After Zeke and Agent Johnson left the viewing room, Agent Johnson explained Zeke’s role. “Now, Zeke, you understand that you will not be an employee of the CIA, but a consultant to the CIA?”
“Yes, that’s fine with me,” said Zeke.
“You will be part of the Directorate of Operations. I’m a DO officer. Part of our mission is the collection of human intelligence or HUMINT and covert action. You will be used in the gathering of human intelligence. You were not put though all the rigorous physical and mental training required of the rest of the DO officers. We only intend to use you for HUMINT in a controlled environment.”
“What does that mean?”
“You won’t be used in the field, just in an office environment.”
“You mean no jumping out of airplanes?” asked Zeke. “No car chases?”
“Afraid not,” replied Agent Johnson.
“No James Bond?”
“I tell you what. After we’re done here, I’ll buy you a martini. But that is as close as you’ll get to James Bond.”
“I’ll take it,” said Zeke.
After they had completed Zeke’s administrative processing, Agent Johnson offered to take Zeke to dinner at the Hay Adams Hotel in downtown DC. On the way, Zeke asked if he could invite Abby.
“Sure,” said Agent Johnson.
Zeke called her on his cell.
“Hey, Zeke,” greeted Abby.
“You’ll never guess where I’m at right now.”
“Where? What happened today?” asked Abby.
“Well, I’m with Agent Johnson and we’re on our way to the Hay Adams Hotel in DC for dinner. Can you meet us there?”
“OK, I’ll be there.”
When they arrived at the hotel, they proceeded to the Lafayette Dining Room. Zeke texted Abby where to meet them. They were seated and both ordered martinis from the bar.
“Actually, this is a tradition in the DO,” said Agent Johnson. “Whenever we onboard a new agent, we take them out for a martini.”
“Shaken or stirred?” asked the waiter.
“Shaken, not stirred,” replied Zeke.”
“Zeke, I prefer that you call me Tom. I think we can be on a first name basis now. Anyway, it’s less conspicuous than calling me Agent Johnson.”
“Certainly. Oh, there’s Abby,” said Zeke who had a view of the lobby. Zeke stepped just out of the restaurant to get Abby’s attention.
“Abby, over here,” called Zeke.
“Hey, I got here as soon as I could. Didn’t have time get to put on dinner clothes,” said Abby.
“You look great,” said Zeke. “Come on. We’ve got a table and already ordered drinks.”
“Abby, good to see you,” greeted Agent Johnson.
“Good to see you again, Tom. Thanks for all you’ve done for Zeke.”
“He’ll be a good asset for the agency. Do you want to join us in a celebratory martini?”
“Sure,” replied Abby.
“This is a time of celebration. The meal is on me,” said Tom.
“Well, in that case, I’ll have the filet mignon,” said Abby.
“Me too,” said Zeke.
“Waiter,” called Tom. “Filet mignon all around.”
“I’ll get the order right in, sir,” replied the waiter. “And your drinks will be right out.”
“So, Zeke, what are you going to do about your day job at the station?” asked Abby.
“My boss and I are supposed to talk about that. He told me to think stringer.”
“What’s a stringer?” asked Agent Johnson.
“A stringer is a freelance journalist that gets paid by the story.”
“Zeke,” said Tom. “You have my permission to ‘read him in’ on your role with the CIA.”
“What do you mean, ‘read him in’?” asked Zeke.
“Inform him. Explain to him, etc.,” said Tom. “You can explain your role as a consultant and asset to the CIA using your gift. You can’t tell him about the details of the assassination or what you’re uncovering. You can tell him that I’m your handler. Any stories involving your work at the agency need to be vetted by me,” instructed Agent Johnson.
“Got it.” replied Zeke. “Thanks, that will go a long way to easing tensions with Harvey.”
“Toast to Zeke and his future cooperation with the agency,” said Abby. As the martini glasses clanged and their steaks arrived, the three sealed a friendship that would transcend government agencies. When they finished, Agent Johnson drove Zeke back to his car in Langley.
“Zeke, it’s been a good day. Welcome to the CIA. I look forward to working with you.”
“What will you do about the assassination plot on the president?” asked Zeke.
“We’ll work with the Secret Service. They’ll cancel his upcoming trip to Afghanistan. Then, we have to find out who is behind this. Get some rest. Go to your real job tomorrow. I’ll be in touch.”
“Thanks, Tom. Good night.”
Zeke drove to his house in Silver Spring. Again, the day’s events had been so draining that his drive home felt like he was sleepwalking around the beltway, which was not unlike the experience of many of the DC drivers, whose commutes ran anywhere from thirty minutes to four hours depending on traffic.
The next morning Zeke awoke to his alarm at 7:00 am. He showered, shaved, brushed his teeth, and went to the station. His mind was still on the day before, and he was thinking about his conversation with Harvey. Certainly, a cup of coffee and a bagel would help him come up with the right thing to say. So, he went a little out of his way to stop at a Starbucks on the way into work. After arriving at the station, he decided to use a rear entrance to bypass Harvey’s eyes and ears, Julie. Zeke made his way upstairs to his cube.
“Hey, big shot,” said Sly, who was sitting at his desk. “Nice of you to show up today.”
“Well, it’s Friday and I need to pick up my paycheck,” replied Zeke with a smirk.
“Harvey wants to see you.”
“Of course, he does,” said Zeke.
Zeke walked into Harvey’s office. “Zeke, we need to talk. Close the door.”
“I know,” said Zeke. “But before we begin, I’d just like to thank you for being very generous to me. I’ve had some time to think about all of this, and I want to thank you for all the time off for family stuff and to work things out with my government contacts. By the way, my aunt didn’t die. I just needed to figure some things out.”
“I’m not stupid, kid.”
“I know I haven’t been in the employ of the station for very long, and you’ve tolerated a lot. Also, I appreciate the headquarters opportunity, but that just wasn’t me. The more I thought about it, the worse I felt for using this gift God gave me to expose Larry Cong in that way.”
“Hey, kid, don’t make this any harder for me than it needs to be.”
“Oh, you’re firing me?” asked Zeke.
“No, I don’t fire good reporters, but this isn’t fair to the rest of the staff. I can’t ‘just keep the paycheck coming’ as you put it. Just because you have this unique gift doesn’t mean you can come and go as you please even if it does give you an incredible edge on unearthing stories.”
“OK. I’ve taken advantage. My apologies. It won’t happen again,” said Zeke.
“Apology accepted, but I think it would be better for both of us if you we’re to terminate your employment voluntarily with WJOP. But I want you to continue as a stringer. I’ll pay you the going rate for every story we air, and I’ll put your submissions at the top of the list for consideration. Do we have a deal?”
“Definitely,” replied Zeke. “Harvey, I want to ‘read you in.’”
“Are you sure, kid? I don’t want you to have to kill me.”
“My handler, Agent Johnson, said it was OK.” Zeke proceeded to bring Harvey up to speed about his involvement in the CIA.
“Are you helping them uncover the assassination plot?” asked Harvey.
“I can neither confi
rm nor deny. I’ve told you all that I can tell you,” replied Zeke.
“Thanks for telling me, kid. I expected as much, but it’s good to hear you say it.”
Instead of extending his hand to Zeke, Harvey pulled out his bottle of scotch. “I think this is a scotch moment,” said Harvey.
“I think I’ll pass. You have one for me,” said Zeke.
“I think I’ll take the liberty. To you, Zeke,” said Harvey as he downed a shot. “Kid, I want you and Sly to keep working on this assassination thing. Dig deeper.”
Zeke went back to his desk. While eating his bagel and drinking coffee, he wrote a kind termination letter to Harvey and emailed Sly a copy.
“So, you’re quitting?” asked Sly.
“Officially, yes. I won’t be on the payroll, but I’ll still be submitting stories as a stringer. I’ll be around, stopping in from time to time. In the meantime, Harvey wants us to work on this assassination story together.”
Zeke began to do some research on the protest leader, Abdul Muti Poya who Agent Johnson had been monitoring. He found out that Poya made a trip to Afghanistan as recently as two weeks ago. Zeke decided that he wanted to ask Poya some more questions, so he told Harvey and took Sly with him on another trip to the apartment of Abdul Muti Poya. This time he did not take a camera crew so as not to scare off the already skittish Poya.
Zeke and Sly took a WJOP car and proceeded down Route 1. As they passed University of Maryland, few students were on the lawn in front of the chapel and all was quiet. It was before noon. They drove a few more miles down Route 1 past the University to Riverside Apartments. Abdul Muti Poya was in Apartment 201. Zeke led the way to Abdul’s apartment and knocked on the door.
Zeke called his name, “Abdul Muti Poya.” He knocked again. “Abdul Muti Poya.” He waited a few minutes and knocked a third time, afterward calling his name, “Abdul Muti Poya.”
Finally, he answered. “What do you want?
“I want to talk to you,” answered Zeke. “I was here once before.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Zeke Jackson, and this is Sly McDonald with WJOP News.”
“Oh, I remember. You’re the guys that brought the cops to my house.”
“No, no,” replied Zeke. “I brought no one but myself and my camera crew.”
“Do you have a camera crew now?” asked Abdul.
“No, just my coworker, Sly.”
“What do you want?”
“Just to talk,” replied Zeke.
“About what?”
“About your group, the Four Point Front.”
“What about them?”
“Can we come in?” asked Zeke.
Abdul opened the door slightly but hesitated to make eye contact. Zeke could see a chain still strung across the doorjamb. After several seconds Abdul untethered the door from its lock and let them in.
“What do you want to know?” asked Abdul.
“Is your group peaceful?” asked Zeke.
“Of course. We kill nobody. We love people. We fight for their well-being.”
“Do you want to overthrow the government?” asked Zeke.
“The government is corrupt. It needs to be replaced.”
“We have elections for that,” replied Zeke.
“Your elections are corrupt. We cannot wait that long, and we cannot rely upon them,” said Abdul.
“Who funds your group?”
“The people fund the group.”
“Is the group funded by Americans only?”
“Well, we do have some sympathetic colleagues in other countries.”
“Abdul, thank you for letting us talk to you and represent your perspective to the public,” said Zeke while extending his hand.
Abdul shook Zeke’s hand. Immediately, Zeke was confronted by the demon, Legion, but it was different this time. The creature reared its three heads back in apprehension.
“What do you want?” asked Legion.
“I want to talk to Abdul,” replied Zeke.
“We sense that you come in strength.”
“Yes, He is with me. He indwells me,” replied Zeke.
“Proceed. Do us no harm,” said Legion.
“Abdul, did you recently make a trip to Afghanistan?” asked Zeke.
“Yes,” replied Abdul.
“Why?”
“To get money.”
“Money for what?” asked Zeke.
“Money for weapons,” answered Abdul.
“Why didn’t you just have them wire the money?”
“Untraceable. We need it untraceable,” said Abdul.
“How did you get it through customs?” asked Zeke.
“We have our ways.”
“Who? Who wanted it untraceable?” asked Zeke.
“Ronald.”
“Ronald who?” asked Zeke.
“Ronald Burch.”
“Who is he?”
“He is weapons man.”
Zeke pulled his hand away.
Zeke noticed Abdul shaking his head and rubbing his eyes. “What happen? Did I tell you about Burch? Why do you want to know about Burch?” Abdul went over to the bay window. “The police are here again. You bring them. Both times you come, you bring them.”
“No, no, I did not bring them,” replied Zeke. “I assure you. They must be surveilling you. Haven’t you noticed them at other times?”
“Maybe,” replied Abdul. “The American government, always spying and creeping around. No privacy. They violate everything. You go now. American media, almost as bad as American government.”
“I’m writing a newscast on the Four Point Front, and I’d like to mention you in the article. Can I mention you?” asked Zeke.
“Yes,” said Abdul.
“Is there anything that you would like me to say?” asked Zeke.
“Say for me, ‘American government, your day is coming.’”
“Thanks for your time,” said Zeke, and they left.
On the way out, Zeke noticed an unmarked car. Like he figured, it was Agent Johnson, but he didn’t go over to him. He did not want to raise Sly’s suspicions any further.
“That’s your friend, isn’t it?” asked Sly.
“That’s the friend you were talking with in front of the White House. What’s he CIA or something?”
“Or something,” said Zeke.
On the way back to the station, Zeke asked Sly not to divulge the information about Agent Johnson or the procurement to anyone, even Harvey. He had no reason to trust Sly, so he promised him that he would give him full credit when it was time to release the whole story, at least everything they could release. Sly agreed.
Once they got back, Zeke and Sly co-wrote a story on the Four Point Front led by Abdul Muti Poya. They portrayed Abdul as a protest leader and organizer angry with the government. Harvey was not particularly satisfied with the story. He thought it lacked meat, but Zeke and Sly assured him there was not much more they could dig up on Abdul at this time.
Zeke’s cell phone vibrated. It was Agent Johnson. “Zeke, can you come right over to the agency? I need to talk to you face-to-face. It’s important.”
“OK, I’ll come right over. It’s Friday night, you know. It’ll take me about ninety minutes and that’s being optimistic,” said Zeke.
“Stop complaining and just get over here.”
“You got it,” replied Zeke.
Zeke took his usual route. Two hours later, he was entering the CIA building. This time he at least had a badge and credentials to get in. He still called Agent Johnson from the lobby. Agent Johnson came down and the two went to one of the SCIF offices on the second floor that had been reserved. After Agent Johnson entered the combination, Zeke pushed open the door and found Abby sitting in one of the chairs.
“I don’t understand. Why are you here, Abby?” asked Zeke.
“Zeke, don’t worry,” said Agent Johnson. “It’s nothing nefarious. I wanted to talk to you two together, and this conversation is highly c
lassified. Actually, Abby is in the dark as much as you are, Zeke. Have a seat,” said Agent Johnson as he sat down himself.
“OK,” said Zeke.
“What do you guys think about working together?”
“At the CIA?” asked Abby.
“Well, not exactly,” said Agent Johnson.
“What I have in mind will only be temporary. I want you two to team up on investigating the assassination plot.”
Zeke looked at Tom and asked, “What?”
Abby looked at Tom and asked, “What?”
“You two act like a team already,” said Tom.
“I’m not an investigator,” said Zeke. “You bring me people, and I’ll ask them questions for you using my gift, but I’m not an investigator.”
“I know that, Zeke. Don’t worry. I’ll tell you who to talk to.”
“I may be a clearance investigator, but this is out of my league,” said Abby. “Plus, my boss is not gonna like this.”
“Don’t worry, Abby. I’ll take care of that. I’ll clear it with your boss. And, as far as investigations go, you’re already in the wheelhouse. You’ll find this a natural progression.”
Abby folded her arms and leaned back in her chair. “Ah, OK,” said Abby.
Zeke scratched his head. “I don’t…OK,” said Zeke.”
“That settles it then,” said Agent Johnson. “I’ll be in touch this week with further instructions. For now, you can start by searching the NCIC, IAFIS, N-Dex, and TIDE databases for whatever you can find on Abdul Muti Poya. I’ll request accounts for Zeke on N-Dex and TIDE. Zeke, you probably have an account on NCIC through WJOP.
“That’s right,” said Zeke.
“Abby, do you need me to get you access to any of those databases?” asked Agent Johnson.
“No, I’ve already got access to all of them.”
“Great. You two close the door on the way out and behave yourselves. I’ve got to get home to the wife.”
“Working with you is not exactly what I had in mind,” said Zeke. “I have other plans for you.”
“You do, do ya?” replied Abby with a coy smile. “When were you planning on telling me about those plans?”
“Well, I was just getting ready to call you when Tom called me and told me to get over here.”
“So, Zeke, what are those other plans you had in mind for me?” asked Abby.
Soul Reader Series: Book1: Touch Enabled Page 14