by Allen Kupetz
“What happened to me?” asked Rachel in a tone reminiscent of one of CJ's hangovers during college.
“You better lay off the hard stuff,” teased CJ. “I remember my first ginger ale.”
“It was not my first,” responded Rachel, who was beginning to sound more coherent. “I've been doing ginger ale for years. How long was I out?”
“Not long enough, I'm afraid. We still have about seven more hours to kill. But don't worry, you’ll get a good night's sleep in Seoul. I've seen to that.”
“Thank you. How?”
“Well you may be shocked, shocked to learn that because you are such a good customer of the Intercontinental Hotel chain, they have graciously decided to give you a complimentary upgrade to a suite. Coincidentally, the Renaissance has made a similar conclusion about me.”
“Thank you. Well, we will have to get together and compare suites,” Rachel flirted. “But what I really want is for you to tell me where to download whatever app you’re using,” said Rachel, obviously deducing the source of CJ's magic powers.
“I can do that, but let’s watch a movie first. I’ve have my heart set on Four Weddings and a Funeral. We can watch it here or in your suite,” CJ flirted back.
“A free movie? What a generous offer and what a terrible dilemma. If I say yes, you’ll think I’m easy or eager or cheap. If I say no, you’ll think I’m not interested.”
“I hate dilemmas myself, but I'm always eager to learn how others solve them.”
“I say yes. My mother said when a man pops the question, just say yes. I hope she was talking about watching a movie,” joked Rachel.
“This is an excellent movie,” offered CJ, “if you like weddings, funerals, and British humor.”
“I'm quite fond of two of the three.”
“Well yes, British humor does take a bit getting used to,” responded CJ, now confident that Langley was wrong about Rachel. “Perhaps it is time for another trip to the bathroom for you. You’ll be glued to your seat once it starts.”
“Good idea.”
Rachel headed to the bathroom and CJ quickly reread the last incoming message: IT IS ESSENTIAL THAT YOU BE ABLE TO ID LEE TO THE TEAM. CJ drafted and sent a quick response, then put his phone away.
______________________________________________________________________________
1. Action required (immediate): Please retransmit last message. Message garbled. Unable to decrypt. Low on battery power.
Chapter Two
CJ should have been a baseball star traveling to such exotic cities as Baltimore, Houston and Denver, not sitting next to a beautiful woman en route to Seoul to meet an Israeli spy. Baseball had always come easy to CJ, who had never been predisposed to doing anything requiring hard work. CJ never worked too hard at school, finding it easier to coast with a B than to work only a little harder to achieve an A. A high IQ, easy manner, and natural athleticism made him a hit with students and teachers alike, though most were quick to point out that CJ was coasting and should be a straight-A student. His early report cards always had a check by the box “Student is achieving below apparent ability.” His parents were worried; CJ was not.
Rather than studying, CJ played football, soccer, and little league baseball. He was a high school all-American pitcher with an 85-plus MPH left-handed fastball. In 2002, he started playing baseball on a full scholarship to the University of Texas at Austin, famous for its rich college baseball history. A line drive up the middle shattered CJ's left elbow and his would-be baseball career. It also ended his years of coasting at school. He took excessive loads each semester, graduating in four years with enough hours for degrees in political science and English. He applied to law school at UT and was accepted for the 2006 fall semester.
CJ wasn't really interested in becoming a lawyer, but he loved Austin and was reluctant to get out into the real world. In the spring of 2010, CJ attended a recruiting lecture by representatives of the CIA. He picked up an application packet that was the size of all of his 14 law school applications combined. He sat down one weekend and plowed through the mass of paper, which obviously was used to pre-screen anyone too lazy to complete it. The application was pretty standard except for the length and the detailed questions about every neighborhood where the applicant had lived. There also were several short essays to complete, with subjects ranging from “what's your favorite book and why” to “what experience in your life has had the most profound impact.” CJ mailed it to a P.O. Box in Dallas and did not hear back until his first semester of law school had started.
Soon after spending about $1,800 on such literature as Contracts, Torts, Civil and Criminal Procedure, and Evidence, CJ received a letter in a plain white envelope with the same Dallas P.O. box. It said if he were interested in pursuing the CIA job application process, he should call a local number, give his name, and he would then be instructed on what to do next. CJ called the number and was told the next step would be to participate in an interview at a nearby Holiday Inn in about two weeks.
The interview was uneventful, but apparently successful, as CJ was asked to take the Agency's Professional Aptitude Test Battery in the same hotel the following weekend. CJ arrived at the hotel and completed the three-and-a-half hour exam. There were about 30 other people also there, all about the same age. CJ didn't see anyone he knew and didn't pay much attention to the other test takers. The administrator was a middle-aged woman, dressed conservatively, with a polite yet very businesslike tone and manner.
In addition to the SAT-like sections on math and English, there were a series of psychological sections. One section had about a hundred pairs of adjectives and CJ was instructed to select the one that was most appropriate to himself -- “dreamer” or “planner” was one such pair. CJ chose planner. Another section had pairs of phrases, where again CJ was to select the most appropriate -- “I'd enjoy parachuting out of a plane” and “There's nothing like a good book” was one such pair. CJ chose the chance to jump out of the plane. CJ was one of the first people done.
Looking back on it now, CJ wished one of the choices would have been “I'd enjoy sitting on an airplane next to a beautiful woman en route to Seoul to meet an Israeli spy while pretending to be a bigshot international attorney.” It would have been easier than trying to guess what kind of answers the Agency wanted. In any event, there he was, 30 years old and in just such a situation. He had no regrets about his career choice, although he still would have liked a chance to strike out Alex Rodriguez.
Rachel and CJ departed the plane together and started the long walk to the Korean immigration queues. There were always a lot of security personnel in the airport, but today the number seemed particularly high. Rachel must have noticed it too.
“Are all these cops here to meet you?” she asked.
“Please ask them if I’m going to be arrested. It is not too late to cancel my reservation at the Renaissance.”
Rachel approached one of the guards and, in it what sounded to CJ like perfect Korean, asked some questions. After a brief exchange, she caught up with CJ.
“The Israeli Prime Minister is coming to Seoul today,” she reported.
“Wonderful,” replied CJ. “I hope he’s not staying at my hotel.” CJ wanted to get Rachel talking about Israelis or Jews or some related topic in an attempt to figure out what if anything she was up to.
“You got something against Israelis,” she asked, “or just Prime Ministers in general?”
“Israelis and Prime Ministers are fine,” CJ responded. “But I don’t like guns; Israelis and Prime Ministers always travel with guns. Have you ever been to Israel?”
“No,” she said. “My parents wanted to make the trip, see where Jesus was born and all that. I told them there was no such thing as kosher kimchi so they went to Sea World in San Antonio instead.”
The two proceeded through immigration, got their luggage and made it through Korean customs quickly. CJ thought they must want to get everyone out of the airport before the P
rime Minister shows up. “Let’s share a cab,” CJ proposed.
Rachel agreed and the two were picked up by a deluxe taxi. There are two kinds of taxis in Seoul, deluxe and regular. The regular taxis are called “kimchi taxis” by the expats. Deluxe taxis cost more, but the drivers tend to speak some English. Kimchi taxis stop along the way and pick up others and only the driver knows how much it is going to cost each passenger. The supply of taxis in Seoul never seemed to meet demand, so the drivers seem to have the attitude that they are doing you a favor by picking you up. One could always get a deluxe taxi because most locals did not want to spend the extra money.
“Intercontinental Hotel,” CJ instructed and the cab took off and headed for the Olympic Expressway, built to handle the traffic flow for the 1988 Olympics.
Rather than putting her carry-on luggage in the trunk, Rachel carried it with her in the cab. Rachel moved her bag next to the door, forcing her to scoot next to CJ. Their legs were just touching. Rachel was staring out the window; CJ was staring at her.
CJ chose to drop off Rachel first to be polite, of course, but also because the hour-long ride would have lasted a quarter-hour longer if the driver had to make the left-hand turn into the Renaissance. There were almost no left-hand turns in Seoul. One was expected to drive past the destination and make a U-turn. Heading west from the Intercontinental, the driver could turn right into CJ’s hotel. The bell captain opened Rachel’s door and she said something to the driver in Korean to the effect of take this man to the Renaissance. The driver unloaded her bags while she walked around to CJ’s side of the cab. He rolled down the window, stuck her head inside the cab, and kissed him.
“Call me when you get checked in,” she instructed.
The cab headed to the Renaissance and CJ realized he had not changed any dollars into won. He offered dollars to the driver, who accepted them most reluctantly. This was not the third world where dollars are king. The locals like the local currency.
“Receipt, please. Yongsuchan chuseyo,” CJ attempted. It was important for a government official to be able to ask for a receipt in any language. That was another advantage to deluxe taxis, they had receipt machines. Once when CJ was in Germany to meet GOSSAMER, he went to the Frankfurt train station to buy a ticket to Munich. After repeated attempts to correctly pronounce “Quittung bitte,” the ticket seller said in near perfect English, “Do you need a receipt?”
The Renaissance had a large, attractive lobby. Registration was to the left, a coffee shop and bakery were to the right, and a quiet night club with a Filipino band was straight ahead. You could also enter the hotel from the second floor in the back. There were good restaurants in various places from the fourth floor down to the second basement. There also was a restaurant on the top floor, but CJ thought you needed to buy a membership to get in and had never ventured up there. CJ always stayed at the Renaissance despite warnings from the amateurs in the counter-intelligence division that he should stay in different hotels. Real businessmen tend to stay in the same hotels to get free upgrades or earn frequent flyer miles; only secret agents changed hotels on every trip. CJ hated what he called the “CI police” because they tried to judge his actions without ever having left Washington. The CI police still had a lot of power because of the fallout from the Aldrich Ames and Harold Nicholson scandals.
CJ went to the counter to check in, but the young clerk quickly came around the counter and escorted CJ to a special area obviously reserved for guests who had rented suites.
“Welcome back to Seoul, Mr. Conner,” the manager said, misunderstanding CJ’s name. “We have saved the best room for you. I need only imprint of your credit card.”
The whole process took only a moment and soon CJ was in the elevator to room 1538, a corner suite. The manager showed him in, turned on the television, and explained the rules of the minibar while the bellboys brought in his luggage. The manager gave CJ a deep bow and the three staff departed the room. CJ went to the bathroom and before he could unzip his pants, the shower curtain was pulled open from inside and two western men smiled at CJ.
“You two should really get a room,” CJ said calmly while trying not to look as startled as he was. “Preferably not mine.”
“We’re from Japan,” the shorter of the two men said. “I’m Bill and this is Clayton.”
“I’m from Dallas,” CJ responded, “now kindly get the hell out of my shower. Do I know you?”
“We’re techs here to help you with your Ms. Asia problem,” Clayton volunteered. “We always like to try to beat the guest to the room. It’s a little game we like to play.”
CJ thought more of techs than he did of the CI police, but not a lot more. When he was in training he heard a joke that had since proven to be correct. How many Agency techs does it take to change a light bulb? Just one, but it takes three years and costs 1.5 million dollars. And then it only lights up during the day, never at night.
“Who sent you?”
“You want some kind of bona fides, huh? They told us you’d be cautious. I believe you were supposed to call a Mr. Baskins. But after that stupid prank about retransmitting a message because your battery was low, the chief of the Israel desk said for us to make contact with you directly. Don’t worry, nobody saw us come in. Those silly electronic locks only take a second to open.”
“Well, Bill, Clayton, thanks for stopping by. The locks are even easier to open from the inside. Bye.”
“You want us to get her at the Intercon?”
“How do you know where she’s staying?”
“What, you think you’ve got the only phone on the planet? Who do think wrote the app? I told you, we’re techs.”
“What are your instructions regarding Rachel?” CJ asked. The two definitely looked like techs, not thugs, but CJ had not met many of either.
“We are going to give her a little powder and put her on a bus for Pusan. She’ll be out of Seoul for 48 hours and you can do your thing. We’ll be gone as soon as she is gone or we can stay and help you if you want. We brought a bunch of cool new tech stuff with us.”
“I assume you were told I am completely in charge of this operation and you are to do exactly what I tell you.”
“Chief of the Israel desk said something to that effect, but said we had to get the girl out of town no matter what you said.”
“There’s been a small change of plans,” CJ said. “I got e-mail that said the phone number thing was a screw up and we can just ignore Rachel. But I’m glad you guys are here. Have either of you been trained to conduct counter surveillance?”
“We didn’t get that message,” said Bill a little nervously. “Our instructions were quite clear.”
“When was the last time you checked your e-mail?”
“We were told not to log on in Seoul to make sure nobody knows we’re here, being that you’re supposed to be such a super-secret agent and all.”
“Well I’m certain that message is in your box, but your instructions not to log on make a lot of sense. Let’s forget about the what-ifs and accomplish the mission at hand.”
“What do you want us to do?”
“Where are you staying?”
“We are at the Crown Hotel near the U.S. Army base. Yongsan. It’s not as fancy as this, but it’s within per diem.”
“I know the Crown. Here’s what I want you to do. Go to the Nashville Club in Itaewon tomorrow at about 2000. It’s only about a 10 minute walk from your hotel. Spend the day shopping. Bring some bags of souvenirs with you to the club. I’ll sit next to you, but not at your table. By then I should have a plan and will brief you as to what I need. Understand?”
“No problem,” said Bill.
“I’ll buy you a Dallas Cowboys hat,” said Clayton.
“And I’ll buy you both dinner so you can save some per diem. If I’m late, just wait. I’ll be there before closing.”
Bill and Clayton left and CJ could finally go to the bathroom. He had fooled the techs and Rachel was safe; he couldn’t
decide which of the two made him feel better. He went down to the lobby and called her.
“My room is wonderful, but the bed is just too big for one person,” Rachel said jokingly. “Haven’t you always fantasized that some woman would say something like that to you?”
“Are you kidding? I hear it all the time. You up for some Chinese? There’s a great place in your hotel.”
“Sounds great. I just got out of the shower and can be ready in 20 minutes. I’m in 1202. Come on over.”
“Then I’ll be there in 15,” CJ joked. “I want to see what you look like when you’re not ready.”
Chapter Three
CJ’s training was a little different from so-called inside Agency officers because he could not complete the operations course at the Agency training facility in southern Virginia. There was a good chance the Russians or the Chinese or some perennial bad guys would photograph those entering and exiting that facility. Apparently it was okay for the Russians to know who the Agency’s secret agents were, just not the super-secret agents. Instead, CJ attended a five-month course run out of the basement of a nondescript shopping center in Pittsburgh.
The course had training sessions on how to spot, assess, develop, recruit and handle foreign assets, prepare the requisite reporting cables and financial accounting certifications, learn how to use the gadgets that the techs built and, most importantly perhaps, learn how to survive in a bureaucracy while living and working outside the mainstream bureaucracy. CJ’s class had only 11 people and CJ ranked himself no better than in the top half at graduation. The instructors, all current or recently retired Agency case officers – C/Os in the Agency vernacular – spent a lot of the time repeating their personal war stories, since by this time their spouses and often second and third spouses had probably long since tired of the same stories.
In the not-so-distant past, instructors had a reputation of being recovering alcoholics and marginal C/Os. The Agency had tried to change this by bringing more successful officers into training positions with the lure that they would receive good follow-on assignments. This had helped raise the quality of instruction without raising the reputation of the instructors. It was still assumed – especially by the often overly self-confident new hires – that the adage of those who can, do and those who can’t, teach was alive and well in the operations course.