsequent units adopt upgrades and enhancements. I expect we’ll get one or two within the next month, followed by the rest within six months along with the specialized Humvees and other support equipment. Our goal should be to train someone to use CID number two and have him or her up to speed.”
“I thought of that,” Kelsey said. “Carl Bolton has volunteered to train in the second unit.”
“Carl? Really?”
“He’s the perfect choice,” Kelsey said. “He’s a career FBI agent, graduated top of his class in the academy, and has degrees in engineering and computers.”
And it would give you someone on the inside on my side of the task force, Jason told himself. “Actually,” he said, “I was thinking of…Staff Sergeant Doug Moore.”
“Who?”
“Sergeant Moore, the Air Force Security Forces guard assigned to this area.”
“You mean, the guy at the front desk?” Kelsey asked incredulously. “The short fat guy with glasses?”
“He’s of average height and maybe a little on the husky side, but not fat.”
“I think Carl would have a much better understanding of the technology than the staff sergeant,” Kelsey said. “We don’t have time to train someone in all the intricacies of haptic interfaces. Carl has researched that technology for years. He’s also a marathon runner and open water SCUBA diver—I think he would do better physically and endurance-wise inside CID than Moore. I vote we train Carl Bolton in the second CID unit and use Sergeant Moore
