Chapter 5: "Execute"; "personally…";
Prompts: Unhealthy coping mechanisms;
Please note: In the Works Cited portion of Chapter 1, there are suggested music, etc., to accompany this and other Chapters, meant to enhance your experience of reading. I hope you enjoy them.
Vèlizy-Villacoublay Airbase, Central France, January 2015 (from P2)
John Greer and his two assets loaded themselves into one of two Falcon 2000S VIP military transport jets based there. Inside, comfortable seating for 10 passengers. So, plenty of room for the three to spread out on both sides of the narrow fuselage. They dropped into the leather seats. This was the third and final leg of the trip and would land them at another military airbase in England – where a limousine would whisk them to London's Strategic Satellite for Operations, second-largest hub of Samaritan's vast network.
Commander Luc Mbah had been true to his word, providing a military flight for Greer and Kara Stanton from Abuja, Nigeria to Dakar, Senegal. They'd landed at an airbase once run by the French.
At Dukar-Ouakam Air Base on the outskirts of Dakar, Martine Rousseau had re-joined the team. Then they'd left Dakar on the middle leg of their journey, landing here minutes ago at Vèlizy-Villacoublay, a few miles southwest of Paris.
With Harold Finch's Machine monitoring all foreign and domestic flights, and undoubtedly aware of their alias names, the only way to avoid his prying eyes would be to fly by military transport. And especially by VIP transport, whose rules often blurred the identity of the VIP on-board, for security concerns.
Once they landed in England, and arrived at SSO, all matters in New York would be coordinated from there. Direct communications, via encrypted satellite signal, with their team in New York.
Greer leaned back in his seat and helped himself to refreshments offered by their steward. The women chatted softly in the back, and one after the other, excused themselves for the washroom to freshen themselves. Lilac scent from the soap drifted forward.
Before take-off, their steward stepped in front of their seats with a phone in his hand. He found Kara Stanton.
"Mademoiselle," he said, and walked to her with the phone.
"Hello?"
"Confirm encrypted communication line?" Kara looked up at the steward and motioned him away.
"Confirmed," she stated.
"State your name and check-in code."
"Iris, code 44424," Kara said, softly, into the handset.
"Confirming Iris, code 44424?"
"Confirmed."
She heard the voice say, "go ahead, please," and the line sounded buzzy for a moment until the first caller had disconnected.
"Miss Stanton?" a male voice asked.
"Speaking."
"Message from sub-station gamma reads: Surveillance regarding subject LT indicates site detected, 90% probability."
"Hold for decision," Kara said softly into the handset.
She placed her hand over the phone, and walked forward, sitting down in the seat next to Greer. Then she leaned in and whispered the message text to Greer, who stared for a moment through the window of the jet.
"Execute," he said and leaned back in his seat. A small smile disturbed the deep lines of his face, and lids lowered over icy blue eyes.
"Decision is Execute, repeat Execute."
"personally…"
Strategic Satellite for Operations location, London, January 2015
Greer strode through hall after hall, deserted now, except for the unfortunate few unaware of his current location, venturing out on some errand, only to earn his icy glare. They scattered like mice then, back to their holes.
No one was to leave his post, nor his work, until Greer lifted his ban. They'd sleep there, eat there, everything but leave there, until Harold Finch was found, or they found a way to release Samaritan from his grip. It had come to this. He'd run out of time to let these techs stall him.
At the end of the hall, they'd prepared one of the larger rooms with video conferencing for him. All communications through there were encrypted, and he was the only one with an access code to the room. No one in or out without his knowledge and personal sign-off.
Greer jabbed the access code into the keypad and swung the door open. Cool inside and dark, except for the few dim security lights scattered in the ceiling. He left the rest of them off for now. Needed to think, and the glare of the overheads, just a distraction.
He dropped into the leather chair and turned it to face the monitor. Two minutes from now, Kara Stanton's face would appear on his screen for an update. With Samaritan effectively off-line, all of its I/O sequestered, unable to communicate with the outside world, it sat there – alert, mumbling to itself.
Intolerable… the veins on the sides of his neck had gone plump with simmering rage.
A knock came at the door, and he turned his chair to point a black device in his hand at the sensor.
Martine Rousseau. She would have gone to New York with Kara, but he'd kept her here with him. He needed someone he could trust, and just like Kara, the three of them had been through enough together to cement that trust.
"Mr. Greer," she said in a hoarse voice, tipping her head in his direction. He pointed at a seat nearby and she took it.
The screen on his monitor lit, flickered a time or two, and then stayed bright. Kara was there on the other side, adjusting her own screen.
He didn't waste any time with small-talk, but got to the point.
"Kara, Martine is here, too," he said. "I want your evaluation of the situation."
He leaned forward in his seat, eyes on her. Kara didn't flinch. She'd been through worse with him, worse than what she was about to report. And she had a high level of confidence she knew what he'd order after hearing it. Kara had already taken certain steps to make it so.
"First. Leon Tao evaded capture by the team sent to collect him, Sir." There was a momentary pause before Greer barked out his response:
"Team leader? Who?"
"That would be MacIntosh, James – from Delta squad. Recruited a year ago, Sir."
"Analysis of the capture mission?"
"There were – deficits – in pre-positioning assets."
"Anything more?"
"No, Sir."
"Re-assign MacIntosh. Somewhere in keeping with our lowered expectations," he said, dryly.
Kara acknowledged. Greer fixed on her eyes, again.
"Go on."
"As far as the second mission, multiple failures were identified: failure to properly establish personnel present at the location prior to the action; timing of the action; failure to communicate with command; There are more."
A damning indictment from her.
Kara noticed the veins at the side of his neck distending even further.
"Mitigating?" The word snarled out of his lips, stretched thin like blades across his face.
"Resources? If Samaritan – "
"Stop!"
Kara left off on her meager defense of the bungled action, and waited.
"Are you telling me that we are unable to run a mission without the assistance of one machine! That we nearly assassinated the one person who knows where his system is located! Because we didn't CHECK!"
Nothing for her to add. He had it.
And, just when she thought he might explode on-camera, Greer did that one thing she'd seen him do, once or twice before, in dire situations.
He lowered his voice.
Struck a more conciliatory tone...
It'd always disarmed people. She'd never seen it fail.
Greer leaned back in his chair, and a hand came up, stroking his chin. She could just imagine the shade of blue his eyes had gone.
"Kara, it matters little to me who they were. Identify the responsible ones. Disband the team and scatter them. And I want you to personally handle the responsible parties. See that they never jeopardize any of our future missions… personally, Kara."
He couldn't have been any clearer.
Her eyes blazed, and a heat started to rise inside her.