The responsibilities of those in the room represented some of the most secret departments and divisions within the CIA. Communications was there, as were the CIA employees charged with working with the National Security Agency, the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency, and the Joint Special Operations Command, the military’s most elite paramilitary fighting force. A CIA analyst sat across from a senior officer in the Department of Science and Technology. Jordan Mayes, assistant director of the National Clandestine Service, entered and sat to the left of the empty chair at the head of the table.
Most of these officers had been on the Violator Working Group for years. It had taken them, both physically and virtually, to locations all over the world. But this was most assuredly the first time any of them found need to refer to a map of the local area in relation to the Gentry hunt.
The one new face in the room was also the lone female. Suzanne Brewer was a thirty-nine-year-old Programs and Plans officer for the National Clandestine Service. She spent her days at CIA identifying and fortifying soft spots in Agency security protocols. She knew the name of every potential agent provocateur; she knew the details of threats against CIA personnel, every known operation targeting the Agency, every website that posted warnings to life and limb of intelligence officers all over the District. She wasn’t a spy herself, but she saw it as her mission to keep the spies of NCS safe from harm.
Denny Carmichael marched in at eleven forty-five p.m., his brow pinched with purpose. DeRenzi was with him, and as Denny moved to his chair, his close protection officer took a position against the wall, present for the meeting in an observer capacity only. It was his job to keep his protectee safe from harm, after all.
Denny dropped into his seat at the head of the conference table, facing the large monitors on the opposite wall. He turned first to Brewer. “Suzanne, you’re the odd man out here, if you will excuse the phrase. This is going to be a little out of your wheelhouse, but AD Mayes invited you in. Before I decide whether you are going to have code word access to the Working Group, I need to make a determination about your relevance to all this. What have you been told?”
“Only that there is a potential threat to local CIA personnel, and I would be briefed in the meeting and asked for my preliminary assessment.”
“I’ve read your file,” Carmichael said. “You’ve been solid in delicate situations. You’ve worked as a targeting officer as well as a counterterror officer, and you’ve excelled in both positions.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“But you haven’t run up against a situation as difficult or as delicate as this.”
Brewer said, “I only ask for an opportunity to show you what I can do.”
Carmichael turned to Mayes, and with a nod gave him the go-ahead to brief her.
Mayes said, “Here’s the sitrep. A former Ground Branch paramilitary operations officer, code named Violator, has appeared suddenly in the United States. We think it’s likely he’s in the immediate area.”
Brewer was confused. “And this former employee. He poses some sort of a threat?”
Mayes just said, “His name is Courtland Gentry.”
It was obvious to all that the name meant something to Suzanne Brewer. She blinked hard. “The Gray Man? You’re talking about the Gray Man? Here?”
The reply was delivered in a biting tone. “We call him Violator, Suzanne. You aren’t at the watercooler with the junior administrators.”
Chastened, she said, “Of course. I’m sorry. But why is he a threat? My understanding was that we were after him.”
Mayes said, “We are, and he knows it. Five years now. That’s why him showing up like this is so problematic. It’s possible his arrival in the area was coincidence, a waypoint towards his final destination, but we have to allow for the possibility that he is here on some sort of an offensive operation.” Mayes added, “It’s what he does, after all.”
Brewer spoke with a tone of astonishment. “That… that would be suicide on his part.”
On the monitor next to the map a new image appeared. A passport photo of Courtland Gentry, wearing a blue blazer and wire-rimmed glasses. The image was at least five years old.
Brewer said, “He looks so… average.”
Carmichael broke into the conversation. “Do you know what this ex-asset is capable of?”
“I admit I only know the rumors. Cafeteria chatter and such. That file has been SCI code word classified,” she said, and then quickly added, “which of course you know, because you classified it.”
“I did,” replied Carmichael.
She added, “If I am to help you, I’ll need to know what we’re dealing with. The more information you can give me, the better.”
Jordan Mayes said, “Here’s what you need to know. The threat is one man, but the threat is real. Gentry was, hands down, the best hard asset in the entire Agency while he was in.”
“And how long was he in?”
“He was with us for nearly twelve years.”
“Ex-military?”
“Negative. His potential was identified at a young age, then he was brought in to a pilot program designed to train exceptional young men for autonomous field work.”
She lifted her pen and put the tip on the legal pad in front of her. She still seemed stunned by the thought of going up against the Gray Man, but she was quickly composing herself and getting down to work. “The name of this program?”
When no one spoke, Brewer glanced up from her pad. The room was perfectly silent and all eyes stared at the pen on the paper.
After a few seconds, she slowly put the pen back down. “I see.”
Mayes broke the silence. “After 9/11 Violator was folded into a rendition and direct action task force in Ground Branch.”
Brewer said, “I’m cleared for SAD ops. Will you tell me the task force’s name?”
Carmichael answered with a wave of his hand, as if it didn’t matter. “Golf Sierra. Run by Matthew Hanley.”
Brewer just muttered, “The Goon Squad.”
“So you’ve heard of them, too.”
“Well, like it is with Gentry, I only know the legend. They were supposedly the best we had.” Brewer glanced quickly around the room. It was evident to all she was wondering why on earth Gentry’s former superior was not present. Matthew Hanley was now the head of the Special Activities Division; surely he was cleared for anything said in this room.
As she was about to bring up this concern, something else occurred to her. “I guess the most important thing you can tell me is why we are after Gentry in the first place.”
She looked to Mayes, but Mayes only turned his head to Carmichael. Apparently Carmichael would determine if she was to be allowed to know this part of the story.
Before Carmichael could speak, a disembodied voice filled the room. “We have Director Aurbach ready on the satellite.”
Mayes told the commo technician to send the feed to the monitor.
The large blue screen on the wall came to life. Menachem Aurbach sat at a desk wearing an open-collared white button-down. The man was seventy-two years old, and he had a thick neck and a thicker gut, but he also was in possession of a ruddy complexion and a coiffed black mane that was only peppered with strands of silver. His visage was tired and sullen, but Carmichael expected nothing else, because as long as he’d known the Mossad man, Aurbach had always looked as if he’d just been awakened from a deep sleep and told that his dog had died.