Agent Beck studied the coffee machine outside the deputy director’s office. It wasn’t a hot drink that interested him. He’d drunk plenty at the five o’clock briefing with the CIA director and the thirty-nine other senior officers from the Intelligence and Operations directorates. Beck knew that the CIA’s Counter Terrorism Center was still grappling with the intelligence adjustments that followed 9/11, but surely this was an over-correction: there were more directors at Langley than on Gone with the Wind, and Beck was just one of fifteen FBI agents who’d been transferred to headquarters to aid communication between home and abroad.
Beck eyed the coloured lights on the coffee machine; they looked suspicious. What were they wired up to? Who had made the machine? Who serviced it? How often were the contents checked for contamination? Where were the suppliers based? Who was responsible for transporting the contents? What level of clearance was required for coffee machine technicians? Who checked their movements on entering DST?
Asking questions about the obvious came naturally to the mind of a CTC agent. But maybe he needed a break. The stress was getting to him. Or was it just the constant policy changes?
A female voice with a classy southern drawl suddenly filled the dark anteroom. ‘Agent Beck. Please enter my office now.’
A light whine was emitted from the steel door to his right. Beck pressed the green safety button. The door slid smoothly across. He entered a spacious, sunlit office, filled with fragrant flowers. A formal-looking lady looked over her horn-rimmed specs at the handsome man entering her office.
‘Do sit down, Sherman, please.’
Leanne Gresham, deputy director of the Directorate of Science and Technology, finished signing some papers, sipped some coffee from a porcelain teacup, cleared some space in front of her, then brought her hands together over the altar of rectitude that was her desk.
‘Well, Sherman?’
‘Ma’am, we have information of use to you and your department.’
Gresham nodded.
‘Ma’am, CTC is in receipt of a communication concerning one of your colleagues.’
‘The origin of the communication, Agent Beck?’
‘Classified, Deputy Director.’
Leanne Gresham removed her specs and stood up. Beck was impressed by her size: nearly six feet, with an athletic frame. ‘I had thought, Sherman, that we had all entered a new era of communication. If you want help from us, then I—’
‘Forgive me, Deputy Director, but this information is to help you. The source is classified because I’ve not been empowered to divulge it. However, if you want to contact my department and—’
‘I know how to contact your department.’ Gresham looked at her watch. ‘I was hoping to enjoy supper with my husband.’
‘Lucky man.’
‘Oh! Do you think so?’
Beck smiled. Gresham glimpsed the crack in the facade.
‘Now, never mind all that. What’s your information, Sherman?’
‘Ma’am, you have a colleague employed on government work at RIBOTech’s facility at Paradise, California. An internationally renowned biochemist.’
‘Several names spring to mind.’ Gresham put her fountain pen to her lips and licked the top. ‘Do you know anything about Paradise, Sherman? Ultra secret. But there are several men and women there who match your description.’
‘This man is an Iraqi by birth.’
‘Professor Sami al-Qasr has been working for the Good Guys since—’
‘1992.’
‘Quite so. What could our Sami have done to interest the CTC?’
‘SIGINT has received a message. Concerning your professor.’
‘Signals Intelligence receives some 2,500 cables a day. What makes this one stand out?’ She looked at her watch again.
‘It’s all in this file.’ Beck pulled out a slim dossier and placed it gently on Gresham’s desk. ‘But if I may summarise, the communication came from Baghdad.’
‘Which tells us nothing.’
‘The communication refers to a British air raid on one of Saddam Hussein’s high-security facilities near Basra in 1992. He gives some details. They suggest insider knowledge.’
‘Why do you keep saying “he”?’
Beck laughed but clipped it short. ‘You have a point, Deputy Director. To be frank, we do not know the gender of the sender.’
Gresham stifled a giggle.
Beck smiled. ‘The message says that the raid explains why al-Qasr’s usefulness to the US has been…’
‘Has been…?
‘Has been less than we might have expected before his defection from Saddam’s regime.’
Gresham’s eyes widened. ‘OK.’
‘Has his work been disappointing, ma’am?’
‘Complex question. His theoretical work has been first class. What else does the message say?’
‘The message is emphatic that al-Qasr has relations with Ansar al-Sunna.’
‘That’s no joke.’
‘Ansar al-Sunna has been getting stronger over recent months. We thought we had them on the run.’
‘And you haven’t?’
‘Events move fast in Iraq, ma’am.’
‘Anything else?’
‘The message ends with a plea for the US and the world to protect the Yezidi people of northern Iraq and the Transcaucasus. Apparently, they have much to fear from Professor Sami al-Qasr.’
‘The who?’
‘The Yezidi people, ma’am. Natives of Kurdistan. Most live in the Kurdish Autonomous Region, near northern Iraq’s border with Turkey. There’s a note on the subject in the file. Frankly, it makes little sense to us.’
‘Desperate lobbying, maybe. Maybe connected with the status of the Kurds of northern Iraq. A plea for attention.’
‘Maybe. It’s the reference to Ansar al-Sunna that makes further investigation imperative. They’re the guys fuelling the insurgency.’
Gresham folded her arms and walked over to the window overlooking the complex of concrete and glass. ‘I gotta say, I am surprised.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘We have two security programmes in place around Professor al-Qasr already.’
‘Two?’
‘Yeah, and both seem pretty contradictory.’
Beck sat back in his chair.
‘You see, Sherman, when Sami first came over from Iraq, after debriefing, security checks and so on, it was decided his work would be permanently shadowed by one of our experts in the microbiology field. He’s kind of an understudy, except that Sami doesn’t know he exists – as such. The shadow used to operate out of the Office of Research and Development. He’s now based in our Office of Advanced Technologies and Programs.’
‘Opened in 2001.’
‘Good. You’ve done your homework. I hope it leaves time for fun.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’
‘It was necessary for security reasons, but also because these genius researchers tend to sit on some of their discoveries longer than needs be.’
‘You’re spying on him.’
‘On his work; not on him personally.’
‘OK.’
‘Secondly, he comes under our personal security cover program.’
‘Personal security cover? Is he in danger?’
‘Well, Sherman. Some guys are in danger. And some guys are in love. What’s your problem?’