by Alex Howell
She then forced a smile and told the man, “Oh—thank you so much kind sir.” Before pointing to the empty bin beside her and telling him, “Buy my trash can is empty. Thank you.”
The old man then smiled, and offered the parting remark, “Thank you miss. You have a good night now okay?”
As the man passed by, another thought occurred to Danae from the deep recesses of her mind. She had just narrowly avoided committing a major felony. Maybe this was her chance to change course and straighten up her life.
Perhaps fate had intervened in the form of a Janitor to keep her from doing something she would later regret. Because all though she may be right at the crossroads, she hadn’t crossed the Rubicon just yet.
11
All Quiet on the Homefront
A FEW DAYS LATER, MASON’S HOUSE IN BALTIMORE, MARYLAND.
During the few weeks that Clara was back living with her dad and her step mom Raina, things were really pretty pleasant. Unlike many grown children back at home with their folks who struggle to readapt to their surroundings, Clara’s time spent with her parents was going by without a hitch.
There wasn’t any squabbling or petty nagging between them, all parties involved seemed to respect each other, know their boundaries, and even more importantly simply enjoy each other’s company.
But there was a strange shadow cast over these pleasant moments, and it was a shadow that only Clara knew about. Because even while they seemed to be doing their best to have a good time, in everything they did Clara had to consider the fact that her father was now suspected of aiding and abetting terrorism, and not only that, it was her first job as a full-fledged CIA agent to investigate him.
As she sat at the kitchen table with her dad across from her, it was very near torture just to keep her mind from dwelling upon the convoluted situation that she was in. Her dad sensing a slight drop in her disposition, tried to cheer her up as he motioned toward Raina who was busying herself at the stove.
He chuckled, “Don’t worry Clara, Raina’s a great cook.”
They both then looked over to Raina as she opened the oven door to pull out a pot roast, she had spent the past couple of hours preparing.
Mason laughed, “She’s only burnt one meal and set off three smoke detectors, but she’s a great cook.”
Raina placing the roast onto a metal tray on the center of the table remarked in a sarcastic but good-natured voice, “Wow! Well aren’t you encouraging! Thanks a lot Mason!”
Despite Mason’s sarcastic remarks, the food looked and smelled great. And Clara informed her as much, “It looks wonderful Raina. Thank you so much for making it.”
Raina touched, by the warm gratitude, grinned at her, “Well thank you so much for wanting to eat it.”
She then invited them both, “Come on guys dig in.”
They each then took generous portions of the roast, transferring them to their plates. As Mason tore into his roasted pork, carrots, and potatoes with his knife and fork, he asked Clara, “So what do you think about working for the CIA?”
The word “CIA” cut through Clara just like the knife her dad was using to cut through his potatoes. Looking down at her plate she tried to give as vague of an answer as possible as she informed him, “It’s okay I guess….”
Realizing how unconvincing she was, she looked up at Mason as he watched her carefully, and she attempted to rephrase her remarks, telling him, “I mean its been a lot of work. But its fun.”
She then forced a smile as she added, “Down at the agency—let’s just say that they really know how to keep you on your toes with all kinds of challenges and surprises.”
Mason chuckled, “Challenges and surprises huh?”
Clara nodded, as she quietly confirmed, “Mm-hmm.”
It seemed to take some considerable effort on her part, but Clara managed to keep herself from cringing in light of her own lame remarks. She knew that her lackluster responses were atypical, and desperately hoped her dad wouldn’t pick up on it.
Normally she would be full of excitement about every single aspect of her day and fill him in on all the details. Now however, she was giving monotone, dull, two- or three-word responses to everything he said. But her dad seemed to take her stoic silence as a sign of maturity and focus for her work, rather than concerted deception. A fact that she was tremendously grateful for.
And after taking his daughter’s words into account, Mason had his own simple anecdote to offer up. Thinking of his own glory days now long gone past, he considered, “Well if it’s anything like the challenges and surprises that we faced during special ops training back in the SEALS, I’d say they must really have your hands full.”
Trying to seem like her experience was in concert with her father’s, Clara quietly agreed, “You better believe it.”
For the most part, Mason seemed content with the remarks. Even though they didn’t reveal exactly what it was that she was up to, he felt that she seemed fully committed to the cause.
As such, Clara was able to breathe a sigh of relief. And as the evening wore on the conversation flitted from topic to topic, all while Clara managed to avoid going into specifics about much of anything to do with her work.
Mason thankfully was very understanding when it came to jobs that involved sensitive information, and he really wasn’t going to press her on the subject any more than she felt comfortable divulging. Instead of being pried into revealing that she was spying on her own family, the main topic of conversation turned to where she would like to go on vacation the following summer.
She still felt a little guilty for hanging onto her secrets, but at the same time, she kept telling herself, ‘Just maybe some skeletons can remain safely tucked into their closets after all.’
THE NEXT DAY, MASON’S DRIVEWAY, BALTIMORE, MARYLAND
Sitting in the car that her dad had bought her as a graduation present, Clara Walker felt incredibly guilty to be taking calls from CIA operatives investigating her own father behind his back. Nevertheless, she knew what she had signed up for in joining the CIA, and she was determined to follow the assignment through to its conclusion.
As she held the old school flip phone the CIA had given her, to her ear, she listened in as Field Director Wayne Sikes informed her, “Okay Clara, this is what you are going to do next. Invite the subject out to dinner. Keep it casual, but over the course of the meal, glean as much valuable intel as you possibly can. For him, make it seem like you are just having fun going down memory lane rehashing old memories, but in reality, your gathering calculable intelligence and positive evidence of illicit activity with terrorists. Understand?”
It was just like a dress rehearsal for the stage, she was being fed a script, and was expected to adhere to it in order to maximize the intel she could gain. Clara felt like a traitor to her own father, but she complied all the same, as she flatly intoned, “Understood.”
Her handler then ended the call with, “Great, now go ahead and execute the plan. Bye.”
Clara mumbled, “Bye” as the phone disconnected. She then took a moment just staring off into space to regain her composure. But she didn’t dare wait too long, fearing that she herself most likely had CIA spies watching her movements as well. Lest they think she was shirking her mission, she attempted to summon up the courage to get out of her car and walk the short distance up to her dad’s driveway, to his door.
It was moments like this that Clara seriously wondered what it was she was getting into. When she joined up with the CIA, she thought that she was signing on with the “good guys” to fight the bad actors of the world. But the more she became involved the more that she realized that a career in espionage was one that was not white and black but a perpetual grey area.
When she first signed on, she thought it quite an oddity that official CIA letterheads would contain the motto, “Rob, Ruse, and Deceive—Whatever it takes to make end’s meat!” She figured this was tongue and cheek mockery of some office clerk in the agency, but now she k
new that such deception was really the lifeblood of the organization. For the most part, as far as the CIA was concerned if the ends justified the means—it was all fair game.
Since its very inception the CIA had been a rather shadowy entity that had come into being. And as much as one would like to point the finger at a so-called “double agent” as her father was accused of being—if one were to scout around CIA headquarters long enough, you would find that there was more than enough sin to go around.
Nevertheless, trying to keep her heavy heart from beating out of her chest, Clara took a few deep breathes, got out of her car, and walked up the drive to her dad’s house. After ringing the doorbell, she stood there a moment before her dad answered.
Seeing her standing there he broke into a huge grin as he asked, “Hey Clara! What’s the matter? Are you locked out? You don’t have to ring the doorbell!”
She had been staying at home for a few weeks, and had her own key, so it did seem rather odd that she wouldn’t just walk in, but Clara felt the need for some formality. She explained, “Oh—well, I didn’t want to just barge in unannounced.”
She then shifted gears to her plans, as she mentioned, “Besides I’m just stopping by to see if you might want to grab some lunch?”
Mason asked, “Lunch?”
Trying to keep it as light as possible, Clara grinned, “Yep, it’s taco Tuesday pops and I’ve got some time to kill if you are interested.”
She knew from previous intelligence gathering sessions that her dad had a hankering for a certain taco joint in downtown Baltimore, and did indeed occasionally enjoy a taco Tuesday or two.
He was admittedly a little taken aback by the sudden invite, but Mason Walker obliged her as much, as he told her, “Sounds great Clara, let me get my car out of the garage.”
Clara then pointed to her car, “No, don’t worry about that. Let’s just take mine.”
Shrugging in acquiescence, Mason relented, “Oh okay sure—if you insist.”
Mason eyeing the self-driving jeep he had bought her, stepped out the door, and shut it behind him as he inquired, “So how’s the new car doing anyway?”
Another pang of guilt hit Clara as she thought about everything her father had done for her, and how she was quite literally driving him into a trap. But swallowing hard she persevered, as she answered, “It’s been great dad… It’s been just great.”
A HALF HOUR LATER IN THE PARKING LOT OF “TACO TOWN BALTIMORE”
Clara’s car made the preprogrammed drive from her dad’s house to downtown in seemingly record time. As they got out of the car and walked toward the door of the restaurant, Mason laughed, “Taco Town Baltimore you’ve got to love this place.”
Mason then thought to ask, “Yeah I come here all the time. But… Hey—uh, how did you know?”
Clara, unable to admit that she had read up on this fact from a file the CIA had on him, quickly lied, “Raina told me….”
After finding themselves a booth, they ordered a mountain of tacos between the two of them and began to dig in. Trying to inject some mirth into the situation from the beginning, Clara with taco in hand quipped, “Well gee—I guess its good I’ve been doing all that heavy training in the agency’s gym, since I’m putting away the carbs like this…”
Prompting Mason who had otherwise been busy wiping a smattering of guacamole from his chin to ask, “Oh—they have a gym at the agency?”
Clara taking a sip of her water nodded, “Oh yeah… Yep, they make sure we stay fit that’s for sure.”
Mason flexing a bicep chuckled, “Just like the SEALS did for these guns.”
He then remarked with a slight sigh, “Yeah… now that I’m retired from both the SEALS and the private contractor business, I worry about getting out of shape.”
Clara watching her father intently asked, “Really?”
He nodded, “Yeah…”
Before reaching into his pocket and announcing, “But you know what?”
He then set the card down on the table, and pointing at it declared, “But this guy—this guy is going to help me stay in shape.”
Clara picked up the card and saw the face of a man with the logo “Keep it Fit” emblazoned across the top. Looking closer she saw the person’s name, “Mahmoud Adjani” in snug typeface underneath the profile.
Clara squinting her eyes at the name, asked, “Who is this?”
After taking an aggressive bite out of a taco Mason revealed, “That’s my new personal trainer. This guy has worked with some of the best.”
Clara switching back into investigative mode, knew that this was a valuable piece of intel about her father turned “subject” and as such wished to hang onto it. She asked, “You mind if I keep this?”
To which her father replied, “Sure, go ahead.”
But in the awkward silence that ensued after she pocketed the card, he of course asked, “What do you need it for? I thought you got all the training you needed at the agency’s gym?”
To which Clara awkwardly responded, “What—oh no—not for me, I’ve got a friend…who uh… who would like to lose some weight.”
Mason fortunately took the ham-fisted explanation at face value, and scarfing down another taco, accepted, “Oh—I see.”
12
Taking the Lead
JUST A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER IN THE ARCHIVE ROOM AT THE AGENCY.
Clara hesitated for a fraction of a second, but knowing that she needed to follow every potential lead she had, she handed the business card of her father’s trainer over to her colleague and partner in the case, Danae Robinson. Danae immediately ran the name “Mahmoud Adjani” through the database and found that the man was a felon—and a very bad felon at that.
Looking at his long rap sheet, Clara gasped, “Oh no…”
Danae reading down the list of charges, as if she were nonchalantly reading a grocery list, as she rattled off, “Let’s see—Illegal gun running, extortion, wire fraud, assault, and… oh, here’s a big one—terroristic threats…”
Clara then asked, “Well... if this guy has done all of this, then why is he out on the streets?”
With a clarity that reminded her that this girl possessed a shrewd kind of cunning that her otherwise sweet and innocent persona usually masked, Danae remarked, “Well my dear, I don’t think that’s a question to ask me but perhaps one to ask the Verne Landers administration.”
Clara knew that she was right, ever since Verne Landers was elected president, his efforts to be soft on crime, and even instances of international terrorism, had caused a massive influx of ex-cons out on the street.
Clara eyeing Mr. Adjani’s many past offenses, muttered, “Well—at least he hasn’t killed anybody.”
Danae shook her head, “Yet anyway….”
Clara then thought to ask, “So what is he doing as a personal trainer?”
To which Danae shrugged, and in words that most certainly did seem at odds with her usually cute, quaint, and stilted accent, “Hell if I know…”
Trying to take this sudden shift in her friend’s attitude in stride, Clara awkwardly laughed, “Ha, yeah… I guess it’s my job to figure that part out.”
Danae then started sorting through the records, and offered, “Well, one thing that I can tell you is it seems that your father meets with him every Wednesday.”
Clara quietly remarked, “Tomorrow...”
Danae nodded and stated the obvious, “Yes, today’s Tuesday—so that would be tomorrow.”
As she considered the fact that she would have to stake out her own father while he went into the gym, Clara felt sick to her stomach. Just what kind of quicksand of convoluted morality was she sinking into?
THE NEXT DAY, OUTSIDE A GYM IN DOWTOWN BALTIMORE
Clara Walker had her car parked in the back of the Gym’s parking lot, partially obscured by a large moving truck parked next to her. Here she patiently waited for her father to arrive for his gym appointment with his ex-terrorist, turned physical fitness trainer. S
he sincerely hoped that his trainer, Mr. Adjani just happened to be a reformed felon, and not an illicit contact and terrorist shill of her otherwise patriotic father.
She kept her eyes peeled just as she saw her dad’s car park right out front. Surprised at his ability to leapfrog over all the other patrons of the gym, Clara muttered to herself, “Way to go with the VIP parking dad.”
She continued to monitor her father as he locked his car and began to walk toward the double doors of the gym. Just as he stepped toward the sliding, automatic doors Clara watched as a dark-haired man with dark mustache to boot, walked right up to Mason, and clasped his hand before giving him a giant bear hug. ‘That must be his trainer’ she thought to herself. ‘Quite a friendly trainer at that.’
After Mason disappeared inside, Clara then quickly stepped out of her car and followed the two into the gym. It was a big facility with row upon row of fitness stations and equipment, with droves of customers trying to sweat away the pounds and gain a little muscle.
Clara made sure she kept her distance at all times. She was wearing a very basic disguise that consisted of a hooded sweatshirt with hoodie over her head, and dark sunglasses—one which in retrospect probably drew more attention than diminished it, thanks to the fact that she looked like the female version of the Unabomber—but she wasn’t taking any chances.
Making sure to keep just out of her dad’s sight as she meandered through the gym. She watched from a secure corner of the workout room while her dad sat down on a bench next to Mr. Adjani. Turning on a high frequency ear mic, she was able to aim the receiver to pick up on their conversation like a laser.
Pretending to cycle on an exercise bike, while listening to music, she instead was picking her dad and Mahmoud Adjani’s conversation right out of the crowd. She listened in as she heard the voice of her father admonishing the instructor, “Listen, Mahmoud, you’ve got to take better care of yourself. I’ve warned you about hanging out with those guys.”