Southwestern Colorado

October 11

Montgomery Pierce, Chief Administrator of the Elite Operatives Organization, set the stack of current case files on the small conference table in his office and went to the window to stand beside Director of Academics Joanne Grant. The other member of the governing trio, Director of Training David Arthur, was due any moment for their weekly ETF status briefing.

“Beautiful,” Joanne murmured, gazing out at the Rocky Mountains and the nearly half-million-acre Weminuche Wilderness area that adjoined the EOO’s sixty-three-acre campus. Winter had come early this year, already bringing a foot of snow. She put her hand on his back and caressed it lightly through his charcoal suit coat. “Want to do a little cross-country skiing after lunch?”

“Whatever you like, honey.” It was another of her subtle attempts to get him to exercise more regularly, take off some of the flab around his middle that he’d developed in recent years from sitting behind a desk. Since they’d become romantically involved, she’d also changed his eating habits, bringing well-balanced brunches to his office and cooking vegetables and lean meats and fish for dinner. He had more energy these days and adored how Joanne fussed over him.

Two sharp raps at the door announced Arthur’s arrival.

“Come in,” Pierce said.

As Arthur entered, his copper-colored crew cut a vivid contrast to his winter white fatigues, Pierce drew the blinds, a habit whenever they were to discuss anything important. The chances anyone could observe them were practically nil; the office was on the top floor of the neo-Gothic administration building, the highest structure in the secure compound. But Pierce had been an EOO operative for nearly all his sixty-one years—he’d been one of its first students—and he still always took extraordinary precautions.

The remote and covert campus, which operated under the guise of a private boarding school, housed and trained an elite fighting force assigned to missions outside the reach of normal law enforcement. The best of these were the ETFs—the agents of the Elite Tactical Force. Hand-selected from orphanages worldwide and raised within the compound, they could deal with any situation.

They took seats at the table, but before they began, Pierce turned down the volume slightly on his large screen TV. It was always on, usually tuned to CNN. On more than one occasion, the news media had been the first to alert them to a global crisis that would require their services.

“We currently have seven ETFs in the field, soon to be five,” Pierce said. “Domino just wrapped up Operation Crush and is expected to arrive tomorrow for her debriefing.” He opened the first two folders, glanced at the top pages of each, then set them aside. “No new developments with Viper or Cameo. Both are still in the initial phase of their missions. So far, everything’s going smoothly.”

The third folder said Operation Fortune/Allegro at the top. “Allegro retrieved the codes and is en route to Izmir Air Force base in Turkey, where a plane is standing by to take her to the Pentagon. I talked to her this morning. She got a little banged up getting out of the building—sprained her ankle badly jumping from a second-story balcony—but says she’ll be fine in a few days.”

He set that file aside and reached for the next in the pile. “Reno is in London, as you know, working with MI5 to help retrieve and decipher the encrypted e-mails sent between those suspects they arrested last week connected with the kidnap threat against the Royal Family. He expects to be done there in another day or two.”

The next folder was headed Operation Clarity/Badger. “There were three new bombings today in Peshawar—” Pierce went silent when the TV newscast broadcast the familiar tone of an important news bulletin, and all three of them turned to watch.

“Hospitals in Dallas, Texas have asked the Centers for Disease Control for help in identifying a mysterious flu-like illness spreading through the city with alarming speed. So far, three people have died, and a total of one hundred and twenty-eight others have been admitted with symptoms that include headache, fever, body aches, chest pain, and a bloody cough,” the newscaster reported, over video of a nurse taking the temperature of a young black man, whose hospital gown was stained with small specks of red. “The CEO of Parkland Hospital says patients are not responding to any known treatments, including antiflu medicines like Tamiflu.”

“Joanne,” Pierce said. “Remind every op to make sure they’re fully up to date on all their vaccinations.” Along with the standard vaccines, the EOO had access to new ones not yet approved by the FDA, since its ops traveled worldwide and were exposed to every conceivable kind of disease.

“Of course, Monty.”

“Where was I?” He glanced back down at the file he’d just opened. “Oh, right. Badger reported yesterday that he’s following up a lead that indicates a former Pakistani military officer is orchestrating the attacks in Peshawar. He’s hoping to get a name within a day or two. Blade’s standing by as backup, if necessary.” He closed that folder and stacked it neatly with the others, then opened the final file.

“Fetch made contact this morning,” he told them, and both Grant and Arthur turned to him with their full attention. The other updates had been fairly routine. Fetch had been in the field a long time, working in deplorable and dangerous conditions, and was rarely able to report her progress. “She’s being moved again and is relatively certain it’s finally to the camp with our targets.”

“Great news,” Joanne said.

“How’s she holding up?” Arthur asked. Of the three of them, he was the least likely to show any kind of emotional attachment to any of his former students. But he had a soft spot for Fetch. Like Arthur, she was a soldier to the bone. Pierce had rarely seen either of them dressed in anything but fatigues.

“She sounded understandably tired. She’s also out of meds,” Pierce said. “But she’s confident she’ll have some good intel for us before long. At her last camp, she befriended the communications officer and was able to overhear reports that indicate all the hostages are still alive, although one of the women—we don’t know which—has a bad infection. They’re transferring Fetch there to treat her.” The FARC had an elaborate radio network and communicated through codes based on algebraic algorithms. Fetch had memorized the complicated codes before she’d left and apparently had been able to use that knowledge to her advantage.

“I hate these long gaps between her reports,” Arthur groused as he got to his feet. “We through?”

“That’s all I have.”

“Before you go, David,” Joanne said, “on an unrelated matter, Lynx called me this morning and invited us all to her concert the day after tomorrow in Philadelphia. She has a solo.”

“I’ll have to send my regrets,” Arthur said. “I’m taking the senior class out for a three-day winter-survival excursion in the morning.”

“I’d like to go, Joanne,” Pierce said, unable to suppress a smile. “Will you make the flight arrangements?”

“Certainly.”

Arthur had started to leave, but paused at the door to look back at him with a curious expression. “What’s going on with you lately, Monty? You’ve been unusually chipper the last few months. And since when are you a fan of classical music?”

Pierce considered how to answer. “Lynx did an extraordinary job in Operation Face,” he replied, remembering how she’d almost become a victim of the serial killer called the Headhunter when she’d chased him down in Vietnam on her first solo assignment. There was more to it, but that was all he planned to volunteer, even to David. “I think we can do more to show our ops how much we appreciate how they put their lives on the line. Call this a first step.”

Chapter Six

Date: 2015-01-11; view: 744