Chapter Nine #2
“Anyway…Trey says two recent ops run out of Langley were fumbled badly. Possibly compromised, possibly from within. They haven’t identified the leak, or even convinced themselves that there is a leak, but they don’t want to take any chances on this one.”
Court said, “Then fold DIA into this. Get someone at State—”
“They’ve had compromises, too.”
“DIA or State?”
“Both.”
Court took another gulp of the beer. The moment seemed to warrant it. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that Trey says that no one has found any commonality in the exposures. This might be a case of colossal bad luck, but—”
“How could all those agencies be compromised?”
“They couldn’t. Nobody knows what’s happening yet, but in the meantime, CIA has an in extremis situation in Nicaragua, and Trey wants an outsider to go down and handle it.”
Court shook his head. “I don’t like the sound of this.”
“Unfortunately, Six, you and I have both relinquished the right to say no to Trey Watkins for a while.”
Court rose, walked over to the fridge, and opened it, hoping to find it stocked with some different type of beer.
It was empty.
He shut the fridge, then sat back down.
“The asset in Nicaragua?”
“A female. CIA code name is Caprice.”
“I’m assuming she isn’t to know that I’m not with the Agency.”
“I don’t see the need to bore her with unnecessary details.”
“So you want me to lie, basically.”
“Nobody does it better.”
Court sighed again. “Tell me no one at CIA knows about what we’re doing.”
“Watkins does.” Hanley waved his beer in front of him as he had another thought. “Well…someone has to get the information on the extraction location to Caprice, so Managua station has to be at least involved with comms, but otherwise, no one should know.”
“You trust Watkins?”
“It’s not about trust. It’s about mutually assured destruction. He’s running us off book. He’s given me a long leash. He’d fry if the wrong people found out about this.”
“Tell me this,” Court demanded. “Is the president of the United States one of the right people or one of the wrong people?”
“I don’t think we will ever know the answer to that question, unless and until we find out the hard way that he was one of the wrong people.
Look, you’ve been around a long time, and I’ve been around for-fucking-ever.
We both know that if we get compromised, we’ll swing in the wind, and Watkins will look the other way to save his ass. ”
“What a dick,” Court mumbled, and drank down the hoppy beer.
“He’s the dick who saved your life.”
“Can you just stop saying that?”
“Helping you with perspective.”
“Okay. Back to Nicaragua. How are we going to do this?”
“You’ll fly to Costa Rica. We’ll have something chartered and waiting for you in Tamarindo that you can fly yourself. The local station will leave kit on board for you.”
“I’m going to fly myself into Nicaragua?”
“Yes.”
“Under radar?” Court swallowed hard, and Hanley just waved a hand in the air.
“Costa Rica station does it all the time. We’ll get you the routes and maps. Remind me…what’s something you fly well?”
“I don’t fly anything well. I’m not a great pilot.”
“But you’re good enough.”
Court thought a moment. “Get me a Cessna, but something fast. A 210. Make sure it’s a Turbo Centurion. Larger gas tank, more powerful engine.”
Now Hanley held his hands up in the air. “It’s Tamarindo, kid, not Oshkosh. I don’t know what my options are down there, but I’ll do my best.”
“Tell me you’ve got someone to do this for you.”
“Yeah, I do.”
Court nodded. “You’re the brains of the operation. I don’t want you anywhere near the details.”
“I think that’s a dig, but I’ll let it go,” Matt said as he finished his beer, then pulled another from the insulated case.
Hanley’s phone chirped. He looked at it for some time; he was reading a text, and then his eyes flashed back up to Court.
The men had worked together, off and on, for over a decade, so Court could read into them. “Nicaragua? It’s happening?”
“It’s happening,” confirmed Hanley.
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“Tonight? I don’t even know what—”
“I’ll continue briefing you when you’re in the air. You’ll have to hit the ground running. Extraction will be after midnight; we’ll get you in position.”
“What about weps?”
“You’ll have what you need in Tamarindo.”
Court was still thinking over what he’d learned. “If Costa Rica station is involved, who says they won’t compromise me?”
“They know you are taking an aircraft into Nicaragua. They don’t know the location of the meet with Caprice. Not yet, anyway. Look, there’s no way to do this without some CIA involvement, because Managua station has to tell Caprice where to meet you.”
“What can we do to minimize the threat of compromise?”
“She’s told her handler she will leave the capital, run an SDR. We told her we would give her the location for the extraction one hour before she is supposed to get there. No sooner. We’ll make Managua station the last-minute messenger boys for this, nothing more.”
“Okay.”
“You’ll meet with a group of FORNATs that work with Managua station. Trusted guys. They’ll back you up at the extraction point.” FORNATs were foreign nationals, Nicaraguan agents loyal to the United States.
Loyal in theory, anyway.
Court sighed again. “Another potential compromise. Do I really need them?”
Hanley did not answer, so Court said, “What’s the asset involved with?”
“It’s a drug thing.”
With furrowed eyebrows, the younger man said, “But she’s run by the Agency. Not the DEA.”
“Yeah…from what I understand, there might be Nicaraguan intelligence involvement in some transnational drug shipments.”
“From where?”
Hanley held his hands up. “I don’t know. Watkins was vague, our conversation was rushed.”
Court rose. Mumbled, half to himself, half to Hanley. “Not as rushed as this fucking operation, apparently.”
Hanley himself stood. “What’s your chief concern?”
“A couple, actually. I don’t know what I’m flying into down there. Plus, I’m a little worried about this government-wide intelligence compromise up here that you just mentioned.”
“Job security for us, Six. If the DDO doesn’t know who inside to trust, he’ll look outside. Just go to Nicaragua, do what you do best, get back home, and we’ll take it from there.”
“You make it sound so easy.” Nicaragua sounded like a shit sandwich, but like the older man had said, neither of them was in a position to say no to the deputy director of the CIA.
Hanley said, “I’ll drive you to the airport.”
Court turned towards the companionway stairs to the main deck. With the motion, the itch and burn in his right hip flared. He said, “Fuck that, Matt. I’m taking the bike.”