seventeen

There was a lengthy silence while they all digested what Brasher had said.

“Chadwick a terrorist threat?” Ruth said. “How do you make that out—and how long have you known about any of this?”

Brasher looked nonplussed, as if they were questions he hadn’t been expecting or maybe didn’t want asked. He took out a slim notebook from his coat pocket and flipped it open, checking the details before explaining, “Three weeks ago James Chadwick made a late-night phone call to the US Air Force Office of Special Investigations in Quantico, Virginia. He was described by the duty officer as sounding agitated and didn’t seem to know who he should speak to. He expressed concerns about an individual who had approached him in Chicago some weeks prior to that date. He’d been attending a conference and exhibition on the use and development of small UAVs—that’s unmanned aerial vehicles—for commercial use. This individual, who introduced himself only as Paul, said he was seeking expertise, as he and his colleagues were looking to capitalise on the potential of drones in the commercial sector.”

“Them and Amazon,” Reiks commented dryly. “Did he say why he called the Air Force and not the FBI or Homeland Security?

Brasher shook his head. “Not specifically, but we know Chadwick served with USAF Intelligence several years ago and it seems reasonable to assume that as a former officer he decided to seek directions from them first. He told them of his concerns and how this person had offered to pay him a substantial sum of money to help him with a start-up venture involving UAVs, but needed someone with expertise to help train him and his colleagues to fly and demonstrate the machines. Chadwick described this as very unbusinesslike and an unlikely scenario for a start-up. As you probably know, he’s a financial and business consultant, so I guess if anybody had an opinion on the matter, he would. Anyway, he said his concerns were heightened when he made it clear he was unable or unwilling to help and the gentleman became forceful and aggressive.”

“Sounds like a nut job,” Reiks ventured. “What happened?”

“Because he had no specific threat to speak of, he was advised to call us at the FBI.”

“And did he?” said Vaslik.

“Yes, he did, three days later.” He tilted his head sideways. “My guess is he was unsure of what to do, so he may have been debating following through on his initial call. Anyway, he was put through to our Joint Terrorism Task Force and talked to a member of our investigative support team. He relayed the conversation he’d had with this Paul guy and also mentioned that he thought he was being followed. He was particularly concerned because the man had made it clear that he knew a great deal about Chadwick’s personal life and family details here and in London.”

Brasher stopped and sat back, snapping the notebook shut.

“And just from that,” Ruth said, “the FBI believes he’s a terrorist threat? You’re kidding. It sounds as if he was the one being threatened.”

“I didn’t say it was justified, but we have to go with what we’ve got.” He seemed to lack a degree of conviction in what he’d said just moments before and Ruth wondered why.

“Don’t tell me,” she said softly.

Reiks looked at her. “What?”

“We screwed up.” The admission from Brasher came out hard and flat and he looked embarrassed, his face flushing.

“How?” Vaslik asked.

“The support specialist who took the call passed it on up the line for action, but it coincided with a flood of high-level alerts and reports of terrorist-related activity that had to be investigated as a matter of extreme urgency. Chadwick’s call wasn’t ignored in any way, but it was rated as being of secondary importance to other parallel reports and threats at the time.” He rubbed a hand across his face at the shocked silence from the others in the room and added, “By the time the team got back to it a day or so later, it was suggested that Chadwick might have been …” He stopped and waved a hand.

“A what?” said Ruth.

“Exaggerating.” He sat forward and looked around at the faces with more than a degree of professional embarrassment. “Some were of the opinion that he was nothing more than a former Air Force spook wanting to see this approach as more than it actually was. In their defence I have to say it’s not uncommon for former law-enforcement or security agency personnel to have a heightened sense of perspective about these things. They relate it to their own experience and the state of threat today, and it builds up in their minds to something bigger. And because they often have access to more specific inside contacts than the general public, they find themselves pumping it up a little.”

“That doesn’t explain,” Vaslik murmured, “how he got slapped with the terrorist threat label.”

Brasher stuffed the notebook back in his pocket with a degree of defeat. “It’s a precaution, that’s all. The report was reviewed by our intelligence analysts in the last couple of days, and their conclusion was that Chadwick must have been compromised in some way. And because of his Intel background, he would probably have access to information that would be of help to terrorists. I’m not excusing my colleagues in any way … I’m just saying how it is.”

Bergstrom had been silent throughout Brasher’s words, merely sipping his coffee and staring into the cup. It was an indication that he probably already knew about the stuff-up and had said plenty on the subject already.

“What’s your take on it, Agent Bergstrom?” Ruth asked him. “Do you think he was fantasising?”

He took a moment to answer, and Ruth thought he was ignoring her altogether. Finally he said, “I don’t know, Miss Gonzales. Frankly, we shouldn’t dismiss anybody who makes a report of this nature, no matter who they are. But Tom’s right about one thing: there’s been an unusually heavy flush of alerts and Internet and phone chatter coming in for the past few weeks, all pointing towards something about to happen. When it reaches a certain pitch like that, it takes a vast amount of work to weed out the crap from the real intelligence. The two things together—the chatter and Chadwick’s report—served to cloud the issue. It shouldn’t happen, but it does. As we know, unfortunately.”

“What sort of chatter was it?”

“It’s difficult to analyse clearly and I haven’t seen all of it—only those bits that affect me and my colleagues. There have been many references to a high-value ‘hit’ on a government facility. None of them are specific and it’s mostly wishful thinking. But there have been a couple of recent references to—and I quote—‘The wounded beast, damaged but not brought down in the glorious holocaust.’ That last reference has been used by some jihadists to refer to nine-eleven, and in many views the wounded beast is the Pentagon.” He shrugged. “It’s as valid an explanation as any.”

There was a silence until Reiks said, “So what’s the current view? That commercial drones are the next jihadists’ weapons of war?”

Brasher looked grim. “God, I hope not. We’d never see them coming.”

“Is that even possible?” Ruth asked.

“It’s worse than that—it’s real. The machines Chadwick was talking about at the conference are extremely high-tech and capable of some amazing stuff. They can move at anything between forty and seventy miles per hour and the payload capabilities and flight distances are being stretched all the time. There are strict regulations governing their use in certain areas, but those are being tested, too.”

Vaslik said, “I suppose they’re easily available?”

“Sure—if you have the money. My guess is they’d probably steal one to avoid paperwork or records. And I doubt they’d be signing up for any authorised training for the same reasons; it would leave too much of a trail.”

Ruth nodded. “That explains why James Chadwick was approached.”

A silence descended on the room while they all considered the probability of anything like that happening. After the horrors of 9/11, it didn’t take much for any of them to imagine anything so seemingly outlandish; in modern guerrilla or terrorist warfare, anything was possible if the technology was available.

Ruth decided to take a break and the others agreed. She excused herself while Reiks got busy arranging for more coffee to be brought in and some sandwiches. As she walked down the corridor towards the washroom her cell phone buzzed.

It was a withheld number. “Gonzales.”

“Ruth? Hi. Thank God I caught you.” It was Valerie DiPalma. She sounded animated, the words pouring out of her in a rush. “I’ve found something but I don’t know if it’s important or not. Can you come over to my place? I was clearing out the trunk of my car just now and I found an iPad hidden under a blanket. It belongs to James.”