Best of all, the coffee and tea were world-class.
Breanna took her seat near the center of the far side, next to Reid and two spots from the Secretary of Defense, Charles Lovel.
Lovel nodded as she sat. He had started out as an enthusiastic supporter of the program, but lately had been rethinking its direction because of budget pressures. A relatively small part of the Pentagon’s so-called “black budget,” it still represented hundreds of millions of dollars, with the potential to consume much more. Lovel had bought the “multiplier effect” that Whiplash allowed — the idea that the program would pay for itself by encouraging more research and development, implementing high-tech tools faster and cheaper, and saving on manpower costs down the line. But the program was still so new that cutting it would not raise much of an outcry — far less, say, than lopping something like a destroyer out of the budget.
Lovel would have been the first to admit that counting angry heads was a terrible way to set government policy. But he called himself a “big picture” guy, and in the big picture he saw, some terrible decisions had to be made to support the overall agenda.
Breanna sat down and took a small memory card from her pocket. When she slipped it into the slot in the table before her, a keyboard appeared on the screen. She touch-typed her encryption code, enabling access to the files of her presentation, along with additional background and documentation.
She was worried about her daughter. She knew Zen could handle whatever came up — he was always taking care of them somehow. But still, she felt she should be there, reassuring Teri that everything was fine.
The attendant brought Breanna a cup of coffee. As she started to stir it, everyone in the room rose. The President had arrived.
“All right, let’s get to work,” said Christine Mary Todd. A tall woman, she moved with quick strides, shoulders back and head high. In a man, her quick gait might have been considered brisk, her physical style assertive. As a woman, they gave visual ammunition to critics who found her abrupt and distant.
“Ms. Stockard, Mr. Reid. Very good of you two to come on such short notice,” she said as she sat. The President did not attend every National Security meeting, but had planned on coming to this one for other reasons. News of the nuclear network made her attendance even more critical today. “Who’s going first?”
That was the President’s style — plunge right into the situation without too much fuss. Breanna glanced around, waiting for everyone to settle into their seats before beginning.
“Some months ago, we initiated a joint program between the CIA and Defense that allows us to test and implement new technologies on an advanced basis,” she said. Her voice was stiff, as was her prose. “The program is still in its very early stages, literally only a few weeks old, but we already have important results to share with you. Alarming results. Some of you have received some information already, so I will be brief.”
Breanna looked down at her presentation. She’d lost her place, but decided she didn’t need to read the words. She knew what she wanted to say.
“My associate, Mr. Reid, represents the CIA. We work together. I’m going to very briefly talk about some of our technology and the unit involved, just to give you background on our capabilities. And then Jonathon — Mr. Reid — is going to talk about what we’ve found.”
Breanna described MY-PID in simplistic terms, saying that it was a networked computer system that could be used by operatives in the field. Her description was intentionally bland; the few people in the room with a need to know the specifics already knew them. She then mentioned the Whiplash team, again in very general terms, noting that its full complement had not even been recruited yet.
She made a point of mentioning that Danny Freah was heading the team. His name was familiar to most if not all of the people in the room, adding credibility to the program.
Reid sat quietly, waiting for his turn to speak. Even now, he hadn’t decided what he would recommend as the next step. His boss, mentor, and friend, CIA Director Herman Edmund, had made it clear that he wanted the entire project under CIA direction. Reid had been swayed, at least to some extent, by Breanna’s arguments in the car.
“Excuse me,” said Secretary of State Alistair Newhaven. “Is Whiplash intended as a strike team, or as an espionage unit?”
“A little of both,” said Reid. He turned to Breanna, realizing he’d cut her off. “Sorry.”
“Jonathon is right. It can be both, depending on what the situation requires. In this instance, I’d say the operation leaned toward — is leaning, I mean — toward espionage.”
She paused and looked around the room. A few aides and staffers, lined up along the wall, were brimming with questions, but unless their bosses specifically asked for their input, none would dare ask them. Breanna turned and looked at Lovel, who nodded, then at Michael Bacon, the national security director. Bacon, sitting next to the President, nodded as well, indicating she should continue.
“Our first mission began with a single agent, who was attempting to gather information on an arms network, known as Jasmine, operating in the Sudan,” said Breanna. “The operation — and the CIA officer, for that matter — were chosen primarily because of considerations with the systems we were testing and implementing. We wanted a real-world, real-time situation. After a few weeks we found it necessary to back him up, and so the agenda for the Whiplash team was moved ahead. And that’s where things got interesting.”
She turned to Reid.
“Yes, interesting. My colleague has a way with understatement,” said Reid. He flashed a smile. “Let me give you the headline first: Iran, or perhaps some element of its government, is refining nuclear material in Sudan, we believe in preparation for constructing a bomb.”
If the room had been silent while Breanna spoke, now it was an absolute vacuum, all potential for sound pumped out of it. Reid briefly sketched what they had found, emphasizing that though the intelligence was still very preliminary, it was nonetheless very good.
“We’re not relying on spies here, agents who have an interest in leading us on. These are our own people,” Reid said. “We have radiation sniffers that have data for us. We have purchases. We are still pulling everything together, and admittedly there is much that we don’t know. But the basic finding is unassailable — there is an operation here to refine nuclear material that can be used in a bomb.”
“But Iran has just eliminated all of its nuclear weapons,” said the Secretary of State. “And dismantled its weapons program. We’ve inspected it. We know this is true.”
“They showed us what they wanted to show us.”
“They showed us what we asked for — what the CIA told us to ask for,” said Newhaven pointedly.
“I would note that our estimates show there is a potential for several pounds of material to be missing from the official count,” said Dr. Bacon, who’d consistently been a stickler on this point. The missing material — if it was missing — was not quite enough for a bomb, but it was close.
“We don’t need to debate whether the material is there or not,” said the head of the CIA. “Obviously, we need more information. And quickly. The Iranian president is due here next week.”
This wasn’t news to most of the people in the room, but it was to Breanna and Reid, along with some of the lower-level staff people.
“Yes, Mr. Reid, Ms. Stockard, it’s true,” said the President. “We’ve kept it a secret because he doesn’t want a backlash in his country. But the Iranian president will be here one week from tomorrow.”
“Maybe he plans on bringing a bomb with him,” quipped Bacon as the meeting continued.
Reid pressed his lips together and wondered if that might be more than just a joke.
33
While the President was meeting with her advisors, Danny and Nuri were trying to figure out what had happened to Tarid. The biomarker was still active and showed that he was moving, indicating he was alive. That in itself was a minor miracle — from the looks of the video shot by the Owl, the Sudanese army had overwhelmed Colonel Zsar’s force near the road, killing nearly all of the men there. A much larger force of rebels, arriving after the battle was finished, had been repulsed with light losses, leaving the body of their leader behind.
Tarid and the other rebels had been rounded up and driven about a hundred miles to an outpost near the
