I followed him inside, and found Steve Fuller seated at his desk. He was in his late thirties, and had close-cut blond hair and bright, intelligent eyes. He exuded the kind of authority no rank could imbue. He reminded me of a hardened frontiersman, whose power to conquer mountains came from deep within.
“Corporal, there had better be one heck of an explanation for this,” Fuller said as he got to his feet.
“Colonel Fuller, my name is Jack Morgan,” I said. “Somewhere on this base a ceremony is taking place to mark the activation of the FORCE System. We have to stop it.”
“Your face is on every news bulletin. I know who you are, Mr. Morgan,” Fuller replied, stepping out from behind his desk. “And I know what people are saying about you.”
“None of it is true, sir,” I responded. “I have evidence that Ann Kavanagh, the woman who will be responsible for running the FORCE System, is a deep-cover Russian operative.”
“I assume this man was headed for the brig?” Fuller asked. “Who took the decision to bring him here?”
The private looked sheepish.
“It was my call, sir,” Corporal Ryan replied.
“Colonel Fuller, you have to listen to me. We have less than fifteen minutes. If I’m right, the moment the system comes online, the Russians will have access to America’s most sensitive security information,” I said. “They can start downloading everything and even if we shut it down later, we’ll never know what they’ve seen or taken. Our entire military and intelligence infrastructure will be compromised.”
During the flight from Moscow, I’d spent some time researching the officers posted to Naval Air Station Fallon and had chosen to target Fuller for a reason. It was time to play my hand. “Sir, you served with Lieutenant Colonel Edward Frost and Master Gunnery Sergeant Marlon West in Iraq. Lieutenant Colonel Frost is an old friend. He can vouch for me. And Master Gunnery Sergeant West has been involved in breaking this case. Call him. He can confirm what I’m saying.”
Fuller studied me intently.
“Corporal,” he said. I felt my chest tighten and I held a breath. “Take this man, and wait outside.”
“Yes, sir,” Corporal Ryan replied.
I gave a silent prayer of thanks and followed the corporal and the private out of Fuller’s office.
The corporal closed the door behind us, and we stood by the XO’s administrator’s desk and waited. Seconds seemed to last hours, and impatience and frustration swelled within me, but it couldn’t have been more than two minutes later when Fuller emerged from his office, alive with a sense of urgency.
“Let’s move,” he said.
He didn’t wait for us, but started jogging along the corridor. The private was incredulous, and Corporal Ryan gave me a respectful nod.
“Come on, Mr. Morgan,” Fuller shouted back at me, and I started after him. “Master Gunnery Sergeant West vouched for you in the strongest possible terms. It seems the flight crew assigned to bring you home were abducted by
the Russians. He was extremely surprised to hear you’d made it back safely.”
“I’m glad to hear he’s OK,” I said. “Last time I saw West, he was in a tight spot.”
“He told me,” Fuller replied. “Said it was hours before the Russians ‘found’ his diplomatic credentials and released him.”
“Sir, I came on base with two colleagues,” I said. “We may need their help.”
“Corporal Ryan, I want you and the private to bring Mr. Morgan’s team to the FORCE Command Center ASAP,” Fuller ordered.
“Yes, sir,” Corporal Ryan replied.
“We’ll meet you there,” Fuller said. “I hope you’re ready for this. You’re about to goat-rope a lot of brass.”
CHAPTER 107
FULLER’S STATEMENT ABOUT upsetting a lot of senior commanders made more sense when I saw the FORCE Command Center, which was a huge, hardened bunker to the east of the air traffic control building. About the size of four football fields, the bunker was constructed in matt black, and the flat roof was covered in sensor arrays, communication equipment and a massive cooling system.
As we approached the building in Fuller’s open-topped Humvee, I saw a convoy of more than forty vehicles parked outside the main entrance, and, in addition to Marine guards, there were a number of men and women in suits, wearing the distinctive lapel pins of the US Secret Service.
“What kind of brass are we talking?” I asked as Fuller pulled up outside the building.
“Secretary of Defense, most of the chiefs of staff, Pentagon types,” Fuller replied. “This is the Defense Department’s show-piece tech for the twenty-first century. It’s supposed to redefine warfare.”