"I don't think correctamundo is español," Melendez said.
"I was just testing your skills. Pack up the camera. We need to be at the airport ten minutes ago. Sanderson has a flight waiting for us that leaves ahead of theirs," Munoz said.
"They're heading back, too?"
"Si, señor. Something's up," he said.
The car pulled slowly out of the spot and accelerated down the street, covering the one city block distance in a few seconds. They passed the Petroviches just as they both stood up from the table. Neither of them looked up at the unremarkable car passing by, and even if they had, they would not have recognized Munoz with a mustache and thick, wavy black hair. He normally kept a close-cropped appearance at the compound, and experience had taught him that all he had to do among an ethnically similar group was alter his appearance enough to change the general impression of the observer. As a dark skinned Latino, he could melt into most crowds here in Argentina. Even among the Italians, he would barely raise an eyebrow.
Melendez decided to lay flat on the seat as they passed the plaza. A passenger sitting in the back seat of a crappy car would attract a second glance anywhere, especially since their car was not a taxi. He stayed low for another block, until Munoz told him they were clear. On the way down Nicaragua Street, they passed their hotel without stopping. They had each brought a small duffel bag of clothing and essentials, which they kept in the car. The only things they would leave behind were a few toothbrushes. Melendez relaxed in the back seat and felt some relief that they were leaving. It sounded like this would be a regular gig for the two of them, so he made a mental note to bring a large thermos, his French press, and a one pound bag of Italian roast for the next trip.
Chapter 17
Director Frederick Shelby nodded to the marine colonel who held the door open for him and stepped inside the conference room. The stoic marine had met him at the VIP entrance and escorted him through an abbreviated security check. They had spent the next ten minutes navigating the building in silence, which apparently suited both of them. The tight-faced Colonel turned to him once to announce that they were approaching the Plans Section and that everyone had been assembled. Shelby considered breaking his own silence to offer the marine a job with the FBI. He could think of several ineffective jabber-jaws that this man could replace.
The first thing he noticed in the room was a blonde woman in a dark gray suit. She was seated next to a rather fishy-looking man wearing a tan suit jacket over a light blue dress shirt, which was missing a tie. He immediately assessed this man as White House representation.
"Director Shelby, it's an honor and a privilege. I saved you a seat here," Major General Bob Kearney said, who stood up and shook his hand.
Once the director was seated, General Kearney addressed the group.
"We'll make a quick round of introductions. I think we have everyone we might need to proceed with the information presented by Director Shelby." He nodded to the admiral to his right.
The admiral introduced himself. "Rear Admiral Mark DeSantos. I head the DoD's Strategic Support Branch, which is the successor program to the joint DIA and DoD venture created by General Sanderson in the early nineties."
Shelby noted the golden "trident" and naval parachutist wings perched above an impressive row of ribbons on the stocky man's dark blue uniform. His light brown hair was notably longer than any of the other uniformed men in the room, and he appeared relaxed in his seat, wearing a skeptical look on his tanned face.
"Lieutenant General Frank Gordon. Commander, Joint Special Operations Command," said an imposing hulk of a man on the opposite side of the table.
To Shelby, the man looked like a bodybuilder who had accidentally borrowed the wrong outfit. His dark green uniform bristled with insignia that baffled Shelby and stood in contrast to the crisp Navy uniform design. Still, the sheer volume of brushed silver pins and colorful ribbons led Shelby to the same conclusion as the SEAL admiral. They'd seen some serious shit. The next man looked downright frightening.
"Brigadier General Lawrence Nichols, Marine Corps Special Forces Command."
The general's facial skin was so tight and weathered that he oddly resembled a skeleton. His dark blue eyes burned through Shelby who, for the first time in ages, felt uncomfortable. He didn't need to examine the marine's uniform to know that he had seen his share of worldly violence and had stood at the serving end of that table.
The director shifted his gaze to the two civilians at the table. The smarmy civilian dressed in business casual spoke ahead of turn, cutting off the severe-looking woman, who immediately raised an eyebrow and flashed a strained smile.
"Gerald Simmons. Call me Gerry. Assistant secretary for Special Operations and Low Intensity Conflict Capabilities. I'm SECDEF's principal advisor on these matters. If I say it's a go, it's a go," he said.
Shelby glanced back to Generals Gordon and Nichols, detecting no shift in their posture or facial muscles. It appeared that they had a lot of practice dealing with Gerry. He admired their stoicism and restraint because he was pretty certain that he had raised his own eyebrows at the ASEC's statement.
"Sarah Kestler. White House Counter-Terrorism director. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Director Shelby."
"Likewise, Ms. Kestler."
"And I'm Major General Bob Kearney, Defense Intelligence Agency. I lead the Defense Counterintelligence and Human Intelligence Center, which had a heavy hand in supporting Sanderson's program. The man murdered in the Pentagon two years ago worked in my office. Director Shelby contacted me to set up this meeting to gauge the level of interest in proceeding against Sanderson's new organization. As requested by the director, you have all read the classified summary of events leading to the acquisition of the recent satellite photos and have been given as much information about Sanderson's history as appropriate without considering a serious increase in security clearance protocols. Let me know if you need more information to proceed, and I'll consider issuing LIS Category One approval. I have the paperwork on hand if necessary."
"I do feel like I'm a little in the dark here. How many here have signed LIS Category One paperwork for the rest of Sanderson's file?" Gerald Simmons said.
"Director Shelby, Admiral DeSantos and myself. In all truth, if I approve you, you won't receive any material…it was stolen from the Pentagon's vault two years ago by Richard Farrington, the man standing next to General Sanderson in the satellite photo. He served faithfully in the army for nineteen years, until the day he walked into the vault and stabbed one of my people through the neck with a commando knife. He was part of Sanderson's new program, which poses a clear threat to United States security," General Kearney said.
"Can you break that down better for me? I read the file you provided, and there is no doubt that Sanderson significantly jeopardized U.S. security by destroying the FBI's HYDRA investigation. Our domestic Al Qaeda investigations still haven't recovered. Would that be an accurate statement, Director Shelby?" Sarah Kestler said.
"We're making good progress on new investigations, but yes, it was a significant and costly setback," Shelby said.
"So, now he's in Argentina, raising an army of operatives? People like Farrington? I need a better link to the future security of the United States, before I start suggesting that we either press Argentina to cough him up or take independent action. We all know the stakes involved in either course of action," she said.