clarify something or to offer alternate suggestions.
By the time they broke for a quick lunch, Thorn was feeling better about his new post. A lot of his success or failure in this assignment would depend on how well he and his deputy director worked together. Although it would take time to fully sort their relationship out, his first take was positive. Rossini might be carrying around a lot of extra weight, but none of that fat was between his ears.
----
JUNE 18
Fighting an urge to put a bullet through the computer screen in front of him, Peter Thorn forced himself to take another stab at understanding the procedures required to request photorecon satellite time. The acronyms and bureaucratic doublespeak glowing on his monitor were all starting to run together in one unintelligible mass.
Pursuant to AFR 200-11, NSDW2, and DCID 1/13, requests to the NFIB’s Committee on Imagery Requirements and Exploitation ( COMIREX ) must Bust be approved by the appropriate offices and suboffices listed in DOD Poplar 18/3075…
“Got a minute?” Rossini’s booming voice broke the spell.
Thorn looked up in relief and waved his deputy in. “Hell, Joe, take an hour.” He nodded in disgust at the electronic text showing on his computer. “I’ll be old and grey before this stuff makes any sense to me.”
“If you ever do figure it out, you’ll probably be the first person in HOD history,” Rossini said sympathetically. “The rest of us just fill out as many random forms as we can find and hope to hit the right ones by luck.”
“Swell.” Thorn swiveled his chair away from the computer. “So what’s up?”
“Mike McFadden came to me an hour ago with some interesting material.” Rossini sat down and plopped a thin stack of papers down on the desk in front of him. “He’s been digging through some of the data the CIA collects from the Brits, the French, and the rest of NATO . These pieces caught his eye.”
Thorn paged through them. Most were intelligence reports from the international peacekeeping units and headquarters stationed in Bosnia. Somebody, either McFadden or Rossini, had highlighted the significant sections with a yellow marker.
His eyebrows went up. Buried deep among the routine descriptions of Serb, Muslim, and Croat troop movements and weapons deployments were some disquieting reports. There were rumors circulating through the Muslim armed militias and guerrilla forces rumors of mysterious foreigners spreading money and plane tickets to men with good combat records and leadership skills.
He looked up at Rossini. “Somebody’s recruiting terrorists again.”
“Yep.” Rossini spread his hands. “The question is, who?”
“The CIA have any ideas?”
Rossini shook his head. “Nope. Not that they’re much interested. Langley doesn’t see Bosnia as a priority. It’s a European bailiwick. And there’re no nukes involved to make it sexy for the Congress. Plus, they don’t have anyone on the ground outside of Sarajevo.”
“Shit.” Thorn grimaced. “These recruiters could be working for almost anyone in the Islamic world. Iraq. Syria. Pakistan. Afghanistan. Even what’s left of HizbAllah or Hammas. Hell, they’ve all got military training missions operating inside Bosnia.”
“So do the Iranians,” Rossini pointed out.
“True.” Thorn nodded. He thought back over his conversations in Tehran. “Look, Joe, General Taleh promised to cooperate with us in the fight against terrorism. He’s certainly kicked the hell out of them inside his own country. Maybe we should test his cooperation on a bigger playing field.”
“You want to see if his own intelligence people have picked up these same rumors?”
“Right. Christ, one thing’s sure. The Iranians are bound to have better sources in Bosnia than the Brits, the French, or the CL.” Thorn thought further for a moment. “Look, I’m flying down to Bragg next week for a conference with Farrell. Have McFadden put this together in an
By the time they broke for a quick lunch, Thorn was feeling better about his new post. A lot of his success or failure in this assignment would depend on how well he and his deputy director worked together. Although it would take time to fully sort their relationship out, his first take was positive. Rossini might be carrying around a lot of extra weight, but none of that fat was between his ears.
----
JUNE 18
Fighting an urge to put a bullet through the computer screen in front of him, Peter Thorn forced himself to take another stab at understanding the procedures required to request photorecon satellite time. The acronyms and bureaucratic doublespeak glowing on his monitor were all starting to run together in one unintelligible mass.
Pursuant to AFR 200-11, NSDW2, and DCID 1/13, requests to the NFIB’s Committee on Imagery Requirements and Exploitation ( COMIREX ) must Bust be approved by the appropriate offices and suboffices listed in DOD Poplar 18/3075…
“Got a minute?” Rossini’s booming voice broke the spell.
Thorn looked up in relief and waved his deputy in. “Hell, Joe, take an hour.” He nodded in disgust at the electronic text showing on his computer. “I’ll be old and grey before this stuff makes any sense to me.”
“If you ever do figure it out, you’ll probably be the first person in HOD history,” Rossini said sympathetically. “The rest of us just fill out as many random forms as we can find and hope to hit the right ones by luck.”
“Swell.” Thorn swiveled his chair away from the computer. “So what’s up?”
“Mike McFadden came to me an hour ago with some interesting material.” Rossini sat down and plopped a thin stack of papers down on the desk in front of him. “He’s been digging through some of the data the CIA collects from the Brits, the French, and the rest of NATO . These pieces caught his eye.”
Thorn paged through them. Most were intelligence reports from the international peacekeeping units and headquarters stationed in Bosnia. Somebody, either McFadden or Rossini, had highlighted the significant sections with a yellow marker.
His eyebrows went up. Buried deep among the routine descriptions of Serb, Muslim, and Croat troop movements and weapons deployments were some disquieting reports. There were rumors circulating through the Muslim armed militias and guerrilla forces rumors of mysterious foreigners spreading money and plane tickets to men with good combat records and leadership skills.
He looked up at Rossini. “Somebody’s recruiting terrorists again.”
“Yep.” Rossini spread his hands. “The question is, who?”
“The CIA have any ideas?”
Rossini shook his head. “Nope. Not that they’re much interested. Langley doesn’t see Bosnia as a priority. It’s a European bailiwick. And there’re no nukes involved to make it sexy for the Congress. Plus, they don’t have anyone on the ground outside of Sarajevo.”
“Shit.” Thorn grimaced. “These recruiters could be working for almost anyone in the Islamic world. Iraq. Syria. Pakistan. Afghanistan. Even what’s left of HizbAllah or Hammas. Hell, they’ve all got military training missions operating inside Bosnia.”
“So do the Iranians,” Rossini pointed out.
“True.” Thorn nodded. He thought back over his conversations in Tehran. “Look, Joe, General Taleh promised to cooperate with us in the fight against terrorism. He’s certainly kicked the hell out of them inside his own country. Maybe we should test his cooperation on a bigger playing field.”
“You want to see if his own intelligence people have picked up these same rumors?”
“Right. Christ, one thing’s sure. The Iranians are bound to have better sources in Bosnia than the Brits, the French, or the CL.” Thorn thought further for a moment. “Look, I’m flying down to Bragg next week for a conference with Farrell. Have McFadden put this together in an
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