Daniel took a few seconds to focus his eyes. His vision was still blurry from the alcohol intake, and he already felt a headache and dried, strained eyes from the dehydration, but once he read the message, his mind became suddenly sober. A tight knot wrenched his gut.
At 1:07AM, the atmosphere in the conference room was grim, and the fluorescent lighting excessively bright. Avery, who was awakened and summoned just twenty minutes earlier by an unapologetic Culler, wore sweat pants, a tank top, and a pair of loose, untied Timberlands, apparently the only one to have not bothered putting half an effort into getting dressed. Coarse black stubble shadowed his face.
“Attempts to contact Canastilla have so far been unsuccessful,” Daniel said, concluding the briefing. “However, tracking software indicates that his ANIC-supplied cell phone is turned on and remains stationary within the vicinity of the Trump Ocean Club in Panama City. It hasn’t moved in over six hours, and not since he sent his last message.”
“He could be dead already,” Culler noted.
“Then I’ll snoop around and see what I can find,” Avery said. He yawned. “If Canastilla’s in danger, then we need to move now. Work out my travel arrangements and cover for action. I want a sanitized weapon, preferably a Glock, waiting for me in Panama City.”
Avery started to get up. He hoped to be in the air within the next couple hours. At least he’d be able to sleep on the flight.
“Wait,” Daniel said, and Avery froze. “There’s something else we need to take into consideration. In his message, Canastilla requested that we specifically send you.”
“Me?”
“Not you personally, but he used your codename. He asked for Carnivore.”
Avery slumped back into his chair.
“What? How the hell is that possible?” Culler said. “He’s no reason to even know that name.”
“I don’t understand it either,” Daniel said. “I’m the only one from ANIC who knows your man’s codename, and I was only informed of it last week, before Operation Phoenix. I’ve spoken to no one about it.”
“Okay,” Culler said, trying to control his temper, “but how many people have access to the Phoenix after-action briefs and mission analysis reports? How many transmissions were made during the mission containing Carnivore’s codename?”
“Carnivore was not identified by name in the reports disseminated throughout my government. His name also has not been mentioned in any transmitted cables that the Venezuelans may have intercepted. We took operational security very seriously.”
“Not seriously enough,” Culler said, “because we’re obviously compromised.”
“Daniel,” Slayton said, “tell us again, what were Canastilla’s exact words?”
The Colombian consulted the sheet of paper in front of him and read, “Compromised. Initiate Omega protocol. Send Carnivore. Carnivore is the only one we can trust. Central High Command discussing possible terrorist attacks inside US.”
“Okay,” Slayton said, trying to make sense of it. “Canastilla is on the Central High Command’s operations staff. It stands to reason that he’d have access to information coming in from FARC intelligence networks. Maybe Canastilla knows just how badly ANIC’s compromised and doesn’t trust your people. Maybe FARC’s already received the Phoenix after-action reports from their source, and Canastilla knows there’s a specialized, lone wolf American operator in the theater, someone who he knows isn’t compromised.”
Avery nodded. It was a nice explanation, but it didn’t offer him much comfort, since he was the one going in, and he didn’t like leaving anything to guesswork.
“Regardless,” Daniel said, “we can speculate all day long, but it won’t do us any good, and it certainly won’t help Canastilla. We need to make a decision, gentlemen.”
“It’s up to you,” Culler told Avery. He knew what Avery’s answer would be, and for once he felt guilty handing him a shit job. “Frankly, I don’t like it, and if it was my ass on the line, I sure as hell wouldn’t go. It’ll have to be deniable, non-official cover. We’re sure as hell not alerting the Panamanians that we’re running an op on their soil.
“I’ve already said I’ll go,” Avery snapped, annoyed. He thought they were wasting time.
“What about Canastilla’s family?” Slayton asked. “How will w bring them out? That is, if we can even find them. If they’re left in place, FARC’s internal security units will snatch them up the moment they realize what happened.”
“They stay in a village in Santander,” said Daniel. “The army is making arrangements to extract them by helicopter. There may be complications. His wife is a staunch FARC loyalist who Canastilla met after Deep Sting began. She might not be interested in going with us. But that is significant. She’s an enemy sympathizer, and what happens to her does not concern us as long as she has no bearing over Canastilla’s cooperation. Canastilla is the priority.”
“I’m not doing this one alone,” Avery said. “Do we have anyone in Panama, Matt? Paramilitary or contractors?”
“Not any who are readily available.”
“I will assign two members of our Special Forces, seconded to ANIC, to accompany you,” Daniel offered. “Captain Felix Aguilar and Sergeant Jon Castillo. If that is acceptable to you, of course.”
“Completely.”
FIVE
Avery flew in from Bogotá aboard a Copa Airlines flight, arriving at Panama’s Tocumen International Airport at 11:47AM. He breezed through customs on his forged passport and tourist card, which the CIA Bogotá station had prepared for him on the fly. Though he carried business cards for a CIA front company with a professionally designed website and a front office number, his cover as a Canadian investor was paper thin, poorly backstopped, and wouldn’t stand up against close scrutiny. But this was Panama, not Cuba or Venezuela, and the Panamanian customs and immigration agencies weren’t likely to look into it.
When Avery turned his phone back on after the flight, he had a text from Culler, telling him that they were 90 % sure Canastilla was inside the hotel, that the job was on, and to check his e-mail if he wanted details. In this case, e-mail meant Intelink, the secure Internet network used by American intelligence agencies.
Avery sent Culler a one-word acknowledgement, but didn’t ask any questions. He knew Culler had the Agency and NSA people working hard overnight trying to garner a lead on Canastilla’s position.
Avery picked up his rental car, a 2010 Honda Inspire at the airport. From there it was a slow-going thirty minute drive on the toll road to Panama City. Traffic was a nightmare, worse than he remembered, the streets congested with near bumper-to-bumper traffic and constant jams at major intersections. Pedestrians crossed the streets wherever they pleased, weaving between stopped cars. Local drivers were aggressive and didn’t believe in giving anyone the right of way. Motorcyclists were an incessant irritation, weaving in between the lanes of slow-moving traffic and around cars.