J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, DC
December 18th, 2017
1800R
Ben POV
If you told me that I was going to end up in the headquarters of the Federal Bureau of Investigation on a chilly December evening, I wouldn't know how to react. Because while I'm technically part of the Central Intelligence Agency, so many weird things have happened in my life that a trip to the Bureau wouldn't surprise me at that point.
It didn't even surprise me that Zoe was coming with me, nor the fact that Alexander was picking us up suddenly. What did surprise me was that my father figure was relatively quiet about the circumstances regarding our sudden trip to FBI HQ, continuously deflecting the conversation so well that I completely forgot about the Bureau until we rolled up in front of the J. Edgar Hoover building.
"The heck is this?" Zoe muttered from the back seat as we passed through security and parked in the garage. I could only shrug as Alexander motioned for us to follow him. We walked through a side entrance, avoiding much of the foot traffic in the building, and were escorted by two G-men in suits—thankfully without sunglasses, because that would be a little too cliche.
We arrived at a closed door, with one of our escorts knocking and muttering something to someone on the other side of it. Moments later, the door opened and the G-man stood aside, motioning for us to go in while the other one whispered something into his wrist-mic: "Three packs in the sanctum."
Waiting for us in "the sanctum"—just a conference room without windows—were three people. The first was bald, middle-aged, and unknown to me, though I suspected he was a Bureau man, given his shirt, tie, and formal pants. The second, significantly older person in cargo pants and flannel was Cyrus Hale, a CIA officer and Vietnam veteran that refused to quit or die—people joke that I survived so many crazy things, but they completely gloss over Cyrus's survival. Because the fact of the matter is... well, he's old. Especially when considering his eight-ish years in the Marine Corps and decades of paramilitary operations for the Agency, I'm surprised he's not crippled, paralyzed, or dead.
And the third was none other than my ex-crush and person-with-whom-I-still-didn't-know-my-relationship in a pantsuit: Erica Hale. After everything that went down during our shared time at the CIA's Academy for Espionage, we never progressed forward in terms of a relationship. I was too messed up in the head from Operation Fox Hunt and Erica was... well, Erica, resulting in haywire signals, interpretations, and reactions. It was too much of a will-we-won't-we as she yanked at my chain, so I broke away from her.
Even though we never had a romantic relationship in the first place, it still wasn't easy to let go, but I think I advanced more because of it. I still didn't think I was ready to enter the dating game, but my preparedness was significantly better than it was all those years ago.
But, obviously, that wasn't the matter at hand.
"Ice Queen? The hell is going on here?!" Zoe asked in an absurdly New Yorker fashion, waving her hands as she spoke with her thick New York accent.
"Nice to see you too, Zoe," Erica replied with the corners of her mouth twitching. "CTMC's been working on something. You're in on it."
That piqued my curiosity. Erica had been assigned to the CIA's Counterterrorism Mission Center post-graduation and while I didn't know too much about her work, I did know she and her colleagues had worked with the Department of Defense a couple of times. And while it wasn't out of the blue for her to have worked with the Bureau, I had yet to hear of her doing so. And what were Zoe and I—a couple of junior officers that had yet to graduate from the Academy—doing there?
Granted, we'd been on ops before, but only because SPYDER was involved and we had made contact with their personnel. And the Colorado op was the outlier because of Jessica Shang.
"Just take a seat," Alexander ordered, his tone unusually curt as he shut off the lights and turned on the projector. Meanwhile, Erica handed me a file for Zoe and I to look over. "We've got a lot to go through here."
As we sat, the projector showed a graduation photo from the University of Michigan-Dearborn, displaying a smiling man that, if I had to guess, was of Middle-Eastern descent. Based on the accomplishments list, he had done well for himself, earning bachelor's and master's degrees in electrical engineering with honors.
"Meet Rasel Nasry," Alexander began. "Michigan native, masters in electrical engineering, and... according to JSOC, now member of an ISIL cell here on American soil."
I grimaced at the thought. For once, I hoped that the intel was actually bad, because it presented a dilemma I often failed to grasp: here was a young man that didn't look that much older than me, born and raised in the USA, now working against it as a member of the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant. Making the matter worse was the fact that Rasel's parents were immigrants from Lebanon and—as far as the dossier indicated—were proud Americans. They had faced some distrust initially, but appeared to have gained the love and respect of their neighbors and coworkers, providing Rasel and his sister with a good middle-to-upper middle class life: good food, drink, housing, education, etc.
And yet Rasel was radicalized—whether it be by false teachings in his schools, or what his parents initially encountered, or even things he'd seen online. The sad reality was that terrorists—like soldiers—could come from any background (which is why terrorist groups exist across a variety of religions, political beliefs, etc.). But while soldiers (ideally, at least) protected innocent lives, terrorists took them. They were, in essence, anti-soldiers.
"Operators from Delta and the Activity found communication devices with a bunch of ISIL HVTs in Iraq seven months ago. Upon analysis, it was found that the terrorists in Iraq were communicating with an American cell, with Nasry being one of its new engineers," Cyrus said as the slides changed, showing labeled surveillance photos of four different men. "The Bureau's been in the loop for the past six months, and it was confirmed four hours ago that the cell here is planning an attack. Warrants have been made out for Khan and four other men: 'Jay,' 'Sam,' 'Michael,' and 'Omar.'"
"Given the laws of the land—Title 50, I believe—we shouldn't be on this op, but the brass have spoken. As such, we've been temporarily transferred to the control of the FBI for Operation Steel Tiger under some jackassed loophole. Special Agent Hansen will be the man in charge," Alexander added. "He's also in command of this Joint Terrorism Task Force."
"Thank you, Mr. Hale," Hansen said before turning towards us as the slide changed to one with an annotated map, just north of Montross, Virginia. "The ISIL cell is in an abandoned storage facility in northeast Virginia. It's in a secluded area in the woods. Virginia State Police will cordon off the surrounding area, while tactical teams from FBI SWAT (Special Weapons and Tactics) and the Marshals' SOG (Special Operations Group) will handle the facility."
He had given so much information and yet so little at the same time. This sounded relatively simple: roll in, arrest the terrorists, and clean up. So why was the Agency involved beyond just briefing the Bureau (and Marshals, apparently)?
"The western, southern, eastern, and northern buildings will be respectively assaulted by Alpha through Delta. Echo through Hotel will set up blocking and sniper positions. Split yourselves among the assault and sniper teams however you wish, and I'll be in the TOC (tactical operations center) coordinating everything. This is a capture mission, but you may apply lethal force as needed. And, as always, ensure any other persons on site are interacted with in accordance with the ROE (rules of engagement)... any questions?"
"Uh, yeah," I replied, raising my hand almost on instinct. "What are we doing here? This sounds like a clean-cut op. Bureau agents and Marshals can do the job fine without Agency officers."
"Well, like I said, the brass made the decision for us to be here," Alexander answered, a grimace on his face—he evidently wasn't happy about this at all. "We're not gonna be assaulters, breachers, snipers, or whatever. We're gonna be workin' with 'em. It's basically just SSE and general intel gathering."
"... again, sensitive site exploitation? The Bureau could do that without us."
"That's right, we could," Hansen agreed. "However, the fact of the matter is that some people up top want their officers on this as well—the Agency's pound of flesh, so to speak."
"Huh, then why don't they come down here an' do it themselves?" Zoe muttered, eliciting a snigger from the agent.
"I often ask myself the same thing, kid. But some people like to advance their career, and the Agency's trying to improve their image too... you new to this game?"
"Er..."
"They're relatively recent hires," Alexander cut in. "These two and Miss Hale were chosen for some field training... Mr. Hale and I are in charge of teachin' 'em. Plus, they're young, hence the baby-faces."
If I didn't know him better, I wouldn't have even considered that answer to be out of the blue—probably just some good-natured teasing towards the new guys in the office, nothing more. But Alexander's tale of BS convinced Hansen—probably good, since it'd be a problem if we accidentally let slip that the CIA has an academy for minors.
Maybe I've been talking to Chip too much, but I've found myself questioning the morality of the CIA's actions a lot recently. But I put myself in this mess, and the best thing to do was see it through.
"Well, you'll definitely get experience with the Bureau and Marshals, if nothing else. And plus, with you kids on SSE, we've got shooters to handle the rest of the problem. All well and done. However, given your statuses as Agency employees, I'll need to swear you all in. It's highly unconventional and kinda stupid—seriously, this feels like something out of a dumbass book—but we gotta work with what we have. Please stand and raise your right hand, and repeat after me," Hansen requested, with the rest of us obeying.
Suddenly, I felt uneasy. It's not like there wasn't anything new about things not adding up, just that this seemed so... easy, even with some details not making any sense. This wasn't some secret mission that threatened the Academy's existence, but a counterterrorism op that—for some reason—we were only just briefed on.
And I know how it sounds like paranoia, especially after all the ops I've been on. But Operation Fox Hunt changed everything: there was no limit to the number of ways the good guys could fail, no limit to what the bad guys could do, and no limit to the amount of death that could occur.
And even after everything that had happened... I still felt like a scared little boy inside. I wasn't nearly as well-trained as the Marshals and FBI agents we'd be working alongside, and part of me had enough... especially after what Hallal and his crazy doctor lackey did in Mexico.
But at least this time, I was going in surrounded by a greater number of trained operators. Zoe, Erica, and I had beefed up our tactical skills since Mexico—even though we, as CIA officers, were not soldiers, we still felt that it'd be nice to be able to at least keep up with them. As for Alexander, ever since the clutch in which he saved basically everyone's lives during Operation Fox Hunt, he had gotten to the point of tutoring students from time-to-time in CQB and related tactics.
Not to mention, of course, the legendary Cyrus Hale would be watching over us from the tactical operations center.
In the end, orders were orders... we had a job to do.
"I, state your full name, do solemnly swear..." Hansen began.
"I, Benjamin Ronald Ripley, do solemnly swear..." I said.
"That I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic..."
"That I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic..."
"That I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same..."
"That I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same..."
"That I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion..."
"That I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion..."
"And that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter..."
"And that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter..."
"So help me God."
"So help me God."
The gang is back and so am I!
Killed in Action isn't going to be nearly as lighthearted as Operation Holiday Cheer. Deception, death, heartbreak, trauma, and war will be running rampant—appropriate, considering the involvement of the CIA. While there will be comedic elements, there will be more content not meant for younger audiences. This will come in the form of foul language, violence, and more (nothing explicitly sexual).
As for this, it's a short start. But it'll get longer with time. Make sure to comment your thoughts, and thanks for reading!
And a Happy belated Thanksgiving to all!
Until next time,
- ADF-2