Sanderson's voice filled the room as soon as the door shut behind Petrovich.
"Danny, it's really good to see you again," he said, and walked toward him for a hug that was surely meant as more of a pat down than a display of emotion.
He barely embraced the hug, and the general backed away. Sanderson was a physically impressive man, even in is late fifties, and hadn't aged a year as far as Daniel could tell. Like most Black Flag operatives, his face was forgettable. Not overly handsome, or unattractive, but a face that could blend, if it wasn't perched on a body more appropriate for someone half his age.
Sanderson was dressed in a light blue oxford shirt, stretched tightly over his muscled body, and similarly strained khaki pants. He had always been an exercise fanatic, and even when his recruits at The Ranch were finally in peak physical condition, he kept pace and often ran circles around everyone.
He was the product of nearly two decades of special-forces training and experience, combined with nearly a decade of his own fanatical "off the books" program. He was also one of the most cunningly intelligent human beings Petrovich had ever encountered.
"Is this place even safe?" said Daniel, and Sanderson smirked, clearly not expecting a warm welcome.
"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't. The team that tracked you down today was a fluke. We're investigating it," said Sanderson.
"Didn't seem like a fluke to me. Seemed like more of a leak," he said, and glanced around the sterile room at Parker and Farrington.
"I guarantee you we've had no leaks today. Everything has proceeded according to plan, except for the team sent to intercept you. Everyone, please have a seat," he said, and motioned toward the couch and chairs arranged around an empty coffee table.
Daniel glanced at the dining room table, which was covered with three laptop computers and a mess of power cords and wires. He saw the hallway outside of the apartment on one of the monitors, which gave him some reassurance that they might be safe here.
"Intercept is certainly one way to describe it. It felt more like a Black Flag mission. There was no hesitation to kill me," Daniel said, while he placed his green backpack in the middle of the bare coffee table, and opened it.
He saw Parker and Farrington tense, but they didn't move. General Sanderson kept the same indifferent expression on his face while he reached into the pack and took out one of the laptops.
"Excellent work. Parker, I want you to take a look at the files on this computer. There are two of them, right?"
Daniel didn't answer, but instead pulled the second one out of the main compartment. He felt the heavy weight of the MP-9 through the thin nylon, and dismissed the thought that formed from the contact.
"I pulled some cameras from the trucks too," he said, and spilled these out onto the table over the computers.
Sanderson opened one of the laptops, and shook his head.
"Now this, is very interesting," he said, turning the computer around for Daniel.
He found himself facing a recent driver's license photo, and a ghost from his past, Marko Resja.
"Shit," uttered Petrovich.
"Shit is right. You were brought into this at the last minute, so I think this might be related to the little problem we discussed, Colonel," he said, and Colonel Farrington nodded.
"Something else that fell through the cracks today?" said Petrovich, glaring at the general.
"Something we couldn't have foreseen, but we can certainly handle. I'll need your help with this. Probably later tonight. Maybe tomorrow. When do you think they'll figure out what happened at the Sanctum?" Sanderson said, addressing Colonel Farrington.
"Impossible to say. They might know already…or if it's a relatively quiet night for the FBI, it might not become apparent until morning," he said.
"It won't be a quiet night for the FBI. Our team in the northeast just took down the FBI convoy transporting Munoz," said Sanderson.
"Then they probably know something is wrong. The only line in and out of the Sanctum has been cut, and one of my staff was holding a fax sheet in his hands. I couldn't tell if this was incoming or outgoing. It fell into a pool of blood," said the colonel.
"Let's assume they know. Our problem should be out on the streets tonight. Right?"
"The toxin lasts a little under an hour, and has no known side effects aside from dizziness. If he can clear the FBI's red tape, he should be back on the streets pretty quickly," said Farrington.
"Who is this problem you're talking about? I think we're all far enough along in this to cut the need-to-know bullshit," interrupted Petrovich, tired of the semantics game they were playing.
"The CIA liaison at the FBI has an eidetic memory," said Sanderson. "That means he has a…"
"I know what it means, General. So, you want me kill a CIA employee now? Fine. Who else knows about me, or Black Flag, or whatever the fuck else you're going after today? I'll kill them all if it puts an end to this," he said, glaring at Sanderson.
Sanderson didn't speak right away, and Parker looked uncomfortable. He couldn't get a read from Farrington, and for a fleeting moment, Daniel thought he might have to shoot his way out of the apartment. His mind started calculating the process, and within the flash of a second, he envisioned it all. The MP-9 was loaded with a round in the chamber, and all he'd have to do was get his hand into the backpack. The top was unzipped roughly four inches to allow him quick access. He wouldn't have time to remove the weapon, so he'd fire it from inside the backpack.
"Danny, there won't be any need for you to shoot your way out of here. You're part of the team. We just need you to tie up a loose end, and our work is done here. We're all free to start over," said Sanderson.
"There's more than one loose end. Someone on your 'team’ talked to the Feds. Have you heard from the man you assigned to the Newport killing?" said Petrovich.
"You caught that? The story was up for a total of thirty-three minutes before the feds pulled the plug on the article," said Sanderson.
"Not exactly what I wanted to see when I woke up this morning. How much of today's operation was compromised because of that? Or did you have a contingency plan, as usual?" said Petrovich.
"I didn't need a contingency plan. His capture was a critical part of my plan. Without his flawless performance, all we'd have to show for our efforts are eight dead Al Qaeda financiers. You met him during your initial training, before we split you up for area specific indoctrination," said Sanderson.
Petrovich didn't know what to ask next. For the first time, in as long as he could remember, he was thoroughly confused. He let the general's statement settle for a few seconds, before responding.
"You purposely put one of our guys in FBI custody?"
"I had to," Sanderson said, studying Daniel's response.
"I didn't leave him hanging out to dry, if that's what you're thinking. You know me better than that, Daniel. I may be a shitty son-of-a-bitch to work for, but I have never put one of my people into a situation that they were not adequately prepared to handle, or without the best possible plan to help them achieve the mission. The convoy we just hit was transporting him to FBI headquarters here in D.C. Right now, Munoz is on a boat slicing through the waters of Long Island Sound, headed for a quiet rendezvous, and a nice, secure transit south."
"And the rest of the operatives? If the CIA somehow connected the dots to me, then parts of the file are out. Right, Colonel?" said Daniel.
"Very limited information. Roughly a dozen names along the East Coast were provided to the FBI from the Black Flag file, which is what we counted on. I destroyed those faxes on the way out. I saw some detailed information from your file on the last fax sent to the FBI. McKie tightly controlled the flow of information on behalf of the Pentagon. Nobody wanted the contents of this file to go widespread," said Farrington.