AllFreeNovel
Share Us
What good reason?
And that’s when the communications had ended.
He places his four fingers against the glass scanner. There’s a brief flash of green light and the Marine says, “Very good, sir.”
He stands up, goes to the door, and unlocks it with a key attached to his belt by a chain. It does look silly and over-the-top, but three years ago a CIA officer had tried to push the process—had tried to get into a room like this without the necessary authorization—and the Marine guard on duty had shot him.
Grasping the handle, the Marine opens the door, and Ernest brushes past him without saying a word.
But the Marine says, “When you need to exit, sir, just toggle the request switch. It’s the green square to the right of the keyboard.”
The room is small, almost claustrophobic.
The door closes behind him and Ernest sits down at a small table, with a keyboard and a square box with a lit green square in the center. There are three chairs, and Ernest is sitting at the head of the table. At the other end of the table is the wall and a large rectangular video screen.
There are six such rooms that Ernest knows of in Langley. Called “bubble rooms,” each is constructed as a room-within-a-room, ensuring that no possible surveillance system could penetrate what is discussed within. Even so, the rooms are swept on an irregular schedule to make sure no recording devices ever get hidden.
Ernest types on the keyboard and the video screen comes alight. A green dot of light means he’s being seen at the other end of this encrypted signal, then the screen snaps into focus.
Before him are two sweaty, tired, bearded men: Santiago Sanchez and Jordan Langlois, sitting in a similar bubble room aboard theUSS Wasp,an amphibious assault ship on station off the northern coast of Lebanon. It contains more than 2,000 Marines, constantly prepared to go somewhere and kick the shit out of folks who either need it or deserve it.
“Langlois,” Ernest says. “What the hell happened?”
There’s a brief wait as the signal gets scrambled, bounced off a satellite, then unscrambled at the other end on theWasp,and Ernest looks with disapproval at the two men. Greasy hair, dirty skin, beards…when Ernest was in the field during his tour in Iraq, he always made sure his troops were cleaned up and looked sharp, no matter the weather or the fighting.
Langlois says, “We were about one minute away from getting exfilled by a Night Stalker when Cornwall ordered us away. She wanted to rescue the SAS guys.”
“And what did you do?”
Sanchez says, “She was in command. We followed her orders.”
“Did you locate the SAS men?”
Langlois says, “We did, in a farmhouse we knew was used by both Hezbollah smugglers and al-Qaeda as a way station.” A crackle of static. The video screen flickers, then comes back into focus. “…was dead. Windsor was alive. There was a brief action, we got Windsor and departed. Then Windsor called in…an air asset under contract to MI6.”
Ernest pauses, “Then where the hell is Cornwall? And Windsor?”
He wonders if the delay between the two stations is lengthening, because neither Langlois nor Sanchez replies. Langlois looks to Sanchez and says, “Windsor turned back as the helicopter was taking off. Cornwall jumped off to join him.”
Ernest says, “Jesus Christ…did either of you know they were going to do that?”
“No,” Langlois says.
“No,” Sanchez says.
“Did you try to make radio contact as you were leaving the site?”
“We did, but no success,” Sanchez says.
“Did…Cornwall or Windsor exhibit any inappropriate activity or communications with each other?”
Again, pauses from the two ex-Marines.
“No,” Sanchez says.
“No, not at all,” Langlois says.
“Very well, that’s all,” Ernest says. “When you return stateside, we’ll have a more extensive debrief.”
