The Asset (12 page)

“Then what's the problem?”

“I guess it finally hit me what I'd be doing and I'm a little nervous about it, which makes me question everything.”

“Yet, here you are,” Juarez said. “Because you know none of those questions will matter if it turns out we're right and you were a part of the solution.”

“What can I say? You're right. And I do want to be involved.”

“Excellent,” Alia said. “You're going to be a very valuable member of this team.”

“There's only one potential glitch. I
rarely
have anything to do with equipment upgrades. That's always done by the vendor and usually in my absence. Not to mention Homeland constantly criticizes TSA for ‘overcontracting' me. The point is, it's going to raise eyebrows if I come waltzing in out of the blue with a body scanner upgrade.”

“We've thought of that,” Alia said. “According to the Office of Security Capabilities' Emerging Threat policies, you, as a trusted specialized skills
contractor, can apply for a grant, in collaboration with a university or lab, to develop a prototype of a device you believe will address the emerging threat. Since we have a major threat on our hands, many entities will be doing this to fill their coffers with research dollars. I already have the paperwork drawn up for this device, so all you would have to do is agree to let me submit it and our people inside DHS will expedite approval.”

“Jesus, that's . . . a very elegant solution. Blameless too if DHS approves it. What about installation? That'll require a vendor mechanic licensed with Science and Tech.”

“At each site visit, Best and another field agent will accompany you, working undercover as mechanics sent by the equipment manufacturer. While you run interference with TSA chiefs and staffers, they'll handle the installations and take care of security. The upgrade equipment in the scanning machines was designed to pass a spot inspection, even if an actual manufacturer rep were the inspector.”

Kennedy knew he wouldn't get much flak from most of the TSA chiefs. There would be some who would take more convincing, but he could handle that. It was Homeland he worried about. They watched him like a hawk, and it was going to take a lot more than finesse to do this under their noses.

“Feeling confident?” Alia asked.

“Absolutely,” Kennedy lied.

“ ‘Don't be careful what you wish for, because getting it is the whole point,' ” Juarez said.

“Noah Kruz,” Kennedy said, impressed.

“Hey, you're not the only one who drinks his Kool-Aid.”

“We're going to try to deploy you as soon as possible,” Alia said. “For now, I'm sending you back to LA while Juarez, Best, and I make final arrangements. Keep your bag packed.”

The team returned to Langley and Kennedy flew home with Juarez on the same private jet that had brought him to Paris, only this time in the luxurious passenger cabin. He kicked back in a huge club chair and sipped a drink.

“I could get used to this,” Kennedy said.

“I'm sure you could, but this isn't the job.”

“Really? What about James Bond?”

“Double O zero? What kind of
secret agent
tells everyone his name wherever he goes? A guy like that wouldn't last five minutes in the field.”

“That's where I come in. Agent Bland.”

Kennedy made a gun out of his hand and blew imaginary smoke off the end of his finger. Juarez laughed and poured himself a drink.

“They don't use words like
ghost
or
spook
for nothing in this business. The Chinese have a small army of civilian assets, working undercover in the US—lots of ‘normal' folks with special skills, spying for Beijing. They look about as much like spies as you, but they're damned effective and impossible to spot.”

“You're taking all the fun out of this,” Kennedy complained.

“Sorry. Someone has to be a reality check on this team.”

“Okay, Mr. Reality Check, when Alia says there's little or no risk to this job, is she bullshitting me?” Part of Kennedy was hoping he would say no.

“Yes and no.”

“Seriously?”

“We're talking about a potential large-scale attack on the most powerful country in the world, and if there's one person who can pull it off, it's Lentz. If you're part of a CIA operation created to stop this attack and put him away, do you think there might be some risk?”

“Absolutely.”

“On the other hand, you don't have to worry too much because we're never going to put you in harm's way. That would be a complete waste of a valuable asset.”

“Bland. James Bland.”

“Bland is better than burned any day of the week. Hey, you're looking at someone who has to do all the shit they make look cool in the movies—while Alia sits in all-day meetings and plays tennis on the weekends. Trust me, there's nothing cool about the dirty work that goes with intelligence. Abductions, torture, state-sponsored murder, fucking with foreign governments, never being able to trust anyone—least of all your employer—never being able to have a normal life . . . After a while, you can't even remember whose side you're on or why the fuck you're doing any of it.”

“Thanks for being honest,” Kennedy said.

“Listen, man, we could have figured out a way to do the upgrades ourselves. We needed you because you know how the bad guys think. You know this world and the people running it. And if something's out of place, you're going to see it before any of us. So, keep your eyes and ears open and you just might be the reason we catch this guy.”

LOS ANGELES

Day 7

W
hat the fuck have I
done?

Kennedy was lying in bed back at the Bel-Air in Los Angeles, fighting jet lag and going through Lentz's dossier. He first blipped on CIA radar after the fall of the Soviet Union and their disastrous segue into a free market economy, when the whole country was being plundered in a widespread smash and grab of resources. Analysts believed Lentz had worked in the oil business—in either the United States or Europe—because, in 1998, when the Russian economy collapsed, he purchased a massive portfolio of shares in Russian oil companies at pennies on the dollar. When the Russian economy rapidly recovered in 1999 to 2000, those shares had to have put a few billion dollars in his pocket.

In 2000, the CIA believed the new Russian president, Vladimir Putin, may have tried to have Lentz killed so that Putin and the rest of the country's newly formed oligarchy could hijack his oil shares. That was when Lentz went dark and used his fortune to pay his way off the grid. From that point on, there were even fewer Lentz sightings, with Juarez's photo being the best to date that any agency had. Ironically, this was also the time when Lentz really came into his own, engineering highly lucrative profiteering machines in places of unrest, like Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, and Egypt.

Lentz's operations in Egypt from 2012 to 2013 coincided with the first intel reports related to the current threat. Many of his collaborators in North
Africa had been detained by the Egyptian government and handed over to the CIA for interrogation. Hundreds of hours of transcripts from these sessions revealed common and consistent threads related to a large-scale US attack. It seemed that Lentz's contempt for the United States was well known among his associates. He believed that Americans' conspicuous consumption and stranglehold on global resources caused conflicts that appeared to be region-specific but could really be traced back to US imperialism. Kennedy called Wes Bowman to see if he had been able to dig up any new intel.

“Before I tell you anything, I want to know more about your clandestine romance,” Wes said on the phone.

At first, Kennedy didn't know what the hell he was talking about. Then he remembered the white lie he'd told Wes about meeting Alia in a Paris bar. He had to deftly get him off the subject without blowing his cover literally the first day on the job.

“If you're looking for gory details, about the sexiest thing she did was show me how she could tie a maraschino cherry stem in a knot with her tongue.”

“Can't believe you didn't close the deal. She's gorgeous. You always got a lot of ass in college. You must be losing it.”

Kennedy was well aware that Wes was playing to his vanity, attempting to goad him into telling more than he wanted to in order to save face with his bro.

“Losing it? I lost it years ago. I think I might be a born-again virgin.”

“Why'd you want me to pull her file then? Switching to stalking?”

“You're going to laugh if I tell you.”

“What, you thought if you took her out on a few dates and got her tipsy on rosé, she might share classified information that just happened to be associated with your crusade to single-handedly save the world?”

“Something like that.”

The light tone of mockery in Wes's laugh meant he was buying Kennedy's Alia scenario, along with his self-deprecating amateur role.

“Laugh it up, Bowman. If you have any better ideas, I'm all ears.”

“I do have some potentially useful information for you and you don't have to try to sleep with me to get it.”

“Hilarious. What do you have?”

“I may have intercepted an e-mail or two from one of the assistant directors who helped author the threat memo.”

“Wow, that was ballsy. How bad could they burn you for that?”

“That could land me a job as a prison bitch. Which would probably be a lateral move from this shit detail. Anyhoo, this guy is hot to trot for a TSA or DHS inside-job theory. He didn't name names but he alluded to an ability to do so several times. Which means whoever they are, they're bound to have our boys under their skin by now.”

Bull's-eye
,
Kennedy thought to himself.

“Jesus, Wes, that's unbelievable. Could be people I work with.”

“You better watch your back, man,” Wes warned.

“Trust me. I am. Is there anything else to go on?” Kennedy asked.

“Are you gonna call her again? Did she give you her number?”

“Wes. Come on.”

“Hey, as Hannibal Lecter says, ‘quid pro quo,' now let's have it.”

“I tried calling her. She gave me a fake number.”

Wes lost it.

“I'm glad you find my failures with women so amusing,” Kennedy said, happy that Wes was so easily convinced.

“Sorry, buddy. Okay, quid pro quo,” Wes said. “My money is on DHS for the inside job. I did a little checking of my own and found out that last year the FBI was investigating some Homeland execs in a potential corruption sting. I wasn't able to find out who their suspects were, but check this shit out: the bureau agents leading the investigation are dead. Someone found them half dissolved in a bathtub full of acid at a motel in Jersey.”

“That sounds professional.”

“Absolutely. That's why I told you last time—you feel any heat at all and you get the hell out of the kitchen. Whoever they are, these people are not fucking around.”

W
ow, you really know how
to treat a lady,” Love joked.

She and Kennedy were walking through Woodlawn Cemetery in Santa Monica in the late afternoon. Long, feathering palm tree shadows spread across the headstones in the warm fading light.

“I know, right? Thanks for meeting me out here. I haven't been for a while, and going alone seemed a little daunting,” Kennedy said.

“No worries. I have a hard time coming alone too, so you're helping me get in a long-overdue visit.”

They stopped at Kennedy's small family plot and sat in the grass. There was a large headstone with the names of Kennedy's mother and father. Next to it was another headstone with Belle's name, marking her empty grave.

“Voilà,” Love said, pulling a bouquet of silk flowers from her carryall.

She placed them in the flower cup at the foot of Belle's stone and sat back down next to Kennedy.