Vasily and Mila extinguished their cigarettes and jumped into action, helping to herd the dozen civilians up the ramp toward the entrance. Halfway up the concrete ramp, Dr. Cherkasov was hit by a splitting pain in her head and for a moment thought she had been hit over the skull with a tire iron. She buckled slightly, but held it together, realizing she hadn't been hit with anything.
"You all right?" Vasily whispered.
"Fucking headache hit me like a hammer. I've felt like shit all day, but this was different," she said.
"Welcome to the club. We've all been getting them. Drink plenty of water…it seems to help," he said.
As the doctor approached the door, trailing the group of patients, she heard two more gunshots from the direction of the city.
"Stay alert. Things are getting worse," she said to the police officer directing the ambulance out of the parking lot.
He simply nodded.
Chapter 13
Karl Berg scanned through the email alerts that had been passed to him by the National Clandestine Branch's Analysis Dissemination group and focused on a new report provided by the Community HUMINT (Human Intelligence) Coordination Center. The brief email didn't surprise him, given the ELINT (Electronic Intelligence) intercept transcripts provided by the NSA two days earlier. It had only been a matter of time.
The veteran agent rubbed his face with both hands and glanced around, giving the entire matter some consideration. He hadn't found the time to unpack several boxes of personal books and curios that he had collected over a thirty-one year career as a CIA agent, ten years of which had been spent behind the Iron Curtain. At 53, he looked a few years younger than his peers, which he attributed to thick brown hair that showed little indication of turning gray. His face showed a different story. The years of stress and long hours had taken a toll, and for the first year ever, he looked as tired as he felt. Beyond the wrinkles and lines, his dark blue eyes held the weariness of making hard decisions and living with the consequences.
He still couldn't shake the regret he felt for leaving Keller in the burning safe house two years ago. He didn't kill the young agent, but he certainly hadn't done anything to save him. It had been a selfish act, fueled by several bad decisions over the course of the day. The attack on the safe house had been his fault for jumping to conclusions about Daniel Petrovich's involvement in the murder of Nicole Erak. There had been no way to know that Nicole was still alive, living under an alias…actually married to the man he suspected of killing her. Her subterfuge had been brilliant and almost made him proud, but it had left him with an awful mess.
He had let his personal feelings explode that day, and two dedicated CIA agents had paid the price. Berg had buried the part where Keller's death ensured that the unholy alliance between General Sanderson and Berg could move forward. Keller's memory had been a potential liability to the proposed alliance, and Berg didn't want to ponder exactly how much this selfish instinct influenced which agent he decided to pull out of the burning safe house first. He knew the answer and it didn't sit well with him, which was why he swore to ensure that it hadn't been a waste. Thinking deeply about the information presented on his screen, he decided to put Sanderson's agreement to the test.
He picked up his desk phone and dialed Audra Bauer, who had been promoted to deputy director of the National Clandestine Service. Despite the fact that he had been Bauer's assistant director in the Counter-Terrorism Center, he wasn't in line to take that job upon her promotion, so he took a lateral transfer into a liaison position with the Intelligence Directorate's Weapons, Intelligence, Non-Proliferation and Arms Control Center. He remained a member of the National Clandestine Service (NCS), where he had served his entire career, but now spent his time coordinating WMD (Weapons of Mass Destruction) intelligence analysis with the hands-on activities of the NCS branch.
It was a newly-created position, thanks to Audra Bauer, who wanted to keep him close, but couldn't bring him along for the ride to the director's office. It was a good move and put several NCS personnel under his charge. There was a persistent rumor that NCS was looking to expand Berg's group into a full Branch within a few years. If he played his cards right, he might be in line for a deputy directorship. Then again, a lot could happen in a few years, and Berg wasn't exactly known for playing it safe. The idea rattling around in his head was a testament to the risks he had no problem taking.
"Deputy Director Bauer."
"Good morning, Audra. It's your favorite Intelligence Directorate liaison," he said, leaning back in his chair.
"I wasn't aware that we had more than one," she teased.
"I guess the distinction is safe for now. Hey, I need to run something by you in person. Have you read the most recent HUMINT summary from our friends in Kazakhstan?"
"Why don't you head over to my office? I have a meeting in about twenty minutes, but we should really talk about this. See you in a few?" she said.
"I'll be right down," he said and hung up the call.
A few minutes later, he navigated the corridors and stairwells needed to arrive at her office on the other side of the building. He greeted a few familiar faces, but pressed forward, not wanting to waste a minute of the rare time he had been given. There were plenty of unfamiliar faces that would have been pissed to learn that Berg had simply picked up the phone and secured time with one of the most sought after people in the National Clandestine Service. Even the office assistants didn't query him as he strode into "off limits" territory near the director's office and conference rooms. He nodded politely and continued, turning into the room labeled Assistant Director on a dark blue placard.
"Mr. Berg, Ms. Bauer is ready for you. No need to knock, sir," her assistant said, attentively observing him from behind a neatly arranged desk.
"Thank you, Liz."
Karl opened the door and was greeted by Audra, who didn't get up from her desk. She was studying one of two flat-screen monitors on her desk, squinting.
"Might help if you turned on some lights in here," he said, making his way over to her desk.
This was the second time he had been to her spacious office. Audra was not a packrat like he was, and there were very few personal effects present. A family photograph; three framed service decorations, which Berg knew were not the most prestigious she had earned, but instead the ones that meant the most to her; a few crisp, colorful authentic prints purchased from a semi-obscure artist in Maine; and neatly organized bookshelves, containing not a single personal book. Audra preferred a modernistic, Spartan environment, and the preference extended to her home, which very closely resembled the minimalist tone captured in her office. All except for her husband's den, which was more Berg's style and must have been a serious compromise in their relationship.
"I like the natural light. I can't stand the institutional lighting of this place…and I'm not about to bring in one of those antique abominations you have around your office. So…as much I'd love to catch up, Karl, I think we'll need every one of the few minutes we have to discuss what I'm reading here. It's not yet actionable in my opinion, but we need to alert some of our good friends in Europe. FBI and Homeland, definitely. I hesitate to put up an Interpol alert, since this is obviously not in the open."
"Then you might want to reconsider the FBI and Homeland. I agree that they need to be notified, but they'll liaison with Interpol as one of their first steps," he said.
"I know," she muttered. "I guess we can work on this behind the scenes, but even bringing some of the friendly intelligence services into the fold poses risks. They'll do what's in their best interest, and if that means a coordinated Interpol effort — or even better, throwing us under the bus and confronting Russia — they won't hesitate."