The Presence of Evil

by J. T. Patten

  “Well, I can tell you this: His father, whom I enjoyed a close friendship with, had a bit of a dark side. Mind you, the dad could control it. At least when he wasn’t operating in austere conditions. Think that’s why he was looking to get out of the business. From what I can tell, the oldest boy, Dexter, did as well, but he was wanting to get into the business. Alex had blessed it. Not sure why, other than maybe he didn’t know what else to do with the boy. Some of it was probably influenced by Alex’s friend, and later brother-in-law, Bob O’Toole. I’m sure you know of him.”

  “I do.”

  “Heard he was dead. Not surprised. Live by the sword, die by the sword. Anyway, I suspect the rest of that darkness kinda came from their own insides. Think they had some mental challenges. I know the youngest did. Warren was his name. Went by Drake. Great kid. But think his world kinda went upside down. And I don’t just mean the death of his parents. His uncle was downright brutal with the boy. Thought about taking OT out myself a few times. In the early days, he’d beat Drake to a pulp trying to toughen him up. Killed the kid’s emotions. His nerves are like dead ends. I used to spend time with him to give him a more balanced male figure, but he stopped coming around, and then I heard he passed. Probably for the better. He was broken beyond repair. Probably would’ve hurt someone in time. Meaning, a noncombatant. So, you tracking all this?”

  “I’m following.”

  “Okay. So, stop me if you heard enough. I’m just giving you all I know so I don’t have to do this again. Ever. The oldest boy got himself into some jams and absolutely hated his younger brother. I mean hate, as in wanted to do him harm. So much so, they kicked him out of the house. Now, depending on who you asked, that opinion could differ. Alex was afraid Dex may hurt Drake, the mom thought Dex was jealous that the dad was always protecting the runt. At any rate, Alex thought maybe the kid needed some adventure and freedoms. I think since Dexter never got as much attention from his dad as he did his mom, he jumped at the chance. Now, at the time, I was only working for State. I don’t know the ins and outs. And really, I didn’t know about his potential Agency ties until almost the deaths of the parents. Turns out that ole OT had his fingers in things, as always, and came up with a pretty elaborate plan. I ended up with the Agency, and in short order, they had me as his primary contact and helping put some things together. Have to say we put Dex in a pretty bad spot, too.”

  “He was a case officer?”

  “That’s where I’ll need to be careful here in what I can say. The way they ran him was through his layering, and a little stint with the Foreign Legion. It made things a little hairy. Let’s just say he wasn’t on the list for the company Christmas party.”

  “He ever ask about his brother?”

  Tom’s wife entered the house with a scoffing expression. Her face squished together seeing her husband sitting on the ground. “Who are you talking to? Why are you sitting there?”

  Tom said nothing. He stood and entered the study, closing the door from behind.

  “Are you having a heart attack? Dammit, Thomas, you promised,” she bitched, muffled, slapping the door.

  “It’s about the Woolfs. FBI!” he lied. “Sorry. Wife doesn’t want me working anymore. She sure won’t want to hear about Drake Woolf, but she’ll stop now. She could never understand why I wanted to spend more time with him than even my own boys, much less my daughters. But anyhow. To answer your question, and I’ll be frank, the only time I ever heard him ask about his little brother was inquiring if the boy inherited all the family money. When I told him his brother had gone into the military and had been searching feverously for him, he laughed. Not a ha-ha laugh; it was dark. Like catch me if you can. And here all the while, I knew where he was but couldn’t say a word. Really ate at me, but I thought it was best for Drake, even knowing he was chasing the world for a ghost.”

  “I get it. You couldn’t.”

  “But it wasn’t right.” Tom stared at a small picture on the back of a cluttered credenza. It was a shot of him with Drake holding up a stringer of smallmouth bass. “Drake really missed his brother and truly thought his brother cared for him. He had no sense of the contempt and hate his brother had for him. I think if he’d known, he might have thrown in the towel. Once, I saw how ragged he’d get from the deployments. Boy, they just kept stringing him on deployment after deployment. I tried to get him over to SAD just so I could keep a closer eye on him. But he wanted to go back. All the while, he’d try to get deployed to the far corners of the sandbox and Africa, searching for that damned brother of his. But it kept him going. So, I kept quiet.”

  The news was a tough pill to swallow for Havens. The background explained a lot about both brothers. “So, when did you last talk to Dexter?”

  “Years. He broke off ties to the Agency. Disappeared. He became that Modarris persona. Completely off the reservation.”

  “Pulled a Colonel Kurtz, huh?”

  Tom laughed. “Brando, right? Apocalypse Now? Haven’t seen that movie in years.”

  “Thoughts on how far native he was?”

  “I wish. No, one thing about Dexter Woolf is, he’s not crazy. He’s evil. And we tried taking him out once or twice.”

  “Assassinating him?”

  “He made the targeting list. Went native, as you say. Training people to fight against us. He was a legitimate target. Couple drone strikes on his position and his collaborators. ISIS. Hezbollah. Qods Force. He’s gotten in with some pretty scary folks. Last strike they thought they got him. The Modarris, that is. No one at Langley knew of him as Dexter Woolf.”

  “But you don’t believe he died?”

  “No, sir.” Tom paused and spoke again but quieter this time. “I heard an argument one time. I was on the seventh floor of the building. You know what I’m talking about, right?” He referenced the executive levels of Langley.

  “I do.”

  “Okay, well, I wasn’t a bigwig and had only been up there a couple times. But after the strike, few months later, we were around the table talking about Iran and Hezbollah, and up come the name of Modarris. Before I could say he was dead, someone said a group had him as their asset. A group I hadn’t even heard of before. But evidently now he had a family, and they thought he had settled down and gotten right about the mission. He’d hooked up with an intelligence entity that was very hush-hush and far-reaching. I just tried to break eye contact and started doodling on my notepad.”

  “But you don’t know the name anymore?”

  “I do. But I’m not saying it.”

  “The Pond?”

  Tom Mendle took off his hat and watched out the window as his wife walked down the hill toward the fire, carrying a white porcelain cup of what must have been creamer. “Mr. Havens, I hope I’ve been of help to you. Sorry I can’t help more,” he lied.

  “So, it was the Pond? And he really hasn’t been working for the Agency?”

  There was no response. “Hello?” Havens asked again. He checked his phone screen. Mendle was no longer on the line.

  What he couldn’t see was Tom Mendle fully embracing his retirement and forgetting names that were better off never said or remembered and asking forgiveness in a short prayer to his longtime friend and CIA colleague, Alex Woolf. He left the house toward the river for another cup of coffee. With cream. Tom knew there would be more calls to come.

  Chapter 41

  “Ocean, this is Neptune, patch me in to Starfish. I must be doing something wrong.”

  “Roger that, Neptune. Let me connect the channels. Nope. She had her channel locked. Must have flipped it off so you didn’t hear her dropping the kids off at the pool.”

  “Knock it off.”

  “Didn’t think you’d like poop jokes. You are live in three, two, one. Starfish, this is Ocean connecting you to Neptune. How copy?”

  “Starfish here.” She sounded out of breath. “I’m fine, but
I’m being followed.”

  “Neptune here. Good copy both. Give me your sitrep, Starfish.”

  There was a delay in Starfish’s response, causing Drake to wince, assuming she was turning around to see who was trailing her. “Keep it discreet, Starfish. We don’t want to let them know you’re a pro.”

  Walter blazed up another joint. He turned the fan on high, causing the smoke to blow into the rear seats.

  “Walter. Enough with the weed already.”

  Walter’s eyes appeared in the mirror. “Dude, I’m not smoking it. You smell like major piss. I’m just freshening the air.”

  “Who’s that?” Mena asked.

  “My GSA Uber driver,” Drake replied. “What makes you think you’re being followed?”

  “I saw two men come to the reception area as I was leaving. I could see in the glass door’s reflection that the receptionist was pointing to me. I took the elevator down, asked the door security where the nearest Starbucks was, and when the men got out of the elevator, they zeroed in on me right away.”

  “Okay, so two,” Drake confirmed.

  “I think more. There was a black SUV with embassy plates turning from a side street. The passenger gave a nod to one of the men exiting the building. Not subtle, but I’m kind of worried.”

  “Ocean, what is Starfish’s location now?”

  “She is headed east on Washington Street toward Franklin. Washington is a one-way.”

  “I have no idea where Washington or Franklin is.” Drake tried zooming in on the map view of his device.

  “Washington and Franklin?” Walter asked. “You need to get someone else?”

  Drake’s jaw hung slack. “Do you mind?” I can’t believe I’m asking this.

  “I’m having fun now that I don’t think you’re going to kill or arrest me.”

  “Okay. Starfish, we’re heading your way. Here’s what I need you to do. You’re going to do some light evasion. I need you to cross the street and head back to where you came from. Anyone following you on foot will still try to hold back and look discreet. The SUV won’t be able to turn around.” Drake leaned forward to Walter. “Where is the easiest and fastest way to pick someone up if we time it just right so we don’t stop and wait?”

  “Hmm.”

  “Walter. Please.”

  “You’re not going to arrest me, right?”

  “Walter!”

  “I want immunity if you’re a cop.”

  Drake reached over and grabbed Walter’s forearm. “Walter, we don’t have time for this shit.”

  “You have blood on your hand. Where’s your microphone. Is it in your shirt?”

  Drake gave Walter a gentle smack on the head.

  “Neptune. Where am I going? The men are crossing,” Mena said, anxiety growing in her voice.

  “Walter, I’ll give you two hundred dollars cash. Give me a good pickup point. Please.”

  “Wacker and Monroe. Have the person go on the east side of Wacker, cross halfway on Monroe.”

  “East side of Wacker, cross halfway on Monroe,” he repeated back. “Thank you. Did you get that, Starfish?”

  “Yes. Heading there now,” she replied.

  “Are you a spy?” Walter turned off Lake Shore Drive onto Lower Wacker. The bright sky disappeared as they drove under the city. “Like CIA or something?”

  “Starfish? Starfish.” Drake fiddled with his Molar Mic using his tongue and checking mobile device connection.

  Walter turned his head. “Oh, you probably lost connection. Can’t get anything down here.”

  Drake’s concern for reaching Mena switched to himself when he saw the barricades and police cars all around him.

  Chapter 42

  Walter, what did you just do?

  They were waiting for you. It’s a setup.

  “Yeah, you’re not a cop. I see you freaking out back there.”

  “What are they doing?” Drake’s eyes ping-ponged to the left and right.

  “Getting ready for tomorrow, duh… You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “No.”

  “The river over there”—Walter pointed to the small view of the waterway—“it gets turned green. Columbus is the only main entrance tomorrow for floats and busses. There’s a big parade by Millennium Park. St. Paddy’s Day. This is an underground start from this side to the staging area.”

  “Big parade?”

  “It’s huge. This whole weekend, everyone’s going to be wasted. Some of these guys had to police the South Side Irish Parade already in Beverly. They’re going to be wiped. Can you imagine trying to control like a hundred thousand people wasted before nine a.m.?”

  The revelation hit Woolf. “How much longer before we get to the intersection?”

  “Right where you can see the sunlight coming in.”

  Walter changed lanes to take a ramp awash in the day’s light.

  Drake saw bars adding on his connectivity. “Starfish, what’s your location?”

  “I’m at the intersection. Light just turned green. I’m walking to the halfway point. Where are you?”

  As soon as the car emerged from the underground roadway, Drake saw Mena to his left crossing toward their vehicle.

  Drake flung the car door open and beckoned the Middle Eastern woman wearing a headscarf into the car.

  Woolf scooted over to the right and scanned the pedestrians. He saw the top of a black SUV over other parked cars to the side of the road. Two men were quickly turning to the walkway. One started fingering his device then lifted it to his ear as he watched the gray Honda accelerate through the green light.

  Looking back, Woolf saw the SUV pull out from the curbside.

  “Ocean. Do you have locks on the devices of the pursuers?”

  “Sure do. Have exactly four. Also have a strong signal from the SUV. It’s sending a locator transmission back to the embassy. I’ll send you the transmission signature so you can add it to your own device.”

  “Shut them down,” Drake ordered his tech. “I need their signals jammed or disconnected.”

  “Dude! Awesome. Coming right up.” Mojo got to work typing on all keyboards like a church organist on speed playing Bach’s “Toccata and Fugue in D minor.”

  “Do I smell marijuana or cat pee?” Mena sniffed the air, following the scent to the front.

  Walter waved back. “Guilty. He’s guilty too. But you’re right. It does smell like cat piss. Hey, is that a disguise? You guys are CIA, aren’t you? My dad’s friend from college was CIA. I had a sweatshirt with the logo. Hey, where are we going now? Lawndale or are we good? I can drop you off just up here.”

  Mena raised a hand to Drake with a quizzical expression.

  “That’s Walter. He’s stoned,” Drake relayed as if this was all part of the original plan. “Walter, keep going to Lawndale.”

  Mena’s face remained rankled. “You smell horrible.”

  “That’s what I’ve been saying the whole ride,” Walter insisted. “You’re Starfish?”

  “And we’ll be changing to alternate call signs next time,” Drake announced to the team.

  Chapter 43

  “Looks like you was at the wrong place, wrong time,” Two-bags taunted with a smug laugh.

  He was flanked by two gang members looking to fully play the part for the cinema screen. Shades, hoodies, leathers, baggy pants, and pistols held at their sides. Fingers on triggers like first day civilians at a gun range, which made the Modarris a bit nervous.

  Dexter Woolf remained cross-legged on the floor. His head still splitting with pain.

  The two thugs that had thumped him stood behind their captive. “He shot the guy we saw go into the storage unit. But we did just like you said. Called you up and let no one leave.”

  Dexter’s head hung low. “I told them they were mak
ing a mistake.”

  Two-bags nodded to the thugs in front of him. One gave Dexter a hard kick to the side, crumpling him. Two-bags laughed again. “So why didn’t you do something about it?”

  “I wanted to see you. But didn’t want to call.” Dexter groaned. “They’re listening.”

  “Er’ybody’s listening. But that’s why we use throwaways. You ain’t telling me shit. An’ Feds can’t get warrants fast enough to tap us. They get their paper, and we done sittin’ back get sucked off by shorties two years later.” He laughed. Two-bags sent another visual message to his crew, and they gave Dexter another boot. “Don’t you stick your nose in my business. Fuckin’ terrorists running around blowing shit up. That’ll get po-lice on my ass in no time.”

  Dexter was crumpled again. He coughed. “You have no idea.” The Modarris raised his head and sent visual daggers to the gang leader. “And if one of these monkeys kicks me again, they’ll be dead. I’m the one who will be getting you your money, or you will not be getting money any longer—or product.”

  “Ha! You ain’t doin’ shit. Man supposed to be ringing me up is some teacher or shit. The fuckin’ ragheads’ main man. You don’t look like anyone’s main man. You some wannabe Arab poser wearin’ that shit. Goddam pajama party or some shit.”

  Dexter watched Two-bags nod to the man on his rear right. At the count of two, Dexter leaned to his left, pulled a belt knife from its concealed sheath. The Modarris turned in to the right, shoving the knife straight up into the thug’s upper groin and slicing down to sever the femoral artery. He spun under the man’s leg and tumbled him into his crony, buying enough time to stand and grab the second thug as hostage, holding the bloodied knife at the man’s throat.

  Neither of Two-bags’s security guards leveled their weapons. Instead, they gawked at the bleeding-out street hustler writhing in a pool of blood where the docile Middle Easterner once sat.

  “I am the teacher. Any questions?”

  “I think that might do it,” Two-bags conceded, not making eye contact as he, too, was transfixed by the man on the ground reaching and begging for help.