by C. T. Wente
Tom nodded his head slowly. “And?”
“OREA confirmed an event this morning.”
Tom knew that OREA, which stood for the Office of Russian and European Analysis, was the CIA’s key intelligence arm overseas. Anything of importance that happened in Europe or Russia inevitably came to the attention of that office first.
“A researcher named Tatyana Aleksandrov was found dead at a laboratory in Kaliningrad. She was unfortunate enough to be in the cafeteria when an explosive device in a vending machine detonated. Half of the building’s second floor is now a fucking open-air patio. Everyone at OREA is scratching their heads over this one. And now, thanks to the fact that I put Kaliningrad on my watch list just a few days before the attack on that shit-hole on the Baltic Sea, my boss is crawling up my ass for answers.”
A bolt of electricity shot through Tom as he stared back at Alex. He was right! His terrorist was real. He’d felt certain of it since uncovering the facts just three nights earlier, but to have the truth confirmed by his brother-in-law made everything now chillingly real. “So what did you tell him?” he asked, forcing the excitement from his voice.
“Not a goddamn thing. Do you think I’m going to tell the Director of Special Operations that my brother-in-law in Arizona came up with this information? Which brings us back to the reason I’m here,” Alex leaned down towards Tom, his dark brown eyes watering from the cold. “You can imagine my surprise when this incident popped up this morning. But the real surprise came when I got my hands on the OREA report stating that the lab is owned by a Russian Oil company called Tyukos.”
Alex paused and looked at Tom, waiting for a response.
Tom stared back at him blankly.
“For chrissake Tom, didn’t you finish your own fucking research? Tyukos is a wholly-owned subsidiary of Petronus.” He slapped his hands together and started walking. “Christ it’s cold here.”
Tom silently collected his thoughts as he fell into step next to Alex. At the next intersection, Alex turned north and began marching up the hill towards the quiet residential neighborhood that bordered the old downtown. Tom followed with his head down, carefully avoiding the patches of muddy snow that threatened to stain his shoes. He glanced over his shoulder once again. “Isn’t your friend supposed to be joining us?” he asked casually.
Alex grunted as he walked ahead. “That depends entirely on you.”
Tom nodded silently at Alex’s reply. It was clear that his brother-in-law was using old-school interrogation techniques to try and frighten him into saying everything he knew, but this was just a façade. Tom had simply supplied Alex with a theory based on available information, and that theory had been proven correct. That was it. The only thing Tom had withheld from Alex was the source of the information that produced the theory. But everyone in the intelligence game, certainly Alex included, knew that sources were not revealed at the risk of losing their trust – and the information that came with it.
The truth, Tom realized as he followed his brother-in-law through the quiet neighborhood, was that Alex was the one under scrutiny. By putting Kaliningrad on his watch list, Alex had inadvertently put himself on the CIA Director’s radar, and the director was demanding answers. Now he was simply trying to apply the same pressure on Tom that he himself was feeling.
The idea of having his oversized brother-in-law by the testicles brought a smile to Tom’s face.
“Who’s your source, Tom?” Alex suddenly demanded, his voice low and insistent.
“Jesus, is that the tone your Director used when he asked you that same question?”
“Answer the question.”
“Did it happen to occur to you – maybe somewhere between getting your ass chewed out and jumping on a flight to Flagstaff – that I just might have come up with this on my own?”
“Sure it did,” Alex replied as he looked over at Tom with a wry expression. “But we both know you’re not that smart. Someone must have helped you.”
“Well, I’m smart enough to know that you’re the one that will get fucked by this if any more Petronus employees meet an early demise, so you might want to check your attitude. As far as you and the CIA know, I am the source.”
Alex spun around and glared at Tom. “Listen to yourself, Tom!” His voice trembled with anger. “Do you have any idea how fucking ridiculous that sounds? No one – and I mean no one – could have found a link between these deaths without some kind of inside knowledge. I’d give you the benefit of the doubt if this was just putting a few pieces of the puzzle together, but whatever you stumbled upon here is way beyond that… and way out of your fucking league.” He leaned over and pressed his index finger into Tom’s chest. “You’re right, my ass is on the line thanks to you, so stop fucking around and tell me what you know. Family or not, I swear to god this is my last offer to make this easy.”
Tom took a step back from Alex and sized him up. He had never seen his brother-in-law in this state of panic before. How much of it, he wondered, was real? Was Alex really in jeopardy, or was this just the act of an experienced agent trying to extort information? He didn’t know his brother-in-law well enough to know.
“Ok Alex, I’ll tell you what I know. But it’s going to come with conditions.”
“Start talking.”
Tom turned around and started walking back towards the old downtown. “Do you and your invisible friend mind if we start heading back? It’s fucking cold out here.”
Alex looked around cautiously before nodding his head. “Fine.”
Tom paced quickly a few steps ahead of Alex, his mind racing. If Alex were to find out the truth – that his source was a handful of letters hanging in an old saloon just a short distance from here – he’d probably arrest Tom just for spite. But he didn’t know the truth, and Tom would make sure that it stayed that way. This was his investigation, his smoking gun, and most importantly, his chance to prove to the CIA that he was a worthy member of their agency.
Of course, it wasn’t going to be easy. Tom needed to give Alex enough information to act on, but not enough to lose his own leverage or value in the investigation. The obvious challenge was deciding exactly what to tell Alex. Lying to his brother-in-law wasn’t an option. Alex would have no qualm with throwing him in jail if he suspected Tom of lying or intentionally misleading him – especially if this was going to be a high-priority CIA investigation. Nor was Alex going to settle for too many vagaries or gaps in the intelligence being provided.
For the second time this evening, Tom was faced with the delicate task of delivering the facts of the story in his favor.
“A few weeks ago, an acquaintance of mine mentioned that a friend had been receiving odd letters from an anonymous man traveling abroad, and asked me to take a look at them.”
“What’s the nature of the correspondence?” Alex asked, walking a few paces behind Tom.
“Well… love letters essentially, although apparently the recipient, a young local woman, has never had prior contact with the author.”
Alex chuckled cynically. “I find that hard to believe.”
“So do I, but let’s put that aside for a moment. The letters seem to be just rambling confessions of love. No apparent substance or meaning beyond that. The only thing I found particularly curious about them was the author’s location. Each letter was written from a different country.”
“How many letters?”
“Five so far,” Tom said as he glanced over his shoulder. “Would you mind walking next to me? I feel like you’ve got a fucking gun pointed at me back there.”
“Who says I don’t?”
“Fuck off, Alex. I don’t think my sister would appreciate how much of a prick you’re being right now. Does she even know you’re here?”
“I hate to say this Tom, but your sister thinks you’re a scum-bag. If Jane knew I was here right now, she’d probably tell me to pull the trigger.”
“Yeah? Well, that’s only because I’m holding a secret over that bitch t
oo. Maybe when you get back home you can ask Jane how many months after you two were engaged she was still fucking her ex-boyfriend.”
Tom grinned at the sound of cursing behind him as Alex suddenly slipped on the icy pavement. He turned to find his brother-in-law sprawled awkwardly on the sidewalk, his jaw clenched tightly in anger. Tom reached his hand out, but Alex roughly slapped it away. He slowly rose to his feet before gesturing for Tom to keep moving.
“I won’t even justify that with a response,” Alex said flatly, the anger evident in his voice. “Now get to the fucking point and tell me why we’re talking about love letters.”
“We’re talking about love letters because they were written by our suspected terrorist.”
Alex looked over at Tom incredulously. “And you have proof of this?”
Tom shook his head. “Come on Alex, you know I don’t have any proof, but obviously I found enough circumstantial evidence to get your attention. And you sure as fuck wouldn’t be in Flagstaff right now if you didn’t believe I was right.”
“Maybe,” Alex replied. “But you haven’t explained how you came up with this. How in the hell did you manage to make a connection between a handful of love letters and the actions of a potential international terrorist in the first place?”
Tom considered the question for a moment before shrugging his shoulders.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Alex. The fact that I have good intuition and some serious investigative skills just doesn’t fit with your image of me, so why should I try to convince you otherwise?”
“Try me.”
“Okay… two things. Like I said, everything about the letters is strange, especially their places of origin. India, the Middle East, Africa, South America, Russia… that’s a pretty odd pattern of travel for most people. Definitely not places for the faint-of-heart. And then there’s the photos,” Tom said as he shook his head. “These weird Polaroid pictures of himself that he sends with each letter, standing in the middle of nowhere. I mean seriously, who the fuck still carries around an old Polaroid camera?”
“Wait a minute,” Alex stopped and grabbed Tom’s arm. “You’re telling me you have photos of this guy?”
“Well, yes and no. The guy was clever enough to conceal his face in every photo. But from what I could tell, he appears to be a taller-than-average, thirty-something Caucasian with dark brown hair and an athletic build.”
“I want those photos, Tom.” Alex demanded, leaning towards Tom. “Now.”
“We’ll come back to that,” Tom said, waving his hand dismissively. “Anyway, I was about to dismiss this whole thing as some kind of strange obsession by a typical stalker-type when I decided to check the locations and dates of the letters against criminal reports in the same areas, and bingo. That’s when everything started falling into place.”
The two men descended back into the old downtown and stopped once again at the corner of Aspen Avenue. Tom looked at his brother-in-law expectantly. “Where to now?”
Alex nodded towards Heritage Square. “What else?” he asked as they started walking.
“That’s about it,” Tom replied. “I could give you my notes on the homicides prior to Kaliningrad, but you’ve probably got more information on those than I do.”
“To hell with your notes, I want every fucking photo and scrap of paper this bastard has sent to this ‘acquaintance’ of yours.” Alex shot Tom a suspicious look. “And I want to talk to this woman right away.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not going to happen. My friend is protective of this woman to say the least. Not that it matters. Even if he wasn’t, she has absolutely no desire to speak to anyone about the situation. Believe me, I’ve tried. The best I can give you for now is information on the terrorist’s location the minute she gets another letter.”
“You know that’s not good enough, Tom. I need access to the evidence– and her.”
“And I’m telling you that you’re not going to get it.” Tom stopped on the sidewalk and rubbed his gloved hands together. Alex spun and faced him.
“Right, of course. This is where your conditions come in.” Alex sighed and looked resignedly up at the sky. “So, what do you want?”
Tom looked up at his brother-in-law’s imposing figure and smiled.
“You know what I want, Alex.”
“For fuck sake,” Alex replied, throwing his arms out in frustration. “How long it is going to take to get this through your thick skull? I can’t make you a CIA agent.”
“No, but you can make me the next best thing,” Tom replied cheerfully. “You see Alex, you’re looking at this all wrong. You have to stop seeing me as just your wife’s tenacious little brother and start seeing me for what I am.”
“And what’s that?”
“A distinguished colleague from another terrorist-fighting Federal Agency with critical information to an investigation that could be career-altering at the very least. That is, if you’re granted access to it. And let’s not forget, time is running out.”
“An investigator for ICE hardly qualifies as distinguished. You’re two pay-grades above the janitor, Tom.”
“I’m an investigator for the Department of Homeland Security,” Tom replied defensively. “And a Homeland Security agent acting as a formal consultant to the CIA would certainly go a long way in getting a re-examination of his qualifications. Especially one that’s been given Level-2 information clearance to what’s sure to be one of the biggest cases in the agency.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Of course I am. Think of it Alex– two brothers working hand-in-hand in a cross-agency investigation that ends with another rogue terrorist brought to justice. When the smoke clears and the story breaks, they’ll be interviewing us on every primetime news program in the free world. Then afterwards, you’ll take a nice promotion in the agency and add another medal to your Captain-fucking-America wall, and I’ll quietly become part of the club.”
Tom paused and pulled a brand new tube of lip balm from his pocket. He noticed the snow had stopped falling as he methodically covered his lips. He then tucked the used tube in his left pocket as a reminder to throw it away before narrowing his eyes on Alex. “Or, you can go back to Langley and try to fabricate a good reason as to why you put Kaliningrad on your watch list. Like you said, it’s your ass on the line, not mine.”
Alex looked at him coldly. He started to reply, then suddenly stopped and lifted his head as something caught his attention. Tom turned and looked. Across the street, Alex’s colleague stood under the street lamp staring quietly back at them, the shoulders of his black overcoat glistening with melted snow.
“Looks like your ride is here,” Tom mumbled.
Alex shifted his stare to Tom. “One week, Tom. You have one week to produce something solid enough to keep this floating. Otherwise I’ll make it my mission to end your career with Homeland Security, not to mention any chance with my agency. Do you understand me?”
“I would expect nothing less from family.”
Alex raised his index finger to Tom’s face. “One week.”
“Aye-aye, captain,” Tom replied with a mocking sneer. “I’ll do my part… as long as you meet my conditions.” He leaned towards Alex and smiled smugly. “I look forward to joining the team, brother.”
“You’re in way over your head, Tom,” Alex said quietly. He gestured at his colleague across the street and began walking back towards Leroux Street. He was nearly a block away when he suddenly spun on his heels and jogged back to the corner where Tom was standing. “What’s his name?”
“I have no idea what is name is,” Tom replied. “He’s never mentioned it in the letters.”
“No, not him,” Alex replied, shaking his head irritably. “Jane’s ex-boyfriend… what was his name?”
“Oh, him.” Tom seemed to think for a moment giving Alex a wry grin. “Who knows. It was a long time ago, Alex. But I wouldn’t worry about it. I just made that up to fuck with you.”
27.
Hotel Keizersgracht
November 21, 1:12am
Planet Amsterdam
Jeri –
I’ve found it! The sister bar to Joe’s Last Stand has been unquestionably discovered here in the brackish backstreets of my personal Mecca of unbridled self-gluttony I affectionately call Amsterdam. It was incredible. I was panhandling for peep-show change on the outskirts of the Rossebuurt when my nose caught the scent of old oak and genever. Before I knew it, my clog-toting feet were standing at the doorway to a wicked little place called Huppel de Pub. Had it not been for the constant sound of slurred Dutch wafting from the interior, I would have sworn I was standing at the entry to your own enchanted tavern. Three hours later I was practically a regular as I swilled Wambrechies with the bartender and snuggled between the heady warmth of Helga from Rotterdam and Nela from Andorra. The only thing missing from this little taste of Dutch-wrapped nostalgia was you, mijn liefde.
Our kids will be gorgeous, on that I bet my life.
And don’t worry about the ladies, Jeri-girl. I left the pub with little cash but nearly all my good propriety intact. This little holiday of mine will soon be over, but I refuse to let the whims of my own nether regions interfere with what has clearly grown between us. Not since the fiery eyes of a woman named Vida gazed down at me as she tended to my wounds on the cobbled streets of Pamplona have I allowed this heart of mine to distend so unnaturally from my chest. If only I’d known then that Vida was a gun-runner with the mood swings of a Colombian drug lord and the mouth of an Italian used car salesman, but that’s neither here nor there. The point is not to fret the distance… this little ticker’s in the bag.