“Gentlemen,” Brad Winters said as he entered the ambassador’s office. It had been less than a day since he was here last, and he was in a buoyant mood. He knew this call would come. No need to gloat.
Ambassador Ensher stood and shook his hand, looking resplendent in a three-piece suit. The room smelled of stale coffee. It was early morning, but these men had clearly been here much earlier.
“This is Emmanuel Garcia, my deputy chief of mission,” Ensher said with his usual formality. “This is Col. Charlie Mullens, our military attaché. He’s keeping us abreast of Fifth Fleet’s search. And Forsythe Martin. You probably know what he does.”
Winters did. Forsythe Martin was the CIA chief of station.
“A pleasure,” Winters said. It was clear they had been working the loose-nukes angle most of the night. They were taking it seriously, and even better, they needed help. Otherwise, Ensher wouldn’t have extended the invitation. It must have been grinding his worsted vest to have “the mercenary” back so soon.
Good, Winters thought. He had realized long ago that the person who can walk away from the negotiation table first has the power, and everything was a negotiation. Especially national security.
“Your country owes you a debt,” Ensher said in a flat tone, as Winters took a seat.
I’ll take it in Euros, Winters joked to himself.
“We’ve been checking your story,” Martin, the spook chief, said. “The CIA believes it credible. We’ve always been concerned about Saudi Arabia’s nuclear connection with Pakistan, but we didn’t think they would be foolish enough to exercise this option.”
“The Saudi government officially denies it, of course,” Ensher said.
“Good God, you didn’t mention it to the Saudis, did you?” Winters said, almost bolting out of his chair.
The room shifted uncomfortably. “They are our allies,” Ensher said.
“Excuse me, sir, but I thought they were the ones we were trying to prevent from getting the nukes. If you hinted at our knowledge—”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, son,” Martin broke in. He was only six years older than Winters, but he seemed to be from a previous generation. His Brooks Brothers suit was ten years out of style. “We’ve got people on the inside. People we trust. It’s en passant.”
Martin gave him a steely look on the last phrase, a spook’s term for “back channel,” unofficial and off the books. You’re not dealing with amateurs here, the look suggested. These men are among America’s best. Winters found that mildly unsettling.
“A deal was transacted three days ago,” Martin said. “But it wasn’t sanctioned by the king. As far as we can tell, it wasn’t sanctioned by anyone.”
“Who else knows?” Winters asked. Ensher looked at Martin, preferring not to share such sensitive information with a creature like Brad Winters. Winters waited him out. They needed his help; this was part of the price.
“Right now, only the Five Eyes,” Martin said. The Five Eyes were the intelligence alliance of the United States, the United Kingdom, Australia, New Zealand, and Canada. “We’re keeping it as tight as possible.”
“Frankly,” Ensher said, “there’s only one party I’m worried about, and he’s in this room.”
“Don’t worry,” Winters said, taking the taunt as a compliment. “I understand the gravity of the situation. Even a rumor, substantiated by United States actions, could cause a nuclear panic in the Middle East. Israel and Iran would feel threatened. They might launch preemptive nuclear strikes.”
“Not to mention the possibility of a Middle Eastern nuclear arms race,” Garcia, the embassy’s second in charge, said.
“It won’t get that far,” Winters replied. “Not if they find out Prince Farhan might have taken something nuclear into Iraq.”
“Has he?” the marine colonel barked, clearly alarmed.
“I don’t know.”
Ensher started to respond, but Winters held up his hand. “I know, I know,” he said. “No need to play out scenarios. No need to start rumors we can’t control. I understand that perfectly, Ambassador. That’s why I brought this situation to you, gentlemen, and to you alone.” He looked around. Everyone was impressed. He’d sidelined Ensher already, even from his right-hand man. Time to get down to business. “So what do you need?”
“Abdulaziz,” Martin said. “What do you know?”
Winters shook his head. “Just what I shared with the ambassador yesterday.”
Ensher looked dubious. “You understand the gravity of your situation. Abdulaziz is your business partner, and this is not sitting well with USG.” United States Government.
It was Winters’s soft spot. Apollo Outcomes needed to keep its number one client—USG—happy, even as it serviced its lucrative Saudi clients. This arrangement rankled some in the National Security Council, as Ensher was reminding him, but it was the way the contracting world worked.
“You would not even be aware of the situation, Henry,” Winters said with a smile, “if I hadn’t already betrayed the confidence of my client. I’m a businessman, sir, but I am first and foremost a patriot.”
“Here, here,” the marine colonel muttered. What was his name again? Mullens? Winters made a note to keep him close. He would make a good ally.
“I’ve already deployed a top Apollo team to action Farhan Abdulaziz,” Winters said, looking at the colonel. “They’re in theater right now, vicinity Mosul.” No need to mention Sinjar, of course. It wouldn’t help him, so what was the point?
“Excellent!” Martin exclaimed. The colonel nodded his approval.
“Do you have teams in Iraq?” Winters asked.
“That’s classified,” Ensher said, but Winters had seen the colonel nod.
“What about Abdulaziz?” Martin asked. “What are his plans?”
“He’s kept them close to the vest”—Winters smirked at Ensher—“but I know his best man is there.”
“Do you have his trust?”
Winters sighed. “Abdulaziz is paranoid, with good reason, obviously. When he’s paranoid, he’s dangerous, and unpredictable. I tried to talk with him about his son. He wouldn’t bite.” He almost bit my head off, actually, Winters thought.
The colonel squirmed.
“You’re not putting our minds at ease,” Martin said.
Well, they shouldn’t be, Winters thought.
“So you’ve confirmed the nukes?”
Martin nodded. “Human intelligence sources confirm that a suspicious shipment left Gwadar, Pakistan, on a freighter about”—he checked his watch—“fifty-four hours ago. We don’t have enough intel for target identification.”
“Hence, Operation Urgent Vigilance,” the colonel said abruptly. He was a military man. He despised nuance. “A top NSC priority. We’re scrambling every asset from Bab el Mandeb to Hormuz. Planes. Ships. Satellites. Boots. If nuclear assets are moving”—military men loved the word assets—“and that’s a big if, mind you, we will intercept them.”
Martin didn’t look convinced.
“What about Paris?” Winters probed. “What was stolen?”
Martin was about to speak but Ensher interrupted. “That’s classified.”
“But it was nuclear in nature?”
Ensher shook his head. “I told you, that’s classified.”
Garcia grimaced at his boss’s rudeness. There was clearly an imbalance of trust at the table. Divide and conquer, Winters thought.
“I just want to know if we’ve conclusively PIDed”—positively identified—“the nuclear nature of the assets,” Winters pushed, adopting the colonel’s nomenclature.
“We believe we have,” the colonel said, before Ensher could intervene.
“But not conclusively, no,” Martin backtracked. “We’re still working with hypotheticals.”
“What about Prince Mishaal? Where is he now?”
Ensher looked at Garcia. “Al Ha’ir prison,” Garcia said. “He’s receiving, umm, spiritual instruction for his addictions. We’re monitoring the situation.”
“You have a man inside?”
“Nobody has a man inside al Ha’ir prison,” Martin said.
Naïve, Winters thought. “Prince Khalid does. The Wahhabis run that institution. They control what goes on there.”
Winters didn’t know much about the furtive Khalid, other than he was one of the few men Abdulaziz feared in the Kingdom. Khalid was top brass inside the Ministry of Interior and commanded the Kingdom’s notorious secret police, the Mabahith. There wasn’t much in the Kingdom that Khalid didn’t know about, or couldn’t touch. And Winters hadn’t found a way to touch him in return. The only thing more menacing than what he knew of Khalid’s power was that there was so much about the man he didn’t know. And Winters was in the business of knowing.
“Khalid is a dangerous man,” Winters said. “You should keep eyes on him.”
Ensher sighed. “Mr. Winters,” he said, “we did not bring you here so that we could listen to your conspiracy theories about Prince Khalid. We have an assignment in mind. A favor.”
Winters knew that must have hurt Ensher to say, but he nodded, as if it were nothing. He’d pushed the Saudi conspiracy angle as far as he could go. He turned to the colonel—the military man in the room—like a good student waiting for his assignment.
“We have a solid plan in play,” the colonel said. “Nearly wall-to-wall surveillance on the ocean. The Gulf States are cooperating, although they are obviously not fully read into the situation. They think we’re chasing a major arms dealer for Shia terrorists. Between our intelligence capabilities and partners, we have the entire region locked up. Everything, except one gaping hole.”
“Let me guess,” Winters said. “Yemen.”
“Affirmative,” said the colonel. “The country is a civil war wrapped in a lawless desert inside a black hole. We have assets in place. SOCOM. CIA. Partners. But conditions on the ground are deteriorating, and the coastline is simply too damn long. You, however, have been running counterinsurgency operations in Yemen for the past two years—”
“At Abdulaziz’s request,” Winters pointed out.
“We need those men and their skill sets for this mission,” the colonel said, barely registering the interruption. “The black SOF units. You know the ones I mean. How many do you have, Mr. Winters?”
“That’s classified,” Winters said with a straight face.
Ensher scoffed. Winters knew he was thinking of Ukraine. There were some in USG who appreciated his efforts against Putin. Many more, like Ensher, did not.
“Where’s the gap?” Winters asked the colonel.
“Hadhramaut region, especially the port at Al Mukalla.”
“That’s a lot of coastline.”
“We know you have the assets to screen it.”
“And you don’t?” Winters said, with mock surprise.
“We have planes in the air, ships on the sea, satellites in space, but we don’t have the”—the colonel paused—“political will to put more boots on the ground beyond our current SOF assets, and they’re overstretched. The top brass worries that dead SEALs might raise questions. No one cares about dead contractors.”
“No offense, Mr. Winters,” Garcia added.
“None taken,” Winters replied. “It’s why I have a job.”
“Understand, Mr. Winters,” Ensher said, “we want you to watch the coast. Not intercept the nuclear weapons. We have a SEAL team on station for that.”
“I understand. Screening operation only.”
The colonel nodded. “So, do you think you could help out your country?”
The room fell silent, as everyone looked at him. Even Ensher, although the ambassador was looking down his nose. He was a stuffed suit. He’d spent his whole life in air-conditioned offices. What did he know?
“Abdulaziz won’t like it,” Winters said, looking down at the table. “I’d be taking assets away from him to cover the coastline for you.”
“The U.S. government will compensate your losses,” Garcia said.
Winters winced.
“Double your losses,” Garcia corrected.
Winters held up a hand, as if the thought of payment wounded him. “I meant, he will be suspicious. He might change his plans.”
“It’s five days, Mr. Winters,” Martin said. “He won’t even notice.”
“Five days,” Garcia said, “for fifty million dollars. And another five-day contract, if and when needed, to follow.”
Winters sucked in his breath, as if impressed by the number. “It’s not about the money, gentlemen.”
“But you’ll take it,” Ensher sniffed.
“Title 50 tasker under my existing IDIQ umbrella contract with the Agency, I assume?”
Martin nodded. “You’ll have a Langley COTR on paper, but we run it out of this embassy, is that clear? Keep Washington out of it.”
Winters sat motionless, enjoying the moment. He didn’t even have to look at Ensher to know the man was sweating this deal already.
“As a private military company,” the colonel said, “you don’t need to observe our rules of engagement. You may board any ship, raid any facility, risk collateral damage, do whatever it takes. This is a license to kill, Mr. Winters,” he said. “I expect you to use it.”
“You have my word,” Winters said. “Now all I need is the intel.”
He went around the table shaking hands. He held the colonel’s for a moment, making a show of noticing the ring on his finger, although he’d actually noticed it upon entering the room. “An Academy grad,” he exclaimed. He held up his own hand. “I’m West Point, class of ’80. Pride and Excellence!” It was that year’s class motto.
“Annapolis, class of ’81,” the colonel beamed. “Second to None!”
Ensher caught him by the door as he was about to leave. “You don’t fool me, Mr. Winters,” he said. His breath smelled of stale pipes. “You’re a snake.”
“I’m a patriot, Henry,” Winters purred. “Second to none.”
Ensher looked like he tasted vomit in his mouth. “Don’t touch those nuclear weapons.”
“Don’t worry,” Winters purred. “You can trust Apollo. You have my word. Just feed me intel, and my assets will do the rest. I promise.”