The Venator Program - Part Three

All that is needed is a... Vote of Confidence...

Read Part One of The Venator Program here!

Read Part Two of The Venator Program here!

Rome, Italy

Minted, the slang in the intelligence and bounty hunting world for a target with a minimum bounty of a million in some form of respected currency. These high-value bounties were usually backed by an intelligence agency or national government. Alistair Drevik became a recent addition to the minted list, the high-valued targets, the most wanted in the world. While he joined the likes of top terrorist leaders on the long list, to achieve the top spot Drevik would need a hefty boost to the top. Another thirty-nine million to knock off the terrorist leader in the number one spot to be precise. 

Despite the long list of wanted criminals and terrorists, Drevik’s bounty was not one to balk at. Over the years he carved out a notable niche in the European underworld. His crooked fingers lifted many criminal cookie jars all while expanding his operations. Well-known by intelligence agencies and competitor criminal regimes, these organizations would pay a pretty penny for information to pinpoint his whereabouts. Now that pretty penny equaled a cool million dollars for any who dared to capture Drevik.

A Red Notice, a policing notification issued by Interpol, had been issued with details of Drevik’s criminal activity, known alias and locations. Plastered beneath a grainy photo was the word WANTED. While the Red Notice lacked indication of the bounty reward, the document was the modern day wanted posters that mimicked the ones seen throughout history and even through the American Wild West.

Alistair Drevik relished the news of his bounty. His intelligence contacts confirmed large bounty for his successful capture. The wanted status provided a sense of accomplishment and an indication of his hard work. Now he pondered how to leverage his new status. It was like winning an Academy Award in the underworld. If you were not wanted with a decent bounty, were you really a big player? To Drevik, the answer was no, especially now after he obtained this status. 

With a large bounty, anyone would start to sweat more. Aliases, back-channel routes into countries, and enough funds to grease even the most straight and narrow folk, Alistair Drevik slipped through the cracks. Half Norwegian by father, half French by mother, he had a knack at blending into the European appearances. 

Moving around to bypass his enemies was a skill set he learned from his father. Alexander Drevik was an art forger and smuggler, Alistair was born and molded into the smug riches of white-collar criminality. Gone were the days of dabbling solely in oil paintings and sculptures. Instead of merely continuing the family business, Alistair expanded to racketeering, money laundering, extortion, and smuggling. 

His connections allowed Alistair to move with ease and just enough cover to protect him. It was Alistair’s connections to notable non-criminals that would incite question, or at least a double take. Connected to powerful businessmen and politicians across Europe, he had no fear of his arrest or capture.

Unbeknownst to the European gangster, a hunter kept Drevik in his crosshairs for the better part of seven months. With a meteoric rise and the bounty increase, Miles Porter, aided by Colby Hatton, was determined to apprehend Alistair Drevik and collect the bounty.

A target like Drevik required a certain level of understanding who they were and how their lives operated. Piece the personal data with financial forensics and it could narrow down where the person lives, the hidden connections to business or people, and it could unearth their dark secrets. Yet to find an elusive target with deep connections to the criminal underworld required diligence and patience. 

Along with the tangible personal and business connections, understanding the intangibles could lead a hunter further down the path to capturing a target. The personal motivations, it can be dissected for leads. Understanding the reasons behind actions can morph into connective reasoning to predict future decisions. Patterns of life and decisions are developed from this information. A good hunter studied their prey, knowing how it moved, how it operates, where it goes for safety, and most importantly how the prey attacks when backed into the corner.

Despite the little intel known, Miles’ meticulous search surfaced one tidbit. A previous residence that served as Alistair’s off-the-books house provided just the starting point needed. After several months, the house lead turned into a connection that spiderwebbed to several under the table contacts, a few shell corporations and tax records. It all connected Alistair to this house in the Gold Coast, Australia. Miles Porter leveraged the intel to knock on the right doors and meet connected people until he located the target. In a matter of time, Miles tracked Alistair Drevik to Rome.

His eyes sharpened as he stared at Drevik. Miles almost dared his target to catch him looking, yet he turned away to let his eyes drift across the crowd of the gaming floor. With the final bits of his drink in his mouth, Miles Porter decided to move into position to make his stand.

He weaved in-between bystanders sipping their fancy drinks. Now away from the casino gaming floor, Miles remained in pursuit while having a reprieve of the overhead cameras. Removed from sight, however brief, would allow the needed wardrobe change before he entered the restaurant. Miles slipped his suit jacket off. With a flick, the jacket turned inward with the white inner lining facing out as he reshaped the shoulders and collar. 

Once presentable, Miles slipped the jacket on, the inside now the once exterior black suit jacket. The white exterior blended with the wait staff of the casino restaurant. Thankful for a large crowd that pestered the Maître d’, Miles eased by and into the large dining area as if he was a waiter that arrived for his shift. 

Miles pivoted between tables like a typical waiter. Just enough concern for the guests with the ease to miss the American family requesting more bread. Miles spotted the kitchen entrance to weave through the roaring flames and chefs frantic over the meals. The intoxicating aromas of pesto, cheese, and tomato basil reminded him that it had been well over six hours since a bite of food had been in his mouth. Now was no time to dwell on such a notion. He had a target to capture. 

Miles exited from the kitchen to a backstreet alley. Just like the past three evenings, Alistair Drevik’s black SUV was parked discreetly next to several large, overflowing garbage bins. Miles expected a late night of Drevik throwing chips to the wind.  The three previous nights his target had a fluctuating stack of chips into the early hours of the morning. This evening the casino escapades ended three hours earlier. With a huge grin and his phone pressed to his ear, the gangster planned to leave early to attend to business.

Now or never, Miles thought as he changed out of the white suit jacket and into more clandestine clothing. Black shirt, dark wash blue jeans, and a ball cap, Miles readied the final pieces around his waist. A stun gun on his left side and now his IWI Jericho 941 easing into the drop-leg holster onto his right leg. Miles felt more accustomed to this side of the job more than he ever would strutting around in black and white. Dressed in appropriate attire and geared up, Miles faded into the shadows to wait for his prey. 

Langley, Virginia

On the verge of approval for the Venator Program and Miles capturing his first high-valued target, Colby gave into a brief sense of relief. His face remained in his perma-grimace, but inside he felt a tinge of joy with how smooth this meeting continued. It was as if Colby could smell the sweet smell of dirty dollars of the bounty reward. Not that a physical cent would be exchanged, the digital age ushered in a wire transfer for the bounty and one of such volume.

The meeting was nearing completion. The final roadblock seemed to appear with the question of legality. Deputy Director Shaw sighed. “What is the legality of this program?”

“From a legal standpoint, it allows our independent hunter or contractor to have deniability and keep our hands clean…ish.” Colby said.

Director Linton leaned forward as his gaze was immediately met by the counsel of Leslie Mortimer. “Any further questions or objections?” He asked.

The short, blonde hair swayed as she shook her head. That was all Linton needed to proceed. Colby had personally had the CIA’s legal department comb through to scrutinize. He followed the letter of the law, yet after all it was a CIA operation. As for Leslie, all she needed to lessen any legal concern was the weekly aroma of freshly delivered flowers. Pops of pink and yellow daisies blossomed on her desk every Monday morning for two months. The flowers were a token of Colby’s appreciation for her willingness to let him join the legal operational obligation committee. The group took aim at righting legal injustices produced by the agency. 

One could view Colby’s action as flirting or inappropriate appropriation, but Leslie became enamored with the pops of color to her windowless office. However, Colby’s willingness to join her committee had Leslie captivated even more than the beauty of the flowers. His claims to right the wrongs from his Cold War days and to bring forth the betterment of the Agency eased Leslie into helping him review other operations and programs he ran, even review of this very program in question.

Colby Hatton still had the prowess of a field operative. A true spymaster with strengths to engineer wins in his favor, even if it meant using personal connections. After several months of listening to their plight of the committee, he realized the committee’s claims had a level of legitimacy. However, in his eyes, the problems arose from the deep level of legal red tape already in place and more being created. 

In his mind, the agency reeked of red tape and it was time to sever ties and let operatives be operatives, let operations flow without a million different hands in the mix. As everyone had an agenda of their own, Colby was no different. He recognized Leslie and her committee’s effort as pleasant, but it was not a real concern to him. A patriot to the core, he had a nation to protect and operations to run. 

Colby continued. “The operative only receives payment if, and only if, he captures or kills the intended target.” Colby turned his focus towards Fred, who sat at the end sipping his tea. “Mr. Nielsen already has signed off on this program.”

Nielsen sipped loudly before he interjected. “That is correct. In fact, it is programs like these we should look more into. Experimental, but almost entrepreneurial. That is admirable.”

“Mr. Nielsen, I sure love your ingenuity.” Shaw sneered. 

Fred Nielsen thanked her as if he enjoyed the tongue-lashing. Or perhaps the backhanded comment went right over his head. The man was embroiled in spreadsheets and numbers all day, who knew what his social awareness was like.

“What is the initial startup cost of the program.” Shaw thumbed through the packet of information before her eyes widened. “Twenty-two million?”

“That is correct.” Fred nodded, again in agreement with the program.

“Aside from the financials, what is our role and how do we gain?” Shaw pressed. 

“Intelligence.” Colby paused for a moment. “Partnership. With this program, I can send my asset to assist with Interpol requests, other intelligence agency needs, we can bridge a gap for these types of opportunities. Plus, intel swaps.”

“Do elaborate.” Shaw pressed.

“If my hunter captures a target for another friendly nation, not only do we receive part of the bounty, but we will be provided with intel from that target. Whatever they learn, we learn. It is a win-win.”

Shaw struggled to hide her smirk as her next questions stoked the proverbial flame beneath Colby and Saxon’s seats. “Mr. Saxon, is this program eligible for threat removal? I am talking authorized assassinations. And while I am at it, how does this differ from rendition?” Shaw leaned back with arms folded.

Colby felt his chest constrict when he heard her spit the “A” and “R” words. 

Rendition operations were CIA operations when operatives kidnap a suspected target. Once in custody, the CIA operators would transfer to a highly classified base known as a Black Site. At these locations, the target would undergo enhanced interrogation techniques. Practices as such became prevalent post-9/11. It wasn’t until attorneys and politicians started digging into the details that it became publicly known and an enormous headache for the Agency. 

Saxon leaned forward with his eyes fixed on Shaw. “Yes Deputy Director. It is a last resort. The goal is to capture the target alive. Remember, our aim is to gain intelligence, have our hunter collect the bounty, and if a foreign nation is involved, well shoot, wouldn’t it be nice to be friendly about it?”

The old man still has the fight in him, Colby proudly thought.

“You didn’t answer my other question.” Shaw squinted her eyes as she seethed.

Colby spoke, but Saxon cut him off. “Deputy Director, Rendition operations are rare thanks to legal. Far too many stipulations are required to execute rendition. If so, it is because the threat level is so desperate that we have no other reason. But rendition itself is not what this is, ma’am.”

Shaw doubled down. “How does it differ?” 

“Because we aren’t throwing potential targets into black sites.” Colby cut in, his words the last bit to ease concern. “Once the target is captured, this information is passed onto Interpol and local government agencies. For us to proceed, all diplomatic channels are cleared. I have cleared assets with local authorities before. The only way bounties can be collected is if we clear it with the proper external agencies. Or the bounty is U.S. specific, either from the Agency itself or the Department of Justice.”

A few more minor questions were asked before Deputy Director Shaw began to close the meeting. Her voice just as sharp as when the meeting started, filled the room. “Mr. Hatton and Mr. Saxon, the board will now make a vote. If you may leave the room for our vote, we will send for you both when finalized.”

With closing remarks complete, now came the final vote. Saxon whispered words of encouragement to Colby as they exited the meeting room. The committee would convene for fifteen minutes to review and present their final vote. 

“Think it will take all fifteen minutes?” Colby asked his boss. Again, he checked his phone.

Saxon shrugged. “Time matters not. Agenda wins out. Just waiting for that vote of confidence to come through. Word from your man?”

Colby shook his head.

The double doors swung open in thunderous ruckus. Both men startled and turned to see Deputy Director Shaw’s personal assistant fan them back into the conference room. 

“Four minutes.” Colby failed to stifle his intended whisper from an audible tone. Fortunately no one heard aside from Saxon as the committee found their seats. 

Saxon grinned. “Don’t worry, usually that is a good sign.”

“Please be seated.” Shaw’s voice cracked. “Mr. Hatton, Mr. Saxon, thank you for joining us today in this final installment to greenlight the latest program proposal. The committee has come to a final vote.”

Colby had a knack for appearing level-headed. His internal monologue was rife with potential scenarios played out, many not to his satisfaction. He pursed his lips. Surely the short time for the panel to convene meant a simple vote of confidence. 

“With five votes to two, the committee has ruled against the Venator Program and have not voted in confidence. At this time, the program proposal has been denied. We would like to thank you for your proposal and would be willing to entertain the proposal again in coming months. DDO Price and Director Saxon will be provided with areas of concern for review. In turn, we have expectations they will assist you, Mr. Hatton.”

Once Colby had heard “denied”, his brain turned into a sieve for the remainder of Shaw’s droning monologue. Five votes to two meant that his only support came from his division’s leadership of DDO Price and SAC Director Albert Hernandez. Worse is that he now had an active unsanctioned bounty hunter attempting to capture a target.

As if he could read Colby’s mind, Saxon leaned over to whisper, “Call your man off.”

Colby withdrew his mobile phone from his pocket. He tapped the Signal app and opened the chat marked V. He tapped out the message: DO NOT ENGAGE. DO NOT MOVE ON TARGET. ACKNOWLEDGE IMMEDIATELY. His thumb hovered over the send button. The pad of his finger never touched the screen. 

His nostrils flared as his thumbs feverishly tapped the backspace. His fingers tapped out the following new message: CAPTURE THE TARGET. CONFIRM WHEN COMPLETE. DISCREETLY CONNECT WITH THE AGREED CONTACT FOR DISPOSAL. 

Colby snorted under his breath as he exited the meeting room. “That’s what a vote of confidence looks like.”