Extraordinary Retribution (15 page)

“It’s similar with biometrics identification. Combine your body measurements, face recognition, temperature patterns, and patterns of motion, and, really, they can ID you better than your mother could. The entire main building is carpeted in this pressure-sensitive material—one big sensor, essentially, measuring every step taken. Motion sensors, cameras, and direction mics crisscross every cubic inch of the place. All of them feed into highly optimized pattern-recognition software. Now that your biometric ID is uploaded, once inside, they know everything about you.”

“Scary.”

“Well, Francisco, this is the CIA. We deal routinely in classified material, often of a significant national-security concern. You can’t be too careful.”

“How’d they let me in, then?”

“Walk-ins. Despite all the high-tech magic, some of our biggest hooks come from people who literally just walk into CIA offices and tell us something they couldn’t bring themselves to tell anyone else. You’ve got to keep that channel open. Always.”

And suddenly, he saw it.

As they pulled through the gate and out from under the shadow of the wall, a pyramid rose out of the ground. As inaccessible and hostile as the outer razor-studded concrete wall had been, the main offices were inviting. Combining the old and very new, the building was shaped like a pyramid yet constructed of steel and glass. Perhaps three-fourths of the outer walls were glass, supported by steel grids. The tip of the structure reached about five stories high; reflecting the morning sunlight, it looked like something out of
Star Trek
. A parking lot surrounded the square base.

“Wow,” was all he could think to say.

“Yeah, I tried to warn you about this. All that contractor money seeded by 9/11 has done a lot for the intelligence services over the last decade. But don’t be wide-eyed too long. We’ve got to see my boss, Jesse Darst. I’m going to tell him what I’ve found, and what I’ve concluded. He’s not going to like it.”

Lopez sighed as Houston pulled to a stop in a free parking spot. “And then you’ll ask him for the complete mission records?”

She nodded. “And believe me, he’s
really
not going to like that. We’ll give it a try, before we do anything else.” She undid her seat belt and looked over at Lopez seriously. “Just so you know Francisco, everything we say is picked up by mics in that building. Likely, everything we say in this car. No privacy debates here.”

Lopez raised his brows unconsciously.

“I just thought you should keep that in mind.”

25

T
he new CIA building was everything she said it would be and more. Lopez felt like he had stepped into a scene from a science-fiction film depicting the American future. The funds from the War on Terror may have been wasted in many instances—the giant razor wall outside came to mind. But whoever ran this show—the design, building, implementation of security, modern office spaces, communications—had been gifted.

Because she had prepped him, he was able to notice the unusual spring in the carpets that revealed the presence of pressure sensors, devices also integrated into a mechanical system that converted the force of impact into electrical energy, charging batteries. Many of the “windows” he had seen coming in were actually large solar panels, the entire building functioning as an extended photovoltaic array. It was a spy building that was also a cutting-edge
green
building.

He looked carefully around and was able to pick up clues about the placement of cameras and motion detectors, but the mental rethink in the design was startling. Instead of the usual small collection of cameras, or line of sensors at various heights, the walls and ceiling were like the compound eyes of an insect. An array of very small embedded cameras and sensors, likely thousands, covered the surfaces. Whether they were hardline or wireless, how they were powered, and what software ran and integrated it all, he didn’t dare guess. It seemed like overkill, until he remembered what Houston said they could do: track and identify every person in every location in the building in an automated fashion. In this structure devoted to preserving the secrets of America and uncovering those of hostile nations, there would be no secrets. After a second round of milder security checks, including one to recalibrate the system for Houston and her limp, they were off to the third floor of the pyramid and the office of her supervisor.

Associate Director Jesse Darst was a thin and angled man, suit immaculately pressed, thinning hair shorn close to the scalp, the large bald spot gleaming under the bright lights overhead. He fidgeted constantly, appearing to Lopez like some stretched rubber band ready to snap. It was obvious immediately that things were not going to be friendly. After very brief introductions, they took a seat, and Darst launched into an interrogation.

“No disrespect to you, Mr. Lopez,” he began with a nod in the direction of the priest, his eyes focused on Houston, “but Sara, where the hell do you get off bringing in a civilian without prior authorization or contact?”

“Jesse, there are damn good reasons.”

Darst waved her away dismissively. “There had better be. Unless the civilian has
mission-critical
information,
value
to bring to our operations, they bring only a security risk. Basic agent training 101, Sara. You should know better than this.”

“Jesse, we have multiple dead agents who were parts of
your
operations
. The agents here might not talk to you openly, but people are scared. For a reason, Jesse. Something organized is going on.”

“
Jesus
,” whispered Darst. He leaned back in his chair, his expression incredulous. “I let you have your little paid vacation, Sara, because you started talking like this before. I thought with some time off you’d clear your head. Instead, you’ve double-down with this conspiracy theory! The kicker is that you then involve outsiders!”

“He’s involved because his brother was killed only days after I took that leave! Before I could warn him! You
remember
Miguel, don’t you Jesse?”

Darst leaned forward and pointed a finger at Houston. Father Lopez tensed instinctively, sensing a hostility in the CIA man. Houston looked vulnerable in this place.

“Don’t you patronize me, Sara!” Her boss relaxed momentarily and ran his palm across his sparse hair. “You don’t think I’ve gotten enough heat with the deaths of so many agents? A conspiracy to hunt down and kill CIA agents has a nice, satisfactory
Jason Bourne
feel to it. It gives meaning and makes sense out of what are, from all the facts, unrelated, coincidental deaths.”

“Coincidental?” Houston laughed bitterly. “Two brutally murdered. Others dead in mysterious accidents. What are the odds on that?”

“That’s what coincidences are, Sara, low-odds events together without a pattern.”

“That they all worked here under you?”

“That’s the low odds, that’s not a pattern.”

“That they all were involved in covert missions together, hidden from the rest of us, going on for years? That this topic is so hot-button that information on these missions is denied to most CIA employees?”

“It was
you
that brought in Simon?” He looked outraged.

Lopez was stunned. How did he know about Simon?

Houston did not pause for breath. “And that his going to records led to his pursuit by unidentified persons as soon as he left CIA headquarters?”

Lopez watched the eyes of her boss seem to frost over. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Houston held his gaze. “Simon was nearly run down on the highway after being stonewalled on these missions. He came to see me. He’s scared, Jesse. Something really bad is going down around here.”

Darst stood up, his hands resting stiffly on his desk. “Sara, you have really gone too far on this. Let’s get everything very clear. There were
no
secret missions. This is
no
conspiracy to murder CIA agents. And I am sure that no one chased down an ex-division director on the highways of Virginia. There is nothing here!”

“Jesse, don’t play dumb with me. You think they’re all buried, but it doesn’t take a genius to comb through records and notice patterns.”

“You’ve taken to covertly investigating your own division?”

“Damn it, Jesse, it’s not covert! I’m here telling you! And there is a damn good reason I’m checking things—agents are dying! Agents I care about! And if you don’t want more heat, then you’d better stop covering this up and get to the bottom of it. Because from what I’ve seen, this is not close to over!”

“That’s enough, Sara. I’m warning you.”

“I want the records, Jesse.” Lopez held his breath. She was playing this full to the end.

“What records?” His expression was cold.

“The records of those missions. Agents Lopez, Fuller, Conover, and Miller—more than twenty times were traveling off-site—
simultaneously
. Always these same agents. Always together. The same agents who are being killed. God . . . only Miller is still alive.”

Lopez cut in without intending to. “
If
he’s still alive.”

Houston nodded. “I want the records of the missions they were running, Jesse. I want you to open this up to me, let me be part of an investigation into this mess. I’m good, Jesse. You know that. I care deeply about these men. Give me the records and let me work with you.”

Darst appeared to hesitate for a moment, a flash of indecision blinking across his features. But it was gone so fast, Lopez wondered if he had imagined it.

“You have lost perspective, Sara. And that is a danger to everyone here.” His expression turned very hard. “I’m recommending indefinite leave for you pending the results of a battery of psychiatric tests that will begin tomorrow, or as soon as I can have this arranged.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Darst slammed his fist down on the table, startling them both. “I’ve had enough of this! You will be evaluated, and then we will reconsider your role within the agency.”

Her face was frozen in disbelief. “I’ll be God-damned. You’re going to terminate my position.”

“Based on what I’ve heard today, I would not be surprised if that is the conclusion of the Agency on this. But we’ll do this by the book. When you arrive in the morning, you will surrender your ID, firearms, and any other Agency property. You’ll surrender yourself to agents from Division Six. I can’t get this through today, or I’d have you there now.”

Darst looked at Lopez for the first time, acknowledging his existence. His words were full of scorn.

“Now, get this civilian out of my office. I never want to see him here again.”

Houston was shell-shocked on the way to the car. She hardly seemed to notice the wind blowing blonde strands across her face like a net. “I knew this would go badly, but, Francisco, I promise you, I never suspected it would go
this
badly.” She reached over instinctively and grabbed his arm, staring straight ahead. “I think for the first time I’m really scared about what’s going on.” She reached into her purse, pulled out the little scrambling device she had used in the diner in Tennessee, and switched it on. “They could fire me for using this here, but, well, that’d be redundant now, wouldn’t it?”

“So we can talk freely?” She nodded as they walked. Lopez continued. “What do we do now? We’re completely locked out.”

She shook her head. “I need to think right now, Francisco. Hell will freeze over before I abandon this investigation, abandon Miguel and the others because that prick gets my ass booted out of the Agency. That jerk should have taken my ID and revoked my clearance right then and there.”

Lopez felt her hand tighten on his arm. “Why didn’t he?” he asked.

“He’s a chicken-shit bureaucrat at heart, that’s why. He’ll do this stepwise according to the manual, so that I’ll have no recourse. The psych-eval will be just what he needs, I’m sure. He’ll make it so I see the right people. That’s all you need in this business. The last thing anyone wants is a mentally unstable agent with access to the nation’s secrets.”

“But what does it matter if he confiscates your stuff and revokes your status today or tomorrow? Either way, we’re still out. I don’t know how we’ll get to the bottom of this when we’re shut out by the CIA. We
need
those records!”

They reached the car, and Houston nodded. “We’ll get them. But I need some time to think.” Lopez was startled as she jingled her keys in his face. “You drive, Francisco.”

“Me? Why?”
Would he ever keep up with her?

She held her arm out toward him, the keys dangling in front of his nose. “I need to get inside my head, plan things fast. I can’t do that while driving. We’ll hit a tree, or worse.”

Lopez had the unsettling feeling in his gut again, but he took the keys and unlocked the doors. “Plan what, Sara?”

“Tonight’s break-in, of course.” He froze outside the open door as she jumped in, slamming hers shut. “Let’s go, we’re running out of time. We’ve got a lot to do.”

Feeling dizzy, he got in the car, reset the seat and mirrors, and pulled out toward the gate, leaving the pyramid behind.
Tonight’s break-in?
The roller coaster was cresting at the top of the hill.

As they passed the high walls, several cars were entering in the other direction, and he steered clear of a few parked along their side of the road. With a sharp intake of breath, Houston suddenly stiffened on his right.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered.

He followed her gaze behind them. He felt his heart race as cold adrenaline poured through his veins. One car pulled out behind them as they passed.

It was a gray Civic.

26

L
opez instinctively pressed the accelerator, and the car lurched forward. He continued to increase speed down the two-lane road, and soon the trees on either side were a blur. Glances in the rearview mirror told him a grim story: the Civic was gaining on them. Houston drove a deep-blue, 3.6-liter, 280-horsepower VW Passat. Lopez had never driven a Passat, but he knew it should easily out-muscle a Civic.