Operations Center 3, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
Morrison threw open the operations center door and rushed inside, slightly out of breath, swearing to himself he would get back on the treadmill next week.
It’s always next week.
“Establish comms with the Delta unit led by White.”
Leroux turned to Therrien who began to establish contact.
“Do you still have eyes on that second tracking device?”
Leroux nodded. “Yes, sir. A vehicle with that signal left, separate from the others.”
Morrison’s eyes narrowed. “Separate?”
“Yes, sir. We think it might be their command cell. They were clustered near the center of the warehouse almost the entire time before leaving last. Someone at this end had to coordinate things. My guess is they’ve been here for weeks or months laying the groundwork.” He turned to Sonya. “Replay the departure.” Sonya’s fingers flew over the keyboard and a replay of the thermal imaging showed on the main display. “As you can see, they were split off into twelve groups of about ten each in addition to the command cell. Each vehicle had four to six people and they all left within three minutes of each other, all heading off in different directions. At this point no two vehicles are together.”
Morrison frowned. “So there was no way the FBI were going to be able to stop them after they left. I hate being right sometimes.” He motioned toward the screen. “And this command cell? Where are they?”
Leroux pointed to the bottom right of the screen. “Heading back to Manhattan by the looks of it.”
“And the Delta unit?”
Sonya’s fingers tapped away, a green dot appearing several miles away.
“Good. I want them to take down that vehicle and capture whoever Kane tagged, alive.”
Leroux’s eyes widened slightly, his eyebrows climbing half an inch. “What about the FBI? Aren’t they in command?”
“Not for this.” Morrison pointed at the screen. “Not after that. The President wasn’t happy they couldn’t get their act together fast enough.” Morrison turned to Therrien. “Got them?”
Therrien nodded. “Yes, sir. Bravo Zero-One is on the line.”
Morrison pointed at the headset Therrien held out, looking at Leroux. “It’s your show.”