by Jake Aaron
I’m quick, but there’s no way I could keep my bearing with that capstone. Gunnar is unshaken.
Gunnar seriously explains, “First, we don’t know it’s the CIA. At this point, I’m not discounting the Mafia being after you. It would be ironic if your mobster yarn turned out to be partly true. Second, the CIA is a big organization. Langley probably doesn’t know I exist. By the way, I’m officially in Saigon on business now.” He smiles. “I’m going back in the garage to wake up our patient.”
“I have to be around at least while you’re doing that,” Alex states.
“In that case, before we go back in, could you send someone to get me some hydrofluoric acid, a saw, a hammer, a flat screwdriver, a pair of pliers, rope, duct tape, and an axe?” Gunnar asks himself out loud, “What else do I need? Bottled water and thick plastic to cover the floor.”
“He had a hacksaw, sledge hammer, and axe in his car,” I answer. “We have those. I think Dr. Aurand has a screwdriver, rope, duct tape, and pair of pliers in his garage. There is a craftsman a mile away who etches. He’ll have the acid.” I show Gunnar I listen well, “And we have lots of cold bottled water.”
“Let’s check on our patient. Then get those items for me, please.” Gunnar adds, “When he wakes up, I want him to see all those items and start imagining what I will do with them. I want you out of the room for a very good reason. Tell me what I need to do to wake him up.”
I back off on my insistence of being in the room when the would-be killer awakes. Gunnar knows what he is doing.
*****
Steven groggily comes to. It is evening. Everyone, except Gunnar and me, is away from the clinic at a movie in town. I am in my cottage near the clinic. Steven is restrained in a kitchen chair. He thinks he is alone. He wonders where he is. He has duct tape across his lips to prevent him from screaming. He is stripped to his underwear. The chair sits on plastic. On a table in front of him are an axe, a sledge hammer, a hacksaw, screwdriver, rope, a pair of pliers, and a flask. He recognizes the axe, sledge hammer, and hacksaw. He senses karma. He wishes he hadn’t taken the initiative to take out this target. So much for being an operative. The deputy director told him not to.
Gunnar is in the shadows behind Steven, who cannot see him. “Who are you?” Gunnar asks.
Silence.
“Who are you?” Gunnar asks.
Steven tries to speak but is frustrated by the tape.
Gunnar wants the patient flustered.
“Who are you?” Gunnar asks again. He reaches around Steven’s head and rips off the tape.
“I’m David Preen. Who are you?”
Gunnar: “I’ll ask the questions. You answer them. You killed someone here in Hawaii a month ago. You shot him. You’ve been in a coma. Why did you shoot him?” Gunnar changes facts to disorient David.
David’s mind is reeling. Nothing feels right. Hawaii doesn’t jibe. Him?
Gunnar: “Who sent you? Why did you do that?”
Silence.
Gunnar pours ice cold water over the patient. He does this again. He turns on the Vornado fan. It is five feet from David. It runs at full speed. David begins to shiver uncontrollably.
Gunnar lets David stew in the silence. After a while, wearing a bandana on his head and one across his face, he walks around in front David. He pulls up a chair in front of David. He begins, “You know, David, you’ve heard it over and over. You know it’s true: Everyone eventually talks.
“What price will you pay for your silence? You’ll give up your fingernails and limbs, maybe eyeballs. Your face will never be the same. You’ll be a mangled mess. No woman will ever want to be with you. Children will turn away from you on the street. For what? For information that you finally give up anyway — because everyone always talks eventually. Why put yourself through that?” Gunnar’s voice is measured and convincing.
David face is visibly disturbed, as his teeth chatter.
Gunnar reaches back for the plastic flask of hydrofluoric acid on a table. He holds the stem of a light bulb. He carefully pours the acid over the glass. The corrosive acid rapidly eats away the glass. Ironically, the overflow acid spills harmlessly onto the plastic bags on the floor with little chemical interaction, unnoticed by David. “Think about what this will do to your face. It will give you third-degree burns, and no plastic surgeon can fix that kind of devastation. You know resistance is an exercise in futility. … Now, who sent you?”
Breathing rapidly, David spits out, “Deputy Director Higgins.”
Gunnar shuts off the fan. He rewards David for talking. He recognizes the CIA connection and demands, “Why?”
David: “He didn’t tell me. He says it’s very close-hold. For all I know it may be off-the-books. I’m not allowed to read anyone in on what little I know. Look, I don’t remember killing anybody. I was told to find Alex Olson. That’s all.”
“So you were supposed to kill her?” Gunnar inquires.
“Yes!” David lies. He is coherent enough to know that he compounds his guilt if he tells of his initiative. Anyway, Higgins was going to terminate her, he rationalizes. He questions himself over why lying after attempting murder should matter to his superconscious mind. Mysteries of the universe.
“Were any others involved in your operation — targets or operatives?” Gunnar asks.
“No other targets that I know about. When we used operatives, they knew very little. The guy who tried to follow the Simmers to Australia, for example, just had pictures and real names. They didn’t know why. They were to report progress in tailing. That’s all.”
David is now sweating profusely.
The masked Gunnar patiently gives David sips of bottled water until it is gone, another reward. “What is the name of the operation?” he demands.
For some reason, David balks.
“Come on, you’ve given up too much to hold back now!” Gunnar reminds him.
“Polly Gone,” David answers, “that’s the name of the operation. Higgins likes to play cute with the names. Two words. Spelled like the girl’s name, then G-O-N-E.”
“More water, David?”
“No thanks. I didn’t catch your name …”
“Nice try, David. As I said, I will ask the questions. Why did you target Dr. Joan?” Gunnar doesn’t confirm the finding of Alex.
David explains how even the computer was no match for Alex. “Her methods were very good tradecraft. She switched aliases, used cash, and employed other means to elude us very effectively. From lists of passenger paying for cash tickets into and out of Australia in the time around when the Simmers ditched our operative, I singled out Vanuatu more as a hunch than solid deduction.”
“What is Higgins’ personal office number?” Gunnar demands.
“I’m only supposed to use it for emergencies. It’s …” David says the number a second time at Gunnar’s request. Then does the same for Higgins’ home phone.
“You need to keep your fluids up. Have a sip of water.” Gunnar has already given David a good dose of Valium from the previous bottle. He is buying time until the drug kicks in. David no longer fights the duct tape restraint on his members. Gunnar asks the same questions again. David gives the same answers. Then David sits remarkably docile in his chair.
“David, here’s the plan. You’re not going to be harmed. We’re going to put you back under for a while. After some time, we’ll drop you off at the hotel. You will return to work back at Langley. Your boss will strongly suspect you gave his name up. You already have credible personal damage to show you resisted with your head wound and knee gash. Do you want us to add to apparent evidence of torture with burns to your skin? By that I mean topical acid burns to your chest, back, and legs — maybe cauterized marks on your skin. We’d do that while you’re unconscious.”
David is slowed by the Valium and the many ramifications of the offer. His captor seems to understand what David faces on return. David nods, “Make it look like I suffered a lot. Higgins may kill me otherwise. He’s a
vindictive son of a bitch.”
Gunnar has already calculated the merits of returning David or not. “I need you to swear you won’t try to escape before we’re ready to release you. Realize that if I wanted to kill you, I’d do it now. Will you be compliant?” Gunnar knows David’s promise may be hollow, but he’ll take what he can get from the captive. He judges the man somewhat of a Boy Scout at heart.
David nods and, despite the Valium, answers quickly, “Yes!”
“One bit of advice, David. Don’t put the hacksaw, sledge hammer, and axe on your expense report. Thanks for the portable sniper rifle,” Gunnar jokes.
Drugged, David slowly responds with a muted half smile. He fades off in restraints. Gunnar puts tape back over David’s mouth.
*****
Alex hears Gunnar at her door. “That was fast, John.” She is aware others may hear. “Less than sixty minutes.”
“When you go back to check on David, wear a surgical mask — as well as whenever you’re with him. The plan is for Dr. Aurand’s trusted friend to drop him back at his hotel. That was a good idea to tell the hotel to keep his room reservation with the ‘camped out on the beach’ explanation. He can wend his way back to work from there.”
Gunnar explains David’s concurrence to make him look more roughed up. “He needs to appear to have been tortured. It’s the humane thing to do, Joan. Just add to his current maladies. Maybe back off on the antibiotics as well. That knee wound is a real beaut.”
“I can do that,” Alex answers. “A few cryogenic skin burns will go away after a few days. A couple of shallow cauterizations will look like electrodes were applied.”
Gunnar sees my newfound sympathy for my patient. He counsels, “Joan, remember he did try to kill you.”
Washington DC Area
Gunnar arrives at Dulles Airport. He rents a car under an alias. He goes for an extensive walk around his hotel collecting the numbers of various phone booths with their addresses. Then he drives by Deputy Director Higgins’ house. He locates phone booths near there. He records their numbers and addresses.
Gunnar returns to a booth near his hotel. He calls Higgins’ home phone in the evening. “At the top of the next hour, be at the phone booth next to the front of your local post office.”
“Who is this? Why should I do that?” Higgins demands.
“Operation Polly Gone. I’ll call you at the top of the hour sharp.” Gunnar hangs up.
On time, Gunnar calls from a toll booth five blocks from his hotel. He recognizes Higgins’ voice. Gunnar: “Go to the phone booth in front of the nearest hospital. I will ring it in the time it takes for you to get there.” Gunnar heads for a different phone booth six blocks from his hotel.
In fifteen minutes, Higgins picks up. “Listen,” he starts in, “this is about …”
Gunnar cuts him off, “Shut up and listen. Your operation is blown. You’ve revealed yourself. Now pay attention. You are going to cancel Polly Gone. You are not going to pursue the target on that list. No contact, no harassment, no tricks. Am I clear?”
Higgins knows he is not taping anyone and thinks the caller’s taping would be self-defeating. “Why should any of this happen?” he asks, still careful.
“If you harm the target on your list, it will come out that you were involved in the November operation. You’ll be ruined — in every way. There are affidavits in multiple law offices to be unsealed in event of the target’s death. Higgins, do we have a deal?”
Higgins sighs. Reluctantly, he agrees. He doesn’t really see any other choice.
“No slip ups, Higgins. I know where your children and grandchildren live. Do you read me?” Gunnar threatens.
In a surrendering tone, Higgins slowly says, “No slip ups. I agree.”
Gunnar feels a sense of accomplishment. He knows Higgins could lie, but he also knows Higgins will think three times about crossing him. Gunnar has already arranged for the affidavits to be held at law offices as he advertised.
Gunnar heads to another phone booth. He calls a hotel in Luganville on Espiritu Santo, an island north of Efate. “Joan, it’s done. You should be free to live your life now; but for the time being, be careful. Your nemesis is neutralized. Tell your friends in the south to free the bird. I know you need time to think about what you’re going to do. For the next few weeks, I wouldn’t make any major changes. I’ve got to get back to the salt mines, unless you need me for anything.”
Langley, VA
David reports to work at CIA headquarters straightaway after landing at Dulles. He wants to appear before his cryogenic and cauterizing burns begin to heal. He seeks to magnify how much he was tortured to give up information on Polly Gone.
His supervisor, who is not read in on the operation, sees David and tells him, “What the hell happened to you, slugger?” Like others in the building, he is startled by the bandaged head wound and burns on David’s face, neck, and hands.
David summons a trite deflection, “You should see the other guy!”
“Get better, David. Higgins wants to see you as soon as possible.”
Having checked with her boss, Higgins’ secretary sends David into the deputy director’s office.
Higgins does a brief scan of David’s bandaged head and burned skin. “Where did you find her?”
“Vanuatu. That’s …” David answers.
Higgins cuts in, “I know where it is.” He no longer makes eye contact. As he shuffles paper around on his desk, “David, we’re shelving Polly Gone. Destroy any traces of it. Don’t forget the tapes from the computer. That’s it.”
The ensuring silence is awkward. David’s feet don’t move. His arms start to gesture. He opens his mouth. No words come out. He thinks better of speaking. David starts to leave without comment.
As David is about to exit the office door, the deputy director speaks almost distantly, “David, you’re being reassigned to Southeast Asia. They need an analyst there.” The atmosphere stays frigid.
David is surprised he is not being fired. He can tell the stoic man wants no discussion. He decides not to extend the conversation, if you could call it that. Better quit while I’m ahead, he thinks. “Good day, sir,” he softly utters. He is secretly glad he won’t be getting orders to be a field operative.
*****
Higgins fumes. He bends his silver $750 Mont Blanc pen and throws it across the room. He summons his secretary. “Margaret, get me a list of newspaper reporters in Vanuatu and their numbers.” He has recovered his composure. No reason to put his anger out on her. “A short list, I would expect.”
On her way out, his secretary picks up the bent pen without comment. She knows her boss is angry and wants no reminder. She palms it for the trash. “Can I bring you some fresh coffee?,” she asks soothingly.
“Just the list, thanks, Margaret.”
In short order, his secretary is back with the list of three newspaper reporters. He pockets the list for future reference. The time zone difference must be fifteen or sixteen hours; I’ll need to call later to catch someone in the office in Vanuatu, he calculates.
Vanuatu
I feel newfound freedom as I contemplate the many possibilities that life has before me, now that I don’t have to hide. I almost feel giddy. Once again the world is my oyster. I am taking Gunnar’s advice to make no sudden changes for several weeks. Meanwhile, I bask in the opportunities before me. The most appealing choice at this moment is to talk my way back into medical school. The big obstacle there is that I will have to convince a committee of doctors that I have the character strength to be a doctor. They will challenge my not bouncing back faster from my brother’s death. The other obvious choice is to stay Dr. Joan Smith. I love my life here. I practice medicine, I am surrounded by caring friends, and I have a happiness I have not known before. The less attractive choices to me stem from having a lot of money and the freedom to use it. I have almost forgotten about the million dollars sitting in an offshore bank account. I should now be able to access it witho
ut fear of being killed.
As I rollick in anticipation of my decision, I get a phone call from Tani, a newspaper reporter for the Vanuatu Island Sun. She wants me to comment on an anonymous call that says I am an impostor and do not have credentials to practice medicine. I come crashing down from my dream world of choices. I tell her that the prank call should be dismissed and is not worthy of comment. She is very deferential but persistent. She settles for a face-to-face interview in three days.
I am angry and in a panic. Out of habit, I still maintain security precautions. After a few calls from a toll booth in Port Vila, I finally get in touch with Gunnar and explain what is happening.
I use his alias. “John, I’ve looked everywhere for news about Dr. Smith. Nothing on her emerging from New Guinea. My patients in Vanuatu are pleased with me — every one of them. There’s not a lot of professional jealousy here, either. You don’t think David is causing blowback on me?”
Gunnar uses my alias. “Joan, let me do some research at my end. I have a lot of sources you don’t — contacts, files, databases. All in all, I don’t think David is the problem. The one running him might be. David should be grateful to be alive. Listen, I’ll call you at this number in six hours. Okay? Stay cool.”
*****
Approaching six hours later, I take a personal inventory. My blood pressure is up, my pulse is up, and I am edgy. I thought I had it made, more than made. Then this. As Glen used to say, my life is now a “soup sandwich.” One obvious option in my future looks in danger. My remaining here as Dr. Joan looks less and less viable.
I am at the phone booth as scheduled. The phone rings. “Joan, I’m sorry you’re going through this. I’ve gone through every source I can. Nothing. Of course, it’s hard to prove a negative. I’m inclined to think it was, indeed, the guy running David. What are your thoughts?”