Chapter Twenty-One
General Sanderson picked up the buzzing cell phone on the table and answered it.
"Good timing. I hope you've put some distance between yourself and the airport. An APB just went out with a dozen names. The FBI isn't wasting any time with this. We cut it really close flying him in," said Sanderson.
"Sir, I lost him. We were sitting in traffic, and he suddenly jumped out just past the Laurel exit. I'm still stuck in bumper to bumper traffic, and can't get this fucking car off the Parkway. Are you sure bringing him here was a good idea?" said Parker.
Sanderson took a moment to consider this development, and there was an uncomfortable pause on the phone while he processed what this might mean for his plan. Nothing. He could never fully control Petrovich, which is why Daniel was a unique addition to the Black Flag program. He had suspected this before Petrovich reported to The Ranch, and quickly confirmed what the psychological exams had suggested. Petrovich had a pathologic aversion to authority, but a conflicting need to operate loosely within a structure. He caused considerable difficulty for the instructors at The Ranch, but excelled within the program. Sanderson had seen the unlimited potential in Petrovich, and still did.
"I'm not surprised. Trust me, there was nothing you could do to stop him. Remember what I told you. Don't ever stand in his way. He knows how to get in touch with us, and will surface when he's ready. His world was turned upside down yesterday. Frankly, I'm just happy we managed to get him to D.C. We still need him. Continue to your destination, and wait. He'll pop up once he's established a safe base of operations. He might be better off on his own."
"I'll be ready to roll, sir. Sounds like our man in Boston talked?"
"Things are moving quickly. The feds have connected some dots from the Pentagon file, so we need to proceed cautiously," he said.
"Understood, sir."
"Sit tight and wait. That's about all we can do at this point," he said and ended the call.
He purposely neglected to inform Parker of a disturbing element uncovered by Colonel Farrington at the Pentagon. There existed a distinct possibility that the CIA liaison to the FBI was able to commit large portions of the Black Flag file to memory. He knew that the information approved for release from the file would be carefully screened by Harris McKie, one of few people entrusted with its contents, but if McKie didn't suspect a photographic memory, the CIA liaison officer could easily take advantage of the situation. The fact that Randy Keller spent less than fifteen minutes in The Sanctum suggested that he had seen enough. Sanderson had grave concerns about the CIA discovering Petrovich's Serbian alias, Marko Resja. In the wrong hands, this information could ignite a powder keg.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Berg sat buried in the leather chair with an open laptop perched on one of the chair’s oversized arms. The downward cast light from the decorative lamp competed with the screen's illumination, casting an ugly pale glow on his impassive face. His eyes scanned the laptop screen, oblivious to Keller, who typed away furiously on the couch. Keller was recreating the documents he had memorized at an unbelievable pace. So far, he had typed twenty pages in under thirty minutes, and his pace was quickening. According to Keller, he had memorized over a hundred pages of material, but was still unable to adequately peruse over half of the file under McKie's watchful eye.
Suddenly, his eyes narrowed and froze on the screen, and he lifted his tumbler off the table, draining the remains of his Chivas refill in one long gulp. "Randy? Page twenty-one is another partial, right?"
"Yes. McKie had removed this page from the first stack that he cleared for our group to examine, but I got a close enough look to make a partial imprint. I'm typing these out in the order that I saw them. It's easier for me that way."
"I understand. Can you remember if you saw the name Marko Resja anywhere else in the file?"
Keller closed his eyes for a moment, scanning his memory. He opened them when the answer came to him. "No. McKie withheld a sizable portion of the file from us. I assumed these were Operational aspects of Black Flag, so I tried to imprint what I could see. I didn't want to push it. The name appeared at the top of what looked like an after-action report. Serbian operation."
"Yeah…the name jumped out at me, but I can't place it," said Berg absently, still staring at the name on the screen.
"Do you think it's an undercover name used by one of the operatives?"
"Possibly. Might be an active contact. I'm going to run this on the computer in the communications room, try and link the name to an active file. Keep plugging away at those files. The FBI expects you to make a report, but they might become suspicious if you're gone for too long. We probably have another hour. Focus on more names," said Berg.
"Right," Keller said, his fingers flying over the laptop's keyboard.
Berg closed his laptop and started to walk out of the room. He gave the bottle of Chivas a wishful glance, but decided that the last thing he needed to do was stoke the raging fire that burned inside of him. He patted Keller on the shoulder from behind the couch, and left the room. He stopped just outside of the room, taking a few moments to gather his thoughts. He was aware that Claire was probably watching him from a hidden camera, so he didn't want to linger too long. He didn't want to draw any attention to himself, especially if his instincts about the Black Flag program were correct.
He continued moving down the hall to the communications room. He entered a six-digit code into the touch pad, which lowered the fingerprint reader. A deep blue light pulsed on the reader as Berg pressed his thumb down on the glass. A few seconds passed, and the light turned bright green, followed by a faint pneumatic hissing sound from the door. He grabbed the doorknob, but didn't bother to turn it. Instead, he just pushed the door open and quickly walked in. The door closed and he once again heard the pneumatic hiss, which was always louder on this side.
He turned and faced the room, which left a lot to be desired compared to the lounge. The lighting was harsh, provided by overhead florescent ceiling lights that were activated upon entry. Specifications for all of the CIA's secure communications rooms were strictly uniform, and Berg had learned years ago that there was little chance of receiving authorization to change anything. Adding to the misery of the lighting, the walls were unceremoniously painted white, which combined with the pneumatic hiss of the door, always made him feel like he had just stepped into a mental rehabilitation room. He figured that the effect was intentional, designed to create a feeling of immediate discomfort. He could understand why.
From this room, he could directly access the CIA's secure data banks. Two computer stations sat against opposite walls of the narrow room, each containing a keyboard and two flat screen monitors. The CPU's were locked below each station in a tamper-proof casement. A black business phone sat next to each computer. Each phone contained the newest STU-III encryption software, designed to garble any attempts to intercept a conversation. There were no printers, and no paper for taking notes. Several folding chairs sat stacked against the windowless outer wall of the room, further emphasizing the fact that the CIA didn't want anyone spending too much time in this room.
Unknown to Berg, his entrance to the room had been noted, and ultimately approved by a duty technician at Langley. The access code and fingerprint device had confirmed his identity for the technician, who ultimately made the decision to grant him access. A small note electronically sent by Claire gave the technician an added level of confidence that Karl Berg, Assistant Director, Counter Terrorism, stood in front of the door. The technicians liked this additional confirmation, because once inside the communications room, Berg had open access to all CIA files appropriate to his security clearance. A detailed record of his activity would be electronically filed for future reference and random audits, but beyond that, there was no way to actively manage the content Berg could access. The stand-alone communications rooms always presented the greatest risks to classified information.