The CIA DDs sat in the conference room watching the video recording of a Predator strike that took place hours earlier in Afghanistan. The video showed two SUVs parked at an isolated compound, which they knew to be located just outside the city of Kandahar. Some men were standing guard at locations near the house. Two vehicles came into view and then parked. One was an SUV and the other a small pickup truck loaded with two men sitting in the back. Three men got out of the SUV. They were greeted by a guard and then allowed to enter the house. The two men from the back of the pickup truck got out and chatted with the some of the other guards. The audio recording between the CIA team on the ground monitoring the house from a distance and the Predator operator was recorded and played in concert with the video recording. The DDs heard the communication between the two entities.
“SPUTNIK, this is SMALL TALK. We have positive confirmation of target. Repeat, positive confirmation of target. Execute, execute, execute.”
“Roger that, SMALL TALK. Acquisition of target in process and… acquired. Firing now.”
Moments later, the DDs saw the house explode and a cloud of dust rise where the house once stood. As the dust cleared, they could see vehicles turned upside down and the bodies of the guards lying strewn about the area. Two Hellfire missiles had destroyed the house and most everything else within a fifty-yard radius.
“That’s it,” stated the director. “Thanks everyone for the updates.” He stood and looked at Windstrum. “Coffee, Claire?”
As the DDs filed out of the conference room into the main hallway, Claire followed the director through a door leading into the foyer of his office suite. As they passed Mary’s desk, he asked her to bring them coffee. They went in and sat down. Claire handed him Brandson’s ops report.
“You had better read this before we get started,” she said.
He took it and started reading.
Mary tapped on the door and came in with two cups of coffee. She sat them down on the corner of his desk and left the room, closing the door as she walked out.
Claire reached for one of the cups. She had read Brandson’s report earlier while the other DDs were providing activity updates to the director. He raised his head occasionally to look at her while reading. He made no immediate comment, but Claire knew the director would have several questions when he finished.
She sipped the coffee to hold back a yawn, hoping the caffeine would help with the drowsiness she suddenly felt. She looked around his office while he read. Claire’s mind wondered. She was the DDO at CIA. She had come a long way from the day she’d entered on duty as an analyst. She recalled meeting with a recruiter. It was while she was attending college at the University of Texas. Claire had been interested in pursuing a government career and was eventually approached by the recruiter who visited the campus each year to meet with seniors. She was graduating with honors and a degree in political science, with a minor in languages. She was someone the agency could easily train to become an intelligence analyst. A year later, Claire had passed her polygraph examination and was preparing to leave for Washington, DC. Her parents were small-town farmers who lived near Tulsa, Oklahoma. They weren’t pleased that she was going to become a fed, a G-woman, as her father once said. But she made the move and started to work at CIA.
J. D. looked up from his reading. “You’ve read all of this?”
“Yes I have.
He didn’t say anything more.
Claire was energetic and had worked hard as an analyst, eventually changing professions to become a reports officer in the operations directorate. That’s where she met many interesting people, operatives—the people who did the real spy work for the CIA. With tenure and a few years of experience to draw on, Claire began making a name for herself, but she wasn’t totally satisfied with just being a good reports officer. She wanted something more exciting and requested another professional change. She wanted to become a field operative. Not many women made it through the clandestine tradecraft training at the farm, but she did. She later spent several tours of duty overseas. On her last field assignment, Claire managed to recruit a Chinese ambassador. A hard-target recruitment assured her ascendency up through the ranks of the operations directorate. Breaking the glass ceiling and becoming the first female DDO was a huge accomplishment and honor, but the excitement of her new position lasted just a few short months. The assignment came with many unexpected and, often, unpleasant responsibilities. She was startled a bit when the director spoke.
“Well, Claire, the good news, I guess, is that they have Mauldin, but they’ve left a dead man behind,” he said, reaching for the coffee cup. “The attendant won’t have any choice now but to tell the authorities a story other than the one we had hoped for, and we’ve got a problem—don’t we?”
Claire’s posture changed just a bit as she formulated a response.
“J. D., unexpected things happen in this crazy world of operations that we live in. Sometimes, an op goes down without a hitch, like the drone strike we just witnessed, and sometimes it doesn’t. If we could recognize and evaluate every conceivable obstacle in the way of an operation, then we could mitigate all risks, and we’d be living in a worry-free world, but that’s not the case. Now, as I see it, if there was a recording made, as postulated in Brandson’s report, then the attendant will have fessed up to something. What we don’t know, but that’s not important at this point.”
“OK, so how do you see it playing out?” the director asked.
“The institute will notify the Ministry of Defense that Mauldin’s been abducted; they in turn will notify the FSB. It’s possible that they could have a data image of Mike Shocklee, but I don’t believe that’s the case, as most of his career has been spent in Africa, so our hand in the operation should still be a secret. The biggest hurdle for the team, given Shocklee’s condition, will be getting from Checkpoint Charlie back across the border to the Bravo with Mauldin and our asset.”
“By that comment, you’re obviously recommending that I approve the station’s request to process her for asylum.”
“That’s right, J. D., and the sooner you get the general counsel started on the paper work, the better.”
“What’s her real name? I think you can tell me that now, seeing as how she’s no longer going to be a covert asset.”
“Nina Pukhova Lubikov. She’s the granddaughter of Kim Philby.”
“What?” he exclaimed.
“She’s been on CIA’s payroll for several years and has provided some of the most valuable intelligence we’ve collected on Russia’s military infrastructure in the Western District.”
“For sure, then, the FSB knows that Lubikov is the granddaughter of Philby.”
“Yes, that would be the case.”
“Isn’t it possible, if we grant her asylum, that there could be some additional political risk and blowback because of who she is?”
“Yes, I suppose so, but like I said, we don’t live in a perfect world. It’s possible the Kremlin will want to turn this into a public feud, claiming that we have given safe harbor to a murder suspect.”
“Don’t you mean two murder suspects? Didn’t one of the SEALs kill the security guard?”
“We don’t know that for sure. We could only see him being attended to by an institute doctor. They put him on a gurney and left, heading back in the direction of the main building. He could be dead, or alive and resting in a hospital bed. We just don’t know.”
“OK, however, I’m now inclined to take this to the president for his input.”
“There’s no use in fretting over spilt milk, J. D. We don’t know how long it will be before all this information—the killing of Brzezinski, the police report on Lubikov, and the abduction of Mauldin—reaches the FSB, so time is of the essence, and we don’t need to be pussyfooting around waiting for a decision from the president. We are at risk of having Lubikov left behind to be interrogated and punished by the FSB, and we’ve got her handler and other assets out there as well who need to be protected.”
“I understand that. Your concerns have been noted. Now, Brandson has recommended, if I approve his request, that we get her to an embassy someplace in the region and showcase her as an asylum case. What are your thoughts on that?”
He had brushed her concerns aside regarding the safety of the team. He was obviously more concerned about the political fallout of an operational decision than the lives of her people in the field. Claire didn’t like that at all and was disappointed in him.
“That’s showboating, and I’m not crazy about his recommendation. I think that Nina Lubikov should simply disappear without the US government blabbing to the world that Kim Philby’s granddaughter was granted asylum in the United States—to do otherwise might simply add fuel to a burning Kremlin fire. I think she should stay with the team until they reach Den Helder and from there, we fly the three of them, Shocklee, Mauldin, and Nina back to the States. We’ll keep her in a safe house until her status is approved by the court and, of course, her name is legally changed at some point thereafter. The SEALs will be able to catch a military hop back to Fort Bragg.”
“OK. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. It shouldn’t take me long to advise the president and get his consent.”
“It’s your call, but you’re gambling with time and the efficiency of the FSB.”
“I know that, but I feel strongly that this is something the president should weigh in on.”
Claire looked at her watch.
“It’s almost eleven and close to seven in the evening out there in Saint Petersburg. The clock is ticking. I’ll be waiting for your call so that I can give the team an update.”
J. D. concluded their meeting by saying, “I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”