Free Fires of War by Jim DeFelice, Larry Bond Page B

DCI.”
     
    DCI was Agency-talk for “director of Central Intelligence Agency”— the head of the CIA, Thomas Parnelles.
     
    “When will he be here?”
     
    “Hard to tell.” Slott twisted the lead from the pencil. “He said he was on his way an hour ago.”
     
    When she had first become involved with Special Demands, Corrine had assumed that Parnelles and Slott—generally considered the number-two man at the CIA—were close allies, but over the course of several operations she had come to realize they weren’t close at all.
     
    Parnelles didn’t consider that a problem. Slott, though, felt the director not only second-guessed him but also undercut his authority, giving many of his deputies too much leeway, in effect encouraging them to subvert the normal chain of command. Parnelles wanted results above all; Slott often found himself trying to rein in operations that were veering toward the sort of abuses that had laid the agency low in the past.
     
    Not that Slott would discuss this with Corrine.
     
    “Maybe you and I should get started,” said Corrine. “And when he comes in—”
     
    The door opened before she had a chance to finish the sentence. Parnelles stalked in, a frown on his face. Slott put the pencil down.
     
    “Ms. Alston. Daniel.” Parnelles pulled a chair out and sat. “What’s going on?”
     
    “The First Team found evidence of bomb material in South Korea,” said Slott.
     
    It took Corrine a second to process what he had said. “ South Korea?”
     
    “Yes, South Korea. At the Blessed Peak South Korean Nuclear Waste Disposal and Holding Station, thirty miles northwest of Daejeon. Thera brought tags in to get a baseline so the scientists could compare it to the North Korean waste site. All of the tags were somehow exposed. Ferguson thought it might be a mistake or a screwup in the instruments. The devices are new, and since the underlying nanotechnology—”
     
    “We don’t really need the details, Dan,” said Parnelles. “We stipulate that they made the right decision to double-check.”
     
    “They planted a full set again,” said Slott. “One showed a serious exposure. It’s on its way back to the States to be examined.”
     
    “Is it a bomb or bomb material?” asked Parnelles.
     
    “We can’t be sure,” said Slott, going on to explain that the sensors were “tuned” to discover the main ingredient of a bomb and one common contaminant. The ratio indicated that weapons-grade plutonium was present, but they could not definitively say how it had been used.
     
    Parnelles rolled his arms in front of his chest and leaned back in his chair. “Has the president been told?”
     
    “No. I only just found out about this through Lauren. I haven’t spoken to Ferguson myself.” Slott glanced at his watch. “It’s roughly six a.m. in Korea, and they’d been working on getting this all night. I figured I’d let him sleep.”
     
    “But you’re sure of the results?” said Parnelles.
     
    Slott bristled. “There’s always a possibility that the sensors malfunctioned,” he said. “But the technology people tell me it’s unlikely. They’ve been tested, I’m sure you recall.”
     
    “I think we have to tell the president immediately,” said Corrine.
     
    “That goes without saying.” Parnelles’s voice boomed in the small, sealed room. “Are you sure, Daniel, that this isn’t a mistake?”
     
    “We have two scientists on their way out to a lab in Hawaii. We should know more definitely in eight or nine hours. But I don’t think it’s a mistake, not with two sets.”
     
    “It makes sense that they have a weapon,” said Parnelles. “It makes a lot of sense.”
     
    “Whether it makes sense or not, it’s going to be a problem,” said Corrine,
     
    Parnelles held out his hands. The skin around his eyes was thick and rugged, as textured as a rubber Halloween mask, but his hands were remarkably smooth and unblemished.
     
    “This could kill the