Black List (28 page)
“And part of getting everything online was the preconditioning of the American people for the attack, the PR campaign so to speak,” said Harvath.
“We’ve been warned.”
“Exactly. It’s a clever form of the Hegelian dialectic—a psychological tool used to manipulate the masses. In this case, you create a problem, wait for the reaction, and then offer the solution. What people historically fail to realize, though, is that those offering the solution are the same people who caused the problem in the first place. They also fail to realize that no matter what the solution is, it always ends up providing its creators with more power.”
“Do we have any idea what this digital Pearl Harbor will look like or how it will happen?”
Nicholas shook his head. “No. But to justify completely remaking the
Internet, its impact would have to be enormous; something that would surpass any attack America has ever known.”
“When you sent word through Peio, you warned me to avoid tripping the PROMISE or TIP systems,” Harvath said. “Do you think there’s a connection between what Caroline uncovered at ATS and the hit on me and Riley in Paris and then what happened in Spain?”
This time Nicholas nodded. “Let me show you.”
M
ARYLAND
C
ome in!” Craig Middleton yelled after slamming down the handset of his STE. He had been on and off with Bremmer for the last three hours. The operation in Spain had been an utter failure.
Kurt Schroeder stepped into the office and closed the door behind him. He carried a file folder in his hand.
Middleton looked at him. “What the hell do you want?”
“It’s about Reed Carlton.”
“Is that the coroner’s report?”
Schroeder nodded. He removed the report from the file, walked over to his boss’ desk, and handed it to him.
The older man snatched it away and flipped to the end. “What the fuck is this?
Inconclusive?
”
“The bodies were very badly burned.”
“Ya think?”
Schroeder ignored the sarcasm. “We’re talking charcoal. They had to go by dental records. The only problem is that Carlton was CIA, so his records are classified.”
“Bullshit. Nothing’s classified to us. We practically run that place. Get the records.”
“I did, but they’re so old they were still on paper. I had to request a copy from the Agency’s dead-file storage.”
“So why are you wasting my time?” Middleton asked. “What’s the bottom line?”
“Carlton’s body was not among those recovered at the scene of the fire.”
As a new wave of anger overtook him, the older man’s face reddened like a rapidly rising thermometer.
Schroeder could tell that his boss was going to blow and tried to circumvent it. “I’ve already set up a dragnet. If Carlton uses his phone, a credit card, or reaches out to anyone on his relationship tree, we’ll know.”
“We’ll
know
?” Middleton bellowed. “The fuck we will. He’s not going to do anything under his real name.”
“I’ve plugged in all known aliases for him too.”
“And he’s got a hundred or two others we’re not aware of.”
Schroeder felt his boss was overestimating, but he wasn’t sure. “That many?”
“I’m exaggerating, you idiot. It doesn’t matter how many aliases he has. Carlton has decades of field experience. If someone like that doesn’t want to be found, it’s almost impossible to find him.”
The younger man bristled at being called an idiot but kept his temper in check. “You’re the one who always says we own every haystack.”
“Are you being a smartass?”
“No, sir.”
“It doesn’t matter if we own every haystack,” Middleton asserted, “if we can’t find the needle in time. Whatever they’re planning, we know it’s supposed to happen soon.”
“Then let’s call in some help with the haystack,” said Schroeder, who still didn’t have a complete picture of what his boss thought was coming.
Middleton looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“Let’s get local law enforcement to put out a Be-On-The-Lookout for Carlton. Suspected arson and homicide.”
The older man liked the sound of that. “Good idea. The more people searching the haystack the better. Just make sure it doesn’t trace back to us.”
“Don’t worry. I can do it so it looks like it came through the FBI.”
“Then do it. What else do you have for me?”
Schroeder pulled a sheaf of pictures from his file folder and handed them over.
“What the hell are these?” Middleton demanded.
“Surveillance photos.”
“I can see that. What I want to know is
what
I’m looking at.”
“They were taken this morning at the airport in McAllen, Texas. The woman in the truck outside the civil aviation terminal is Margaret Rose. She manages the Three Peaks Ranch near Agua Nueva. She’s the one who conducted the Google searches for Caucasian Ovcharkas and primordial dwarfism,” Schroeder replied.
Middleton was suddenly interested. “And who’s the guy she’s picking up? None of the cameras seem to have captured his face very well.”
“I noticed that too. He flew in on a private charter from Monterrey, Mexico, but cleared customs and immigration with an Italian passport.”
Middleton took an even closer look at the photos. “Do we know if he was anywhere before Monterrey?”
“We do,” Schroeder replied. “I ran him through the Mexican databases and it turns out he just arrived in Mexico last night.”
“From where?”
“Bilbao. He flew into Mexico City via Madrid.”
“And how close is Bilbao to Harvath’s last-known location?”
“As far as commercial airports go, it would have been one of the closest.”
Middleton was suddenly very animated. “I want you to download all the CCTV footage from every airport he passed through. I want to know every step he made, every person he talked to.”
“I’m already on it,” Schroeder said as he headed for the door.
Staring at the final photograph that showed Harvath climbing into the truck branded with the Three Peaks Ranch logo, Middleton smiled and said, “Gotcha,” as he reached for his STE.
T
EXAS
I
t was late. They sat with untouched plates of food in front of them at a desk in Nicholas’s room while Nina slept down the hall. Storm cases and various pieces of computer equipment were stacked about. Harvath watched across three linked monitors as the little man walked him through Caroline’s data. As Nicholas spoke, his tiny hand worked a wireless mouse, opening folder after folder, bringing up articles and notes for Harvath to read.
“This was one of the most interesting things I’ve found on the drive,” said Nicholas as he clicked on a file labeled
Roundup.
“Have you ever heard of something called Main Core?”
“Only in passing,” Harvath replied. “What is it?”
“Since the 1980s, there’s been an allegation that the United States government actively maintains a database of U.S. citizens it considers a potential national security risk. Some say there are more than eight million names on the list. Supposedly, it’s part of the government’s highly secretive continuity of government plan. The idea behind Main Core is that if there should ever be a major national emergency, the government would have a list of people it saw as potential threats and could zero in on for additional surveillance, questioning, or even detention.
For each name on the list, there was a full dossier, and the database could ID and locate any perceived enemies of the state almost immediately.”
“So that’s what it is, an enemies list?”
“Precisely,” replied Nicholas as he pointed to the screen. “But there’s something beyond Main Core, something that predates it by decades and doesn’t need a national emergency to be activated. It’s called the Black List. This list is much more than just citizens the government feels need tracking, questioning, or detention. This is a kill list, and once you’re on it, your name doesn’t come off until you’re dead.”
“Now I know what the operative in Spain meant when he said that I was
on the list.
”
“According to the data Caroline gathered, treason is one of the reasons you can be placed on the list.”
“There’s no review? It’s completely extrajudicial? That’s insane,” said Harvath. “The American government doesn’t just accuse a citizen of treason or terrorism and then go out and kill them.”
“That’s not what these files say.”
“Then the files are wrong. Even Americans who have left the country to support al-Qaeda against the U.S. have gone through a vetting process before being targeted.”
“That’s true,” replied Nicholas. “But this is something different. You yourself have been sent on multiple assignments to kill persons hostile to the U.S. Was every one of those sanctioned at the top?”
“No comment.”
“See. You know how compartmentalization works. It’s like a dresser divided into multiple drawers and subcompartments. Controlled access programs and special access programs exist not only to keep things secret but to keep politicians and agency heads in the dark. Not even the handful of ‘superusers’ in D.C., who supposedly have access to everything, have a full grasp of everything that’s going on, particularly in the clandestine world.”
Harvath shook his head. “Even so, the majority of people I’ve been assigned have not been American citizens. Those that were, had their cases reviewed and sanctioned.”
“I’m simply telling you what Caroline discovered. According to her data, the Black List is real. It exists.”
“Who’s behind it? Who makes the targeting decisions and has the final judgment?”
“From what’s on the drive,” replied Nicholas, “it dwells in one of those divided-off subcompartments. They meet in secret and no one knows who makes up the panel.”
“Are they intelligence people, or are they from DOJ? The White House?”
“It appears to be a mix.”
“Do you have any idea how many of them there are?” Harvath asked.
“No. Caroline doesn’t say.”
“When someone has been found guilty and is targeted, who carries out the sanction?”
“A kill team of some sort,” Nicholas replied. “They all have military training at the Special Operations level.”
“Who runs them? Are they active military? Do we have any idea where they’re based?”
Nicholas shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Why the interest in me?” said Harvath.
“From what I can gather, it wasn’t specifically you, it was the Carlton Group in general and the fact that it employs former military and intelligence personnel.”
“There are plenty of private groups out there who do that. Why would ATS come after us?”
“None of those groups match your size or proficiency. You’re a threat. You operate outside the system and they can’t control you.”
Harvath was incredulous. “And they
can
control the CIA or the FBI?”
“Those are organizations inside the system, and yes, they can control them. They have enough influence to steer anything in D.C. in any direction they want it to go. It’s all done covertly, quietly behind the scenes, but it’s done.”
“But we’re small-time.”
“No you’re not. Not anymore,” said Nicholas. “You’ve disrupted several
international terrorist attacks, you conduct your own, unilateral clandestine operations, and what’s probably most dangerous of all to them, you don’t answer to anyone in the United States government. They know who you are and they know the trouble you can cause for them. The Carlton Group is the only organization they mention by name in the file. That’s why I wanted you to get back here as soon as possible and make sure you stayed off the grid. I didn’t know anything about Paris and Spain until you told me.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t try to just gobble us up.”
“They did. On two separate occasions, ATS tried to purchase the Carlton Group. And both times, Reed Carlton said no,” replied Nicholas as he pulled up a memo Caroline had downloaded. “They were not at all happy about it—you can see here some of the thoughts they had about your group afterward.”
Harvath leaned toward the screen and read several of the remarks aloud. “… A danger to the intelligence community if left unchecked, zero accountability to any authority or governing body, a collection of renegade cowboys imbued with an excessive sense of nationalism, significant diplomatic and national security risk, if this group cannot be brought under control other steps must be taken…” He stopped reading at that point. “So those steps mean splashing all of us?”