he studied Aeronautical Engineering, then a Masters in Communication and Information Sciences. He was bright and he was powerful, and had been a member of both Alpha Lambda Delta and his college football team.
It wasnât Henryâs unit that had been directly involved in pinpointing bin Ladenâs Pakistani hideout. As a proud and loyal American he didnât much care who took bin Laden out, he was just glad that somebody did. As section chief in the geopolitical and imagery division of the NGA he was, nevertheless, a bit deflated that it was one of his colleagues who scored on that one. Directly from university Henry joined the CIAâs junior officer training program. Most of his training was at The Point as the facility at Harvey Point, North Carolina is known. His basic course lasted a year. He excelled in surveillance and cryptography but, for a large man, struggled with paramilitary training and the physical demands of other tradecraft. His senior evaluators at The Point had been quick and accurate in their assessment of the young Maasai and had earmarked him for the NGA, while he was still in his mid-twenties. Now, twenty years later, he was in charge of about fifty officers who were assigned to a plethora of surveillance and interpretive roles. He loved his job and he felt lucky to have it, but deep down in his Maasai warrior heart he wanted to be on the NGAâs roll of honour.
Today, though, indeed in about ten minutes, he was going to have a meeting with officers Reynolds and Eagles. Cute as they were, especially Dannielle Eagles, that was an event that would likely require him to have a nuclear strength coffee right now.
Carolyn and Dannielle were both twenty-five years old, both from the east coast of the United States and both slim and pretty. Dannielle at 5ft 8in was taller by a couple of inches, with darker, straight hair, but Carolyn wore bigger heels to compensate and had somewhat fairer hair. Carolyn had her dadâs grey-green eyes which seemed to go vibrant bright green when she was angry while Dannielleâs were sultry dark brown. They had trained together at The Farm, the CIAâs other training facility at Camp Peary, Virginia and their skillsets definitely complemented each other. On her training course, Dannielle stood out in analytical tradecraft, interrogation and surveillance. She was also a regular star in any honey trap role play, which much amused her colleagues who knew to keep their distance in the real world. Carolynâs standout skills on the training course were her ability to maintain cover under duress, amazing for a slightly built girl, and steganography, essentially obscure code writing that only the sender and intended recipient can understand, even if seen by the unintended. Both could shoot to kill and physically disable an assailant without requiring any weapon. They were, Henry thought, a tour de force, if only they didnât speak! Henry was trying not to be sexist but he often got ear-ache from their machine gun rat-a-tat-tat delivery. Carolyn was worst, or best depending on your viewpoint. She could talk seemingly forever, without a single breath. Had she been a man Reynolds could have been a star in the Navy SEALs underwater demolition squad, mused Henry, just as the two in question came barrelling into his open door office.
âSit down ladies,â welcomed Henry.
Carolynâs rear had just about made contact with the chair when she blurted out, âHenry, Iâm more convinced than ever that this is a Borei. Iâve had the satellite imagery checked by the forensic image guys and they confirm that it seems to be one continuous vessel of around 560ft in length. Thatâs exactly the length of a Borei class submarine. The beam width is greater than that of the Sang-O II class sub that is, or maybe was, the best the Korean Peopleâs Army Naval Force have or had. So, although Dannielle thought that it might be three or four
It wasnât Henryâs unit that had been directly involved in pinpointing bin Ladenâs Pakistani hideout. As a proud and loyal American he didnât much care who took bin Laden out, he was just glad that somebody did. As section chief in the geopolitical and imagery division of the NGA he was, nevertheless, a bit deflated that it was one of his colleagues who scored on that one. Directly from university Henry joined the CIAâs junior officer training program. Most of his training was at The Point as the facility at Harvey Point, North Carolina is known. His basic course lasted a year. He excelled in surveillance and cryptography but, for a large man, struggled with paramilitary training and the physical demands of other tradecraft. His senior evaluators at The Point had been quick and accurate in their assessment of the young Maasai and had earmarked him for the NGA, while he was still in his mid-twenties. Now, twenty years later, he was in charge of about fifty officers who were assigned to a plethora of surveillance and interpretive roles. He loved his job and he felt lucky to have it, but deep down in his Maasai warrior heart he wanted to be on the NGAâs roll of honour.
Today, though, indeed in about ten minutes, he was going to have a meeting with officers Reynolds and Eagles. Cute as they were, especially Dannielle Eagles, that was an event that would likely require him to have a nuclear strength coffee right now.
Carolyn and Dannielle were both twenty-five years old, both from the east coast of the United States and both slim and pretty. Dannielle at 5ft 8in was taller by a couple of inches, with darker, straight hair, but Carolyn wore bigger heels to compensate and had somewhat fairer hair. Carolyn had her dadâs grey-green eyes which seemed to go vibrant bright green when she was angry while Dannielleâs were sultry dark brown. They had trained together at The Farm, the CIAâs other training facility at Camp Peary, Virginia and their skillsets definitely complemented each other. On her training course, Dannielle stood out in analytical tradecraft, interrogation and surveillance. She was also a regular star in any honey trap role play, which much amused her colleagues who knew to keep their distance in the real world. Carolynâs standout skills on the training course were her ability to maintain cover under duress, amazing for a slightly built girl, and steganography, essentially obscure code writing that only the sender and intended recipient can understand, even if seen by the unintended. Both could shoot to kill and physically disable an assailant without requiring any weapon. They were, Henry thought, a tour de force, if only they didnât speak! Henry was trying not to be sexist but he often got ear-ache from their machine gun rat-a-tat-tat delivery. Carolyn was worst, or best depending on your viewpoint. She could talk seemingly forever, without a single breath. Had she been a man Reynolds could have been a star in the Navy SEALs underwater demolition squad, mused Henry, just as the two in question came barrelling into his open door office.
âSit down ladies,â welcomed Henry.
Carolynâs rear had just about made contact with the chair when she blurted out, âHenry, Iâm more convinced than ever that this is a Borei. Iâve had the satellite imagery checked by the forensic image guys and they confirm that it seems to be one continuous vessel of around 560ft in length. Thatâs exactly the length of a Borei class submarine. The beam width is greater than that of the Sang-O II class sub that is, or maybe was, the best the Korean Peopleâs Army Naval Force have or had. So, although Dannielle thought that it might be three or four
Similar Books
