Chapter 43
CIA HEADQUARTERS
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
IRENE felt strangely nervous as she waited for the call to go through.
Her surroundings didn’t help.
Irene’s usual office was in the bowels of the CIA headquarters’ basement, but her current accommodations made that cubicle feel like a suite at the Watergate Hotel.
The walls were bare of any decorations save sound-dampening acoustic foam glued to the electromagnetic-defeating metal.
A document safe occupied one corner, next to an electric kettle that looked like it had last boiled water when LBJ had sat behind the Resolute desk.
The room’s centerpiece was a faux-wood oval table that fit two people comfortably and four in a pinch.
Irene sat closest to the door in case she needed further help from the communications technicians in charge of setting up the secure call. A red speakerphone rested on the table next to her yellow legal pad and black, government-issued Skilcraft pen.
The single LED on the phone was flashing crimson.
She took this as a good sign.
A series of warbling tones emanated from the phone as the crimson flashes turned solid red. After a final electronic chime, the speaker fell silent.
“Hello?” Irene said.
“Bloody hell—is anyone there? Anyone? Hello?”
Irene was about to try again when she noticed a second red light illuminated on the speaker’s plastic base. Peering closer, she saw the word MUTE stenciled on a button next to the light. Feeling foolish, she stabbed it with her index finger.
“Can you hear me now?” Irene said.
“Finally. Is this Irene?”
“Yes. I’m assuming you’re Victoria?”
“Fantastic guess. Let’s hope our joint operation runs a bit smoother than this phone call. Thank you for jumping on the line with such short notice.”
“Not at all,” Irene said. “It’s me who should be thanking you. Without your legend, my operation would be dead in the water.”
Irene had meant the compliment sincerely, so she was a little surprised by Victoria’s reaction.
Laughter.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think that would have been a problem.
When you’ve been running agents as long as I have, you become a pretty good judge of character.
Your Joe doesn’t seem like the type to let anything stop him once he’s decided to act.
Legend or no legend, he was going to do your operation. ”
Irene found herself smiling. There was something endearing about the British spy. Familiar almost, despite the accent and mannerisms. As if she’d just discovered a kindred spirit on the far side of the Atlantic.
“You developed a pretty good feel for my asset in a very short amount of time,” Irene said with a laugh.
Victoria snorted. “I’m familiar with the type. He’s one of Hurley’s boys.”
Irene straightened. “You know Stan?”
“In the biblical context.”
Irene’s laugh became something between a cough and a choke. She cleared her throat and looked longingly at the teakettle.
“Oh, dear,” Victoria said. “Please tell me you’re not one of Hurley’s girls.”
“What? No. NO! He’s… like my uncle.”
“From me to you, make sure it stays that way. The last thing you want is to—”
“Maybe we should talk about the operation?” Irene said.
She usually preferred to have these get-to-know-you conversations face-to-face, but in this instance she was very glad the British spy couldn’t see the flush creeping up her neck.
One of Hurley’s girls?
She wanted to vomit.
“You Yanks—so prim and proper. Okay, to business, then. I have a bit of reporting that might shape your operation. This is so sensitive that I haven’t even put it in the interagency cable I sent outlining the scope of our participation. I’d ask you to treat it as such.”
“Of course,” Irene said.
“The Kurdish Peshmerga fighters we finance have placed a pair of operatives with a trucker who smuggles contraband between Iraq and Syria. Reporting from these two is sporadic and often delayed, since it has to make its way from them, to the Kurdish leadership, and then on to us. Anyway, we just got an info dump and it’s a doozy.
Three days ago, our smuggler made the trip from Iraq to Syria, only to find that the border-crossing guards had been replaced by DGS officers. ”
Irene’s heart raced. “Do you know the time the convoy came through?”
“Yes… Hold on just a tick.”
Irene could hear the sound of papers shuffling.
“Here it is. Oh two hundred Iraqi local time. Why do I get the feeling this isn’t news?”
“It corroborates reporting we received from another operational partner. Your Kurds are spot-on.”
“Jolly well, that. Our boys don’t have the foggiest why the switcheroo happened, but I think you might be able to hazard a guess. Care to enlighten me?”
Irene hesitated. Technically, the information from the Israelis and the corresponding NRO (National Reconnaissance Office) satellite imagery was compartmentalized. She should not share the intelligence with Victoria no matter how much she liked the British spy.
Technically.
But as with most things espionage-related, the devil was in the details. Victoria had just disclosed something that would land her in hot water with her leadership and endanger her assets if the information became known. She’d trusted Irene. Irene needed to reciprocate.
“We think Saddam Hussein intends to transfer his chemical weapons program to Syria. Your Kurds happened to cross during the transfer’s dry run.”
Irene waited for a string of profanity to erupt from the speaker or at the very least a cry of surprise. Instead, the Brit was silent.
At first, Irene didn’t understand.
Then she did.
“You already knew,” Irene said.
“Congratulations, Miss Kennedy. You passed.”
“Passed what?”
“The honesty test. I gave you something sensitive and you gave me something in return. That means you’ve earned the right to hear the rest of the story.
Apparently, Iraqi intelligence has taken a liking to the smuggler.
According to the Kurds, the DGS has decided to use his men and vehicles to move the chemical weapons rather than an army convoy. ”
“To hide in plain sight,” Irene said slowly as she thought through the implications. “You’re sure?”
“As sure as one can be in this business. And here’s the kicker—if he’s up for it, we can get your Joe assigned to the convoy.”
“He’s up for it.”
“I rather hoped you’d might say that.”