16:34 (Washington Time)
Friday, October 23, 2020
Office of the Director of the CIA
CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
U.S.A.
Julian Moore was already fuming when he was introduced into James Clayburn’s office, accompanied by Denise Fletcher, the deputy director for intelligence.
‘’Two fucking days to get some direction from the White House!’’ he thought to himself as he took one of the chairs placed in front of Clayburn’s work desk. Even more infuriating had been the public response from the White House following the blowing up of the SERENE. While the medias had not missed the fact that the French government had announced that a number of ex-ISIS fighter wanted for war crimes had been killed in Monaco while employed by Saudi Arabia, the President had completely ignored and avoided that and had instead bemoaned the killing of his ‘friend’, Prince Bin Salman, praising his ‘work in bringing reforms to Saudi Arabia’. In contrast, the reaction from Russian President Vladimir Putin had been just short of a celebratory dance, as he had been fighting an oil price war with Bin Salman for months, an oil price war triggered by Saudi Arabia and which had severely depressed oil prices across the globe. Even inside Saudi Arabia, the regrets about Bin Salman’s death had been less than universal and many members of the royal family had already started jockeying to grab power from the now dead crown prince.
Once Moore and Fletcher had taken place in their chairs, Director Clayburn looked at them with gravity.
‘’Lady and gentleman, we now have a new task given to us by the President. We are to find those who blew up the Saudi royal yacht off Monaco, expose them and make them pay. The President personally believes that the Iranians are probably culpable in that terrorist act and I would tend to agree with him on that.’’
‘’Uh, excuse me, Director, but what about the deal the Pakistanis and Saudis were trying to conclude for the sale of nuclear weapons to Saudi Arabia?’’ asked Moore, looking critically at Clayburn. ‘’We are talking about an attempt to introduce more nuclear weapons into the Middle East. Shouldn’t that be considered a priority? And what about the fact that Prince Bin Salman was harboring and using ex-ISIS fighters and war criminals? We should be investigating whether more of those wanted ISIS fighters are hiding inside Saudi Arabia.’’
‘’All that is secondary right now, Mister Moore. The President wants us to concentrate on finding and punishing the killers of Prince Bin Salman and that’s what we will do.’’
Denise Fletcher, who was about as pissed as Moore about this, then spoke up in a forcible tone to Clayburn.
‘’Excuse me, Mister Director, but I strongly disagree! For one, the fact that Prince Bin Salman was employing close to him a number of ex-ISIS fighters raises the real possibility that sensitive secrets we provided to Saudi Arabia may have been compromised by Prince Bin Salman, who may possibly have provided some of those secrets to his ISIS bodyguards. Besides, what tells us that those ex-ISIS fighters were not involved in the suicide attack on the SERENE? They could have gained favor with Bin Salman just to get close to him and learn secrets through him.’’
‘’I don’t believe that for a minute, Misses Fletcher, and…’’
‘’And on what basis are you dismissing that theory, Mister Director?’’ fired back the DDI in a nearly disrespectful tone, getting truly miffed at Clayburn. ‘’We are supposed to be an intelligence agency, not a wishful thinking agency! Right now, it seems to me that our reports about the Pakistanis trying to sell nuclear weapons to Saudi Arabia by holding direct talks with Prince Bin Salman are being completely ignored by the White House, along with the evidence about the presence of ex-ISIS fighters around Bin Salman. Now, we are supposed to forget all that and chase some hypothetical Iranian involvement in this?’’
‘’Careful about how you talk to me, Misses Fletcher!’’ shot back Clayburn, getting irritated. ‘’I could decide to find a replacement for the post of DDI.’’
‘’Then, if you truly intend to ignore the reports and studies from my analysts, then go ahead and replace me with some political flunky ready to kiss ass on command. We are supposed to contribute to the national security of the United States, not play sycophant to a White House occupant who may well be voted out of office in eleven days. I am an intelligence expert with 31 years of experience, both in the field and at headquarters, and I care about providing as accurate and factual information as possible to our leaders. Maybe you should start caring yourself about that!’’
‘’ENOUGH, MISSES FLETCHER! I…’’
‘’ENOUGH YOURSELF, MISTER DIRECTOR!’’ cut in Moore, now resolved to support his DDI colleague to the bitter end. ‘’If you were intending to task my field agents with a mission that would prove both futile and dangerous, then forget it! I will not risk my agents, men and women who have been loyally serving the United States for years at the risk of their lives, just to satisfy some political whim which will do nothing to enhance the security of our country, while at the same time ignoring a real and very serious threat to the stability of the whole Middle East.’’
‘’Mister Moore, I can have you replaced as well…’’
‘’Then do it! But don’t ask me to risk my agents for nothing, because I won’t agree to it! Besides, the late and farcical so-called ‘response’ from the White House on this has already made us waste two full days. That trail in Monaco is now cold, unless you are naïve enough or incompetent enough to think that the perpetrators, if any of them are still alive, would have been dumb enough to stay in Monaco.’’
‘’THAT’S IT! YOU ARE BOTH FIRED!’’ shouted Clayburn, his face red. ‘’GET OUT OF MY OFFICE!’’
Keeping a defiant expression and throwing a last hard look at Clayburn before leaving, Julian Moore walked out with Denise Fletcher, crossing the anteroom occupied by his secretary and ending in the main hallway. Moore waited until he was alone with Fletcher inside an elevator cabin before talking to her in a near whisper.
‘’Denise, I am going to talk to my deputy, Francis Cooper, and tell him to slow down to a crawl any attempt by Clayburn to send our agents in Europe into a wild goose chase. I will also tell him to lock away in a safe place the info we had on the presence of an Iranian team in France and Monaco. Normally, I would think of that as unethical and unprofessional, but I am not ready to see our agents be risked for nothing while the real problem is being ignored by Clayburn and his White House boss.’’
‘’I will do the same on my side, Julian. God, I hope that the coming elections will restore some common sense to this country.’’
Julian could only nod in agreement to that. He also had something else in mind that he could and would do, now that he wasn’t the DDO anymore.
20:08 (Washington Time)
Private residence of Julian Moore
End of Tintagel Lane, near the western shore of the Potomac River
Region of Arlington, Virginia
‘’…France has acquired some solid evidence showing that the late Crown Prince Mohammed Bin Salman had been harboring and employing in his personal service a number of ex-ISIS fighters who were wanted by Interpol for war crimes committed in Syria and Iraq, using them as bodyguards. Four of those ex-fighters were recently killed in Monaco when they resisted arrest by agents of the DGSI. Unfortunately, three DGSI officers were killed and two more seriously wounded when those ex-ISIS fighters opened fire with automatic weapons on them. One of those ex-ISIS fighters was actually a French expatriate named Jean Levasseur, also known under the nom-de-guerre of ‘al-Harb’, who shot and wounded a DGSI agent in Monaco before being killed by other DGSI agents. At nearly the same time as those ex-ISIS fighters were battling with DGSI agents in the port area of Monaco, an unknown number of individuals rammed a speedboat filled with explosives into the SERENE, the Saudi royal yacht on which Prince Bin Salman was, and blew it up, killing the Saudi Crown Prince. We later were able to identify the speedboat that rammed the SERENE as having belonged to a suspected smuggler with past contacts with ISIS. This is making us believe that there is a strong possibility that ISIS members blew up the SERENE after infiltrating the entourage of Crown Prince Bin Salman. Unfortunately, when convoked at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs about this affair, the Saudi ambassador refused to discuss about this or provide any explanation to our officials. Our security and intelligence services are now deepening their inquiry into this affair, in order to resolve the many unanswered questions we still have about it…’’
Julian Moore, sitting with his wife Lynda in a sofa facing their lounge’s television set, snickered as the press conference held by French President Emmanuel Macron continued to be translated on the NBC’s prime time news show.
‘’When I think that it takes the French to open the eyes of some of those idiots in Washington. Thank God for this straight-talking Macron! I hope that Trump will eat crow after this.’’
What Julian didn’t say to his wife was that he was partly responsible for having shaped what President Macron was now saying, thanks to a confidential conversation he had earlier with Director Lerner of the French DGSI.
‘’But you will have still been fired by this Clayburn idiot, Julian.’’ said softly Lynda Moore, some bitterness showing in her tone. ‘’What are you going to do now?’’
‘’Do not worry, Lynda.’’ replied softly Julian to his wife while patting her hand. ‘’While that Clayburn asshole fired me, I still have the right to my accumulated pension, which is nothing to spit at. Besides, with luck, a new president will be elected in eleven days and Clayburn will become the sycophant of a lame-duck president. I still could regain my job as DDO once a new president will take office in January and will then most probably immediately fire Clayburn for incompetence. Still, it makes me angry to see the magnificent work of so many men and women at the CIA being wasted by idiots like Clayburn or, worse, to see their lives risked for no good reasons.’’
‘’You’re right, Julian.’’ replied Lynda, a bit reassured. A thought then made her smile. ‘’Maybe that new president will even name you as his new director of the CIA.’’
Julian snickered at that, amused.
‘’Now, that would be something! Talk about sweet revenge!’’
09:44 (Paris Time) / 03:44 (Washington Time)
Saturday, October 24, 2020
Avenue des Champs Élysées, near the corner with Rue Washington
8ème Arrondissement, Paris
Erik Johnson, who had been walking slowly down the famous Avenue des Champs Élysées, breathing some (relatively) fresh Autumn air, finally stopped at one of the countless café-bistros lining the avenue and sat at one of the tables set on the outer patio-terrace of the establishment, laying the newspaper he had bought a minute ago on a corner of his table. Raising one hand high, he looked at the nearest waiter and used his limited French.
‘’Garçon! Un espresso double, s’il-vous-plaît!’’
The waiter nodded once and went inside the bistro, returning three minutes ago with a steaming cup and putting it in front of Erik.
‘’Your espresso, sir.’’ he said in English, having obviously detected the strong American accent of his customer.
‘’Thank you!’’
Erik closed his eyes briefly after his first sip, appreciating the strong flavor of his espresso: American coffee, as served in most restaurants in the United States, was merely brown hot water in comparison with the standard expected in Europe, especially in France and Italy.
About four minutes later, as Erik was about to order a second espresso, a young and very pretty woman wearing a pair of jeans and a suede coat and who was walking past the bistro slowed down her walk as she was approaching his table, while looking with apparent wonderment at him.
‘’Herbie? Herbie Jones? Is that you? Do you remember me? I’m Lisa! We studied together in college.’’
‘’Lisa? Of course I remember you! It’s been a while. But please, come sit down and have a coffee with me.’’
The said Lisa obeyed at once and sat down, putting her own newspaper beside Erik’s newspaper. Erik then smiled at the pretty CIA agent he used as a contact with the American embassy.
‘’It’s been what, eleven years since we saw each other for the last time, Lisa?’’
‘’Make it twelve years, Herbie. God, those days at Boston College sure feel far away in the past. So, what are you doing here in Paris?’’
‘’I’m employed as a professional diver for a team of marine biologists and I am enjoying a break while those biologists are studying our first samples here in Paris. And you, Lisa?’’
The female agent made a show of suddenly looking a bit depressed and sighed.
‘’Well, my direct boss, a really marvelous guy, was just fired yesterday by the asshole who passes as the CEO of our company. A couple of other middle managers were also fired when they tried to protest the shitty management decisions of our CEO. Right now, I am wondering if it is worth staying with the company or trying to find a job elsewhere.’’
From a couple of discrete body signs from ‘Lisa’, Erik understood that what she had said was connected to something real. Hopefully, the info she was bringing to him would shed more light on that later on. He then faked commiserating with her and gently put his hand over her hand.
‘’Don’t give up on the company, Lisa: things will get better. In the meantime, what would you like? It’s on me.’’
‘’A nice cappuccino would be fine, Herbie.’’
‘’A cappuccino it will be.’’ replied Erik before shouting at a waiter to pass that order. He then smiled back at Lisa. ‘’Well, tell me about your time in Paris, Lisa.’’
He and the female agent actually spent a good fifteen minutes talking to each other about fictitious and mundane things, drinking coffee together, before Lisa got up from her chair and nonchalantly grabbed Erik’s newspaper on the table.
‘’Well, it was nice to meet you again, Herbie. Have fun in your diving expedition and take care.’’
‘’You too, Lisa!’’ said Erik, who then watched her walk away.
‘’A fine ass she has. Dean would have liked to meet her.’’
Finishing first his own coffee, he then grabbed the newspaper left on the table, which had belonged to Lisa, and slipped it inside his coat pocket, then got up and paid his bill to a passing waiter. Adopting again a slow walk, he continued down the avenue, turning left at the next street corner. From there, he accelerated his pace and walked for ten minutes before arriving back at the old hotel used by him and his team. Going up to his small room, he locked the door behind him before taking off his coat and opening the newspaper brought by Lisa, finding a large, fairly thick envelope tucked between the pages. Opening that envelope, he first found in it four thick wads of twenty Euros banknotes. Next, he took out a folded sheet of paper with a printed text on it and a tiny envelope containing a small key. The text on the sheet of paper was short but succinct.
From Chief of Station
Both DDO and DDI fired by Director yesterday for protesting his directives from W.H. ordering them to chase a possible Iranian connection instead of the main problem. Last words from DDO are to not get yourselves sucked into that mess. You are to wait in Paris for further instructions and play the tourists in the meantime. Your credit cards balances have been paid off, with a credit of 1,000 Euros added to each of them, so that you could look and act like tourists. Don’t burn everything in one day: it could take some time to untangle the mess at the head office.
The key is for a train station locker at the Gare St-Lazare, where further instructions will be deposited when ready. Check the locker every two days.
Good luck and enjoy your vacation.
Erik frowned on reading about the firings of Moore and Fletcher: both were dedicated professionals who took care of their personnel. As for Director Clayburn, Erik’s opinion of him and of his political masters was pretty well unprintable. Pocketing the locker key and folding back the sheet of paper, he left his room briefly, time to go knock on the doors of his team members’ rooms and summon them to his room. Less than four minutes later, the three men and one woman were assembled around the bed in his small room. Erik then showed the paper he had received.
‘’A clandestine courier left me this at a bistro on the Champs Élysées this morning. It announces some bad news from home, plus gives us renewed instructions for our present mission.’’
‘’What kind of bad news, Erik?’’ asked Dean, prompting Erik in handing him the note.
‘’Here! Read it and then pass it to Julie and Ian. Basically, that Clayburn asshole fired both DDO Moore and DDI Fletcher yesterday when they protested his directives about our mission. It seems that Washington, meaning our Dear Leader President, wants to ignore the business about the Pakistani-Saudi nuclear weapons deal and instead concentrate on investigating any possible Iranian connection to the blowing up of the SERENE. DDO Moore’s last instructions were to lay low and not get sucked in that mess. We are to wait for further instructions via our Paris Chief of Station. In the meantime, they sent us more cash money and credit to play the tourists while waiting for new instructions. Here are one thousand Euros in cash for each of you, to be used to play the tourists.’’
Both Ian and Julie broke into big grins while taking their cash money.
‘’I will finally have a chance to make a shopping tour of Paris, at last!’’ said a happy Julie, while Ian split his cash in two wads, pocketing each of them in separate pockets.
‘’I think that I will start with a tour of the museums around Paris. There is so much history to admire in this city. And you, Dean?’’
‘’Well, I can’t exactly go shop around for guns here in Paris, but I will visit the military museums around the city. I may even go visit the landing beaches in Normandie and the American cemetery there: one of my grand-uncles is buried there.’’
‘’Then, go visit your grand-uncle’s tomb first, while we have a few days off, Dean.’’ said Erik in a sober tone. ‘’I will have to go check for new instructions in two days and I simply don’t know how long it will be before we are reactivated.’’
‘’Got it! Thank you, Erik.’’
‘’Thank me by saluting your dead grand-uncle. I have only the greatest respect for our veterans who fought and died for our nation. One last thing, to all of you: don’t go around with weapons on your persons during your time off. Public security around Paris is tight and has been so for years, thanks to multiple past terrorist attacks. You may well be stopped and checked at random by some police or military patrol. This is no time for us to have to explain to the French police why we are packing illegal weapons. However, I will ask you all to wear on you miniaturized GPS locator and beacon units, in case somebody captures you. The chances of that happening are very slim, but I believe in exercising constant caution. Got it? Then, have a good time around Paris…or Normandie.’’
As Ian and Julie were walking out of the room, Dean went to Erik and looked into his eyes.
‘’And you, Erik? You also deserve a chance to relax a bit. What are you going to do?’’
‘’Me?’’ said Erik, smiling for the first time. ‘’I may just go do some recreative scuba diving and harpoon fishing along the coast of Normandie.’’