warmth and a sparkle lighting his eyes when he caught sight of Rigs. He rushed forward and threw two meaty, powerful arms around Rigs, bellowing, “Master Jake!”
Rigs took a few seconds to recover from the over familiar and unwelcome contact, although he did his best to hide his discomfort.
“Everyone, this is Uncle Bill, he looks after the lodge,” Rigs said, his eyes fixed on the ground.
“Just Bill, please,” the big man said, beckoning them towards the jeep and clasping another hand fondly on Rigs’ shoulder.
“What about the crew?” asked Cash.
Rigs looked back. “I assume they’ll head back to the nearest major airport and pick up another charter.”
“Where they will most likely see a news channel or newspaper with our faces on it?”
“Ah, good point, we can’t let them do that .”
“No, we can’t .”
Chapter 19
Defense Initiative Services
New York
The relentless onslaught of news continued. The scandal was the largest to have ever rocked the nation . Mike Yates hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the screen. The latest revelation was that the first lady was also implicated in the plot to kill the President, which of course was beyond ludicrous, but there it was, being reported as though guilt needn’t be proved.
It was all rubbish, every piece of it, fabricated rubbish. Travis Davies, his former boss at the CIA and the man who had made him who he was, a traitor? Never! The man bled red, white, and blue and passed gas to the tune of ‘The Star Spangled Banner.’ The list implicated almost every member of the National Security Council and a number of the individuals Mike had assumed he had been working with for years. If not them, who was he really working for?
He had spent most of the night with a notepad in front of him, going over the operations that he had undertaken over the years and jotting down what he remembered. There were no other records. To deny knowledge of something meant ensuring there was no proof available that you couldn’t deny. DIS up until earlier that afternoon had been proudly paper free, even the toilet roll was a paper substitute, an inside joke to emphasize how paper free they were. The extent of their records was a code number attached to a payment. Invoices were sent to anonymous Hotmail accounts and payments received almost exclusively from small offshore private banks. In short, other than what he remembered in his head, there was nothing that tied DIS to anything.
It was perfect and disastrous . Mike looked again at the news screen to another breaking story. The FBI had been formally put in charge of the operation. Another high-level appointee had passed the treason test, noted Mike, turning back to his pad. He tried to connect the dots, assassinations and industrial sabotage across the globe. High-level officials, large multi-nationals, local reporters and small businesses… there was no discernible pattern, and in many cases, no conceivable reason behind the operations that had been ordered.
H e had three current operations that stood out from the crowd: Santa Cruz, California; London, England; and Algeciras, Spain. Santa Cruz had piqued his interest. He could see that someone in the government could have conceivably gained from the initial target— the destruction of the most powerful telescope ever launched into space. However, the subsequent fallout from the incriminating evidence they had subsequently planted on Gray’s body, with a copy to the press, had done nothing but weaken the nation. And that was not something Mike Yates had ever signed up to do.
London, England . He considered the target and the operation, but it made no sense. He reached for his phone; it was 11:52 p.m. in New York, 4:52 a.m. in London. The operation was only a few hours away, and his people would be getting ready. In his four years at the helm, Mike had always delivered. He had nagging doubts from time to time, but the money had bought his conscience. No
Rigs took a few seconds to recover from the over familiar and unwelcome contact, although he did his best to hide his discomfort.
“Everyone, this is Uncle Bill, he looks after the lodge,” Rigs said, his eyes fixed on the ground.
“Just Bill, please,” the big man said, beckoning them towards the jeep and clasping another hand fondly on Rigs’ shoulder.
“What about the crew?” asked Cash.
Rigs looked back. “I assume they’ll head back to the nearest major airport and pick up another charter.”
“Where they will most likely see a news channel or newspaper with our faces on it?”
“Ah, good point, we can’t let them do that .”
“No, we can’t .”
Chapter 19
Defense Initiative Services
New York
The relentless onslaught of news continued. The scandal was the largest to have ever rocked the nation . Mike Yates hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the screen. The latest revelation was that the first lady was also implicated in the plot to kill the President, which of course was beyond ludicrous, but there it was, being reported as though guilt needn’t be proved.
It was all rubbish, every piece of it, fabricated rubbish. Travis Davies, his former boss at the CIA and the man who had made him who he was, a traitor? Never! The man bled red, white, and blue and passed gas to the tune of ‘The Star Spangled Banner.’ The list implicated almost every member of the National Security Council and a number of the individuals Mike had assumed he had been working with for years. If not them, who was he really working for?
He had spent most of the night with a notepad in front of him, going over the operations that he had undertaken over the years and jotting down what he remembered. There were no other records. To deny knowledge of something meant ensuring there was no proof available that you couldn’t deny. DIS up until earlier that afternoon had been proudly paper free, even the toilet roll was a paper substitute, an inside joke to emphasize how paper free they were. The extent of their records was a code number attached to a payment. Invoices were sent to anonymous Hotmail accounts and payments received almost exclusively from small offshore private banks. In short, other than what he remembered in his head, there was nothing that tied DIS to anything.
It was perfect and disastrous . Mike looked again at the news screen to another breaking story. The FBI had been formally put in charge of the operation. Another high-level appointee had passed the treason test, noted Mike, turning back to his pad. He tried to connect the dots, assassinations and industrial sabotage across the globe. High-level officials, large multi-nationals, local reporters and small businesses… there was no discernible pattern, and in many cases, no conceivable reason behind the operations that had been ordered.
H e had three current operations that stood out from the crowd: Santa Cruz, California; London, England; and Algeciras, Spain. Santa Cruz had piqued his interest. He could see that someone in the government could have conceivably gained from the initial target— the destruction of the most powerful telescope ever launched into space. However, the subsequent fallout from the incriminating evidence they had subsequently planted on Gray’s body, with a copy to the press, had done nothing but weaken the nation. And that was not something Mike Yates had ever signed up to do.
London, England . He considered the target and the operation, but it made no sense. He reached for his phone; it was 11:52 p.m. in New York, 4:52 a.m. in London. The operation was only a few hours away, and his people would be getting ready. In his four years at the helm, Mike had always delivered. He had nagging doubts from time to time, but the money had bought his conscience. No
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