The intelligence agencies of the five English-speaking nations of the world—the United States, Canada, the United Kingdom, Australia, and New Zealand—were known collectively as the Five Eyes. They shared all manner of intel product between one another, and they worked together whenever they could. The Five Eyes conducted a regular cycle of conferences, each year in one of the five nations. The previous year had been in Wellington, New Zealand; next year it would be in Toronto, but the United Kingdom had host duties for this year’s gathering.
Senior operational, analytical, and executive staff from the intelligence agencies of all five participating nations would get together, some four hundred spies, spymasters, and IC experts in all, and they would attend briefing after briefing about the ongoing and emerging threats facing the Five Eyes’ interests.
Brewer wasn’t going to Five Eyes this year, and she saw it as perhaps the only perk of working on Poison Apple. Sub rosa initiatives weren’t discussed with the partner nations, so she saw no reason to go and rub shoulders with colleagues from other services to whom she wouldn’t be able to say much of anything.
Brewer passed by Jill, Hanley’s executive assistant, with a nod, and entered through the open door of his office.
While the rest of the floor seemed to be almost frantically preparing for the mass exodus, Matt Hanley appeared relaxed, looking over papers with a glass bottle of apple juice next to him.
She sat down while Hanley finished reading the page in his hand. She knew Matt himself had become somewhat legendary in his ability to get out of attending the conference in years past, usually due to critical deployments, but now he was the new top dog of CIA ops and would be one of the senior attendees at the event in Edinburgh.
“You’ve had a night,” he said as he looked her over.
“More like a nightmare.”
“Any sleep?”
Brewer knew he wouldn’t take pity on her and cut her any slack if she told him the truth, that she hadn’t even put her head down on a pillow, so she responded with, “I’m fine, Matt.”
“I want to start working on the potential moles today.”
Brewer nodded thoughtfully. “And by working on them you mean . . . what, exactly?”
“Watching them. Leaning on them.”
“I can assemble a surveillance team from operational and technical staff, but as far as leaning on them—”
Hanley interrupted. “We put a Poison Apple asset on them. Outfitted with rules of engagement that will unease the potential traitors, cause them to make mistakes, reveal themselves. Tickle the wires, just to see what happens.”
Brewer said, “Violator is in play in the UK right now. Anthem wasn’t even operational before she snuck out of the safe house during a massacre. So am I to assume you are talking about Romantic?”
“That’s right. He’s perfect for this job. Where is he?”
“He’s in the D.C. area. I have him in training, won’t be difficult to get him here.”
“I want him heading this way within the hour.”
“Sir . . . I don’t know about him coming into the office.”
Hanley said, “Of course not. You’ll meet him somewhere off site, tell him what we need from him.”
Brewer hesitated. “Are you sure about this, Matt? Sure about sending an off-book asset, especially one like Romantic, to intimidate high-ranking Agency colleagues?”
“The only thing I’m sure of is that my people are dying, and nobody is doing shit to stop it. That changes now.” Hanley added, “Romantic will be happy for the work. Especially because it involves being an asshole to Agency suits.”
“The problem will be keeping him on a leash.” She then asked, “Who are the suspects?”
Matt Hanley said, “Assuming the event last night in Great Falls was part of the same compromise, that removes the Transportation Division–only suspects. Those who knew about Great Falls and all four of the aircraft movements that were compromised make for a very small subset.”
“How small?”
“Besides you and me? Four people. Two in Operations, and two in Support.”
When he said nothing more, Brewer pressed. “I’ll need the names, Matt, won’t I?”
Her sarcasm was ignored by her deputy director. Instead he just said, “Marty Wheeler, Support.”
Brewer had known Wheeler for the past three years. Moreover, she knew he and Hanley were friends. He’d shown up at the safe house earlier in the morning. She wrote his name down but said nothing.
“Got it.”
“Maria Palumbo, Ops.”
Brewer knew Palumbo well. She was new at the HQ here in McLean, having spent virtually all of her career in embassies around the Middle East, Asia, and Europe, but Brewer had worked at many of the same facilities. Palumbo had been in harm’s way more times than Brewer, and Brewer couldn’t imagine her betraying her own organization.
Hanley said, “Number three is Alf Karlsson, also in Operations.”
Brewer only knew the handsome first-generation Swede socially; they’d never worked together at all. She said, “He had knowledge of all the events?”
“Yes, like the others.”
She wrote down the name.
Brewer asked, “Who is number four?”
“Lucas Renfro.”
Brewer’s mouth opened in disbelief. “The deputy director of Support? That’s ludicrous. He’s a department head. Thirty-five years in the U.S. intelligence community.”
Hanley said, “We have to investigate all leads.”
“Investigate.” She said the word with an air of dubiousness.
“Renfro doesn’t like me. He wanted to be DDO, is pissed I got it. Plus he is by the book to a fault. I am not. That gives him motive. He knows I have sub rosa activities, and he wants to put a stop to them.”
“By passing secrets to the Chinese and the Russians and whoever else? I don’t believe that for a minute. Sure, he wanted the promotion you got, I don’t doubt that. But there is no way he would turn traitor just to see you fail.”
Hanley said, “Nothing else makes sense, Suzanne.”
“With respect, sir, anything else makes more sense.”
The big man sighed. “I know you are doing this under duress.” She thought he was about to throw her some sort of lifeline. But instead he said, “Just do it anyway.”
“Right.” She looked at her notes with the names. “I guess I need to tell Romantic where to start.”