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“Any chance you can get your hands on his computer before he leaves?”
Coleman thought about it for a second. “I’ll try, but it’s unlikely. I’m not worried, though. Marcus can do this shit in his sleep.”
Kennedy nodded. “Have Marcus start poking around their database. See what he can find out.”
“Will do.”
Both Kennedy and Coleman looked up to see Hayek coming down the hall. She was moving at a good clip, and as she drew to within a few steps she shook her head and said, “I screwed up.”
CHAPTER 36
OPERATING in the field always presented a unique set of problems, but a good number of them were predictable. There was a mark that they were all aware of, or at least were supposed to be aware of—seventy-two hours into any crisis, the effectiveness of the team dropped off considerably. The Agency wasn’t the only group that had studied the issue. Every branch of the military looked into the issue with a need to understand combat effectiveness. Battlefield commanders needed to know how long they could keep a unit in the fight without sleep, with food and water and without food and water. The FBI, CIA, and any other federal agencies that dealt with crisis or catastrophe all conducted their own studies and they all pretty much found the same thing—seventy-two hours was the limit. After that, your people became almost worthless. Cognitive skills were drastically reduced, hallucination set in, and the body began to shut down. As with everything, of course, there were a few exceptions.
Elite warriors, like the ones produced by Delta Force and the SEAL teams, could push beyond the seventy-two-hour mark in extreme circumstances, but not much further. They taught their men to grab an hour or two of sleep whenever they could—even during a prolonged firefight. If the manpower was available, it was crucial to rotate teams. Three teams were ideal, each one working an eight-hour shift, but Kennedy didn’t have that luxury. As it was, the Go Team that had been assembled was barely sufficient to operate in two twelve-hour shifts, and that was to handle the Rickman crisis. That team was weakened when she pulled people off it to start looking for Hubbard. Then she had to deal with the aftermath of the police shooting and now with the release of Rickman’s interrogation, more of her attention was put into damage control. It was no longer just about Joe Rickman.
Even though it felt like it, Kennedy knew from the start that it had always been about more than just Rickman. Rickman’s brain possessed hundreds of names, and those names represented real people who were assets of the CIA. Some of them were Americans, deep-cover operatives who were operating in foreign countries without the aid of diplomatic cover. If these people were exposed, the likelihood was that they’d be killed. And then there were the agents—the men and women who worked for foreign governments. They came in every stripe from politicians to bureaucrats, to scientists, to financiers, to military personnel, to intelligence operatives and janitors and secretaries.
More than any satellite or listening device, these men and women were the eyes and ears of the CIA. They offered snippets of information that when pieced together aided Kennedy and her people in understanding the intent of their foes and sometimes, when needed, the ability to predict their next move. These assets were the lifeblood of the CIA. Without them, the Agency would cease to become an effective intelligence agency. If Rickman continued to crack, Kennedy would have no choice but to begin pulling out her network of spies. It would take at least a decade to rebuild the network, possibly longer.
Despite the urgency Kennedy knew what had to be done. Hayek looked tired. They all looked tired. They understood what was at stake, so they were all eager to prove the doctors wrong and push past the seventy-two-hour mark. Kennedy held up her palm and stopped Hayek’s rambling apology. “When was the last time you slept?”
The question caught her off guard and she took an unfocused look at nothing and tried to recall the last time she’d closed her eyes for more than a few seconds. “I think I got an hour or two last night.”
Kennedy looked at Coleman and asked the same question.
“As much as possible, I’ve stuck to a schedule. Ten on and two off.”
Kennedy thought of Coleman’s six-man team. “Starting when?”
“From the very beginning. I made sure everyone grabbed at least four hours on the flight over.” He shrugged. “There wasn’t much for us to do until we landed.”
Leave it up to the retired SEAL to maintain discipline in the midst of chaos. He’d done this countless times. Kennedy was embarrassed that she hadn’t maintained better discipline over the schedules.
“I’ll be honest,” Coleman said, “I could use some sleep. I’ve been up for thirty-plus hours straight. With everything that went down two days ago and losing Reavers, that put me down one man, and I didn’t bother to reshuffle the schedule.”
Kennedy placed a hand on his arm but looked at Hayek. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. We were understaffed to start with and then the shootout with the police threw us all for a loop. We have another twenty-six people due to land in about three hours. Once they’re in position, I don’t want anyone working more than a sixteen-hour shift. Scott, keep an eye on Wilson until he’s in the air and then stand down your whole team. Don’t set any alarms, just sleep. We’re going to need you at some point and you guys need to be fresh.”
Kennedy considered her own schedule for a second. She’d been able to grab four hours of sleep overnight, and all things considered, she felt pretty good. She had a staff meeting in fifteen minutes, and then after that, the working group back at Langley was to give her a full report on the potential extent of the damage that could be caused by the Rickman affair. Then she had a meeting with Nadeem Ashan from the Pakistani Intelligence Service. She liked Ashan and hoped that he was here to offer some information and assistance, but knowing the ISI, his motives lay more in self-preservation.
“This police officer,” Kennedy said to Hayek, “I’m not sure I understand his relevance.”
Coleman answered for Hayek. “We ran into him at the safe house. He’s one of Darren’s reintegration projects. Abdul Siraj Zahir . . . a real piece of shit. Long story short, he barges into the safe house and starts making threats, Mitch pulls on him.” Coleman looked quickly over both shoulders to make sure no one else could hear him and then added, “Mitch tells the guy he’s going to blow his head off.”
Kennedy shook her head ever so slightly and frowned.
“I know it doesn’t sound good but when it happened it didn’t seem so bad. At any rate there’s some back and forth and then Mitch decides he’ll let this guy live if he works for us and finds out what happened to Rick.” Despite not wanting to, Coleman decided he needed to give her the full context. “Mitch gave the guy forty-eight hours to come through with some information or he was going to put a five-hundred-thousand-dollar bounty on the guy’s head.”
“And Mitch asked me to put a trace on his phone,” Hayek quickly added. “Langley has been recording his calls and following his moves for the past two days. Only, I forgot about it until about fifteen minutes ago.”
“And?” Kennedy asked.
“He’s been trying to get hold of Mitch. He’s left him five messages since last night.”
“Saying?”
“Basically, ‘Don’t kill me. I have some information for you.’ The guy sounds scared.”
“Well, if the guy has information, call him.”
