Pipeline

Chapter 1

Matt O’Connor reclined in the boardroom chair, his gaze fixed on his supervisor across the table. The Azeris will do it, Jim, if they believe we have their backs.

Jim leaned in to ask the question. "But do we have their backs, Agent O’Connor?"

A smile spread across Matt’s face, erupting into a confident laugh. Of course we do, Jim. Tension between Russia and Turkey is at an all-time high, the perfect opportunity for Azerbaijan to gain a footing in European energy markets. This is Baku’s chance, and they know it; they just need us to convince Moscow to keep out.

Jim tapped his fingers on the large oak table. Polkov will not like this.

Agreed, Matt said. But the only question that matters is this: what will he do about it?

Jim scoffed. That’s an easy one: he’ll punish the Azeris by sending Russian arms to the Armenians in Nagorno-Karabakh.

Matt thought about that for a moment. True, but we could send weapons to Baku to keep the Armenians under tabs. Or if it’s not us, the Israelis would be glad to serve as the supplier.

Jim reclined in the chair, his hands cradling the back of his neck. Yes, and then what, Matt? Polkov is doubly mad, because now Moscow is losing a foothold in the European energy game, and the U.S. - or Israel- is arming Baku to fight the Russian-favored Armenians. We’re poking a bear, Matt. We don’t need this right now.

Matt shook his head. It’s now or never, Jim. The Europeans want to know if we’re in or not. Europe’s dependence on Russian natural gas is unhealthy, and if we do this right, we breathe new life into the European economy.

Matt noticed a glimmer in Jim’s eyes, an acknowledgment that his words had merit. His pitch was working.

Jim sat forward. Very well, Agent O’Connor. Polkov will be at the summit in Berlin in April. I’ll let him know that we support this deal for the economic benefits it would bring, and that we don’t want any trouble in the Caucasuses over it.

Thanks, Jim.

Jim looked at Matt critically. We must convince the Azeris that Russia will turn a blind eye to the pipeline project. The Azeris know we won’t go to war with Moscow over this, so we have to assure Baku that this project will proceed without opposition from Russia.

Matt nodded confidently. You speak to Polkov next week, and I’ll figure out what we can use as leverage to keep Moscow at bay.

The men exited the board room together into the carpeted hallway. As they parted ways, Jim looked at his subordinate with uncertainty. Matt picked up on it. Trust me, Jim, he said, with a confident smile. Have I ever let you down before?

No, he admitted. You always seem to know what you’re doing. Jim Davidson sighed. Best of luck, Agent O’Connor.

Chapter 2

It was February 2017, and construction of the Azeri-Bulgarian pipeline had been underway for about a month. Matt had secured his leverage, and Russian President Vladimir Polkov was unhappy but stuck.

Things had taken a turn for the worse, though. Nobody—not even the most politically savvy analysts in the CIA—had expected Lukas Bradshaw to win the seat of U.S. President.

The nation was still reeling from the effects of the election. Bradshaw’s comments caused many to wonder how a businessman with right-wing political tendencies could lead a nation once revered for justice, freedom, and equality.

Almost everybody Matt knew—both inside and outside the CIA- was surprised by the election’s outcome. Who are these people, he wondered, who supported Lukas Bradshaw’s ascent? Matt wondered what it meant anymore to be an American, knowing that so many of his compatriots’ values were dissimilar to his own.

He sighed. Matt’s father, a retired military officer, used to advise, Even if you don’t respect the person, Matt, respect the position. The election was over, and it was time to tune out Bradshaw’s ugliness. It was time to carry on.

Chapter 3

The shakeup in American politics had spooked the Azeris. Matt had heard rumblings from Baku that Bradshaw, who publicly touted Polkov’s autocratic leadership style, would tolerate a violent response from Russia in retribution for construction of the pipeline. The Azeris were feeling hopeless, as if the dangerous investment they had just made might prove a disaster.

Matt made plans to go to Bulgaria to oversee construction of the pipeline himself, to reassure the Bulgarians and the Azeris that the U.S. was still stable and strong, and that no matter how radical Bradshaw’s politics seemed, that there were still intelligent and resourceful Americans in government positions to carry the torch responsibly.

Before heading to Dulles to catch his flight to Frankfurt, Matt took the Metro to meet Jim in Tysons Corner. This would be the final opportunity for the pair to ensure they had thought of everything.

Matt hurried from the Metro to the pub. The cold air in his lungs reminded him that Bulgaria’s climate was just about the same as DC’s, and the gloves and hat he donned today would serve him well in his next few weeks on assignment.

Matt spotted Jim in a small booth at the rear of the pub. Just like a CIA agent, Matt thought, to be sitting with his back at the far end of the wall, observing all who enter.

Chapter 4

Jim stood as Matt approached. You ready? Jim asked, gesturing for Matt to take a seat across from him in the booth.

On the table, a Guinness with an articulate design carved in the froth caught his attention. You know I don’t even like this sludge, Jim.

You don’t have to like it, Agent O’Connor. You just have to drink it.

Matt shook his head, offering a slight smile. Cheers, he said, carefully raising his full glass to meet Jim’s.

Cheers, Jim echoed quietly. Matt detected a melancholy tone in his supervisor’s voice. What’s up? he asked.

Jim paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. It’s different now, he said.

I know, Jim.

Everything we’ve been working toward...

Matt interrupted. Politics don’t matter, Jim. They never have before, and they still don’t matter now.

I don’t know, he said dejectedly. It seems as if all of our rules of engagement—the order that keeps us civilized- are coming unglued.

Matt refused to believe that an American president could wreak such havoc on the system. It’s rhetoric, Jim; it’s just political posturing. We’ve got this. We just keep Bradshaw in the dark, and we operate as we always have, and everything will work out as planned.

What about the Azeris? Jim asked. What if Moscow uses this moment of American weakness to strike? Polkov knows Bradshaw won’t fight the Kremlin, Matt.

If Moscow acts as an aggressor, we’ll figure it out, Jim. We always do.

We won’t go to war with Moscow to protect Baku, Matt, and you know it.

You’re right, he admitted.

Jim leaned in, his arms crossed in front of him on the table. If we lose this pipeline, we lose the credibility we’ve built supporting underdog states against Moscow. First it’s Azerbaijan, and then whom do we let down next?

Matt took a long sip of the Irish dry stout and shook his head. Jim, forget about all of this. Nobody’s losing anything yet. All of this Bradshaw fanfare is just smoke and mirrors.

Jim wasn’t convinced. I’d like to believe you. It’s just difficult to witness a commander-in-chief who treats everything like it’s a game.

I know it, Jim, but we’re better than Bradshaw. We have to press on. Matt finished his Guinness quickly, and stood.

Jim remained seated. He shook his head.

Matt had known Jim a long time: Jim had saved Matt’s life three times in the tumultuous months in Kosovo preceding the NATO air raids in 1999. Jim was always the level-headed, confident agent who could muster ingenious contingency plans for any imaginable situation.

He looks worn, Matt thought. Is he tiring of this business? Or had things truly changed with Bradshaw at the helm?

I’ll send a report, Matt promised. It’ll be void of many details, with just enough information to document my activity for intelligence resource watchdog purposes.

Jim stood slowly, extending his hand. Goodbye, Agent O’Connor.

Matt smiled and returned the handshake, his grip intentionally a little stronger than normal, a subtle signal to Jim that he had it all under control.

As he walked down the street toward the Metro station, Matt told himself that if he just kept moving, it would all work out. He believed in what he did, and good always triumphed over evil.

Maybe not always, he thought, but at least mostly. He sighed. Mostly.

Chapter 5

Jason Silverstone read the first two sentences of the intelligence report a few times to ensure he had missed no details. Pipeline construction has begun. Actors in place in Buhovo, the source wrote.

Pipeline? And where the hell was Buhovo? Silverstone did a quick Internet search to discover Buhovo was a suburb of Sofia, the capital of Bulgaria.

He searched around more for information on the Internet about a pipeline in Buhovo, but he found nothing. Something about this vague intelligence report bothered him.

Silverstone stepped out of his office to query his top analyst, Carine Winters, about the report.

What is this? Silverstone demanded of Carine, a mix of belligerence and irritation in his voice. He tossed the piece of paper onto Carine’s desk.

Carine moved her gaze from the work she was doing to what Silverstone had thrown at her. She was glad to review the paper, because it gave her the opportunity to avoid looking Silverstone in the eyes. The absence of brightness in his gaze bothered her.

In the short time Carine had worked for Silverstone, she sensed that his sole purpose was to seek failure in others. Carine wondered how somebody could spend precious time and energy seeking out the worst instead of creating solutions.

When she could make no sense of this, she decided her intuition about Silverstone must be incorrect, and that there had to be more to the wiry, high-strung supervisor than what Carine could see.

Silverstone had been appointed to supervise the southeastern European analytics team in the State Department’s Bureau of Intelligence and Research. His intelligence experience was limited, and his team knew it; he was a product of Lukas Bradshaw’s paranoid plan to deploy supporters of his camp within all facets of government.

Silverstone had done little in his initial four weeks to instill confidence with his team in his abilities to lead. He seemed to trust no one, and he continually questioned his analysts’ work.

It was taking a toll on the team. Carine was uncertain about what she could do about it, except to continue to encourage her colleagues to press on.

With her fingertips Carine pulled the paper closer to review the information. She knew that Silverstone was easily excitable because he didn’t have the experience to discern important information from dismissible details.

And so Silverstone spent much of his day interrupting his hard-working analysts, demanding they attend to reports he believed were urgent, which usually turned out to be insignificant.

This was different, though. Carine scanned the report and recognized the CIA codename Osprey. She felt her heartbeat quicken, a flutter she had not felt in a long time. She leaned in closer to study the paper.

Chapter 6

Could it really be Osprey? She started to smile, but then she stopped herself, because she did not want to give Silverstone the pleasure of knowing he might have been onto something interesting. She breathed deeply to settle her quickened pulse.

Osprey was a long-standing CIA operative who had made a name for himself during the Kosovo conflict of 1999, feeding information back to the Beltway about the rag-tag insurgent Kosovo Liberation Army and its young, bloodthirsty leaders.

Although Osprey’s reports were dismissed by American politicians who had manipulated the situation in Kosovo to secure NATO’s place in a post-Cold War world, many in the intelligence community respected Osprey’s honest and accurate analysis.

Carine had not seen a report from Osprey in years; in fact, the rumor was that after Osprey’s work in Kosovo was so blatantly disregarded, he had become disgruntled with American politics and had called it quits as an operative.

But now, twenty years later, he was back. And he had written a report that troubled Silverstone, something having to do with a natural gas pipeline in Bulgaria.

Carine sighed to cover up her interest. I’ll look into it, Jason, after I finish this report I’m working on.

Everything else can wait, Carine, he ordered.

What’s your concern, Jason? she asked, her light brown eyes meeting his. Why was this so important to him?

There’s nothing in open source news about a pipeline under construction in Bulgaria. If this is happening, President Bradshaw will want to know about this.

I don’t think this information demands the President’s attention, Jason, Carine said lightly. We don’t even know if it’s credible.

That’s why I’ve come to you with this, Carine. Sort this out. Find out everything you know about this pipeline. And if it turns out to be nothing, fine. The CIA has carte blanche to do whatever it wants, without regard to American interests. President Bradshaw wants to stop this, and we’re the ones to help do that.

Carine had her own thoughts about Bradshaw, but she kept those to herself. All right, Jason. I’ll do a little digging on my own, and then I’ll touch base with our energy analysts to see what they have cooking over there.

Carine glanced at Silverstone’s eyes, dark pools that gave no hint of an accompanying soul, and then she turned back to her computer screen. She hoped Silverstone had not noticed the flush in her cheeks, or her more rapid speech, side effects of the adrenaline rush she was feeling.

Knowing that Osprey was still an active operative excited her. If the pipeline project involved Osprey, then Silverstone was correct: this must be important. She berated herself for these feelings of giddiness, as there was work to do, and no time to waste.

Chapter 7

Osprey? Are you for real, Carine? Josie asked her eyes wide in disbelief. Josie had muttered the words quietly, yet Carine felt nervous that someone might overhear their conversation, and the last thing she wanted was to attract attention in the Georgetown bar. Josie, on the other hand, enjoyed being noticed. She twirled a few curls of her long brown hair, her green eyes sparkling.

I know what you’re thinking, Josie.

Josie grinned. You still like him.

Carine smiled, sipping her beer. I can’t help it. We’re talking about Osprey.

Yes, yes, I remember. Josie laughed. Gorgeous and smart, funny and heroic. You glimpsed your knight in shining armor twenty years ago in Pristina, and you’ve never recovered.

Carine’s cheeks reddened in embarrassment. What Josie had said was true; Osprey probably hadn’t thought of her once these last twenty years, yet she had kept him alive in her mind the entire time.

So what’s with the reminiscing? Josie asked, tilting her head. Not that I mind thinking back to those times when we were younger and crazier.

Carine could hardly contain her excitement. She leaned in to share the news with her good friend. Osprey’s resurfaced, Josie. He’s in Bulgaria.

Bulgaria? Josie drummed her fingers on the table. It was happy hour, and although it was crowded and loud in the bar, Carine could still pick up the precise tap-tap-tap of Josie’s beat as her friend digested the information.

I give up, Josie said. What’s going on in Bulgaria, Carine? What do you know?

That’s why I called you. Osprey reports that construction of a natural gas pipeline in Buhovo, a suburb of Sofia, has started. I can’t find any open source or classified information to corroborate the report. I told Silverstone I’d check with our experts, which is easy to do when your best friend from college is the State Department’s top energy analyst.

I’m flattered you consider me an expert, Carine, she quipped, smirking. So how did you get ahold of this report?

Silverstone printed it out, tossed it at me, and asked me to look into it. Do you know anything about construction of a pipeline in Bulgaria?

Josie shrugged her shoulders. There’s talk daily from Moscow about new opportunities to transport gas through Eastern Europe, Greece and Turkey to Western Europe. It’s very tough to sift through what might happen, and what’s just pie in the sky.

She continued, Russia transports a lot of its natural gas through Bulgaria, but I don’t recall seeing any recent reports indicating Moscow plans to add onto existing pipeline or create new pipeline there.

She drummed her fingertips on the high table again. Do you have any more details?

Carine shook her head. The report was very vague. In fact, had Osprey not written it, I would have dismissed it immediately.

Josie asked, Why do you think your boss so interested in this report?

Silverstone said he thought this natural gas pipeline would interest President Bradshaw.

Their cheerful server swung by their table. Here’s a refill on drinks, courtesy of the gentlemen at that back table.

Josie glanced at the two men at the back table. She smiled, waved, and mouthed a ‘thank you.’"

Are they cute? Carine asked curiously.

Josie shot her friend a disapproving glance. Why don’t you turn around and look for yourself?

No, thanks, Carine said. I’m not interested.

Of course you’re not. Nobody compares to Osprey, Josie teased.

Carine felt her cheeks redden. Can we get back to our conversation, please?

The two had been friends long enough for Josie to know that Carine was tiring of being teased about her long-standing infatuation with Osprey.

Sure, Josie offered kindly.

Chapter 8

Carine leaned in. Josie, why would President Bradshaw be interested in an intelligence report about construction of a natural gas pipeline in Bulgaria? she asked.

Josie smiled. The last time Bradshaw was in Moscow, he met with Alexey Mendev, Gazkov’s Chairman of the Board.

What’s Gazkov? Carine asked.

The Russian gas giant Gazkov owns about seventeen percent of the world’s natural gas reserves. Forty percent of Europe’s natural gas imports come from Gazkov alone.

So what’s Bradshaw’s connection? Carine asked.

Josie shrugged. We’re not sure. Bradshaw owns SB Energy, a small corporation headquartered in Montana, but it’s a fairly insignificant domestic operation. A few of our analysts started to probe deeper into what transpired in that meeting between Bradshaw and Mendev until the Bureau’s director got word that our department was investigating the President’s engagement.

Oops, Carine said. Then what happened?

About a month ago we were all pulled into a conference room for a gentle reminder that our job is to identify threats to U.S. security, not to get involved in the President’s personal business. Two of the analysts involved in the inquiry were fired for misconduct.

Wow, Carine said. That’s harsh.

It’s a different world, my friend, Josie remarked, unsmiling. Most American leaders have personal investments overseas, but what’s different with Bradshaw is that he blatantly puts his business interests above what’s best for the United States. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s commissioned your supervisor to keep a lookout on all energy-related intelligence matters so he can attempt to profit from insider information.

Carine looked puzzled. So you mean that if Bradshaw knew the Russians were building another natural gas pipeline through Bulgarian to Europe, he might work to capitalize on this information for personal gain?

Josie nodded somberly. I wouldn’t put it past him.

So you think he’s using national intelligence resources to build personal wealth? Carine asked, frowning. That’s quite a conspiracy theory.

Perhaps, Josie admitted. I hope I’m wrong, she added. The friends were silent for a moment, reflecting upon the current state of American politics.

Carine broke the silence. Thanks for meeting me, Josie. I guess if our State Department’s energy analysts don’t know of anything transpiring in Bulgaria, then that report of Osprey’s may be insignificant.

Josie chuckled. That’s not true. By the time we find out what’s happening, others have made millions on closed-door deals.

Carine noticed Josie glancing around the bar, settling her gaze on the two men who had financed their drinks. Carine wasn’t interested in mingling. "I