An intelligence agency generally acted on the assumption that a captured agent undergoing torture would breakdown and begin talking within thirty-six hours, as proven by past episodes of agents being taken. That’s the timeframe Langley allowed before sources and ops needed to be considered compromised. It was up to D/NCS and the Central Eurasia Division chief to work out whether or not any of Dushanbe station’s agents were blown and worth risking additional assets to extract.
“Why come to me? I’m sure there are already half a dozen agencies working this. This isn’t a normal job for scorpions.”
“Right,” Culler said. “Office of Security is investigating this matter, but we both know they’re mostly interested in placing blame and covering the Seventh Floor’s ass. Then bring in the Diplomatic Security Service, FBI, and the Tajik KGB. You know how that will go. It’s going to become a long, drawn-out investigation, with everyone pointing fingers and fighting for turf. We do not have that kind of time. Bob doesn’t have that kind of time. We need someone who doesn’t have an agenda and whose hands won’t be tied, someone who can gather the evidence and follow it to its conclusion and take immediate and direct action, if the situation calls for it.
Avery was by no means a stranger to this sort of job. After serving in the Agency’s paramilitary Special Activities Division (SAD), he’d worked as a “cleaner,” salvaging and sanitizing blown or compromised operations overseas. He’d quietly go in, remove the Agency’s fingerprints from an embarrassing situation or mitigate the potential for blowback, and slip back out.
He felt an added pressure now, though. Usually his was the only life on the line. He took comfort in knowing that if he fucked up, he was dead or in jail, which wouldn’t matter to anyone else. He didn’t like being responsible for someone else’s life. It had been different when he was in the army, working as part of a larger, cohesive unit. But later, with SAD in Iraq, when he’d been tasked with locating and rescuing an aid worker taken hostage, and failed to bring her out by a matter of minutes, instead recovering a decapitated body, he’d decided he wanted only to look out for himself. The fact that he personally knew Cramer only added to the burden.
“What’s the opposition?” Avery asked, trying to move his thoughts forward.
“No one has claimed responsibility, and there’s no physical evidence left behind, but we believe it’s terrorism, and that means either al-Qaeda or IMU.”
Avery had dealt with plenty of both during his time in Afghanistan.
The Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan was created after the collapse of the Soviet Union and was a close ally of the Taliban. Its membership comprised Central Asian Muslims, many of whom have served in the Russian military, and they had a reputation for being fierce and vicious fighters.
Avery had seen firsthand what they were capable of doing and sincerely hoped that those animals didn’t have Cramer. Avery would rather be killed outright than spend a few days held captive by IMU or al-Qaeda or Taliban. He prepared himself for the worst and realized the odds were against bringing Bob out alive.
“When do I leave?”
“Immediately,” Culler said. “There’s a Learjet being prepped at Andrews Air Force Base. It’s ready to take off when you are, and will take you directly to Dushanbe. You can read the briefing materials on the flight. Gerald Rashid, one of the people on Bob’s staff and acting chief of station, will meet you on the ground. You can stop at the Point to pick up whatever equipment you need.”
The Point, code named ISOLATION TROPIC, was the Defense Department’s Harvey Point Defense Testing Activity Facility, in North Carolina. This was where CIA based its Special Activities Division and trained foreign paramilitary forces, from Kosovar separatists to Palestinian Authority security forces. The Point also retained an armory of sanitized American-made and foreign-manufactured weapons and equipment.
“I’ll have twenty thousand dollars deposited into your personal account,” Culler said. “And you’ll have another ten thousand upfront for expenses.”
“What’s my cover for action?” Avery asked. This was important. He was accustomed to working without official cover, but under the circumstances, having to interact with others involved in the investigation, he doubted that would be the case this time.
“You’ll have diplomatic cover as a special investigator from State, so if the worst happens you’ll be declared persona non grata and kicked out of the country and not welcome back. You can contact me through the embassy.”
“I want a team from SAD or independent contractors standing by. Guys who can keep their mouths shut and follow orders. If I pinpoint Bob’s location and need to make a hot extraction, I’ll need them.”
“It’s already arranged,” Culler said. “A friend of yours — Poacher’s team is being redeployed to Tajikistan from the Afghan-Paki area of operations and will be on stand-by for any direct action contingences. I’m glad you’re onboard, Avery.”
FOUR
Avery’s first glimpse of Tajikistan came from 36,000 feet. Peering through the Learjet’s window, he watched as the terrain below shifted from flat, barren rock to fields of green to massive mountain ranges, some of which at the peaks of the Tian Shan were topped with glaciers, which fed lakes and rivers. He saw small villages scattered across the landscape, connected by unpaved roads, and he saw the Fergana Valley’s fertile plains and rolling hills.
A new day was already well underway in this country, and it was now almost two days since Cramer left the American embassy. Two days of Cramer possibly undergoing torture and revealing his encyclopedic knowledge of CIA secrets. Two days since Tom Wilkes became a corpse, leaving a wife and three children back home to suffer unspeakable anguish.
CIA officers are trained to withstand interrogation, but nobody was expected to hold out indefinitely against extreme torture. Everyone, even seasoned officers like Avery and Cramer, had their breaking point. Langley’s desk heads and division chiefs understood this harsh reality and could only hope that a captured officer would at least hold out long enough for them work on ways to mitigate the damage of blown ops and extract at-risk personnel.
But this was different. It wasn’t just a few agents or active ops in Tajikistan that were potentially compromised. Robert Cramer knew clandestine officers, agents, safe houses, and ongoing operations across Afghanistan, western China, Iran, Pakistan, and Russia. The potential damage was severe. If compromised it could easily take several years for the National Clandestine Service to rebuild its networks and capabilities in these countries.
The Learjet’s only passenger, Avery shared the cabin with one member of the flight crew who knew better than to talk to him or ask questions. Avery had slept through most of the flight, never knowing when the next chance might come while deployed.
The jet was flown by two ex-USAF pilots who were accustomed to making unusual flights with unusual passengers. Avery presumed that the aircraft was previously used for rendition flights. A section of four seats near the front of the cabin had been removed to create additional space, and old blood stains speckled the carpet.
Avery’s luggage filled the seats near him. He travelled with a black backpack, and two heavy diplomatic lockboxes whose content would be immune from search or seizure by Tajik authorities. The duffel bag and backpack were filled with a few extra changes of clothes, laptop computer with encrypted hard drive, high calorie protein and granola bars, and bottled water. Lots of bottled water.