PLEDGE OF HONOR: A Mark Cole Thriller Page 5

  But he had gone silent, and the ramifications were decidedly worrying. What if his cover had been blown? What if he hadn’t been using Galushka, but she had been using him?

  Cole dreaded to think what fate would await his friend and comrade if caught; the torture chambers of the Soviet-era Lubyanka might now be a museum, but that only meant that new locations had been found for such actions, not that they had been erased from the Russian arsenal altogether.

  ‘Okay. I guess there’s nothing we can do about it now, anyway,’ Cole said finally. ‘But keep looking.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Is there anything else?’ Cole said, checking his watch again.

  ‘There’s still been no luck finding out what’s happened to the crate that went missing from Shahid Dastgheyb,’ Vinson replied, referring to a Revolutionary Guards base in Iran’s Fars province that was supposedly producing as many as five different chemical weapons, as part of a secret program codenamed ‘Baasat’.

  The chemical weapons plant was located close to the town of Bajgah, just outside the province’s central city of Shiraz, and was built into the side of a mountain. A naval base at nearby Ahmad Ibn Mousa was supposedly used to train the Guards’ naval personnel, but US intelligence suggested that it was actually used as a transport hub to ship the chemical weapons to depots and storage facilities across Iran.

  Shahid Dastgheyb was thought to produce mustard and nitrogen mustard gases, phosphor chlorine, CX gas, and sarin. There were also rumors that its scientists – some on loan from the sanctioned Malek Ashtar University – were actively working to produce a sodium cyanide bomb which could be delivered as artillery shells, cluster bombs or missile warheads.

  Pretty unpleasant stuff – but about par for the course, Cole figured, for the regime of the Islamic Republic of Iran, which was morally questionable at the best of times.

  The regime kept pretty good controls of its stockpiles though, with regular inventory checks and copious bureaucratic paperwork. It was just such a stock-take, actually, that had shown the authorities that an entire crate of chemical weapons had gone missing en route from the Shahid Dastgheyb production facility to the Ahmad Ibn Mousa transport hub.

  The chief officer at Shahid Dastgheyb had tried to cover up the loss, but investigators from the Intelligence Unit of the Revolutionary Guards soon discovered that a terrorist group had intercepted the shipment and made off with the product. Embarrassed, plant officials had simply pretended it had never happened; the same IURG investigators, however, soon discovered that certain officers had been paid off by the terrorist group – believed to be an offshoot of Islamic State – to look the other way.

  The officials in question had been executed on the orders of the Ayatollah soon after, and Cole thought there might just be something in Iranian efficiency after all.

  Force One had come across the information from NSA intercepts of conversations between IURG headquarters in Tehran and the Shahid Dastgheyb base; a worldwide intelligence warning had been subsequently put out, as chemical weapons in the hands of terrorists was hardly the most ideal scenario, but no agency had as yet found out where the weapons were, or exactly who had them.

  ‘I don’t like them being out there,’ Cole said. ‘Let’s keep looking, keep pressure on our friends in the region to follow up on it.’ He took a swing of beer and looked back at Vinson. ‘That everything?’

  ‘Just more trouble in Nicaragua,’ Vinson said, and Cole sighed.

  Nicaragua again. Ever since the Chinese had decided to build a new canal to rival that of Panama, there had been one problem after another. The fifty billion dollar project, approved in 2013, was being managed by the Hong Kong Nicaragua Canal Development Investment Company, who had also been granted a fifty year concession on the shipping route by Nicaragua’s National Assembly.

  There were claims of massive corruption, environmental damage – especially to Lake Nicaragua, huge engineering overspends, and one legal challenge after another.

  But the main damage was being done by groups of farmers, incensed that their lands were to be appropriated by the state, to help make money for a private, foreign company. Their protests were becoming more and more violent as the months wore on.

  ‘What now?’ Cole asked.

  ‘There’s been an attack on one of the work parties there, an eleven-man engineer group from HKND, it’s left three people dead. The farmers are suspected, but there are also rumors of a more organized, paramilitary-style protest group. The Chinese haven’t reacted well.’

  ‘What are they saying?’

  ‘They’ve demanded that the National Assembly allow them to station a military force there, to ensure the security of the project.’

  ‘A Chinese military force?’ Cole asked in surprise, and Vinson nodded his head in response. ‘Surely they’re not going to let them do that?’

  ‘The Nicaraguan government is considering the request as we speak. And I think – with the right palms greased, of course – they’ll find in China’s favor. After all, they don’t exactly have the world’s most transparent, corruption-free leadership, do they? And China has money to burn.’

  ‘So China will have a military foothold in South America?’

  ‘I think it will do soon, yes. Something it’s been looking to accomplish for quite some time.’

  Cole paused, considering the ramifications. The United States and China were defensive partners, of course; but the Mutual Defense Treaty was looking more and more like something that was more dream than reality. He had already seen what could happen under alternative forms of government – the coup by General Wu which had almost ended in nuclear war just a few short months before was proof enough of that. The status quo had been restored, with the politburo reinstated after US military intervention – mainly in the form of Cole’s Force One – but it was troubling that the new President, Chang Wubei, was still refusing to repatriate those lands stolen by the Wu regime.

  In his short time in charge, General Wu had invaded and taken the Japanese Senkaku Islands, as well as Taiwan; and despite international protests, there was no sign that President Chang was going to hand them back.

  The Chinese government – under the auspices of several private firms – had also been buying up large tracts of land in Mexico, and there were also rumors of new links between the Mexican cartels and criminal gangs in Beijing and Shanghai. New routes – and new markets – for marijuana and cocaine, but Cole had also heard of the possible involvement of the Chinese secret service in those deals, which raised all sorts of disturbing questions.

  Cole had a friend high-up in the Chinese special forces who was looking into this for him, but the situation overall was something that was starting to look more and more like a potential problem.

  This latest news made Cole even more concerned about the long-term intentions of China and – supposed ally or not – a military presence south of the border was something that set his danger senses on red alert.

  ‘Okay, let’s keep an eye on this,’ he told Vinson, ‘and I mean a close eye. Does the president know yet?’

  ‘The intelligence has just been developed this morning, but I’m sure Catalina will be briefing President Abrams in on it later today.’

  Cole checked his watch again and looked up at Vinson. ‘Well, looks like it’s time for me to go,’ he said. ‘I’ll leave Navarone and the Chinese in your hands, keep me updated when you can.’

  ‘Of course,’ Vinson said, and as both men stood, he passed a piece of paper to Cole, who took it and slid it into his pocket.

  ‘What’s that?’ Coke asked.

  ‘Oh, just the details of some old friends in London,’ Vinson – once an officer in Britain’s Special Air Service Regiment, and in the Secret Intelligence Service, before moving to the United States – said simply. ‘If you get into any trouble over there, these boys will be happy to help you out.’

  Cole smiled at Vinson, and shook the man’s hand. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Hope
fully, this should be a short trip and I can be back to deal with these other things.’

  Vinson smiled back. ‘Let’s hope so,’ he said. ‘Let’s hope so.’

  5

  Aoki Michiko was also watching the prime minister’s speech, on the computer monitor housed on her spacious work desk in the bright and airy headquarters building of the Paradigm Group.

  The group occupied several buildings spread over a hundred acres of tree-lined land, nestled within the northern Washington enclave of Forest Hills. It was like a small university campus, quite different from the group’s origins several years before, when it had occupied a single story of office space in a downtown high-rise.

  But that was before Dr. Bruce Vinson had bought the business and – with the covert backing of several government slush-funds, labelled as anonymous investors – it had outgrown its humble beginnings and become the nation’s premier think-tank, specializing in international security affairs and US diplomatic policy issues. As Michiko well knew, it was also the very effective front for the elite US counter-terrorism unit known as Force One, which was commanded by her father.

  Mark Cole was a man she had thought about for most of her life, although she had met him for the first time only relatively recently. Believing that he had raped her mother, Michiko’s intention had been to kill him; only when it had come right down to it, she had hesitated at the moment of truth. She’d had the submachine gun aimed right at him, and hadn’t fired. But Cole had, shot her right in the shoulder. It had been an aimed shot, designed not to kill her, just to disable her.

  In hindsight, she’d been lucky; she’d been pointing a weapon right at him, he had no idea who she was, and he was not a man who typically let his enemies live. She’d asked him later why he’d not killed her, and he’d said it was the way she had hesitated; she hadn’t shot him when she’d had the chance, and that was why he’d let her live. But thinking back, Michiko liked to think that it was because – on some deep, instinctual level – he knew. He knew who she was, and he couldn’t kill her.

  In the end, it had all worked out okay – she’d been taken back to Japan, forced to work once again for the hated Yakuza family who had adopted her; but Cole had come after her, rescued her from that life altogether, brought her back here to the States.

  Although she had worked for years, this was her first real job. The Omoto-gumi crime family had made her into its ‘golden princess’, and she had used her incredible computer skills to make the organization untold millions. She had come up with the technique herself, hacked into the systems of Japan’s – and the world’s – major corporations, dug up company secrets that they would do anything to keep buried, extorted vast sums of money from each one, many on an ongoing basis.

  Using computers was still what she did, only now it was for the Paradigm Group. She hadn’t been there long, and was still learning the ropes, finding her feet; but it was clear that her skills with computer systems were far in excess of the other people within the group’s IT department. She had been allowed to go through the group’s systems, refining them and making them more secure from external attack, but while she found the work interesting, she knew that her talents lay elsewhere.

  She wanted to be more involved in the investigative side of the group, become a research analyst for Force One itself. She knew she could follow money trails around the world better than anyone, could seek out patterns and anomalies that might suggest terrorist financing or criminal enterprise.

  But – even though she had been granted US citizenship by the president herself – she hadn’t been here long enough to be fully trusted with ‘behind-the-scenes’ work. Her own father still didn’t know her that well, she had to admit, and so how could she be placed in a position of absolute trust? Her previous job before this, she couldn’t fail to realize, was as a criminal cyber-hacker and extortion specialist. Hardly a great CV if you were after a job with far-reaching national security implications.

  Cole did recognize her skills though, and so he had asked her to write up some specific software programs for the Force One intel specialists, advanced search protocols that enabled the analysts to find patterns within the chaos. They worked well, but Michiko knew it wasn’t the same as doing the work herself. There was only so much a computer program could achieve, after all, and she truly believed that part of her previous success was down to treating it as an art form and not a purely intellectual exercise.

  As she’d explained to her father when he’d first discovered what she did for the Omoto-gumi, mere technical knowledge wasn’t enough; you had to feel it, the same way an artist does. She knew that when Cole went into action, it wasn’t just his technical training that allowed him to perform as he did; it was something extra, something special; he lived and breathed what he did, and it was intrinsic part of him, the very fabric of his being. And it was the same for Michiko, she had a feeling for what she did that was beyond words, beyond explanation.

  As the news conference from London ended, she sat for several moments, staring at the screen. That’s where her father was headed, she knew. She wasn’t sure what his role would be there, but he was on his way to do something important, Michiko was sure of that. And what did she have on the agenda for today? She sighed as she looked at the job sheet. Tony Carver, a Middle East analyst, needed his system checking. Apparently it was too slow, and there was a danger that it might have some sort of virus downloaded onto it.

  Whoop de doo.

  She shook her head, stared back at her computer screen, and then smiled as she made a decision.

  Just because she wasn’t on the Force One team yet, she figured, didn’t mean that she couldn’t make some initial inquiries of her own into what had just happened in England.

  After all, despite her questionable background, she knew that she might just be able to help.

  6

  ‘Hell of a thing over there in London,’ Colonel Manfred Jones said as coffee was poured for him and his guest, US Vice President Clark Mason.

  ‘You’re not wrong there,’ Mason confirmed, smiling at the pretty secretary who served them. She wasn’t just any secretary, of course; as the assistant to the commander of JSOC, she was an Army major and a woman who had seen her fair share of action. But to Mason, an inveterate womanizer, she was nothing more than a pretty face and an eminently screwable body.

  She finished pouring the drinks and left the office, Mason watching her ass as she left. A part of Mason hated himself for it; it was exactly this kind of behavior that Bruce Vinson had so ruthlessly exploited, setting up a honey trap which he’d walked right into, an act which had given the director of the Paradigm Group some horrendous leverage over him. But it was hard to deny your nature and so – despite doing his best not to, despite knowing that he was merely providing more rope for his own hanging – he was still chasing tail all over town, and his wife be damned.

  Jones watched the VP with a critical eye, though he said nothing; military officers, no matter how high ranking, didn’t typically chastise their political masters. But words were unnecessary, as Mason caught the look immediately.

  ‘I know, I know,’ he said, ‘you’re right. But I’m trying, believe me, I’m trying.’

  ‘I didn’t say anything,’ Jones said as he took a hit of his strong black coffee.

  ‘You didn’t have to,’ Mason said as he raised his own cup to his lips.

  Jones laughed. ‘Well anyway,’ he said, ‘she can be a little bit distracting, I’ll grant you. But she’s gone now, and I’ve got something else to show you.’

  Mason’s interest was piqued; their investigation into the Paradigm group, and the shadowy covert unit it fronted, had so far failed to bear much fruit.

  ‘Have they started using JSOC resources again?’ Mason asked, but Jones shook his head.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘they’ve been very careful since Miley’s accident. I don’t think they really trust me.’

  ‘An honest assessment,’ Mason commented.


  ‘In the military – and especially in special operations – you rarely have the privilege of having too inflated an opinion of yourself. Self-knowledge is as important to survival as safety drills on your weapons systems. I know I’m not liked, and not hugely respected by a lot of the men here. They see me as a paper pusher, someone who got the job of deputy commander for my political connections rather than my experience. And now that Miley’s out of action, and I’ve stepped into his shoes? Well, now they hate me even more.’

  Mason nodded his head as he listened, knowing that it was probably true; knowing also that this was probably why Jones was keen to help him make the play against the Paradigm Group. He felt no affinity for JSOC, or for the special operations community in general; it was just another stepping stone on his career path. And if he could find out something juicy – something involving covert operations kept hidden from congress and the general public, a private government hit squad authorized by the president herself – then his stock would go up exponentially. They would be high cards indeed to have in his hand, and Mason knew that Jones would understand exactly how to play them most effectively. Jones hadn’t said, but Mason assumed that Jones planned to go as far as he could – to general’s rank certainly, and maybe even to the hallowed halls of the joint chiefs.

  Mason could well understand that sort of ambition; his desire to succeed Ellen Abrams as President of the United States was the reason he had tried to sabotage her career twice already. Both times he had failed, but – with the inside help of Manfred Jones – he at last felt that he would have the evidence he needed to pin something on her.

  There was always the threat of Vinson releasing that video of him – dressed as a Ku Klux Klansman, enacting a simulated rape of a black slave girl – but Mason didn’t want to live his life waiting for that to happen. Far better, he decided, to get some blackmail material himself, something he could use on Abrams, and Vinson too if necessary. The video wouldn’t keep him out of the game at all.