Chapter 29: ISA Enters the Arena
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After the cook and Song Heping had left, Thomas returned to his desk, once again propping his legs on it and crossing them. He slipped a hand into his pocket, intending to take something out.
Suddenly, the computer screen lit up. A confirmation window appeared, showing that an encrypted online video call was waiting.
When Thomas saw the identification code, he hurriedly clicked it open with the mouse and connected the call.
His immediate superior appeared on the screen: Bronte, director of Langley’s Operations Division.
“Thomas, I have some bad news for you.”
Thomas had been about to report good news, so upon hearing this, he froze.
“Organize and classify all the operational files concerning Angel. Someone will be coming to take over soon.”
“Who? Who’s taking over?”
Thomas felt as though a spring had been installed beneath his chair, giving him the urge to leap straight up.
He had been tracking the operation involving Angel all along.
In fact, the main reason he had been sent here was that his superiors wanted him to take charge of it.
They had laid the groundwork, waited, and finally Angel had arrived.
And now they wanted him to hand over every operational file?
“The ISA. They’re taking over the operation.”
Bronte sounded helpless.
“They have Level Five top-secret authorization. This was decided after deliberation at the highest level.”
When Thomas heard that it was the ISA, his mind buzzed.
ISA stood for the United States Army Intelligence Support Activity.
The unit was not as famous publicly as special forces such as the SEALs or Delta Force. That was not because they were weak, but because they were too capable—and sufficiently mysterious.
Members of Delta Force might occasionally be photographed during an operation, but it was impossible to find even a single photograph of an ISA operative.
Thomas knew perfectly well that these bastards were not people to be trifled with.
“Why them? Is the military getting involved?”
Bronte spread his hands helplessly. “Yes. The military was extremely dissatisfied with your failed interception at the airport last time. You know those old men at the DOD have never trusted Langley. They’re prejudiced against us. Only the ISA can put those arrogant old bastards at ease.”
“Even if my last mission failed, you can’t strip me of the authority to continue tracking Angel!” Thomas protested angrily. “I should have another chance—at least one!”
“Perhaps you haven’t received the latest intelligence,” Bronte said. “According to information obtained by the ISA, Angel is involved in more than the secrets hidden in David Kelly’s report. She is also connected to the matter of Mr. S’s gold and funds. So everything has changed. The latest instructions from the top are that Angel must not die. She is to be taken to the town of Krasa and must be allowed to meet Mr. J.”
Thomas was stunned. “How could Mr. J be connected to the gold hidden by Mr. S?”
Bronte sighed. “The ISA obtained reliable intelligence. Since the coalition forces entered Iligo, aside from the thirty tons of gold in the palace and those AK-47s made of gold, at least one hundred and fifty tons remain unaccounted for. The ISA learned from a secret informant that Mr. J was once Mr. S’s trusted aide, Mohammed Saeed. If we capture him, we may not only locate the gold, but possibly find Mr. S as well.”
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Mr. S was the codename for Saddam.
Thomas immediately realized how serious the situation had become.
The original chain of events had been simple enough. Before launching Operation Freedom in Iligo, Langley had fabricated false intelligence claiming that Mr. S possessed weapons of mass destruction. That false intelligence was passed to David Kelly, the famous British weapons expert, who then produced the notorious weapons-of-mass-destruction assessment.
The United States and Britain used that report as justification for launching Operation Freedom in Iligo.
In July, after the war had begun, Kelly may have been tormented by his conscience and quietly hinted at the truth to a newspaper.
That same month, he died near his home. British police ruled it a suicide, and the matter was eventually abandoned.
Once the man was dead, the accounts were settled, and the secrets should have drifted away with the wind.
Unexpectedly, a Mr. J appeared. He contacted Angel and claimed to possess a videotape recording a conversation between Kelly and Mr. S during Kelly’s investigation in Iligo. In that conversation, Mr. S had provided Kelly with irrefutable evidence proving that he was incapable of producing weapons of mass destruction.
That was why Angel had come to Iligo.
It was also why Thomas had to prevent Angel from meeting Mr. J—and obtain that damned videotape.
Everything had seemed to proceed in the most natural and orderly fashion.
Even eliminating Kelly had not been particularly difficult.
Just when Thomas thought everything was about to end, the ISA had barged in?
Were they trying to steal the fruits of his labor?
Thomas did not think so.
After all, the one hundred and fifty tons of gold scattered somewhere outside the country seemed even more tempting.
“Sir! I have an idea.”
After a brief moment of thought, Thomas clenched his teeth and stared at the screen, a ruthless glint showing in his eyes.
“We have to get involved. We can’t let the ISA take everything.”
Bronte gave a soft “Oh,” expressing his surprise, then asked, “What do you have in mind?”
“Sir, leave everything to me,” Thomas said. “I’ll persuade them. I have something they desperately need, and if they offend us, I doubt the ISA’s operation here will go smoothly either.”
Bronte seemed to consider the matter and did not answer at once.
Finally, he nodded. “All right. As far as we’re concerned, this call never happened. I’ll speak with you again in three hours. I’ll have the technical department erase the computer records. As for how you accomplish it, I have no interest in knowing. I only want the result.”
A sly smile appeared on Thomas’s face. “I’ll do exactly as you say. Rest assured!”
The video call ended.
Thomas sat in his chair, staring blankly for a while.
Soon, he heard footsteps.
Several pairs of footsteps.
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Then came a knock at the door.
“Come in.”
He cleared his throat and assumed an expression of calm composure, like a warrior walking toward an arena, ready to cross swords with the ISA agents entering through the door.
As expected, the people outside were ISA operatives.
“You’re Thomas, the GSR supervisor?”
The man at the front walked straight up to Thomas. He was in his thirties, thin, with a crew cut and two golden-yellow mustaches.
The men behind him ignored Thomas completely and headed straight for the filing cabinets.
“Hey! Hey! Hey!”
Thomas rose angrily and turned toward the ISA agents.
“Take your claws off those files! This is my territory!”
The man with the golden mustache immediately took a document from his briefcase and handed it over.
“These are orders from the highest authority. Take a look. Hand over the operation quickly—we don’t have time to waste here with you.”
Thomas accepted the document and merely glanced at it, making no effort to read it closely, as though he had no interest in it whatsoever.
His hand slowly moved toward his trouser pocket.
The golden-mustached man’s gaze instantly sharpened, like two daggers. His right hand, which had been hanging beside the crease of his trousers, rose slightly.
A SIG P226 pistol was tucked at his waist.
If Thomas made any suspicious move, he was confident he could subdue the GRS operative in front of him.
“Don’t get excited.”
One corner of Thomas’s mouth lifted, as though he were mocking the other man’s nervousness.
“I only want to give you something good.”
With that, he slowly withdrew his hand from his pocket, produced an object, and held it up between his fingers, giving it a little shake.
“I think we can make a deal.”
As he spoke, his face wore an expression of complete confidence.
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