Sleeper's Run

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Miles Gorski could make a living as a cold corporate lawyer based on his attitude, if not on looks alone. Everything about him is manicured and in its place, like the bonsai on the shelf behind him. He has been briefed extensively in the past days regarding the current situation with one Eric Caine. Washington has made the case a priority and as the Director of the CIA's National Clandestine Service, Gorski is expected to produce results quickly.

The NCS, a partially autonomous service within the CIA, is charged with running covert operations, recruiting foreign agents, gathering human intelligence (HUMINT) and coordinating such efforts between other agencies. The Special Activities Division and its Special Operation Group as well as the Counterintelligence Staff fall within its directorate.

The allegations that an agency black operation in Venezuela has gone rogue are enough to involve Gorski directly. If there was ever any doubt in his mind about this, it has already been dispelled by a personal meeting with the president two days ago.

"Thank you for meeting with me today," says Gorski, sitting in his ample office in the CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia. "Your collection management officer has clued me in on the recent developments of your operation. I also read your reports, but I'd still like to clarify certain points."

"I understand," Trishna says. She is wearing a black skirt suit and her hair is pulled back in a ponytail.

"Your first assessment of Eric Caine was that he was a NOC for an assassination program, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"But not anymore. Now you claim that he is a victim of this program."

"That's what my latest report says."

"And what, pray tell, are you basing your new assessment on?"

"It's based on current intelligence," Trishna says. "The Special Activities Division has no knowledge of Eric Caine being a NOC, nor does the NSA claim to have him working for them."

"And you believe them?"

"Why would the NSA lie?"

"The question in itself is sophomoric. No agency wants to be associated with this quagmire. If Caine is a NOC, the NSA will never own up to it."

"What about the recent investigations from my division at Gitmo that show multiple unofficial flights into and out of the base?" Trishna says. "They've been omitted from the logs or doctored."

"Shady dealings at Gitmo; that's original."

"Then what about the paramilitary officer going by the alias Nathan Blake? He was found in a deserted apartment in Paris with a deceased SOG team and Antonio Montenegro. Six ex-French Legionnaire snipers arrested by GIGN confessed Blake hired them to ambush Caine's motorcade."

"So?"

"Blake has been trying to make Caine look guilty from the very beginning. That's in my original report. Everything that he has done is geared toward killing or indicting Eric."

"'Eric?'" Gorski says, drumming his fingers. "As interesting as that is, that presents no grounds for your new assessment. Caine is obviously an expendable asset."

"He's not an assassin, he's a victim."

"I'm going to assume you read his military file."

"Thoroughly. As I'm sure you've heard Antonio Montenegro and Dr. Libschitz's interrogations."

"The ones under torture? Yes, I have."

"We can conduct our own and cross reference them," Trishna says. "Montenegro is in French custody—"

"For cocaine possession. Hardly a credible source. And Libschitz? Caine scared him so badly; he left for Israel with his family within forty-eight hours of their meeting. He quit Brown by phone from his home in Jerusalem. The Israeli Security Agency has him under twenty-four hour protection."

"That never stopped the agency before."

Gorski taps the top of his desk with his fingertips and says, "I wonder if this change of heart has anything to do with what happened at the airport shootout."

"It does. Eric Caine already knew about my cover. He could have left me there to die or killed me himself."

"But he saved you. A woman who, up to that point, he had strong romantic feelings for."

"Even though Caine knew I played him, he still spared me. That's not the type of action you would expect from a cold-blooded killer or a psychopathic war veteran. I think he's telling the truth."

"And I think you've been compromised."

"Being that I orchestrated his capture, I find your statement groundless."

"Who do you think you're talking to?"

"Someone who doesn't understand that even though Eric Caine might be the tip of the spear, he's not the one wielding it," Trishna says. "That's who we should go after."

"Yeah, I read that too. Michael Singleton? Do you know what that man has done for his country in his long career in this agency?"

"Gathered an impressive résumé as a political warfare specialist with the Special Activities Division. He signed Blake's transfer to Caracas back in 2001. You want the people responsible for the assassination, I suggest you start with him."

"And I advise you to be very careful with your accusations," Gorski says. "Singleton has already submitted a report about Nathan Blake going off the reservation on this one; apparently not a rare thing. And you, you're dangerously close to becoming a person of interest in this case."

"Are you threatening me?" Trishna sits up as if she is about to reach across the desk and punch Gorski.

"Absolutely," Gorski says. "You're officially off the case, effective immediately."

"Do that and you'll never find Eric Caine; I promise you that."

"Very well, then you'll remain on the case strictly as an advisor for a new officer. You're dismissed."

Livid, Trishna leaves the office. All Gorski wants is to maintain the delicate truce in Venezuela and appease the French. Rogue or not, the CIA running a black op using unwitting American citizens doesn't seem to concern him in the least bit; a view apparently shared by those in Washington, she thinks.

Throughout her career in the agency, Trishna has heard stories about case officers losing perspective during a mission. She never thought for a moment that it could happen to her. As long as she kept her life tightly compartmentalized, she would be OK. Now nothing is clear. Maybe Gorski was right about her change of heart.

It was easy for her to do her job when she thought she was being tricked by Eric, a ruthless assassin and part of a strange and dark conspiracy; another bad choice in men. Trishna held to that belief in spite of her feelings for him; it was the only way she could go on with her mission. Now, her heart and mind were struggling to get to the truth about Eric. Is he an assassin, or a victim? Either way, the thought of having condemned him is eating at her.

I need to go to the gym, she thinks as she gets into her rented car. An intense workout has always cleared her mind. If not, there's always a bottle of wine to help her forget, even if it's only for the night.

"Don't be afraid," the voice says from the back seat.

Trishna tenses up and wishes she were armed. She looks back at the rearview mirror. A clean-cut African-American man with marked features and deep-staring eyes sits right behind her.

"Who are you?" Trishna says.

"That's not important," hesays. "Just drive. We need to talk about a mutual friend."