EXFIL by Anthony Patton (best books to read non fiction TXT) 📗

EXFIL

Anthony C. Patton

Double Agent Publishing

Copyright © 2021 Anthony C. Patton

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

This book was prepared by the author in his personal capacity. The views and opinions expressed in this book are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy, opinion, or position of their employer.

ASIN: B093Z3NL7N

Cover design by: Rob Williams

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

PROLOGUE

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

About The Author

Books By This Author

PROLOGUE

Human Intelligence—aka HUMINT—is the art and science of manipulating a source to betray his country, and then protecting the resulting flow of secrets from compromise.

Ever since the harlot of Jericho offered safe haven to the Israelites, extending a scarlet cord from her window to survive the wrath of Jehovah, many crucial moments in history have turned on the audacious actions of spies.

I have learned over the years, though, that espionage rarely rises to the heady heights of art.

The more mundane “science of intelligence” usually suffices to motivate a would-be source to cross the line. In fact, the bureaucracy often demands the low-risk and predictable option, if only to suppress the blinding light of creativity.

The science of intelligence breaks would-be sources into categories.

Some love America, or what they believe America represents. Some have lost total faith in their own countries or feel themselves wronged in all-too-painful ways. Some have insatiable egos that shamelessly inhale even the most transparent and disingenuous forms of flattery. And many, but not all, say they do it for the love of money.

All this makes the global target pool wide and deep.

The science of intelligence sometimes calls for tightening the screws on delicate pressure points to motivate a would-be source to cooperate, but only as a last resort, because it violates the jousting code of the craft—gentlemen spies. Besides, only someone immune to coercion, either because he’s a saint or doesn’t care, should attempt to coerce a would-be source. Otherwise, we reap what we sow.

Some intelligence operations do, however, rise to the level of art, the kind a Medici tyrant might fund with sacks of gold just to admire the sheer beauty of it all, especially if the puppet master succeeds in remaining hidden. This is where I entered the stage, or so I hoped.

What I aspired to more than anything else in my career was to see my own craft rise to the level of art, especially during my singular focus on defeating the cyber warfare program of China, the single greatest threat to our national security.

ONE

So there I was, pacing and checking my watch in a swank Bangkok hotel suite, overlooking the Soi Cowboy red-light district, notorious for its debauchery and all-too-lenient age of consent. I was waiting for my partner in crime to arrive and rehearsing my lines while glancing intermittently at a 24-hour cable news channel that wasn’t ashamed of America or afraid to identify our enemies by name.

(NB: Christians and Jews don’t accessorize with suicide vests.)

The uniform of the day for this solemn occasion was a navy-blue blazer with white dress shirt, pressed and starched with silver cufflinks.

On the screen, a talking head in a Hollywood square pontificated about a proposed cybersecurity bill, which everyone in the business knew would have no real impact on national security. It was all lip service—a misguided attempt to “do something.”

I turned off the television and refreshed my tumbler with blended Scotch on the rocks, the golden elixir that Intelligence Officers around the world imbibed to perform their magic and weaken the defenses of would-be sources. As much as our livers might otherwise prefer, intelligence operations were often fueled by type-A personalities who could hold their liquor while rising up the ranks.

You might expect a connoisseur like yours truly to brag about my preference for single-malt, but the truth was that Asians preferred blended, which was why I had bought a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label for the occasion. The science of intelligence operations demanded that we transform ourselves to make the would-be source the center of our universe.

The end of my tour as the U.S. Army Attaché at the U.S. Embassy in Thailand was a good time to reflect on the past and to plan a course for my future.

As an Intelligence Officer, my time in Bangkok was successful. I immersed myself in the habits and nuances of the culture, cultivated an undisclosed number of new sources, and wrote scores of authoritative intelligence reports. A singular focus on the pursuit of quality reports usually decreases the quantity of reports, but this wasn’t the case with me.

As a husband and a father, however, my tour had “areas for improvement,” as we say.

I heard the plastic room key card slide into the door, followed by an aggressive twist of the door handle—the signal to don my game face. Muffled voices came next, barely audible. On queue, Captain Tom Howard entered the bedroom and gave me a thumbs-up, grinning as he leaned against the wall with the beaming afterglow of success.

Despite his last name, his Puerto Rican mother’s genes had won the day for this Latino heartthrob. I liked working with him because he was good at his job and represented the Army well. I prided myself on being his mentor.

Tom was clearly having a stellar night, no doubt lubricated with a few drinks in anticipation of the grand finale. Like me, he’d joined the DIA military attaché game early in his career and still displayed youth and inexperience, but I’d taken him under my wing and showed him the ropes. Every move he made was cleared with me in advance, and he was on the right track.

I nodded to show my support, poured two more drinks, and gestured for him to lead the way