The Darkest of Games

By Lawrence Ricketts

The top secret "International Security Operations" (ISO), established to infiltrate and dismantle major criminal and Terrorist networks, has been compromised and a number of its operatives killed as they commenced their respective operations. With no leads, all ISO operations are shut down, but not before the close friend and colleague of Millicent Watersford, and Alec Cooper, is captured by Al Qaeda in Lebanon. Unable to use their own people, Millicent reaches out to her uncle, a MI6 operative, and two of his close friends, one a retired Mossad agent, and the other a retired CIA operator, for help. Together they begin a deadly game, where the hunter becomes the hunted and nothing is as it seems.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Apr 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9780228822448

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Two months later . . .

Langley, VA

Donald J. Anderson Private Hospital

10 May

1100 hrs local time

The intense hour of physical tests felt like they had taken more like three hours. Alec Cooper relaxed in the lunchroom, waiting for the results. It had been a long haul. More dead than alive when he’d arrived on the carrier, it took three days before he was stable enough to be transported to the military hospital on Guam, and finally back to the States. He underwent a series of surgeries to repair hip and shoulder damage caused by the four farewell wounds he’d received from the North Koreans.

Now, after the long stretch of rehab, he wanted nothing more than to get out of there and back to life. It had taken that long to strengthen his hip and shoulder, plus get back into shape from sitting on his butt doing nothing.

At thirty-five years old, Cooper was bordering on being too old for these types of operations, but the challenge was like a drug. He kept himself physically and mentally fit and was constantly honing his self-defence and weapons skills. He had fifteen years of operational experience in the Middle East, Asia, and Europe, mostly high-risk operations. Just under six feet with a medium build, he could fit into most situations without being noticed, other than maybe at a KKK meeting. Alec’s mother was a Doctor of Medicine and second generation African American. His father, a professor of linguistics at USC, was a French Canadian originally from Montreal. Having a dark complexion made it easier to fit in and move about in places like the Middle East, and having a master’s degree in human behaviour gave him a good edge in adapting to various social, economic, and political situations. Growing up, his parents had instilled in him the advantages of speaking more than one language, so from the time he was two, both French and English were spoken at home, and by the age of fifteen he had a good command of Russian, German, Spanish, and, thanks to their housekeeper who was on a work visa from Seoul, a fairly good grasp of Korean.

Cooper’s live-in girlfriend, Millie Watersford, was in the same line of work. Both were operators in the highly secretive International Special Operations Unit, or ISO. Formed and financed by NATO countries, its mandate was to extinguish threats by terrorist groups and adversarial entities attempting to destabilize elected democracies. Millie and Alec had only worked together once, and because they had started dating they were put on different teams, which was the long-standing rule within the unit.

The door to the lunchroom opened and Dr. Lee, who always seemed in a hurry, came in, and seeing no one else in the room closed the door. Dr. Coleen Lee had been Alec’s primary doctor since he’d been brought in. In her mid-forties, she stood about five foot one or two, with shoulder-length black hair, an infectious smile, and a soft voice.

She sat across from him and put his thick file on the table in front of her. Well Alec, I won’t ask how you’re feeling . . . unless you’ve been hiding something from us.

He smiled and shook his head. Doc, I’d never hide anything from you.

Better not, because I know you inside and out, Cooper, and I mean that literally, she said, smiling.

Honestly Doc, I feel great. Long as you removed all your equipment from my construction zones when you were done.

Pretty sure I did, but I don’t bother counting the scissors, ’cause we’ve got tons of them, she said, raising her eyebrows.

Well, that makes me feel so much better, he said, shaking his head.

Then she got serious. Okay, Agent Cooper, she said, patting the file, you’ve come a long way, and your rehab has been outstanding to say the least. The results of your stress test show that your heart, lungs, and blood pressure are well above normal for someone your age, and your muscle tone is back to what it was when you had your last physical. That being said, remember: if you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be, you’ll set off any metal detectors. And my advice would be, don’t try stopping any more fast-moving projectiles. If you can’t stay out of harm’s way . . . learn how to duck.

Cooper laughed and stood up. Damn good advice, Doc, but then I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of meeting you, now would I?

True, she said, closing his file. And I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of putting all the pieces back in order . . . at least I think I put them in the right order.

He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the forehead. Seriously Doc, thanks for everything. I really mean it.

She smiled and waved him off. It’s what I do, Agent Cooper. In your case, just prolonging the inevitable. Doctor Lee’s smiled disappeared. Seriously Cooper, you’re very welcome. Be careful out there, she said, nodding toward the window. And please remember my advice, okay?

As he headed for the door, he stopped and turned around. Duck. Got it, Doc. See ya. He headed out the door.

Alec took the elevator to the main floor and walked out the front entrance. Millie was waiting, double parked in her red Volkswagen convertible by the hospital’s main entrance. At thirty years old she had already spent three years in Britain’s MI6 counter-espionage section. She had been transferred two years ago to the Washington office of the ISO. Extremely attractive, she kept her blond hair cut short, and had the ability to fit into any situation and change her appearance with ease. She had a small crescent scar under her left eye, the result of a knife wound from an al-Qaeda terrorist she had jumped as he tried to detonate an IED on the Amtrak from Washington to New York. He slashed her with a knife seconds before she shot him through the heart. Because it is such an identifying mark, Millie always covered it with makeup when doing covert operations.

She took off her sunglasses and waved.

Well? she said as he climbed in. You still a worker bee?

Yep. Good to go. He leaned over and gave her a kiss. God, you look good, he said and fastened his seat belt. I was surprised to get your text. When did you get in?

She signalled and pulled into light traffic. Landed at 0500, had the initial debrief till 0800. Major Walker told me you were scheduled for your final physical this morning, so thought I’d come get you, in case you needed help getting into the car.

Cooper let out a laugh and sighed. Only thing I need right now is to get you home and into bed.

Yeow, she said, downshifting and hitting the gas. Giddy up, little car.

Millicent Watersford was born and raised in London, a short walk from Hyde Park. The oldest of three children, her father, Jonathan Watersford, was head of covert operations for MI6. Her mother, Madeline, was a well-known artist who worked from a studio attached to the side of the house.

In her second year at Oxford University, Millicent had skipped afternoon classes to drive home for her youngest sister’s thirteenth birthday dinner. Traffic ground to a slow pace once she hit London, and eight or nine blocks from her parents’ home traffic was being diverted due to a police incident. Realizing she was going to be late, Millicent pulled over and parked in front of a sidewalk café, got out, and asked the owner if she could use the phone. She called her parents’ number but no one answered. She thought they must be outside or in her mum’s studio, so she decided to give it a few minutes and try again. While she waited, she overheard customers talking about the terrible bombing that had occurred a few hours ago.

What happened? she asked a waitress.

A bomb, ma’am. I’d just come on shift and it shook the whole place. Apparently a residence near Hyde Park not that far from here.

Millicent picked up the phone again and dialed her parents’ number. Still nothing. She ran to her car and edged back into traffic. At the next corner the police were detouring traffic. She rolled down her window as a uniformed officer waved her to the right.

Excuse me, she said. How can I get onto Bedford Mews? It’s where I live.

The officer held his hand up to stop traffic behind her and came to the window. You live on Bedford Mews? May I ask your name, young lady?

She gave him a confused look. Uh . . . it’s Watersford, Millicent Watersford. Why?

The officer turned away and spoke into his portable radio. She thought she heard him say her name. Then he listened for a few seconds in his earpiece, turned back to her, and said, Ma’am, there’s been an incident on Bedford Mews, and my sergeant would like a word with you. He looked up. Here he comes now, ma’am.

The sergeant was a big man, potbellied and bald with a beet-red face. He spoke quietly to the officer for a few seconds before approaching the open driver’s side window. Miss Watersford, may I please see some identification?

What the hell is going on? I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m just trying to get home . . .

The sergeant put both hands up defensively. Please ma’am. If you live on Bedford Mews, I must confirm who you are before I can tell you anything.

More scared now than annoyed, Millicent rummaged through her handbag, opened her wallet, and removed her driver’s licence. As she handed it to the sergeant, she noticed the other officer whispering into his radio.

Please Sergeant, you’re starting to scare me. What is going on? she pleaded, her voice breaking.

A Scotland Yard emergency events van pulled up in front of Millicent’s car. The sergeant opened her door. Ma’am, if you’ll come with me, the chief inspector will explain everything to you.

Millicent, now very scared, followed the sergeant into the back of the van. There were four officers inside working phones and computers and an older officer at a desk. He hung up the phone and stood.

Miss Watersford? he asked. My name is Chief Inspector Galbraith, of Scotland Yard.

Yes, she said.

And you live at number nineteen Bedford Mews?

Yes. What’s wrong? Her voice rose. Would someone please tell me what’s happening!

Galbraith cleared his throat and nodded to a female officer to sit beside Millicent. I’m sorry, Miss Watersford, he said, I’m afraid there has been a terrible explosion at your residence. The cause is presently—

Where are my parents, and sisters? Were they there? Are they okay? Oh god, please. Are they okay?

Ma’am. Investigators are searching as we speak. Can you tell me who and how many would have been at home approximately two hours ago?

Millicent looked at her watch. Oh my god. I stopped for a bite to eat on my way in from Oxford about two hours ago and spoke to my mum. Dad had just arrived home and my two sisters were there also. It’s Katherine’s birthday today. She looked up at Galbraith, who lowered his head.

I’m so sorry, Ma’am. The explosion was . . . uh . . . no one inside could have possibly survived.

Later that night, at her uncle’s home in Kensington, they received word that four bodies had in fact been found in the ruins of the home, and a radical wing of the IRA had claimed responsibility, stating Jonathan Watersford had been targeted and successfully assassinated. His family had been termed collateral damage, regretful, but to be expected when operations such as these were carried out. Millicent sat quietly in her uncle’s study staring at the low fire burning in the fireplace. She waited until he hung up the phone, which had rung at least a dozen times in the last hour.

I’m dropping out of Oxford, she said, not looking away from the fire.

Her uncle leaned forward in his high-backed leather chair. My dear, dear girl, he said and sighed deeply. I know you’re devastated, but I can say with some knowledge that this is not the time to be making any decisions, let alone major ones. My advice would be to take some time to be with your thoughts, then talk to those who may be able to ease some of the pain, and I would be very happy if one of those people were me. I’ve had Victoria make up one of the guest rooms, which as of now is your room, as is this your house, he said, spreading his arms. For as long as you wish.

Millicent wiped a tear from her eye and picked up her cup of tea. Thank you, Uncle Jamie.

Jamie Ryan cleared his throat, poured more tea into both of their cups. When I introduced your father to my sister, it was because he was my best friend, whom I trusted with my life. We worked many operations together and I loved him like a brother. I was so happy for their love of one another, knowing I had something to do with it, I guess. Then, you, Lilly, and Katherine came along, and I never saw a man so proud. About eight years ago, we were in Afghanistan near the Khyber Pass when we came under fire by god knows who the warlord was, but he had a sizable and very well-armed army with him. Anyways, just before help arrived and things were looking rather dim, your father looked over and quite calmly asked, ‘Mind if I ask you . . . if I buy it, would you see to our family?’ I was dumbfounded at his calm. With bullets zipping and pinging everywhere, I said, ‘Of course, but what if I don’t make it?’ ‘Oh,’ he said with a big grin, ‘in that case I suppose I won’t buy it then.’

Millicent couldn’t help but smile. He actually said that?

Without a word of a lie. Then on the chopper on the way back to Kabul, he said, ‘What I said back there, I meant it, you know,’ and I told him that I meant it when I had said of course.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, until the silence was broken by the phone ringing. He picked up right away. Ryan here, he said.

Millicent Watersford, at the request of her uncle, remained in university, but switched her courses from law to psychology and human behaviour.

Jamie Ryan knew exactly why she had changed, so one night when she was home for Christmas holidays, he waited until they were finished dinner and said, Millicent. If you want to join the police department in the future I will put in a word and it shouldn’t be a problem. Now, if you want to follow in your father’s footsteps, that will be much more work.

Millicent looked at him very seriously. I want to do what father did, and what you do.

Jamie took a sip of his sherry and put the glass aside. All right, young lady, here is what you will need to do, and be the best at.

She took a notebook out of her study bag, opened it to a blank page, and readied her pen. Her uncle explained the necessity of understanding and speaking foreign languages, especially those of Eastern nations.

In order to not only infiltrate but be accepted by people in different parts of the globe, a good understanding of cultures, religious beliefs, and customs is of paramount importance. As for politics, you’ll need knowledge of the different styles of governments, who the political allies and foes are, and the different laws you’ll have to work within . . . or around.

When he finished, Millicent put down her pen and shook her head. Uncle Jamie. It will take me a hundred years to learn this.

Jamie laughed. Actually, much of it you’ll learn on the fly, so to speak. You can learn a lot about people by watching and listening. For instance, shop for food at ethnic markets and talk to the people. If they see you are interested, they will love to talk to you about their foods, etcetera. Become a regular at ethnic coffee shops and restaurants and you’ll be surprised how quickly you’ll learn about their countries and cultures. Victoria’s father came from Iran many years ago, and she speaks fluent Farsi. If you ask her I’m sure she would be very excited to teach it to you. You see, the rudiments of many of the things you’ll need are all around you.

I never thought of it like that, she said. Do you really think Victoria will be able to teach me Firsy?

Yes, I certainly do, Jamie said, smiling. And it’s Farsi. F-A-R-S-I.

CHAPTER 2

Langley, VA

11 May

0730 hrs local time

Alec Cooper picked up the phone on the first ring. He’d been lying awake for the better part of an hour. Millie stirred slightly, then rolled over. Alec got out of bed and took the phone into the bathroom.

Cooper here, he said quietly. Please be a wrong number.

Wish it was, Coop. It was his partner, Brian Pitman. Sorry to wake you, buddy, but we got a conference call coming into the safe house at 0900 for both teams, so it’s gotta be something pretty important.

Copy that. I’ll get Millie up, and we’ll see you there in about . . . He looked at his watch. An hour.

Perfect, Pitman said. Coffee will be on.

Cooper called as he turned on the shower. Up and at ’em, Mil. Duty calls, babe.

Millie groaned and sat up. This better be important. After three weeks away all I wanted was one sleep-in, just one.

The safe house for the Washington office of ISO was the top two floors of a four-storey office building, two blocks off of the Potomac. The lower floors were fictitious company offices and every door in the building and underground parking were accessible only by retinal scanning.

Walking into the conference room, they were met by Pitman. Sorry for the early-morning call, guys. I figured you might be busy—ah, I mean tired, seein’ as Millie just got back yesterday. But as they say: time and bad guys wait for no man, or woman.

Alec handed Millie a coffee as they walked over to their chairs at the conference table.

And who was it said that, Pit? Millie asked.

I got no friggin’ idea, but it seems about right, don’t ya think? Oh, and by the way, welcome back.

Brian Pitman looked more like a California surfer dude than an experienced, highly trained, and deadly operative. With long blond hair tied in a ponytail and a constant five o’clock shadow, his usual outfit when not on assignment was a flowered short-sleeve shirt, jeans, and sandals.

Because of their history, working together in the elite Delta Force, Pitman and Cooper had been partnered up since their arrival to the team three years ago. On the first day of the North Korean operation, they parachuted in during a rainstorm just after midnight. A strong wind gust slammed Pitman into a tree as he landed in the dark, fracturing his ankle. He had to be evacuated by local assets on the ground, which turned out to be a long and painful hike to the coastal village of Hungnam. From there, they ran the gauntlet of North Korean patrol boats in a very unseaworthy fishing boat, finally meeting up with the mini-sub from the British frigate, HMCS Regal.

Cooper had decided, against Pitman’s strong objections, to continue the operation on his own, seeing as he was only five miles from the target.

They had been attached to the same Delta team prior to being recruited from the CIA to the top-secret ISO. Each unit consisted of two teams of between six and eight operatives in each. There were six units around the world, and all worked independently of one another, so in the event of capture and torture only the one team could be compromised. By 0800 hours both Washington teams had arrived and were seated at the table. A speaker box with a camera attached sat at the head of the table. It gave a loud click and the room went silent.

Good morning, people, a voice belonging to the man they all knew only as J said. Sorry to cut into your days off, but something has just come to our attention that needs addressing ASAP. A screen at the end of the conference table lowered and the lighting dimmed. Three head-and-shoulder shots, two male and one female, appeared on the screen. "All three are members of the same Los Angeles team. The first two, Trevor Kittson and Marie Desjardine, were working their way into a Russian organized-crime syndicate out of Brighton Beach. It was day one of the operation and they were having a drink at one of the hangouts. Basically, they hadn’t even started yet, and their cover story had been sanitized to the nth degree. Their bodies were found in the Lower Bay just off Coney Island last night. Both showed signs of torture. The actual cause of death in both cases was a bullet to the forehead. The bodies hadn’t been in the water long, as the time of death is estimated to be close to four o’clock yesterday afternoon. At first glance it appeared that one of them must have been identified, but that doesn’t seem to add up. Neither had ever worked any of the Russian groups previously. Both could speak fluent Russian, but they were based on the West Coast and had never worked the New York area before. The third picture most of you will recognize. This is Enrico Masantos. He had just started a solo operation on the U.S. side of the border near Tijuana and was attempting to infiltrate a cocaine cartel based in Tijuana. This also was day one of his operation. He had transferred two years ago from our cell here in Washington to Los Angeles, and never worked any of the targets. The majority of his ops have been in Europe. His team lost contact within hours of him crossing the border into Tijuana. His body was found dumped along the road near the border town of Tecate by hikers the following morning. He had been brutally tortured and his tongue cut out, a cartel signature. Masantos was considered the most experienced operator on the team. The room remained silent. Okay. Starting at the top of the table, what are your initial thoughts?"

Nora Davidson, the supervisor of the two Washington teams, sat at the head of the table. She looked down at the notes she’d been taking.

Well, it could be coincidence, seeing as the ops are as far away from each other as you can get, and for the most part the Mexican cartels don’t trust or like dealing with the Russians, but if the information is worth it . . .

Pitman looked away from the photos. I don’t like the fact that it was day one of both operations. I mean Christ, it’s pretty hard to screw up that bad when you haven’t even really got started. Plus, these weren’t rookies.

Cooper let out a deep breath and looked at the black camera ball attached to the speaker box. I think Pit’s right, J. Whatever happened to fuck up the first operation and the subsequent torture could have led to the second op being compromised, and that information would be worth a fair chunk of change, even if you didn’t like who you were selling it to.

There were nods around the table.

I agree, said J. So, until we know for sure, I am contacting Anton Cervetes in Brussels and advising that we are shutting down both the L.A. and the Washington office as well, partly because Masantos worked here.

Nora looked at the camera. Have there been any problems with any of the other ISO offices?

Not that we know of right now, J said. Every operation has its unforeseen twists and turns, so we’re sifting through all intelligence and human-asset problems every cell has encountered over the past year. There are a number of them so it could take a while to piece together. Even yours, Alec. We learned a while back that the guard you took out on your way in wasn’t found until the next day. That means you were spotted, or they were tipped off that you were there. Until we’re sure it wasn’t the latter, we are closing down both East and West Coast operations and looking internally.

Both teams at the table agreed.

To finish off, J continued, the European and South American offices will continue operating for the time being. Depending on the need, some of you may be seconded to them as you have in the past. The only difference is from now on all undercover infiltrations will be double teamed for tighter security. Any questions? The room remained silent. Okay, ladies and gentlemen, stay vigilant.

With a click the speaker turned off.

Cooper looked over at Millie. Christ, I’m glad you’re back. You have any kind of problems at all?

She shook her head. Zero that I’m aware of. The entire plan worked spot on.

Millie and Alec followed Pitman into town and to the parking lot of the Fox and Hound Pub. They took a table near the back. It was early so there were very few lunch customers yet. They ordered two coffees and a tea and waited until the waitress delivered them before speaking.

Pit looked over at Alec and Millie. I’ve never been one for coincidences. I’m thinkin’ we’ve got a big problem here.

Alec and Millie nodded in agreement. Unnerving to think it could be one of our own, Millie said.

And, Alec said, if it’s someone from their team, that’s one thing, but if it’s not, any one of us could be compromised at any time.

So? Pit said. What do we do?

Millie sipped her tea. Like the man said. We stay vigilant.

Pitman checked his watch Well, looks like we’ve got a bit of time off if we’re shut down for a while. You guys got any plans?

Yeah, Millie said. For starters I’m going to catch up on a whole lot of missed sleep.

And I’m gonna be right there to put her back in bed when she wakes up, Alec said, flashing a devilish grin. How about you, Pit?

Think I’ll call Angie and see if she wants to head up to New York for a couple of days.

Angie was Pit’s long-time girlfriend. Twice they had almost made it down the aisle, and both times they hadn’t quite made it. With the job, the timing never seemed quite right. Although they spent most of their time together, they each had their own apartment in the small community of Chesterbrook, Virginia, three blocks from each other, close to Langley. Angie worked as a legal assistant at the Washington D.C. firm of Willem, Finestone, and Kramm, which dealt mainly in personal injuries, real estate law, and foreclosures. She knew Pit was attached to the CIA, and like Alec and Millie, did classified work that took them out of town half a dozen times a year for anywhere between two weeks to two months, depending.

Jeez, be careful Pit, or you guys’ll be headin’ down the aisle again, Alec said, laughing.

Ain’t gonna happen Coop. I think we love each other too much to do that.

Well, I gotta tell you, I am getting tired of almost being a best man.

Langley, VA

12 May

0900 hrs local time

Alec was making breakfast when the phone rang. He wiped his hands with a dishcloth and picked up.

Hello, Cooper here.

Hey man, it’s Pit. Just wanted to let you know, I got called late last night to head across the pond to help our Yiddish friends.

Alec reached over and turned the stove element to low. Well, so much for worrying about another almost-wedding. Seriously, this came up awful fast considering what’s been going on, didn’t it?

That it did. I’m at the airport now. My guess is the Tel Aviv end must be clean so this one’s a go. They needed a Westerner to do close cover, and seein’ as yours truly speaks the lingo, as they say, two ears are better than one.

Alec laughed. Hell, Pit, one day you’ll actually get one of those ‘they say’ things right.

Whaddya talkin’ about? The Pit’s always right.

Yeah, and when you’re not right, you’re always Pit. Listen, my friend, be real careful, and listen to that little voice inside your head. If it says something is wrong, get outta fuckin’ Dodge, my man.

Got it, partner. Listen, they’re calling my flight so I gotta run. You and Millie stay well, ya hear?

Alec hung up smiling and continued making breakfast.

Birecik, Turkey

Near the Syrian border

The smoke and pungent odour of Turkish cigarettes filled the small room. Five men sat around a wooden table full of water bottles, small Turkish coffee cups, and an overflowing ashtray. They spoke quietly. The American spoke only English. Two others had thick Russian accents, and one of them translated into Arabic for the other two. As their meeting ended, they shook hands and one of the Russians handed a briefcase to the American. As he did, the two who spoke Arabic raised their voices in concern. The Russian spoke to them and put his hand on the American’s shoulder. They are worried about paying the full amount before the goods are delivered.

Tell them it’s not a problem. It’s the way my boss always does business. No one will be disappointed, I assure you.

The Russian smiled and shook the American’s hand. I will tell them they have your word. To them, that is the only guarantee needed.

The American nodded to the two Arabs. Not a problem.

The American departed to make his way to Istanbul, where the contents of the briefcase would be sealed in a diplomatic pouch and sent off to the United States. The others left to cross back into Syria, making their way back to Damascus.

CHAPTER 3

Two days later . . .

14 May

1200 hrs local time

Both Alec and Millie’s pagers went off at the same time. They were having lunch at a small deli half a block from their apartment. Alec put down his sandwich and took his cell out of his coat pocket. He punched in a number, identified himself, and listened. After a minute, he said, Okay . . . yeah, she’s right here with me. We’ll be there.

When he disconnected, she said, What’s up?

That was Nora. We’ve got a meeting in an hour, he said, taking a bite of his pastrami on rye. It’s for both teams again.

Did she say what it’s about?

He shook his head. Nope. Hopefully they’ve figured out what the problem was.

I hope so. It’s no fun having to look over your shoulder at your own people, she said, finishing the last of her tea.

They arrived, parked in the underground, and made their way to the operations room. Nora Davidson was standing by the door talking to Tony D’Angelo, another team member. With the exception of two members from Millie’s team who were on holidays, everyone else was there. There was a sense of apprehension in the room because of the last meeting.

Nora looked up as they entered the room. Hey Alec, Millie. You want to grab a coffee while I call J? she asked, punching in a sequence of numbers.

Alec looked at Millie, who shook her head. No thanks, we’re good, he said as they took their seats. What’s this about?

She shook her head. Don’t know. Probably an update. She looked around. Looks like we’re all here. Tony, would you get the door, please?

D’Angelo got up and closed the door.

Nora dialed a number, and seconds later J’s voice came through the speaker. Nora, would you turn the camera on so I can see you all, please?

Nora reached over and switched on the camera.

Thank you. It appears there has been another problem. The Tel Aviv office started an op two days ago, and they lost contact with both operators as of yesterday. Agent Pitman was sent over to provide close cover to the primary operator.

Alec felt the hackles raise on the back of his neck. He took a deep breath and listened as J continued.

They were posing as weapons dealers and were to meet representatives from Hezbollah and al-Qaeda, two organizations that don’t get along at the best of times, but with weapons being the common ground, both groups were on the same page. The Tel Aviv operator, Ari Gurion, and Pitman were setting up a large-scale weapons deal to pique their interest, and hopefully get the intel the Israelis needed to take them down. A GPS chip Gurion had surgically implanted indicated they were near the small port town of Al Batrum, north of Beirut. It either malfunctioned or . . . it was found and removed.

Alec cleared his throat. Cooper here, J. I’m clear and can be packed and ready to head over later today.

"Thanks Alec, but no one is going anywhere. The Tel Aviv cell will investigate and report back. It’s very clear we’ve been infiltrated at a very high level, either technically or by a human source. As a result, ISO is temporarily shut down, totally. All ongoing projects are terminated as of today, and all safe houses will be dismantled by clean teams. You will all be notified in due course as to what branches you may be temporarily assigned to. In the meantime, we don’t know the extent of the infiltration, so as I said at our last meeting, stay very vigilant. If any of you