The Red Cell André Gallo (essential reading .txt) 📖

I am sorry.” She disappeared and closed the door with an apologetic smile.

“That was the French Ambassador’s secretary, Mireille.” Khazaee said. “Not a problem.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” the General said, shooting an annoyed glance at the younger man and looking to his bodyguard. “Stand outside the door,” he ordered. The man instantly left the room.

“Tell me about the other one,” Yosemani demanded, sensing a change of tone was in order, his posture moving from relaxed to military.

“Yes, you are right. She is a naturalized American, born in Iraq. She studied in Beirut. A true Shiite, she met the Hizballah military leader in Cyprus. He was impressed with her. One of his men was assassinated right in front of her, and she remained cool.”

“And? And?”

Khazaee furtively ran a finger over his brow and said, “She works at the CIA—at the main headquarters in Langley. She has not been as productive as we had hoped, but she is a source of intelligence on various groups the Americans call terrorists. And, she told us about the CIA’s arm shipments from Libya to Turkey. She also reported Prince Bandar used his Saudi money to buy AK-47s from Croatia for the rebels in Syria.”

“How devout is she?” The general asked, now leaning forward.

“Although we do pay her, I do not believe it is her main motivation. Her mother still lives in Beirut, and we have promised to look after her. She tried bringing her here, but her mother is not interested. Instead of paying her here, we visit the mother once a month and give her cash. What the daughter does not yet know is her mother has cancer. I am keeping that information as a chip to be played when we need it.”

“We are about to need it. We will give her a chance to save her mother’s life with her own.”

Yosemani stood up and stretched. “Why is it smoking is not permitted in this city but that woman is allowed to permeate that odor?” He reached into his pocket for a Cuban cigar and lit it.

“Now here is what I want you to do. First, your role will be to set off a bomb inside the CIA building. You have the perfect agent to do it. I don’t care if she blows herself up at the same time. That is where you should start with her. She will feel grateful and pliant when you tell her she would be setting off an explosion without committing suicide. This would take place in either the director’s office or, if that is not possible, in the Counter Terrorism Center, which should be easy since that is where she works.” He puffed on his cigar and observed Khazaee, who seemed more concerned about violating the building’s non-smoking rule than about killing CIA officers.

“Second, I will need resources, men, and explosives. Vancouver and Mexico City have both. On the same day you blow up the CIA, I will destroy a national symbol on the other side of the country. I’ve not yet decided on the specific target, but I have a good idea. So, third, you must establish an operational headquarters for me somewhere close to San Francisco. It needs to be spacious, as well as fairly isolated. But get Vancouver and Mexico City moving as soon as possible while you look for this place. And, I will need a boat.”

“General, I already know of such a place. It’s a large estate owned by a movie star who is shooting a movie in Venezuela. He is a friend and has made it available while he is away for about a month. Tennis courts, two pools—one inside and another one outside—and many bedrooms. It’s about half an hour from San Francisco. A couple of phone calls and it will be yours.”

“I do not give a damn about the tennis courts or the swimming pools!” Yosemani said, forcefully. “I want to know it is secure. If not, it will be your failure.”

Khazaee felt the sweat soaking through his shirt.

35. Langley Redux

“What news of Gulick?” asked Tom Nortsen, the CIA division chief for the Near East, “If he makes it, it will be a miracle. Only a guy that size could survive two bullets in the chest.”

Nortsen and Bob Trent, the counterterrorism chief, were sitting in LaFont’s seventh floor office.

“The question is, what was he doing at that airport anyway?” LaFont asked.

“We’ll never know. He died this morning in a Belgian hospital,” Trent said. “Steve Church did tell me by phone Gulick went to the airport with V.A. Dalton, which raises more questions. Maybe Dalton asked him to travel with her, although I doubt it. She was pretty independent.”

“I just came from the White House,” LaFont said. “They are still in a tizzy over her death. Our Europe division was having a chief-of-station conference at Ramstein when Dalton’s plane landed, and so we have direct information about what happened. She shot herself with a Beretta as the plane was landing. The gun was a .38 caliber. The two bullets removed from Gulick’s chest were also .38 caliber. I don’t believe in coincidences. Remember, Dalton and Gulick were at the airport together. But I don’t know where Dalton’s gun is now. I assume Air Force Intelligence has it and is running tests.”

“The White House’s confusion is confusing to me,” Nortsen said. “The Nightingale correctly concluded she was caught because she was landing at an American Air Force Base. Rather than go through the humiliation of interrogation and a trial, she shot herself. It’s not rocket science.”

“Yes,” LaFont said, but since she was the president’s closest confidant, Tremaine feels politically vulnerable. His first instinct is to distance himself from this affair. So he passed it, like a hot potato, to Baxter. I just met with Baxter, and he told me Hank Maloney, the White House’s counterterrorism adviser, has been given the