SAFE HAVENS: Shadow Masters (A Sean Havens Black Ops Novel Book 1) (23 page)

“Guess you only have to make coffee one way.”

“No, about seven for coffee.”

“You are a puzzle. Glad our taxpayer dollars are hard at work so you can go to CIA Cordon Bleu. Guess when you are done killing people you can open a restaurant with all that fancy beverage and goat training.”

“Learned how to do that too.”

“Open a restaurant?”

“Yep. And a trucking parts company, an import and export company, learned how to deal with foreign tax laws, open and register a foreign or local business, move money around, you name it.”

“Damn.” Lars just shook his head and swirled his beer. “I had no idea. You are a jack of all trades.”

“That was the point.”

Sean figured there must have been about eight “Barns” over the course of his three-year training. Barns were both formal and informal sites where he learned his tradecraft. According to his numerous instructors, he was not receiving the same tradecraft that was taught in the “spy schools” and special operations schoolhouses. The instructors had decided that certain foundational skills such as eliciting information and subtly asking questions were the craft of a number of professions and still had strategic and tactical importance. The idea was to keep Havens, and he assumed others somewhere, from standing out as a traditional spy or clandestine operator. Just as he had picked up Rick’s countersurveillance movements, Havens was instructed that other security and intelligence apparatuses throughout the world would pick up on the operational tells that were common to the trade.

Much to Havens’ disappointment, he did not initially learn how to blow up bridges, slit sentries’ throats, or fire rocket-propelled grenades. He did have the opportunity to learn this later with some paramilitary forays, but more from the standpoint of showing others and not doing the acts himself.

The instructors were a myriad of ex-SOG warriors from Vietnam, ex-CIA Special Activities Division operators, and old timer OSS men who had served overseas. Aside from the common thread of the operational training that these men possessed and were able to share with their new trainee, each of these men were also successful business owners or held key leadership positions in global firms. They had been successful both on the battlefield and in boardrooms. They matched a dual competency model that suited their overall craft.

Havens had been taken on a number of discrete operations as both an observer and participant while using true name covers under the protection of legitimate company bona fides. If he ever got into a jam that his skills could not get him out of, he was to immediately revert to the methods that a normal citizen would use: panic, demands for U.S. assistance, and an assertion of wrongdoing. In short, play the Ugly American but keep his mouth shut about everything else.

His jobs lasted two to three years at various global firms where he could get lost in the organization at lower level jobs as a sales support researcher, market researcher, competitive analyst, etc., That way he could put in twenty to thirty hours of work a week and also get involved in other discrete operations work.

Domestically, Havens was assigned a number of tasks that involved investigating Asian front companies. Many of these companies existed legally in the U.S., but they were stealing intellectual property and trade secrets from pharmaceutical, technology, and defense companies. Due to the fuzzy nature of arresting and prosecuting the theft of information, many of these firms and individuals could nimbly alter their corporate ownership, address, and business names to avoid the Federal Bureau of Investigation and other prosecutory agencies.

His involvement was limited to roles as a singleton autonomous operator gaining access to computers, individuals, and information to stop companies that were actually foreign government and military cover-ups or legitimate subsidiaries of these. On more than one occasion Havens was involved in liberating computer hard drives or locked files and then setting the place ablaze. Municipal departments could then enter the building and others at a federal level could enter based on an anonymous tip.

There were a number of close calls, but it was an operation against some Israelis at a software company in Silicon Valley that gave Havens pause. He had been working on an assignment when he accidentally discovered involvement of the Israelis in a partnership that would give them informational access to most of the Fortune 500 companies and their employees. By innocently chatting up one of the Israelis at a tradeshow, he learned that a number of these men in the company had served in an electronics unit of the Israeli military. A very discrete electronics unit. Few would mention their name.

Upon further investigation, Sean learned these men had been, and in a few cases still were, part of Sayeret Matkal, an elite covert action unit within the Israeli Defense Forces. He informed his handler and was instructed to resign from his current company and move to New York City in order to avoid a potential problem.

The night after informing his employer of his discovery, Havens came home to find his apartment had been ransacked. The intruders were still in the apartment and immediately neutralized Havens, who was no match for the Krav Maga-trained fighter. Havens was knocked out cold and awoke to find himself duct taped to a chair. Two masked men stood over him.

“Who do you work for Mr. Sean Havens?” a man demanded in a heavy Israeli accent.

Sarcastically, Havens replied, “I work for Benjamin Netanyahu. Call him and he will validate this information.”

The blow was forceful but the sting of the open hand slap actually brought water to Havens’ eyes. It hurt worse than a fist.

You are a corporate employee. Act like a corporate employee. An employee would not name the former commander of the Sayeret Matkal commando unit to members of Sayeret Matkal. Bruce Willis would do that if he were in a terrorist movie, but not you, Havens.

Havens coaxed himself into crying, which was less difficult than he would have liked to admit given the slap and his growing fear.
Dad would be so pissed at me.

“Stop, please stop. I work for our General Counsel. I work in copyright infringement. I know some people have been using our training material in Israel, Turkey, and India. Please don’t hit me again.”

“Copyright? Why would you say the name Benjamin Netanyahu?”

“Because you sound like my old neighbor who was from Israel. But she never hit me.”

“You are a smart ass American. What do you even know of Israel?”

“I know this…”

Before the masked intruders could answer, Havens sung in his best Jewish cantor voice a holy Yom Kippur blessing that he had learned in the neighborhood.

“Baruch atah adonai eloheinu melech ha’olam asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu l’hadlik neir shel you hakippurim…”

When Havens finished, one of the armed men pushed a leather bound portfolio pad into Sean’s mouth.

“Your prayer just saved your life. Bite down,” the assaulter said calmly.

Doing as instructed, Sean Havens bit into the leather as hard as he could before the gun butt smashed against his head and he was jolted into unconsciousness.

Chapter 29

“Y
ou did not really sing a prayer to them,” Lars said, digging into the pizza. Lars was easing up on his attitude. The stories mixed with booze and food helped.

“I’m afraid so. Seemed like a good idea at the time. As soon as I got free I called my handler to tell him what happened, then called a florist in my home neighborhood and had them deliver flowers to Mrs. Lewicz’s resting place.”

Havens was telling the truth while carefully inserting himself back within Lars’ circle of trust.

“Sean, I had no idea. But how is it then that you are doing so much overseas work?”

“Things changed after 9/11. Christina and I were married, Maggie was in pre-school. We were back in Chicago and I was at the Sears Tower working for a different surrogate company when Christina heard a second plane had hit the World Trade Center in New York. She called me on my mobile and asked if I was still at work.”

“Were you?”

“Yeah, in a stall on the 37th floor taking my morning shit.” Havens laughed.

“She was frantic about me getting out of there right away and thought Chicago might be next. I was getting a bit nervous myself.”

“What did you do?”

“Wiped and ran down thirty-seven floors in record time. Took a bus home where she and I sat on the bed watching the towers come down.”

“Yeah, bad day. Horrible. Never forget it.”

“Right. Well that is what got me more directly involved. The phone rang and it was my guy. I didn’t say anything, but Christina just looked at me and said, “Go get those fuckers.’”

“Christina said that?” asked Lars, with a look of utter surprise.

“I kid you not. First time I ever heard her drop the F-bomb.”

“No shit. Good for her.”

“And that is when you left for a bit, right?”

“Yep. I was made a contractor for a tier one military slash Agency counterterror task force, sent to a two week intensive training, and found myself in Iran and some other places.”

“Iran? Not Iraq or Afghanistan?”

“Nope. What I said. And you will never speak of it.”

“Who would I tell?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Anyway, I think you get the picture. A lot of missions, a lot of other stories for another time.”

“You ever have to kill anyone, Seany?”

Havens took a deep breath.

“Anyone who was ever killed had to be killed. If not by my hand, by another’s.”

“Christina asked me once about people who can’t sleep. She said you had a hard time once about something.”

Havens was surprised. He told his wife next to nothing. It was understood. Sometimes he would come back from a trip and need time to decompress before engaging his family. Christina would give him a knowing look and suggest he go down in the basement to do his trip’s company expenses for a few hours. She knew that her husband lived in a world where he was surrounded by people who he would interact with but had to keep outside his wall. She could see how lonely he looked at times. What she didn’t know was that while there was excitement, boredom could still set. It was necessary to remain vigilant in spite of this in order to stay safe and keep others around you safe. If you slipped up, that was when the hordes would penetrate the operator’s mental front. Your only choice was to run, fight, or submit. For some, a safe haven was the only answer to take pause, gather ones thoughts or emotions, and focus on the desired end state and act.

Sean began to realize how much he had depended on his wife as a baseline for reality outside of the battlespace. The emptiness he felt without her was beginning to eat at him from the inside.

“No worries. I see that look on your face. She didn’t say anything. Well, she said you were sleeping on the floor for a bit. She was worried that you were sleeping with a gun. She was concerned for Maggie’s sake. Should she have been worried about something else?”

“Sean?”

“Sorry, no, I just slipped away for a moment. Well, I guess she
would
need to talk to someone. I just needed to work something out from a trip or two. I don’t see victims’ faces or anything. Well, not victims, but you know what I mean. I am not haunted, but there are times when the high stress of an operating environment is so intense that it takes a while to unwind and decompress. I know you know what it’s like to be in high risk areas, but you have learned to adapt to it by being in the same area. I go from worrying if someone is going to kick down my door one night and the next coming home to Mayberry. It takes some time to recognize a bump in the night is just one of the girls taking a late night whiz versus some storm troopers coming to drag me to some basement before burying lead in my forehead or making a home video of my head getting Ginsu’d.”

“No, I hear what you are saying.”

“So we good? I can’t think of anyone who wouldn’t want to kill me if they knew who I was or where I was, but I have been so careful with my trail and use so many cutouts that I can’t see who would associate me with anything.”

“How about those Israelis?”

“No. That is in the past and I can’t see them doing something like this. If anything, I would have been shot or blown to a million pieces from an explosion. They would be honorable and not take out my family. Plus, I may have done some work for some people over there that puts me on the no-kill list for the time being. They actually owe me a favor.”

“OK, I agree. And, no, I don’t want to know.”

“I’m not telling you anyway.” Enticing Lars, Havens added, “But it is a good story.” He smiled. Havens was a bit drunk now. Lars was the first person he had told most everything to. The feeling was liberating. But Havens was careful, and remained sure he hadn’t gone too far in disclosure.

“Screw you. Don’t play games if you can’t pony up. You’re drunk.”

“So are you.”

“But I don’t have to worry about keeping secrets. I am not that drunk, but I do feel it a bit.” He smiled and gave a long yawn.

“I’m done with secrets. I need a break. I don’t want to do this anymore. I am not sure if I am really making the difference I set out to do. I’m just not sure about anything anymore. I just need to focus on getting Maggie back now.”

“OK, bro, time for you to get some sleep. You are getting on the drunk box now and I’m going to stop you before you go on blubbering about how your life is worthless.”

“I can’t go up there to sleep. I can’t be up there without the girls being there.”

“Go downstairs and sleep on your sofa. I will assume my usual position on the recliner up here.”

“Should we even be staying here? Isn’t there evidence we could be messing up?”

“They have everything they need from the first incident. I got the OK for a cleanup crew but haven’t had the time. This last one they also have captured for evidence exploitation. Everything is pretty cut and dry from my statement and the evidence. My biggest interest is a partial footprint that didn’t match the perp. There was also a blood droplet I want checked. The perp was cutting up his wrist pretty good but then I saw some droplets outside of his action spot. In some cases of psychos, they are talking to themselves or voices and get all wigged out, flailing their arms about. Sometimes that throws off blood spatter beyond their immediate zone.”