shadowing the operatives of Mukhabarat —the Iraqi intelligence service—tracking the influx of Soviet and East German weapons, advisors, and scientists, and trying to keep tabs on activities at such places as Salman Pak, a terrorist training camp and biological weapons factory located south of Baghdad along the Tigris River.
Mitchell returned to the U.S. in 1989 to head up the Near East Operations Division at Langley, directing the Agency’s Scud-hunting efforts during the Gulf War in 1991. He was also instrumental in helping secure the defection of two of Iraq’s top nuclear scientists during the 1990s, two of the most dramatic yet publicly unheralded modern successes of the beleaguered American spy network. But for all his experience, Mitchell now shifted uncomfortably in his seat and stuffed some fresh tobacco chew between his cheek and gum.
“This thing’s going from bad to worse, fast.”
“How so?” the VP asked.
“We’re not the only ones getting hit.”
Mitchell whispered to an assistant to begin rolling some newly acquired videotape from various CIA stations around the globe. Then he began narrating.
“Oh my God,” said the vice president.
Though obviously taken by amateurs, the images were surreal. The Canadian Embassy in Paris was on fire. Every building in the compound was completely ablaze. Somehow the photographer—a Canadian tourist filming his fiancée in front of the embassy just moments before the attack began—had captured three successive car bomb explosions, one after another, inside the gates, followed by mortar fire coming in over the couple’s heads. Everyone in the room, including the vice president, was visibly shaken.
“This footage just came in,” said Mitchell.
“Casualties?” asked the VP.
“No word yet, sir. We’re still trying to gather more information.” We’ve got two field agents on the scene right now and more on the way.”
“The Canadian Embassy, Jack? What the hell for?” asked Trainor.
“It’s the new embassy. Just completed. Canadian president Jean Luc was there to dedicate it. They’ve been having a huge party there all night.”
The room fell silent.
“I’m afraid that’s not all, sir.”
Mitchell now directed everyone’s attention to a second video screen.
It was worst than the first.
“This is a live feed. Buckingham Palace in London is also on fire, apparently hit by a barrage of mortars and RPGs less than ten minutes ago.”
Everyone in the room gasped.
“London Station reports machine-gun fire can presently be heard in the streets around the palace. I’m trying to get more on that right now, sir.”
“Is the queen there?” asked FBI Director Harris.
“It seems she is,” said Mitchell. “Our embassy reports she’s OK, but she’s being airlifted to a military hospital as a precaution.”
On the video screen, an aide could now be seen handing Mitchell a note.
“What’ve you got now, Jack?” asked the VP.
“Holy…is this confirmed?…are you sure?…Mr. Vice President, I’ve just been handed a report that a 747 has just crashed into the Royal Palace in Saudi Arabia.”
“What?”
“One of my guys was actually driving to the palace when it happened. Saw the whole thing. Just sent a flash traffic email to the U.S. Embassy in Riyadh which was immediately forwarded here to Langley. Our agent started taking high-eight video footage. We should be getting that uplinked to us momentarily.”
“Sir, this is Burt at the Pentagon.”
“Yes, Burt?”
“Sir, I have to say I now think we’re looking at a coordinated global attack on our allied leaders. We need to go to DefCon Two immediately, not Three. And I’m sorry, I think now we’ve got to shut down the air traffic control system.”
“A full ground stop—no planes up or down—on the day before Thanksgiving?” asked the Deputy Treasury Secretary from Japan.
“I don’t think we have any choice, sir,” Trainor replied, directing his remarks to the
Mitchell returned to the U.S. in 1989 to head up the Near East Operations Division at Langley, directing the Agency’s Scud-hunting efforts during the Gulf War in 1991. He was also instrumental in helping secure the defection of two of Iraq’s top nuclear scientists during the 1990s, two of the most dramatic yet publicly unheralded modern successes of the beleaguered American spy network. But for all his experience, Mitchell now shifted uncomfortably in his seat and stuffed some fresh tobacco chew between his cheek and gum.
“This thing’s going from bad to worse, fast.”
“How so?” the VP asked.
“We’re not the only ones getting hit.”
Mitchell whispered to an assistant to begin rolling some newly acquired videotape from various CIA stations around the globe. Then he began narrating.
“Oh my God,” said the vice president.
Though obviously taken by amateurs, the images were surreal. The Canadian Embassy in Paris was on fire. Every building in the compound was completely ablaze. Somehow the photographer—a Canadian tourist filming his fiancée in front of the embassy just moments before the attack began—had captured three successive car bomb explosions, one after another, inside the gates, followed by mortar fire coming in over the couple’s heads. Everyone in the room, including the vice president, was visibly shaken.
“This footage just came in,” said Mitchell.
“Casualties?” asked the VP.
“No word yet, sir. We’re still trying to gather more information.” We’ve got two field agents on the scene right now and more on the way.”
“The Canadian Embassy, Jack? What the hell for?” asked Trainor.
“It’s the new embassy. Just completed. Canadian president Jean Luc was there to dedicate it. They’ve been having a huge party there all night.”
The room fell silent.
“I’m afraid that’s not all, sir.”
Mitchell now directed everyone’s attention to a second video screen.
It was worst than the first.
“This is a live feed. Buckingham Palace in London is also on fire, apparently hit by a barrage of mortars and RPGs less than ten minutes ago.”
Everyone in the room gasped.
“London Station reports machine-gun fire can presently be heard in the streets around the palace. I’m trying to get more on that right now, sir.”
“Is the queen there?” asked FBI Director Harris.
“It seems she is,” said Mitchell. “Our embassy reports she’s OK, but she’s being airlifted to a military hospital as a precaution.”
On the video screen, an aide could now be seen handing Mitchell a note.
“What’ve you got now, Jack?” asked the VP.
“Holy…is this confirmed?…are you sure?…Mr. Vice President, I’ve just been handed a report that a 747 has just crashed into the Royal Palace in Saudi Arabia.”
“What?”
“One of my guys was actually driving to the palace when it happened. Saw the whole thing. Just sent a flash traffic email to the U.S. Embassy in Riyadh which was immediately forwarded here to Langley. Our agent started taking high-eight video footage. We should be getting that uplinked to us momentarily.”
“Sir, this is Burt at the Pentagon.”
“Yes, Burt?”
“Sir, I have to say I now think we’re looking at a coordinated global attack on our allied leaders. We need to go to DefCon Two immediately, not Three. And I’m sorry, I think now we’ve got to shut down the air traffic control system.”
“A full ground stop—no planes up or down—on the day before Thanksgiving?” asked the Deputy Treasury Secretary from Japan.
“I don’t think we have any choice, sir,” Trainor replied, directing his remarks to the
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