the distinct pleasure of putting a
bullet right between his cold, brown eyes.
That was seven years ago, and now she had received
both an order from her bosses at the NSA and a separate request from an old
friend—if she could call him that—to gather as much intel as she could about a
new terrorist cell coming out of Pakistan called the Haqqai network. Whatever
sordid stuff this group was involved in, a lot of people were certainly
interested in finding out more about them.
This assignment was more difficult because she
wasn’t actually on the ground, but she had been in contact with NSA agents who
were. Per protocol, they referred to one another as numbers—agents were never
told the names, real or fake, of other agents. Colleen was number “Four” and
had been in frequent contact with number “Seven” for about two weeks now.
Seven was on the ground and had been on assignment in Pakistan for about three
years.
Her cover as Colleen Bradshaw had been one of the
easiest assignments that she had had so far—but she did miss the adrenaline
rush of working out there in the “field.” She was currently employed at the
undergraduate school of Brevard College, an elite, private women’s college, in
New York. Brevard College also had just opened an international campus in
Rome, Italy.
Colleen’s role at the university was as an
undergraduate school fundraiser. As a fundraiser, to the outward world, she
led an unquestionably dull life. This cover was very flexible and allowed her
ample opportunity to conduct research and analysis for the Agency.
Brevard College was a mecca of sorts when it came
to the higher education of the daughters of the American elite. Naturally, the
college was not off limits to the international elite. There were plenty of
Saudi and British businessmen who sent their daughters to the prestigious
university every year. Colleen was sure that many of those fathers hoped that
their daughters would graduate with a MRS. Degree that would enable them to turn
off their financial faucets. Or at the very least, reduce the flow of money to
their incorrigible offspring.
Fittingly, the gothic halls of the campus were
always busy with preparations for one gala or another. It was through these
events, that Colleen was able to make valuable connections.
Colleen’s job was to speak with foreign subjects
who were under close watch by the NSA and CIA. It was within these contacts as
University Fundraiser that Colleen helped other analysts at the Agency build
complex TSPs (Terror Suspect Profiles).
This type of work was tedious and required her to
engage in extensive quantitative and qualitative analyses by utilizing her
points of contact. While it was interesting to engage in this type of study of
terrorist behavior, Colleen missed the excitement that came with working in the
field.
Earlier yesterday, Seven had emailed her triple
secured email account and attached an encrypted 300-page computer file. It had
taken her five hours to un-encrypt the document and she was just starting to
make headway through it. It had seemed like a bust at first, but she’d finally
come across a few interesting photos.
The first was of Richard Henning, whose dramatic
rescue by Special Forces had been widely discussed by talk show hosts, radio
show hosts, and television news pundits. The photograph of Henning had been
taken while he was in Afghanistan. His picture had been snapped just as he was
entering a black SUV on his way to speak with the President of Afghanistan.
The photo was remarkable because in it was another
familiar face: Dr. Saverin Tarasov. Both Henning and Dr. Tarasov had family
members who were juniors at Brevard and both men had attended a spring
fundraiser held at the college. Colleen had introduced herself to Dr. Tarasov
at the spring gala. Dr. Tarasov was a well-known chemist for a Russian
pharmaceutical company named Nava Drug
bullet right between his cold, brown eyes.
That was seven years ago, and now she had received
both an order from her bosses at the NSA and a separate request from an old
friend—if she could call him that—to gather as much intel as she could about a
new terrorist cell coming out of Pakistan called the Haqqai network. Whatever
sordid stuff this group was involved in, a lot of people were certainly
interested in finding out more about them.
This assignment was more difficult because she
wasn’t actually on the ground, but she had been in contact with NSA agents who
were. Per protocol, they referred to one another as numbers—agents were never
told the names, real or fake, of other agents. Colleen was number “Four” and
had been in frequent contact with number “Seven” for about two weeks now.
Seven was on the ground and had been on assignment in Pakistan for about three
years.
Her cover as Colleen Bradshaw had been one of the
easiest assignments that she had had so far—but she did miss the adrenaline
rush of working out there in the “field.” She was currently employed at the
undergraduate school of Brevard College, an elite, private women’s college, in
New York. Brevard College also had just opened an international campus in
Rome, Italy.
Colleen’s role at the university was as an
undergraduate school fundraiser. As a fundraiser, to the outward world, she
led an unquestionably dull life. This cover was very flexible and allowed her
ample opportunity to conduct research and analysis for the Agency.
Brevard College was a mecca of sorts when it came
to the higher education of the daughters of the American elite. Naturally, the
college was not off limits to the international elite. There were plenty of
Saudi and British businessmen who sent their daughters to the prestigious
university every year. Colleen was sure that many of those fathers hoped that
their daughters would graduate with a MRS. Degree that would enable them to turn
off their financial faucets. Or at the very least, reduce the flow of money to
their incorrigible offspring.
Fittingly, the gothic halls of the campus were
always busy with preparations for one gala or another. It was through these
events, that Colleen was able to make valuable connections.
Colleen’s job was to speak with foreign subjects
who were under close watch by the NSA and CIA. It was within these contacts as
University Fundraiser that Colleen helped other analysts at the Agency build
complex TSPs (Terror Suspect Profiles).
This type of work was tedious and required her to
engage in extensive quantitative and qualitative analyses by utilizing her
points of contact. While it was interesting to engage in this type of study of
terrorist behavior, Colleen missed the excitement that came with working in the
field.
Earlier yesterday, Seven had emailed her triple
secured email account and attached an encrypted 300-page computer file. It had
taken her five hours to un-encrypt the document and she was just starting to
make headway through it. It had seemed like a bust at first, but she’d finally
come across a few interesting photos.
The first was of Richard Henning, whose dramatic
rescue by Special Forces had been widely discussed by talk show hosts, radio
show hosts, and television news pundits. The photograph of Henning had been
taken while he was in Afghanistan. His picture had been snapped just as he was
entering a black SUV on his way to speak with the President of Afghanistan.
The photo was remarkable because in it was another
familiar face: Dr. Saverin Tarasov. Both Henning and Dr. Tarasov had family
members who were juniors at Brevard and both men had attended a spring
fundraiser held at the college. Colleen had introduced herself to Dr. Tarasov
at the spring gala. Dr. Tarasov was a well-known chemist for a Russian
pharmaceutical company named Nava Drug
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