Karyn Kane: Conspiracy of Fire Part 2

Washington DC The Vice President's residence in the grounds of the United States Naval Observatory in northwestern Washington DC was quite some pile, with its Victorian turret and broad, columned porch, the place could almost have been a country club or a tree shrouded health spa retreat. But the place had a spooky quality, black funereal shutters and deep bulletproof windows that stared out at the pleasant flower filled grounds, with silent menace. Jack Senegar sat out back, by the white painted porch overlooking the pool and drank in the scene. Fifteen minutes he had been waiting and still no sign of the VP. Senegar hated tardiness in all its forms, especially when it came in the overfed political form of the Vice President of the United States.

When Vice President d.i.c.k Hanssen finally arrived, he was full of himself as usual; blowing in, wearing a too tight blue polo shirt tucked into the top of his double pleated pants to accentuate his sagging physique. Not only that, he was wearing shiny brown ta.s.sel loafers, that gave him the preppy vibe of an insurance salesman, or an area manager for some G.o.d-awful office supplies firm.

Senegar waited until the VP got close, then rose up out of his seat, until he towered above him.

The Vice President was ebullient. "Jack, so good to see you again, thank you for coming, I hope my people have been taking care of you?"

Senegar eyed the bone-china cups and the silver coffee decanter and gave the Vice President a thin look. "We should get down to business," he said.

The VP beamed, a look of wide-eyed enthusiasm suddenly taking over, "But of course Jack, of course we should."

Senegar sank back slowly into his chair. He snapped down a wayward crease in his immaculate pinstripe suit jacket with an idle flick of the wrist, then stared at the Vice President for some moments.

The VP's smile got wider. His greedy politician's eyes surveying Senegar, a.n.a.lyzing him, to see how deep his loyalty ran.

Senegar sat poker faced, watching the p.r.i.c.k run his NLP moves, like he had read them off the back of a cornflakes packet or something. Who would have thought a schmo like this could be playing political bagman to the man who actually ran the country, Politicians, thought Senegar with disgust, worthless self-serving weasels to a man; paying lip service to patriotism and the higher ethics of government, yet all the time thinking only of themselves and how they could turn political advantage into cold hard cash.

"So Jack, what can you tell me?"

"Our friends in the Bureau are involved." "Involved? To what extent?"

"Level Nine."

"How can you be so sure?"

"HUMINT & COMINT confirmation." "I see." The Vice President gave Jack a grave look. "I have spoken to the President-an off the record briefing. He is anxious that the situation be resolved before the next National Security Council Princ.i.p.als meeting, in three days time. Don't look at me like that Jack. The President has a lot on his plate. Economically we are balanced on the edge right now, and the international situation is running bleaker than ever. Just before the princ.i.p.als meeting, he has to fly out to Los Angeles to meet with those G20 jackals and you know what that means-every leader in the world crying and whining like we were the only folks who could do a d.a.m.n thing to straighten this planet out."

"Three days?" Senegar sat impa.s.sive. Finally he said, "I have initialized Deep Five. I have an a.s.set moving into place as we speak."

"The a.s.set we discussed?"

Jack Senegar gave a snort. "Of course." The VP smiled, "You have done well Jack.

The President will be pleased."

"The Admiral won't be pleased. Far from it." "Welcome to the business of politics Jack, no matter how hard one tries to please everyone, one often finds that diplomatic niceties are impossible luxuries." The VP steepled his fingers, gave Jack a grave look and said, "We are cogs Jack, cogs in the big machine."

"The Admiral is a man who holds a grudge. He is known for it. And when he finds POTUS has co-opted his daughter for a home-game operation there is no telling how he might react."

"Who cares, how he might react Jack. He is an employee, like everybody else. He will do as he is d.a.m.n well told, and like it."

"The a.s.set has a record of violent and unpredictable behavior, there are other a.s.sets I could deploy to resolve this little conspiracy, in fact I would recommend we take that course. We are dealing with fire here, you know that don't you?"

The Vice President laughed. "A conspiracy of fire? That has a certain ring to it Jack," he paused, gave Senegar a careful look and said, "We have to ensure the Admiral's loyalty."

"What about the girl?"

"The girl is expendable Jack, just like everyone else. We are fighting for the greater good here-the future of the United States of America." Jack Senegar didn't move, his hard-lined face cast in stone. Finally, he said, "There will be casualties. A lot of casualties."

The Vice President, gave a sharp laugh, shook his head and said, "Collateral damage Jack, an inevitable consequence of war. And I would remind you that this operation is strictly beyond the rim. No blowback of any kind. Are we clear on that Jack?"

Jack Senegar sat impa.s.sively for a long time. Finally he said, "Affirmative. We will carry this one all the way."

"Splendid." The Vice President gave Senegar a sly look and said, "You should try the coffee Jack, it really is rather good. The best in DC I would say."

Jack Senegar got slowly to his feet, and made his leave.

06.

Honolulu International Airport, Oahu. A thousand tourists, maybe more, clogged the baggage hall, all of them buzzing with excitement at the prospect of a Hawaiian vaycay. Dressed in a lightweight business suit and una.s.suming cotton blouse, accessorized with a floaty scarf and designer sungla.s.ses, Karyn always travelled low- key. She made like a business traveler or conventioneer, blowing into town for a boardroom meeting. Travelling anonymous, she wore her hair high, with heavy rimmed gla.s.ses, she called it the Librarian look, it was the kind of blind that would keep unwanted attention to an absolute minimum. Karyn always accessorized the Librarian look, with a well-used copy of the Wall Street Journal, the kind of literary bromide that could slap down just about any male ego in five seconds flat.

As she moved anonymous among the throng, trailing a compact carry on and Gucci purse, her senses moved to high alert.

They were watching.

They had to be watching.

Question was, who exactly was she was up against? If the Federales were working a deep cover job like Senegar said, they would be swarming the job en ma.s.se-spotters, hitters, back up and beyond. Since the twin towers strike the Feds had really upped their game, moving wholesale into covert operations-anti terrorism strikes, the whole nine yards. They had even gotten themselves a billion dollar Biometric surveillance system, known as Next Generation Identification. NGI was a vast computerized facial identification system that worked on 3D modeling algorithms. The system used security cameras at airports, rail terminals, and ports to recognize terrorists, criminals, and other persons of interest.

Persons of Interest .

That catch-all term would no doubt include deep cover operatives from the CIA, working beyond the rim operations on American soil. If a rogue cadre inside the FBI had been involved in the murder of the senator and his pal the governor, they would be monitoring new arrivals to the Island very carefully, striving to keep a lid on their dirty little operation.

Heading through the crowd, Karyn sensed cameras everywhere, all of them zooming in for a close focus shot of her face, so they put a make on her-mark her down as friend or foe. But she knew her face was NGI clean-The CIA's electronic intelligence unit treated the virtual security of their agents very seriously. In the modern world, computer based intelligence could be as deadly to agents as real world a.s.sa.s.sins.

The eye in the sky, watching from above.

Watching day and night, without rest.

Recording everything.

Security always came at a price, thought Karyn. The bleating media had blown the lid on facial recognition, but they, like the public, would never know the full extent their so called privacy had been compromised. In the computer age where technology ruthlessly catalogued the lives of untold millions, there was no longer any escape from Government. Privacy had become a lost luxury that society could no longer afford. No matter if you were a vacationing family or a terrorist sc.u.mbag looking to bomb your way into the hereafter- those pointy-nosed busybodies at the FBI would have your every move down.

And should you fall foul of their code- They would trace you down-your friends and your family too and they would do it quicker than you could email a complaint to your favorite liberal senator on Capitol Hill.

But for Karyn, the schmantzy new spy system the Feds were polishing up held no fear. The Agency was the last word in government muscle-all others were pretenders. And whoever had put the ice on the senator and his pal the governor were about discover how bad that kind of hurt could be. h.e.l.l, those freaks at the FBI could poke their beaks into the private affairs of the whole G.o.dd.a.m.n world it they wanted to. They could put the gun to enemies of the United States where ever they found them-court or no court, the more mad dog bombers that got fried the better.

But killing politicians?

That crossed the line, big time.

Killing politicians was the CIA's job. Karyn angled her face away from the pinch point security cameras. She headed towards the taxi line, melding in with the burgeoning crowds. If the Feds had the eye on, there was no telling what could come next. The watchers would be ready, a double blip alert on a back room computer screen and the goons would come running-a TSA emergency, a cop hustle training event, or just an "honest mistake." They would call her in to a back room. She would show them her phony Department of Justice credentials. They would make phone calls, they would apologize, put their enthusiasm down to a heightened state of security awareness but ultimately the message would have been sent- You got pulled by the airport goon squad on a deep-cover call, you were compromised. The mission is finito, end of story.

She dismissed the thoughts out of hand. Her cover as an investigator for the United States Department of Justice Criminal Division was airtight, the Agency had seen to that. As far as local law enforcement was concerned she was a sword carrying Angel from on high, sent by the wise and powerful to ensure the integrity of their investigation into the deaths of senator Johnston and governor Geryon. The bull-harness boys in the HPD would resent her and they would fear her- but for all the wrong reasons-if they knew the real truth, the full extent of her mission parameters, they would probably barricade themselves in the bas.e.m.e.nt, shotguns drawn.

Co-operate or not, the locals would be out gunned.

The Feds might be more problematic.

But they were facing the big game now.

Transgressors of all colors would face the wrath of the Agency.

They would bow down in the face of superior firepower.

Walking out the arrivals hall, Karyn scoped for interference. She moved as quickly as decorum would allow, heading for the taxi rank. At the arrivals gate she was greeted by a frantic scene, as a zoo of excited relatives, and drivers, holding scrawled placards jostled restlessly with each other, craning their necks to catch sight of the new arrivals.

One of the placards read Goodman. Karyn found it convenient to use her maiden name as one of her many pseudonyms.

As she approached the chubby faced Hawaiian who held the card high, she made eye contact. Jubilant that his wait was over, he gushed effusive greetings and made to take her bag.

Karyn held the case tight. She commanded him towards the door with a curt nod. "Let's go," she said.

The driver got the hint. He showed her to the waiting car like he had been zapped by a cattle prod. Unfortunately, the driver was a man of fraught nerves and he made free with the-Aloha to Hawaii chatter every step of the way.

Karyn sat low in the back seat, and battened down her big-bug designer sungla.s.ses, oblivious to the inane stream of you have to do this, tourist-trap suggestions. She looked out the window, watching as monster clouds tumbled in over the mountains. They pulled out of the airport, heading towards the centre of town, progress on Highway One was slow. The driver weaved through the heavy traffic. Tower block condos loomed like giant postmodern creatures, a hundred billion dollars of gla.s.s and steel towering over the bay like predators at a desert watering-hole, whilst palm trees cut the breeze like pirate flagpoles. The traffic ground slower, then came to a stop. Horns sounded. Necks craned out of windows.

A giant golden office building cast a vast shadow across the freeway. Karyn stared, seeing the upper floors as the disappeared towards the roiling sky. A Chinese style hieroglyph in mirrored steel adorned the top of the building. The character seemed strangely familiar, a corporate brand belonging to one of the overlords of the modern age. Behind the golden faade, Karyn imagined a giant hive of worker ants sitting at their desks, carrying out their piecemeal tasks, so that the corporate beast might live. It seemed strange that on an island paradise such as this there would be corporate outposts of the world's biggest companies, all of them jostling for position on the billion-dollar waterfront.

As Karyn pondered what tasks might be undertaken in such grand outposts of capitalism, a sudden commotion erupted at the side of the Freeway. At first there was the noise, like the roar of an approaching plane coming into land. Then she saw them-running through the traffic, a horde of placard bearing protestors, thousands of them, shouting unintelligible slogans, waving cardboard signs, in magic marker scrawl. Dissidents. Always complaining about something.

"Sorry lady, these G.o.dd.a.m.n eco-protesters they make things crazy on the Island," said the cabbie.

"What are they protesting?"

"Who cares, these radicals are always protesting something right? Make it so us working folk can't earn a buck to feed our families."

Surging around them now, the crowd of protestors grew thick, banging on the windows and roofs of vehicles as they pa.s.sed, holding up placards with flaming skulls and TAO NO! DENG MUST GO! written in large angry letters.

The Driver shook his fist at them, shouted out in counter protest, but his curses were lost in the roar of the crowd.

"They got some kind of beef against free electricity?" wondered the cabbie incredulously. "You ask me these d.a.m.n eco-nuts are plain crazy- I mean, who protests the offer of free electricity?"

"Free Electricity? asked Karyn. "What's the catch?"

"There ain't no catch, far as I see it, lady. Governor Geryon gave the Tao Corporation out of Shanghai China rights to build one of those geothermal power stations on the Big Island, did some kind of smart deal that gave the Islanders free electricity in return. That's some kind of sweet tasting deal if you ask me."

Karyn's mind moved fast now, the micro connections to senator Tex Johnston's case file coming thick and fast-Johnston was a big business Texas oilman from an old money dynasty that had a history dating back to the nineteenth century. He was also chairman of the congressional House Committee on Oversight and Government reform- responsible for a whole range of power orientated legislation.

"Do you know who Deng Tao is?" asked Karyn.

"Don't everybody know? He's the man who owns that giant golden skysc.r.a.per you see right there by the freeway. Word has it he is the richest man in the world, no wonder he is giving electricity away. A man like that can afford to keep people sweet so he can get what he wants. Makes good business sense. Am I right?" The cabbie gave Karyn a happy look, "That Deng Tao has got to be some kind of guy, let me tell you, he has a yacht moored out in the bay that's bigger than any cruise ship, it must have cost a billion dollars at least."

Karyn smiled, "I am sure it did," she said.

07.

Luckily the remainder of the drive to the hotel was short, and without further event, save the heavy traffic crawling through the city centre streets. The hotel was a five-star joint, The Regis, over looking the bay. Karyn thanked the cabbie, and dropped him a generous tip, big enough for the job done, but not so big she would be remembered. Turning quickly away. She headed for the hotel lobby. Refusing the attentions of the bell-hop, offering to transport her bag to her room, Karyn headed to the hotel bar, where she ordered a Tequila-Blanco, rocks and popped her iPhone out of her bag. Carly wouldn't be back from school yet, but Karyn just couldn't help herself-she had to check the house-see if everything was safe. She scrolled through the screens, each one representing a different camera that she had secretly installed in the Goodman home-Lobby, Kitchen, Living Room, Playroom, Garden, and naturally Carly's bedroom. She had left out the bathroom and the bedroom where Reed did the dirty with that b.i.t.c.h Julia- every one needs a little privacy right? But some times like now, Karyn regretted the oversight, feeling like she had to know everything-feeling that her oversight had created a blind spot in her intelligence gathering operation that would allow room for that b.i.t.c.h Julia to out maneuver her. And that would never do.

An aggressive, proactive att.i.tude was always important to the success of any operation. Karyn double tapped her tequila, feeling the burn blossom inside her as she headed out to the lobby to check in. Her plan-set up a false blind residence in the hotel. Once in possession of the room key, she moved fast, heading back through the busy lobby and out to the taxi rank, acting as though there were nothing more normal.

Att.i.tude was everything-walking out the door five minutes after check in with her tiny hand luggage-case, would raise no questions. Karyn was an old hand at sleight of hand operations. Timing her walk out to the second, she melded in with the lobby full of guests as they thronged the check in desks.

A short yellow cab ride later, Karyn checked into a smaller boutique hotel five blocks from the main tourist drag. The Hawaiian Gardens hotel was a discrete palm shaded oasis catering to business travelers. More like a motel than a traditional resort hotel. The Hawaiian Gardens was constructed around a central pool and garden and area that boasted a lush collection of sub-tropical plants and trees. The place was discrete, anonymous-the kind of joint where all manner of comings and goings could pa.s.s without comment.

The front desk of The Hawaiian Gardens was staffed by a rather austere but neatly attired looking older man in a maroon waistcoat, who introduced himself as Hector. Once the front desk formalities had been completed and Karyn presented him with one of her many fake ID's. Hector graciously advised her that if there was anything she needed, anything at all, she should call down to reception. He made this offer with such a tight expression twisted across his face that the sub text of this generous offer was clearly quite opposite to the one stated. Karyn smiled. This was just the kind of service she liked-cold hearted and anonymous-with a side order of brusqueness, to freeze out all but the most determined of callers.

Less than five minutes later, as Karyn squeezed a glance between the narrowly parted curtains of her comfortable but functional room on the third floor she knew her instincts were as good as her research. The layout of The Hawaiian Gardens was even better than the web cam walkthrough she had made on the Internet. The window had a solid drop on the entrance, the kind of advantage that would prove invaluable should any kind of situation develop. It was the first rule of combat-always have a fallback position before you make a strike. She turned, looked at her case laying open on the bed. No ordinary collection of clothes and toiletries-A CIA field officers strike kit-the kind of weapons and technology that would raise pulses at any normal airport check in. But for agents of the CIA's Deep Five division, there was no such thing as a normal check in, just sleight of hand so seamless and natural that not even the most vigilant of TSA operatives would have noticed that the woman who had joined the flight without hand luggage had mysteriously picked some up when she left the plane. It was always nice to make a relaxing low-key, getaway for the Islands thought Karyn. But one thing was certain, there was going to be trouble in paradise and for that she had come prepared. Her first stop would be the headquarters of the Honolulu Police Department. Karyn picked up her Sig 229 and weighed it experimentally in her hand. Word was the HPD Chief like to play things by the rules. Karyn jacked a live round into the breech. There was no time for rules in this game. Either big chief Aloha had the answers she was looking for, or if he didn't there was going to be trouble. Big trouble.

08.

Smelling clean and fresh after a shower, Karyn headed out of The Hawaiian Gardens and walked two blocks down hill towards the sea. Finally, in the late heat of the afternoon, she caught a cab to the headquarters of The Honolulu Police Department. The cabbie took a ride through the pleasant tree lined back streets, staying clear of the busier downtown traffic.

At length, as they arrived at their destination, Karyn was rather surprised to find herself out front of a rather cramped looking four- story building that resembled a provincial high school, rather than a big city police department. Outside police headquarters a large contingent of eco-protestors were congregating noisily, on the narrow sidewalk and front steps of the building. As they lolled and smoked and chatted, they looked like students, waiting for their next cla.s.s.

As she paid him, the cabbie gave her an uncertain look "You sure about this lady? It looks kind of dangerous out there today."

Karyn smiled. "Dangerous for whom?" she asked.

The cabbie laughed and took off without further comment. As Karyn headed into the lair of the beast, anguished faces pressed in all around her, like they had never seen a woman in a business two-piece before. Maybe they thought she worked for the government or something? So what do you do? Pull out a make way for the lawyer placard and hope for the best? Public defender coming through, called Karyn. The invocation worked its magic, parting the crowd quicker than a squirt from a water cannon. Judging from the anguished cries rising up around her, arrests had been made, and plenty of them. Karyn looked into the earnest faces of unblemished idealism. Perhaps once, many years ago, she too had thought she could change things- how long would it be before these same idealistic faces gave up the idea of protest? Realizing that shouting and screaming and running out onto the freeway to protest the inequity of b.e.s.t.i.a.l corporate interests didn't do a d.a.m.n bit of good-never would do, not in this world or any other. They would all come around, every one of them. They would settle back in the suburbs with their not so comfortable lives and barely adequate jobs, working for the same d.a.m.n corporate interests they had been protesting all these years, except now they would put that idealism down to youthful naivete. They would argue politics at Chardonnay fueled dinner parties while planning tax strategies with their accountants by day, and hoping that the rainy day money they were feeding into their 401Ks would be enough to sustain them in the long dark days of retirement, when their corporate masters had finally deserted them for cheaper more efficient labor in another part of the world. There would be the few who opted out of course, the so called clever ones, who thought they could never be tamed, but they would be marginalized, defeated utterly; living lives of such little moment, they might as well have not lived them at all.

Karyn moved inside the police station. The giant gla.s.s doors swooshed together behind her with an inst.i.tutional kind of finality that separated the world of decency and order from the roiling anarchy outside. The place smelled of triplicate forms and Rolodex filers. It was the kind of station house that had a brown tobacco aged hue on everything, despite the fact that smoking in Federal buildings of all descriptions had been outlined many decades ago. There was no kind of detergent that could bring that kind of time aged att.i.tude out in the wash, no matter how many cycles you put it through. The building was chill too, big hotel cool, the kind of cool you get when you walk through a Vegas casino with a half pint of Ice cold tequila flowing through your veins. Karyn licked her lips she could taste the salt and lime and ice jangling her taste buds already, and it wasn't even five PM.