SSI OFFICES
Derringer walked into the firm’s lobby, barely nodded to the receptionist and guard, and proceeded straight through the security door. SSI’s leadership was awaiting him in the boardroom.
Marshall Wilmont asked, “What’s the bad news, Mike?”
Derringer set down his fedora and smoothed his thinning hair. “What makes you think it’s bad news?”
“Mike, you’re a lousy poker player. I can read your face, and right now you look like you’re holding a pair of deuces.”
Derringer began to pace. The others had rarely seen him so distracted; Sandy Carmichael and Frank Leopole looked at each other, concern in their eyes. Omar Mohammed remained unflappable as ever, but he followed the CEO’s circular pattern across the carpet, sensing the nuances of posture and expression.
At length Derringer dropped anchor. Turning to face his colleagues, he said, “O’Connor laid it out for me. We’ve been had. In fact, everybody involved has been had, including DoD and State.”
“What the hell do you mean?” Wilmont’s tone contained more anger than he intended.
Derringer took a seat at the head of the conference table. “You all know how we were worried about credible intelligence on this mission. Not even Dave Dare could break out the real sources. He came closer than most, apparently, because he traced what he could back to one source.”
“Israel?” Carmichael already had her suspicions.
“You got it,” Derringer replied. “O’Connor may be a liberal leftover of the Carter era, but he’s able to tap some diplomatic sources. This is not for publication, people, but when I arrived, he was with John Shaw of the U.N. Secretariat. They knew each other at Brown.”
Mohammed sat upright. “Shaw? He monitors private military contractors, doesn’t he?”
“That’s right. He’s even less of a friend to us than Ryan O’Connor, but neither of them likes being stiffed by Tel Aviv.”
Nobody asked the obvious question; everyone present knew that Derringer would fill in the blanks.
“It turns out that the Israelis were behind the yellow cake shipment. It’s part of a plan to focus attention on Iran’s nuke program. But State and the U.N. didn’t know that at the time, otherwise they probably wouldn’t have sent us after it.”
Leopole’s tanned hands were clenched into fists. “How do they know that, Admiral?”
“They wouldn’t reveal sources, Frank, and I guess I can’t blame them. But they talked freely in my presence, and there’s no doubt that both State and the U.N. are sure of the facts.” Derringer made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “For all I know, the leaks could be from inside Israel. Evidently there’s a power play under way in their intel community, on top of arguments about what to do about Iran.”
Carmichael gave Leopole a sideways glance. He nodded.
“Admiral, while you were out, we got word from Victor Pope in Casablanca. Langevin took the captured crew and French mercs ashore to hand them over to French and Libyan diplomats. Where they’ll go from there we don’t know. But Cohen went with the ship’s radio operator, who had been feeding him information on Tarabulus Pride’s location and activities. Nobody’s seen them since.”
Derringer’s face betrayed his emotion: disbelieving anger.
Leopole interjected. “There’s more, and it fits with what you’ve said, sir. Pope and Maas both confirm that Aujali, the radioman, was an Israeli asset who’d been blackmailed into cooperating in exchange for release of some relatives in Israel. We think Cohen probably took him there to complete that part of the bargain.”
“I don’t understand,” Derringer replied. “Why would Alex Cohen just up and disappear? He’s on our payroll, for Pete’s sake!”
Mohammed cleared his throat, gaining the attention of everyone in the room. “This seems to be a day of revelations, Admiral. David Dare called for you just after you left so I spoke to him. It’s after the fact, but here’s what he found:
“Cohen wasn’t just coordinating with the Israelis; he was working with Mossad, which apparently was pulling everybody’s strings. Obviously he didn’t want to answer any embarrassing questions. Once Mossad learned the ship involved, they made sure that we and Hurtubise knew what each other knew. The Israelis wanted us focused on the ship, and the ship aware that we were closing in. It’s a perfect game; a classic double cross to the exclusion of both parties for the satisfaction of the third party. Israel.”
Derringer shook his head as if avoiding a pesky fly. “How did Dave learn that?”
“He’s waiting to talk to you. Whenever you can call back.”
Leopole was on his feet. “The bastards! They…”
Wilmont was almost never involved in operations but he recognized the anger building in the room. SSI still had potential contracts in Israel and the Middle East. “Easy, Frank. Remember, they’re protecting themselves from possible nuclear attack.”
People rose from their seats as their voices became shrill.
“Damn it! We lost people on this op!”
“What the hell’s the matter with you?”
Derringer rapped on the table. It was one of the few times he regretted not having a gavel. “Hey! Everybody! Knock it off. We’re all on the same side here.”
When the voices subsided, Derringer regained control of the meeting. “Where’s Don Carlos now? Still in Casablanca?”
“Yes, sir,” Leopole replied.“Maas is awaiting orders, which he’ll pass to Pope. I imagine everybody wants to come home, especially those who were in Chad.”
Michael Derringer slumped visibly. He seemed burdened with a weight on his head and shoulders. Looking around the room, he said, “I haven’t told you everything yet. State wants us to stay in position.”
Carmichael cocked her head. “Sir, what does that mean? We keep our people there? For how long?”
Shaking his head, Derringer said, “I don’t know, Sandy. But I’m allowed to tell you that something’s brewing in Iran.”