“The Brazilians were dealing with an intermediary in Ecuador. The intermediary had made some sales to a rebel group there — these are the sorts of people who get involved in these kinds of situations. You have to hold your nose somewhat. There were several meetings in Colombia, and then Ecuador. Aside from the fact that the countries share a common border, I don’t see a connection.”
“So what happened?”
“Iron Heart succeeded. I don’t know the particulars. Brazil was not my assignment then. Frankly, I’m not sure how many people from State were informed. Clinton, you know.”
Rubens folded his arms and stared at the desk for a moment before speaking. “I wonder, Ambassador, if you would be willing to go through some more invasive security procedures. I realize that they can be very annoying. They include a psychological evaluation as well a lie detector test.”
“I must look very unbalanced,” said Jackson. “You’re the second person today who has been asking about my mental health.”
“No, I have no question that you’re very sane. But the procedures can seem… invasive. The psychological evaluations seem for some reason more objectionable to people than the lie detectors and the background checks. They’re not abused, rumors to the contrary.”
“I’m sure.”
“The reason I’m asking — I would like to give you real access to the situation we’re involved in here. Obviously, your old clearance-it’s not
“Well, if it’s important—”
“We only do important things. Especially in this bunker.”
Jackson’s last months at the State Department had not been pleasant; he was essentially put out to pasture, his advice ignored. He was looked at as just an old man with outdated notions. Now he was being told exactly the opposite-that his age imbued him with “mature wisdom.”
He felt it somewhat ironic. But he also was flattered and even touched.
“There is one thing,” said Jackson. “I have an outside commitment that I couldn’t, that I wouldn’t want to break.”
“What is it?”
“Tuesdays. I’m a volunteer for the local Meals on Wheels and they rely on me.”
“I’m sure we can accommodate that,” said Rubens, turning and leaving the room.
After he left Jackson, Rubens went upstairs to a secure reading room in the Desk Three analysis section so he could access information about Iron Heart. The project papers and summaries had been digitized and were available on the NSA network, though they could only be accessed by people with very high clearance or a specific need to know.
Rubens began reading the documents, scrolling past the security warnings and the presidential finding that had authorized the covert action. The file was extremely brief, summarizing things that had happened. There were no after-action reports or assessments.
As the ambassador had said, Iron Heart had been a success-a spectacular one, in fact. Were it not for Iron Heart, Brazil would have become the first South American country to possess nuclear weapons. And given its volatile politics and recent conflict with Argentina, it might very well have used them by now.
A Russian arms dealer with ties to the
The warheads were not designed to destroy ground targets, but modifying them to do so was not a difficult task. The man who obtained the bombs did not like Muslims-the war with Chechnya was at its height — but otherwise was perfectly willing to sell the bombs to any interested party. At least two countries were interested; neither was named in the report. At this point, another Russian arms dealer became involved, bidding on behalf of Brazil, which had already been approached. The arms dealer was connected with the CIA in some manner, but his identity was a closely guarded secret; even his code name had been blacked out from the report.
The dealer won the bid, and preparations were made to ship the warheads. At this point the Russian authorities learned of the transaction somehow. Rubens had to read between the skimpy lines of the report, but it seemed clear that the CIA had not tipped them off; he guessed that the second weapons dealer had been under some sort of surveillance by one of the internal security forces, which tripped over the transaction. In any event, American and Russian intelligence joined forces and moved against the man selling the warheads. One of the weapons was seized in Russia. The other, however, made it to Guinea in Africa, where it was placed on an aircraft to be flown to South America — not to Brazil but to an isolated airstrip in south-eastern Ecuador where the exchange was supposed to be made. The “Brazilians” on the ground there were actually CIA paramilitaries. They completed the transaction, and the aircraft then took off. At that point, the airplane experienced mechanical difficulties and crashed in the nearby mountains.
Convenient, thought Rubens as he got up from the computer. Stiff, he bent over and did a simple yoga stretch, loosening the muscles in his back.
The report did not name the CIA people who had been connected with the operation. But after his stretching, Rubens sat back at his computer and checked Jorge Evans’ CIA personnel file. He was a member of the operations directorate at the time, with a pay grade that suggested he would supervise the assignment. More interestingly, he was now with the Office of Military Affairs as a staff officer. His exact assignment was listed as “training consultant,” which could cover any multitude of sins.
On paper at least, this was at best a lateral move, though it could easily be a cover for something else, including an extended working vacation for an officer who had seen quite a lot of heavy action or a parking spot for someone on his way to DDO. Still, it begged the question: why did Collins send him to represent her at the meeting?
Rubens stretched again. Probably Evans was just one of her fair-haired boys, given a flexible job so he could do her bidding. His real purpose wasn’t to brief the NSA team — he hadn’t said anything of any value. He’d been sent to try to figure out what Deep Black was
Except, of course, that there wasn’t a hidden agenda. But Collins, being Collins, would suspect that there was.
The alarm on Rubens’ watch buzzed. He was due upstairs for a budget meeting.
Rubens picked up the phone and punched in Montblanc’s extension. He got his voice mail. “Kevin, this is Rubens. Work Ambassador Jackson through the intake process, would you please? Make it as expeditious as possible. I want him examining everything by the morning. I realize that’s not enough time, but please do your best. Remember that he was an ambassador. Have Porter do the lie detector. And have Johnny Bib find him a good office-no, no, let’s keep him down near the Art Room. Best not to spring Dr. Bibleria on him until he’s been here a few days.”
19
Lia woke to the incessant ringing of the phone. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was-Peru, France, Morocco? Her assignments blurred together, her life a kaleidoscope of danger in exotic places.
Korea, always Korea-the memory of pain permeated her confusion. A cold and barren fear rose in the room. Lia was paralyzed, unable to move.
“No,” she said aloud. “No.”
She reached over and picked up the phone. It was her wakeup call: 9:30 a.m. She was meeting Fernandez for
