[i][b]Part 1[/b][/i] >USCENTCOM HQ >Tampa, Florida >1412 HRS.../// "Take a seat, Agent Jimenez." The room, once an windowless office now discarded as a empty closet, was enclosed within the labyrinth of USCENTCOM headquarters outside of Tampa, Florida. A table was between Jason, who had just walked in, and two men poised grimly on its other end. One of them was a boss of Jason's immediate boss, some assistant director whose responsibilities were a vagueness in the hierarchy of directors and coordinators and "leaders." His name was Charles Brunser and he always had a displeasure for Jason. Every criticism or denial or even plain interaction was barbed with a disdain Jason found palpable. The other man Jason didn't recognize. He had a forgettable appearance that sank into an unfitted business suit. Beady dark eyes and clean shaven, sunken cheeks. Charles Brunser motioned at him. "This is Stephen Ariello with internal affairs, I thought it be best to have him here for this," Brunser said. Ariello jerked his head in an expectant nod as Jason muttered a hello in return. His stomach began immediately churning. What had they busted him for? It could be any drug charge and he couldn’t recall any specific event that might have culminated in this sudden cornering. Could Umbra bail him out if they caught him for substances? He tried his best not to show his anxiety but it sank like hot rocks in his gut. "Um, yeah," Jason said. "Mr. Brunser, what's this for?" Stephen Ariello produced a digital recorder from under his end of the table, set it on the empty desk, and pressed record. "We want to know some details about your recent tasking," Brunser said. His fingers were laced together, his composure clearly welcoming and interrogative. Jason was somewhat offended Brunser was using such clear tactics to get him to open up, the same methods the DIA had taught him. It made him rigid and defensive, but what windowless room with Internal Affairs wouldn’t? "What do you mean?" Jason asked. "Flight plans had you going into West Virginia," Ariello added flatly. "Is that right?" "Sir, I dont know if-" "Jimenez," Brunser mouthed, irritation lining his words,"We have to be sure you weren't breaking any EOs. Flight plan had you going stateside for the tasking, did you stay in the US?" Jason looked back and forth between them. Something was off, and he didn't understand why they were probing him to break the coveted tenet of OpSec. It wasn’t to say they didn’t make up the rules, or broke then regularly, but interagency taskings were a subject best left to the straight and narrow. It’s what they all adhered to. The scene gave him the realization he was being shaken down, but he didn't understand the why. Was Donnelley and Foster testing him? "Mr. Brunser I'm sorry but we aren't cleared to discuss this," Jason replied. Ariello turned off the recording with a forcefully jab of his finger. "Jimmy, you want things to go smoothly for you?" Brunser asked. "We're doing this for your sake," Ariello added. "The recording or the interrogation?" "Jesus Christ," Brunser hissed. "Are you acting fucking stupid or is this your normal?" "You flew me to Florida to ask me to share secrets," Jason said. "You're shaking me down for what? What you have on me?" Ariello hit record again and asked, "At any time did you return to the Middle East?" "What?" This time Brunser stopped the recording. "Before you left on your little adventure Anis al-Shamard was executed by the Daish cell you were tracking. Anis turned." "What do you mean 'turned'?" Jason asked. The air in the room suddenly felt heavy and oppressive, and it carried the stagnant smell of a neglected place. "Anis led the cell to our ops in Amman," Brunser spat, his vehemence implicating Jason. "Two agents were abducted and we have three dead Delta Force from the attempted rescue. One agent confirmed dead and we can't find the other. Our whole network of humint assets has been purged out of Syria, they either fled or Daish offed them." Jason couldn't believe it. He was sure Anis had outed some information, everyone caves to torture eventually. What he had gone through must have been horrendous. He pitied the boy for that. What didn't make sense was how Anis was able to lead them to their operations in Jordan. Anis literally was never exposed to anyone but Jason, and he had never led on about their team. None of this had anything to do with West Virginia either, and internal affairs didn't add up as well. He got the sudden dreadful thought he was being played. "No way it was Anis," Jason said. "I covered my tracks every time I handled him. It had to be someone else." "That's not what our sources indicate," Ariello said, his inflection the most stable of the three. "What do you mean your fucking sources?" Jason growled. "Watch your fucking mouth," Brunser barked. "'I have half a mind to detain you for the shit show you left behind in Syria. We have five dead Americans because your asset IDed everyone south of Izraa. It's worse than the fucking Lebanon purge. CIA is losing their shit over this." "I don't know what the fuck this," Jason mouthed, "but one amphetamine asset couldn't collapse our ops and you know that. You're fucking throwing me under the bus." "British SIS tracked a stocky American arriving in Beirut and traveling inland," Ariello interjected. "They lost him somewhere in Syria after contacting [i]your[/i] cell. They were IDed by Jordanian intelligence in Amman before the attack." "And?" "Fuck, Jimmy," Brunser exclaimed, "Let us know what you were up to so IA doesn't have to investigate your sorry ass." "West Virginia," Jason sighed. "You know that already. Check flight patterns, you'll see I didn't go anywhere." "That's not enough," Ariello said. "Who was your immediate supervisor?" Jason noticed neither of them had hit record on the device again. The meeting wasn't about the dead agents or Syria at all. It was about Marlene Baughman, Foster, and Donnelley. Lettered agencies played 'my secrets, not yours' between each other all the time, but this wasn't antagonistic. It was blunt and dangerous. They were trying to scare Jason, but was any of it true? "I'd like to exercise my right to--" "Oh please," Brunser wheezed out through a disgusted sneer. "Do not go there, Jimenez." "Agent Jimenez," Ariello said, his voice eerily calm like he was answering a phone, "I understand you don't want to break OpSec. We can go through the right channels to be cleared for it but that'll mean we have to keep you non-operational. We'll have to start an investigation." "Fine," Jason mouthed. “You going to hit record or is the investigation off the books too?” "Embassy duty, revoked clearances, reduction in rank," Brunser spat. Jason leaned back and chuckled. "'Wow, you really want to know, don't you?" "Get the fuck out of here before I have you scrubbing embassy toilets in the ass end of no where." >Middle-east >Amman, Jordan >1705 HRS.../// The Embassy in Amman was meant to be a punishment, the standard agent likely to feel the sting of administrative busy work, but Jason tried his spiteful best to enjoy it. The work was soul crushing but doable, hardly the worst he’d endured, and It didn’t matter if he was sending emails or working field ops; he was disillusioned with the song and dance and happy to not be in the midst of whatever fallout had transpired. The important thing was to lay low, feel out what Brunser or his keepers wanted to do with him. He had a hard time believing the details of the story, especially about Anis. He knew Anis, [i]knew him[/i]. His personality quirks, his modus operandi. His dreams. If he had be played by the teenager he would have seen it from the start, and Anis certainly wouldn’t be headless. Reaching out to his old team would also tip off Brunser, so as much as Jason wanted to he wouldn’t let himself make that call. Instead, after three uneventful weeks pushing pencils in Amman the call came to him, or rather a note. [i]Cafe Nassam. 8pm local, no phones. Come and see.[/i] It was left on his desk below his keyboard, but he had seen the scribbled chicken scratch before. It was Dan Treston, his linguist. It could have been another ploy against him but Jason had to take this bait. Dan was a good guy, one of the few he liked, and he liked to think Dan felt the same way. [i]How pathetically uncommon[/i], Jason thought. He commuted to his sweltering condo as usual after work, keen on keeping up appearances. Strapping his .45 to his back, Jason set out in Amman on foot. Cafe Nassam was in a district far from the US embassy and the international housing where his condo resided, so by the time he had found it he was half an hour late. It was a ratty place stuffed in a congested souq back alley with a green canvas sign that stood out against the sagging electrical wires and rusted out overhangs. A thick aroma of sweet shisha wafted from inside, the interior addled with standing smoke as he entered. The walls were once white with a several lines of intricate blue tiles, but years of hookah had stained them an off grey with tinges of sickly yellow. He ignored the wary stares as he began looking for Dan, an equally out of place American caucasian. Dan’s sheepish yell rang out somewhere in the back and Jason zigzagged through the cafe until he found an impressively hidden nook with a narrow two person table. Dan in all of his pasty, skinny glory, was sucking flavored smoke through a hookah hose, his breath bellowing out in a minty cloud as he said, “Was about to bail after this bowl. You’re late.” “Yeah, sorry bud. It’s good to see you,” Jason said, sitting down and taking the hookah hose that Dan offered. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say something like that, Jason,” Dan said, grinning impishly. “Recent events have left me feeling—” He took a drag from the hookah, felt the buzz of the hoksa as he exhaled, “—sentimental.” “Yeah, me too. We heard Brunser was blaming you for the shitstorm that’s been happening. I’m sorry man, that guy is a prick. Career prick at that.” “I think it’s more than just finding a fall man,” Jason said. “I think so too,” Dan said. That surprised Jason. Dan noticed, and continued, “Official story is the cell we were following did the attack.” “Yeah?” “Well, that group was shwacked by an air strike a week before the Amman attack in Deir al-Zour. Confirmed, Jason. Their story is bullshit.” “Get the fuck out of here,” Jason muttered. He was shocked despite already deciding the narrative he had been fed was fake. There was something comforting in the affirmation of his gut feeling, but it still felt icy. “So why?” “I don’t think they even knew, to be honest,” Dan replied. “So far no one can make sense of how or why it all happened.” “They tried to say Anis outted us. That I let him,” Jason said. He took another hit of hookah and shook his head. There wasn’t anyone around but he scanned their surroundings regardless. His fears had suddenly become incorporeal. “Well you’ll get a kick out of this, then.” Dan said. He retrieved a folded piece of paper from inside his shirt and handed it to Jason. When he unfolded it the contents were time stamps and a list of IP addresses. “What is this?” Jason asked. “So after Anis’s execution video and [i]just[/i] after you left one of our secured accounts kept getting encrypted messages. Didn’t think anything of it [i]until[/i] I backtraced the IPs. Guess who it belongs to?” “No…” “Yep. Anis,” Dan said. He shouted something in Arabic to the host who quickly retrieved an unlabeled bottle of skunky liquor and two glasses. He poured them both a hefty serving while Jason stared at the IPs like the list would reveal something vital. It was just a bunch of numbers that meant nothing to him but he felt their importance. Thank God for the IT folks. “So what, someone is using his cell phone or lap top or something,” Jason said, looking up over the paper. “It’s the phone we gave him,” Dan said, gagging as choked down a sip of his whiskey. Jason answered with a gulp of his own, the liquor harsh and fume heavy. It was a good call, they both looked like they needed it. “Good God this shit is bad,” Dan coughed out. “Okay so it’s Brunser or one of his ass puppets.” “That’s what I thought,” Dan replied, “but I double checked. Comm team says the phone was never recovered and was deactivated. Unless they’re in on it too they would have found any IP spoof. Shit’s real.” “You said there were messages?” Dan sighed. “Yeah, it’s some weird shit man. I’d have given you a log but—” “Too risky,” Jason interrupted. “Bingo. My spidey sense was tingling but I have a plan. It’ll take some time and I’ll have to route it all to a stateside website. Deep web one. You planning on leaving Jordan again any time soon?” “Fuck, I hope so,” Jason answered. “I can take leave whenever. Hell I don’t think they have real work for me in the embassy anyway.” “Once you leave Jordan I’ll work on it. I think it’s something you’ll want to see for yourself.” “Damn, alright,” Jason said, grimacing at the thought of having to wait on the messages. It was better than nothing. It was better than wasting away in Amman any moment longer. Besides, West Virginia had made his existence a distracting annoyance. He’d have started his research but just like reaching out to his team he felt it would be too risky. “Dan, thanks man. I really appreciate it.” “Hook me up with some special K on your way out and you won’t have to thank me. Besides, I want to see where this shit goes. Get the fuck out of Jordan, you’ll hear from me stateside.”