Yes, those leaked secrets would cost a few lives in the military communities. Having a foreign country learn the locations and taskings for intelligence-gathering satellites would be costly. But they were casualties in a bigger war.
He had plans for this command and could save so many more lives once he eliminated his competition. The space community needed him more than the guy currently in charge. The country needed him at the helm, guiding national policy on satellite-defense programs. Any fallout from the leaked data would be minor in comparison to what only he could offer.
If he could find Brandon Harris and shut him up. Sullivan had been lucky to get wind of the lieutenant’s attempts to contact the OSI, thanks to an inside connection. But he couldn’t count on that kind of luck again before someone actually took the unstable lieutenant seriously.
Cramer kept pace, her BlackBerry in hand as she walked past framed photos of missiles, spacecraft, and airplanes throughout history, each image a part of something larger than the gofers who scurried around giving updates. “McCabe’s leave paperwork is all in place. No one will question him being gone. No one will be searching for him except our people.”
“Excellent.” Sullivan nodded, his mind already churning through the ways he could tank McCabe’s career once that bastard resurfaced again. Going rogue on Cramer’s watch? On his watch? Unacceptable. “I don’t want any backlash staining us because you allowed him to get away.”
He was walking a tightrope here with Cramer and Bernard, both unaware of his plans. They appeared loyal to him, but he couldn’t afford to test that. The problem with butt-kissers is that they shifted loyalties when a higher-rank butt presented itself.
For now, he could play this out by making them think he was helping cover their mistake. He was saving their careers. They would owe him.
Captain Bernard pushed open the door into Sullivan’s temporary office for use during his short-term duty assignment here to oversee the summit. A large wooden desk, flags, two chairs, and a couple of stock framed airplane prints on the wall rounded out the decor. Not much, considering his stature, but he was biding his time. He would have his walls of awards and personal memorabilia shipped here when he became a permanent fixture. For now, he made do with a space like this, adding only his brass nameplate and a framed family photo on the desk.
Bernard stopped in front of a utilitarian chair. “We really had no reason to hold him. He and the woman were well within their rights to walk out.”
Sullivan took his seat behind his desk, a position of power. “In an official military vehicle? I don’t think so, Captain.”
Sylvia waved away the comment. “A minor infraction, easily explained away. We have the Suburban back in our possession.”
“Picked up at the airport,” Bernard said through tight teeth, not a smile in sight, with his job on the line. “Even though there are no signs they left the country. I’m not so much concerned with the fact they’re gone as I am with why they felt the need to leave. What made them run, sir?”
“We’ll have those answers when we find them, and we will. But Harris has to be our first priority. Your office does not need him going to the press and firing up conspiracy theorists, especially not this week.”
Bernard nodded. “Understood, sir.”
The plan was too deeply in motion to pull back now. Too many under him had already assisted in gathering the information, setting up the shielded leak. They expected their payback. He couldn’t afford for even one of them to doubt his ability to lead.
“When you find Harris, I want him committed to a mental health facility.” He trusted Sylvia to dispense with due process where necessary. “And do so immediately.”
Harris would be discredited until a staged suicide could be arranged.
As for McCabe and his too-curious girlfriend, Rachel Flores? He would need to tread carefully in eradicating them, especially after the recent failed attempts on their lives.
But he had that covered. When he leaked the data about satellite data collection to the Chinese, it would be all too easy to ask for a little something extra in return. No one would question Liam McCabe’s assassination, especially if the public believed he was a mole simply caught up in spy games gone wrong—his girlfriend an unlucky casualty by association.
He looked from Sylvia Cramer to Captain Bernard. “Is that all you have to report?”
Bernard nodded. “For now, sir. And thank you for your support in keeping this quiet. We’re going to make this right. Sir.”
Ted smiled, then looked to Cramer. “And you’ve got people watching the rest of McCabe’s team to see if he contacts them?”
“Of course.” Her hand gravitated to the leather portfolio tucked under her arm. Some might have thought she wanted her iPad. He knew she was craving a smoke. She always did when under stress.
But if she found his need for frequent updates stressful? Tough shit.
“Fair enough, then. Dismissed.” He waved them out of his office.
He knew the underlings whispered behind his back, complaining, calling him a micromanager. They were too small-minded and inexperienced to understand the importance of being detail oriented. He even had an ace in the hole here at Patrick Air Force Base, someone he’d cultivated right away to be answerable first and only to him. A good leader always had troops on his side, loyal to the death. He left nothing to chance.
Details counted. He pulled his laptop closer and the cord hooked on the family photo on his desk. Which reminded him of another loose end to tie up, now that he had important business under control.
Dragging the phone toward him, he dialed his wife’s cell. He could fit in a quick call. “Kelly, it’s me, babe.”
“Ted, thank goodness you called.”
Her breathy panic had him settling back in the chair, ready for her list of idiotic problems. He could listen, hmmm appropriately while checking email.