The Phoenix Affair, Dave Moyer [best ebook reader for surface pro TXT] 📗

his own that their would be a real, live, shootin’ war in the Gulf that spring, early spring rather than late because of the heat at the top end of the Gulf. He retracted his separation application from the Air Force and signed on for 7 years in hopes of joining his squadron in Saudi Arabia before the war might end. That quick, Cameron slipped through Anderson’s fingertips. The latter could not believe his bad luck, and spent a whole weekend thinking in front of a TV he never saw, over scotch on the rocks he didn’t drink, trying to figure a way to get this boy back. He did not, but he did have an idea that worked almost as well.

It was clear Cameron was back in the Air Force for the long haul, so what Anderson did was what he did best: he thought of the long haul and the big picture. If he could not have Cameron now, he would wait until later. Such a man, if given the right training, education, and experience, would be even better in 20 years than he would be now. That weekend Randall Anderson, DDO, invented another of his little known secret personnel schemes, and he called it “Phoenix.”

Cameron was asked to take leave for 3 days and come to Langley, which his curiosity would not allow him to skip. He came. He never knew it, and did not know it to this day, but his first meeting with the DDO took place on that trip. Anderson posed as a personnel geek for the interview so he could get a first hand look at Cameron. He also wanted to make sure the personnel guys didn’t blow it. The pitch to the young Captain went this way: CIA proposes that you become a very deep cover sleeper employee. You don’t do anything for now, follow your own career, learn what it can teach you. From time to time we may send opportunities your way, so that you learn some things we need you to learn. Don’t worry, they will also be things the Air Force wants you to learn. Most, maybe all, will not be anything you recognize as having come from us. We may not need to help you much at all, indeed we don’t expect to have to. We believe your own abilities and interests will take care of most of what you need. You work, you train, you learn, you live, you progress like a regular Air Force Joe. When the time is right, and we need you, we’ll call. When that happens, it’s an opportunity for you. You owe us nothing, but we offer you the chance to do something we think will interest you. If not, you walk away. If you like it, we arrange it with the Air Force, or if you’re retired, we arrange it with your employer. Don’t worry about that. What do you say?

To Anderson’s great relief Cameron accepted immediately. Simple arrangements were agreed about methods of communication and contact, which should wait, Anderson said, for CIA to call him and not the other way around. No money was involved, he told the new recruit, but that was not quite true. Anderson took care of his people. He wanted to make sure that in 15 or twenty or however many years, when he needed Paul Cameron, Paul Cameron would have the resources he needed to respond to CIA’s call. It wasn’t much, but CIA would place $25,000 a year tax free into the Agency thrift savings plan in Cameron's name. Paul Cameron was on the payroll from that day. He was only just about to find out 21 years later.

“Alright Boss, here it is, but you’re skipping a cup tomorrow as you’ve said!” It was Bobbie and the coffee shattering this reverie as she blasted through the office door like only she could do. Bobbie was a compact woman, full of lively energy and what the English would call “pluck.” Indeed, Randy Anderson’s opposite number in MI6 had called Bobbie “a rare plucked ‘un”, but not when she could hear it. The mug and its contents came to rest on the desktop to his right as Anderson looked up at the half smile, half snarl, of his protector and defender. “You have 10 minutes until the staff meeting, after that the meeting with State over at his place, then back here for the regular four o’clock down in the tank with the usual suspects which will last you the rest of the afternoon. I’m leaving at five to go pick up the girls tonight, so if you need anything, make sure it’s on my desk before you go to the staff meeting.” He loved her when she was this way. “Thanks, you’re the best. Great coffee” he mumbled, and she smiled and stormed back out to her desk.

“Well, ten minutes,” he thought, and returned to Camerons’s file on the screen. All things considered, the boy had done pretty well on his own. He’d got himself picked to spend a year at a prestigious graduate school studying international affairs. He’d spent nearly 25 months in Saudi Arabia on various assignments, also some contacts in Bahrain, the Emirates, Tunisia, Morocco, Spain, Paris, Turkey—he’d done very well with travel. Anderson noted with a smile that the Agency had quietly managed to have Cameron meet the Saudi Ambassador twice. His Highness would not remember, but Cameron would have learned something each time. Very good. War College with the Air Force over 10 years ago, and now the boy’s a Colonel. Aha—he’s taken some martial arts training? Interesting. He read a report from an agent who’d been sent by someone down in the Phoenix office last year. “J. Smith, Operations Directorate, attended 2-hour evening Aikido class with subject on two occasions, once in Arlington, VA and another time in Terre Haute, IN. Smith did not identify himself to the subject, but did train with him on both occasions. Smith reports student has made excellent progress and should earn first degree black belt in early 2009.” “Intrepid rascal, and at his age” Anderson thought. “What’s this guy, going on 45? Randy, my boy, you can still pick ‘em.”

Bobbie bellowed “Two minutes” from outside the door, time to go. Randall Anderson gathered his papers and coffee for the staff meeting, and killed the file he’d been reading on his computer. Rising to leave, he smiled as he mused: “I’ve got 15 of these guys, first time we’ve tried to use one. Should be an interesting play.” He walked out of the office and into the conference room across the hall looking happier than the staff had seen him in a month. III. Paris

At a small café on the Champs Elysees, only 3 blocks from the Saudi Embassy, two Saudis were having an afternoon coffee. Both were light-skinned Arabs, men whose tribal roots were in the far North of Saudi Arabia, and truth be told, their traditional nomadic range extended all the way across Iraq into Northern Syria. In their great grandfathers’ time, the tribe had summered there, in the cool and green of the birthplace of the Euphrates River. Eden, most thought. Neither of these men had ever been there. But, in consequence of this lineage and close attention to marriages in the tribe for more than a thousand years, their skin was light, almost European. They knew this, and so they spoke English. Not Arabic—it drew too much attention these days, everywhere. Not French, too easy for listeners in Paris.

“Well, cousin. Why have you come to Paris? Isn’t it early for a family holiday?” asked the first. He was troubled. What is my cousin doing here at this time of year? He himself worked here, in the Embassy, as a minor official in the commercial attaché’s office. There is not much commercial to do with Saudi Arabia, in reality. He admitted to himself at least once a day that the real business was done by the oil ministry’s office and its staff, so there was really not much for him to do. But it was honest work and he had an honorable title, and he could live here instead of Riyadh, so what was to complain about?

“It is early, you are right, Majid,” the other answered. “But nevertheless, we are on holiday. Little Aziz has been having trouble with his stomach again, so we brought him here for treatment as before.”

“Fahd, tell me you did not bring them all? Allah be merciful, how can you afford it?” Majid exclaimed.

The other laughed a genuine laugh. He had a dozen children, by the grace of God, and only one beautiful wife, praise be to Him. She was his first cousin, and they had been sweethearts since childhood. “No, thanks be to God,” and he was still laughing, as was the other now. “There’s only me, and Fadia, also our oldest daughter Miriam to help her. Can you believe she’s nineteen already? I must find her a husband soon, I know, but first Fadia and I want her to finish university. Anyway, our oldest son, Mohammed, is here to watch them with me, and little Aziz of course is here. But you should have heard the others wailing to come, Majid, and Fadia’s mother! God protect me.”

“God protect us both, cousin” Majid prayed in turn. “When Nala and Fadia get together, it will be the end of me. She will insist that I take her and the children to Florida for the summer, and God protect us, as you’ve said, I cannot afford it! Plus, the minister will make an awful noise if I take a long vacation, the Yemeni dog.” Northern Saudis often referred to their darker-skinned countrymen from the south as “Yemenis”—it was not a term of endearment. “How long are you staying, and how may I be of service to you?”

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself, Majid, I know you have your hands full with your work, and don’t try to pretend you’re not a big shot here.” Fahd flattered him deliberately, and saw that it had immediate effect. Good, he thought. “We shall be here only two or three weeks, that is in the hands God and the doctors. How are Nala and the children?”

Looking, in his own mind, much more important and powerful, Majid said, “She is well, and as beautiful as she was when she was fourteen. She spends my money like it was sand, Fahd, but we have plenty after all. God is generous. The kids are doing well in school. All can speak English very well, sometimes I worry more about their Arabic. The grammar! Bah! Is it the same for you?”

“Indeed, cousin, it is. I can’t remember having to learn all that garbage when we were young. Oh, look at the time. You are busy, I fear? Do not let me keep you.”

“Ah, you’re right Fahd, it is late, and I have a meeting. Will you come for dinner? Is there anything you need, cousin?”

“Yes, we will come. I have your number my friend. Come to think of it, there is a thing you may help me with. Do you know an internet café? My deputy at the base is not