The Spymaster's Daughter

by Allan Cole

  “It’s lovely to meet you,” Anne said, her tone sweeter than she intended. The woman made her feel like she was still in Mary Janes and pink socks with lacy tops. Still, she managed to continue in a manner her mother would have approved - “And please call me Ann.”

  The woman smiled an infectious smile – a wonderful asset in a politician’s aide, Ann couldn’t help but think.

  “I already think of you that way,” Alice said. “The senator has told me so much about you that I feel we’ve known each other for years.”

  “Oh,” was all Ann could say. She wondered what Paul had said about her. She felt a blush rising – ordered it down.

  Alice moved on, gesturing for Ann to follow her down the long Senate Building corridor. The hallway was surprisingly shabby for such an important edifice, with worn carpets and walls in need of paint. Loud office sounds: telephones ringing, arguing voices, the clank of copy machines and the endless buzzing of shredding machines, which Ann thought sounded quite like a chorus of bug zappers on a tropical night.

  They turned a corner and automatic lighting bloomed on, illuminating the scene, which was much different than before. The carpet was new, the walls freshly painted. Up ahead she saw carved mahogany doors. A brass plaque gleamed under the defused light. Ann had no doubt whose name was on it.

  The hallway had almost a church-like atmosphere: state-of-the-art soundproofing quashed all noises within and without. The difference between this hallway and the other was striking.

  As if reading her mind, Alice observed, “Paul might still be the junior senator from Hawaii, but when he won his second term our accommodations improved immeasurably.”

  “I can imagine,” Ann replied, although to be honest, she really couldn’t. Who could really imagine a U.S. senator’s life?

  Alice laughed. “Never mind the new carpets and fresh paint, the real bonus was that I finally have a splinter-free desk and an office chair that doesn’t attack my dignity with errant springs.”

  Ann chuckled. “I think I know that very chair more intimately than I care to describe in polite company,” she said. “Or, at the very least its evil twin resides in my former office at Doctors Without Borders.”

  She felt a twinge of regret as she flashed on that dingy, dirty tent cubicle that had been her professional home for so long.

  Uncomfortable as it was, she missed it horribly. And she missed the long lines of sick people – mostly women, with children balanced on their hips – who greeted her each shift. It had been a hard job. Hell, sometimes it was impossible. But she had never known such satisfaction in her life and feared she would never experience such a thing again.

  Alice ushered her into a spacious outer office. Another set of double doors loomed at the far end. But these were open – inviting.

  “The Senator is waiting for you,” Alice said, waving her forward.

  Ann’s mouth went dry. All she could do was nod assent. She walked toward those open doors, feet heavy, heart pounding.

  She hesitated at the entrance. Across the room, a tall man rose from behind an ornate desk. He was in shadow – bright sunlight streamed in through the large window that framed him. The view behind him was a veritable patriotic portrait of the D.C. skyline – monuments and all.

  On his right was the American flag. To his left, the odd banner of his home state. Ann latched onto the oddness to keep herself steady, remembering that the Hawaiian flag had eight horizontal red, white and blue bars, marking the state’s four islands, but in the corner was the Union Jack – the flag of Great Britain -Hawaii’s former colonial ruler.

  I can’t do this, she thought giddily. How could I have ever imagined…?

  Then Paul came out of the shadow and Ann saw that he was as handsome as ever – possibly even more so. He was a mature man of 38, now, with a touch of gray at his temples. His eyes were the same deep dark wells that she remembered so well, with that slightly Oriental cast that he inherited from his Japanese-American father. He was muscular and moved with an easy grace that complimented the Hawaiian genes he’d inherited from his mother.

  Paul Yano – the junior senator from Hawaii – was just as beautiful a man as the one she’d met and fallen in love with ten years before.

  As he approached, arms outstretched, Ann thought for a moment that he was going to embrace her and her knees went weak, even as she thought: I mustn’t! I mustn’t!

  Then to her relief – and maybe a little disappointment

  – he grasped both of her hands instead.

  “Ann,” he said, in that melodious voice she remembered so well. “You can’t imagine how happy I am to see you again after all these years.”

  But all she could hear was the way he said, “Ann.” Perhaps she was just imagining it, but it had the same tone as when he’d whispered her name when they’d made love so many years ago. The sound of his voice gave a jolt to her system as if that long-ago event was only last night.

  Then he sighed, adding, “But the circumstances are … well… I just don’t have the words to express how sorry I am about your father.”

  Ann almost broke down then. Tears brimming, a knot forming in her throat. In the sweet long ago of their affair, Paul and Ann had comforted each other through several crises.

  She fought to get herself together, clearing her throat and turning toward a chair, that Paul – sensing her trouble hastily helped her into.

  As she gathered her forces, she heard Alice enter the room and whisper something to Paul.

  Paul said, “Good. I’ll take it in here.” And he went behind his desk to pick up the phone. Ann heard him greet someone – an important name, that she couldn’t quite place. Things seemed so distant to her – unreal.

  She knew that medically speaking she was still in shock from all that had happened. If she had been her own doctor, she would have prescribed a long bed rest, with intervals of light exercise.

  Then Alice was sliding a small silver tray on the table next to her and she could smell the distinctive fragrance of green tea. And she thought – Green tea. I’d have prescribed that as well.

  Gratefully, she sipped, and the world started to slowly reform itself about her.

  She heard Paul say, “Thanks, Dianne. I knew we could rely on you.”

  Then he hung up the phone and turned to her. He looked concerned.

  “Are you okay, now?” he wanted to know.

  Ann said she was, then asked, “Was that the Dianne. As in Senator Dianne Feinstein, the senior senator from California?”

  “When I heard what happened,” Paul said, “I called a few friends, starting with Dianne. She’s the chairperson – my boss - on the Select Committee On Intelligence.”

  Ann’s heart quickened. “And?”

  Paul sighed. “Look,” he said, “there’s no question that I owe Jack Donovan big time. I mean, I was impressed as hell in him when you took me home for a family dinner back when we were – he hesitated, a little embarrassed.

  Ann smiled, pleased at his reaction. “Lovers,” she completed for him. “We were lovers, Paul. And I have nothing but wonderful memories of those days.”

  Paul grinned a little ruefully. “I don’t know why it had to end,” he said. “You know how I felt.”

  Ann stopped him with a raised hand. “It was me,” she said. “I was obsessed with what I saw as my mission in life. I suppose I still am. Anyway, I’m the one who broke it off.”

  Paul’s laugh was a bit rough, as if his voice was thick with emotion. He cleared his throat.

  “Well, long story short,” he said, “some years later your father came to me when I was a rookie senator trying to make my bones on the intelligence committee. The stuff he gave me was priceless. Just the ammunition I needed to correct some things that had gone very wrong.”

  “I remember the hearings,” Ann said with a smile. “You were merciless with the Director. He ended up resigning, if I recall.”

  “And I ended up co-chair of the committee despite the fact t
hat my party was in the minority,” Paul said. “Which, I’d be the first to admit, was instrumental in getting me elected to my second term.”

  “My father was a big fan of yours,” Ann said. “He told me that you were among the very few senators he’d met who was not only honest, but had guts enough to back up that virtue.”

  “I admired your father as well,” Paul said. “For similar reasons. Which is why I acted so quickly when you phoned.”

  “Thanks for calling off the dogs,” Ann said. “For Zach’s sake, as well as mine.”

  Paul sighed deeply. “Unfortunately,” he said, “it’s only temporary.” He glanced at the phone, then back at Ann.“There are a lot of questions that some very powerful people want answered.”

  “Ridiculous questions,” Ann said. “Some people in the Agency actually think that my father sold out his country.”

  Paul gave Ann a long look, then asked, “What do you think happened?”

  “I think he dared too much trying to protect both his country and his family,” Ann replied. “In the end, it cost him his life.” She took a deep breath, then said, “I firmly believe that he not only saved Zach, but that he stopped Ah Beng and the North Koreans in their tracks.”

  “That’s my reading as well,” Paul said. “I fully intend to schedule hearings in the near future to prove it. But it’ll take time, Ann. And some real arm-twisting… Bottom line. If we’re going to keep the Agency dogs happily occupied, we’ll have to throw them a bone.”

  “Like what?” Ann said, puzzled.

  “You,” the senator said.

  Ann didn’t know what to make of this reply. But before she could manage a question, Paul got up from his seat.

  He said, “I think we’d better take a long walk before I say anything more.”

  Ann instinctively glanced around, paranoia creeping in. Would they really have the nerve to bug a U.S. senator’s office?

  Guessing her thoughts, Paul said, “They certainly would. And have in the past.”

  As she rose, her skirt climbed above her long, tanned legs and she caught Paul looking at them as she pulled the hem down.

  He blushed like a naughty boy, and Ann couldn’t help but smile – paranoia and all.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The setting sun was casting a lovely glow on the Lincoln Memorial when Paul and Ann reached the reflecting pool and started strolling beside it.

  “When my father was a boy,” Ann said, “he used to make weekly visits here for his inoculations at the Pentagon clinic when his Dad got overseas duty. Families were encouraged to join agents in foreign postings in those days. They thought it made things more stable.”

  She indicated some older buildings. “There were all these temporary offices then - they hadn’t completed the Langley center yet - where my great uncle George ran the Pickle Factory.”

  “The Pickle Factory?” Paul said, incredulous. “I’m not sure where they got the name,” Ann laughed. “Maybe they took over an old pickle-making plant

  back during the War years. Or maybe it’s CIA slang for being in the pickle, a predicament. Or getting out of said pickle. Or hitting the pickle – you know, a weapon’s firing mechanism. Whatever.

  “All I know is that my Dad said the Agency had any number of offices rented out and a great deal of the training went on there, plus up in proving grounds, above Warrenton, Virginia. Aka – The Farm. Aka – Shangri-La.” Ann laughed. “They had all these fascinating names – these euphemisms. Somebody ought to write a book someday…”

  “It must have been an amazing experience – being an Agency brat,” Paul said. “You never really talked about when we –" Once again, he broke off, embarrassed. Then shrugged. “… You know. What you said.”

  Ann felt a small thrill shoot through her. Was he really thinking the same thing she was? On the other hand, what the hell was she thinking? Get off it, girl.

  She continued, without acknowledging his stumble. To her satisfaction, she thought she saw a look of disappointment on his handsome face.

  “Anyway,” she said, “in those days, when we returned from an overseas assignment, we’d live in Warrenton, Virginia, for months at a time as my father was debriefed. And he’d make all these long-distance runs over mountain roads to get up to the Farm. Wouldn’t see him for days, even weeks, on end. It was all supposed to be very hush, hush, you know.”

  She laughed. “As if they could keep that kind of a secret in a little community like Warrenton. Folks talked about it all the time, especially when a new kid – a Yankee kid – joined the school system, along with big bucks from Uncle Sam.

  “Then Dad would come home and pretty soon we’d move closer to D.C. while he prepped for a new overseas assignment and it would start all over again.”

  Paul smiled. “We share the blessing – or is it a curse,” he said, “of having interesting fathers and grandfathers. In your case, four generations of CIA people. Staring with Wild Bill Donovan, who founded the Agency.”

  Ann broke in. “And your grandfather, Paul, was one of the most distinguished heroes of World War Two. Medal of Honor, Silver Star, Bronze Star, Purple Hearts. And so on. Proving, once and for all for the guys who ran the country in those days that Japanese-Americans were Americans first and Japanese last.”

  Ann gave Paul a sly look. “Maybe that’s why you’re putting a little extra trust in the Donovan clan right now,” she said. “I mean, I’m flattered that an old beau – one of the most important men in America, now – agreed to see me and then was eager to help. But, surely, there must be a little more to it, hmm?”

  Paul laughed. “Busted,” he said. “I admit that it pleases me to no end to put my oar in where old man Donovan feared to row.”

  Ann knew she was referring to the fact that Ann’s great-grandfather, the founder of not only of the OSS and the FBI – before founding the CIA – had been ardent about setting up the internment camps for Japanese Americans during the war.

  “I never met him,” Ann said. “Wild Bill died way before my time. But my Dad always said that he regretted that decision.”

  They continued on in silence for a few minutes, then Paul said, “After your call, I checked with some friends in the Agency. Apparently it’s common knowledge that the Company has been pressuring you for years to enter their service. And no wonder… as you just pointed out … you are the great granddaughter of the founder of the CIA.

  "You have to realize that in the Agency’s group mind your litany of refusals sends a powerfully negative message to their Beltway enemies. And these days, as you well know, their enemies are determined to strip the Agency of all its powers.”

  “That’s… that’s… unfair,” Ann said, almost stuttering in her anger. “I’m a doctor. Not a spy. Besides, I’ve dedicated my life to a humanitarian organization that-"

  “Ann, Ann,” Paul said, breaking in, speaking as soothingly as he could. “After what’s happened do you honestly think you can go back to your old life?”

  “Of course I can,” Ann said. “Who’s going to stop me?”

  “You of all people must know,” Paul said, “that you have been compromised by this incident. We have specific intelligence that Ah Beng’s organization is determined to run you to ground and make you pay for your perceived sins.”

  “What the hell for?” Ann protested. “I have nothing he wants.”

  “You embarrassed him,” Paul said. “Caused him to lose face. You know as well as I that a loss of face is unforgivable in his world.”

  As the full import of Paul’s words sank in, Ann felt giddy, as if the ground were moving beneath her feet. And with the realization came resignation. There was more at stake here than her own little life.

  “In other words, I’d be endangering other people,” she said. “Innocent doctors and nurses… and… and… maybe even the patients… if there was a bomb or something.” Her voice trailed off.

  Paul nodded, saying, “We’ve heard that Ah Beng’s spies are scouring refugee cam
ps all over the Far East looking for you.”

  Ann grimaced. She knew damn well what he was leading up to. “I’m sorry, Ann,” Paul said, “but your mission at Doctors Without Borders must end.”

  They paused at the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. As Paul continued to make his case to Ann, the 14th President stared sadly down at them from his marble seat. Ann felt the full weight of his tormented gaze.

  “What I want to propose, Ann,” Paul said, “is a new mission. A mission to help your country. And a mission that will also allow you to give full rein to your unique abilities as a healer.” A faint smile. “And, you’ll be helping me as well.”

  Grudgingly, Ann said, “Go on.”

  “I want you to open a clinic,” Paul said.

  Ann’s eyebrows rose. “A clinic? Did I hear you correctly?”

  Paul nodded. “Furthermore,” he continued, “I want that clinic to be located where I can control the situation. In my home state – Hawaii. I have a particular area in mind where the health care situation is desperate.”

  Ann started to ask for time to think, then realized that time was something she and Zach were very short of. She said, “If I do this – and there will be strict conditions - I want to name it for my father.”

  “That’s not possible, Ann, surely you can see that,” Paul said. “Your father was a spy. We can’t blow his cover while he’s in his grave, anymore than we could when he was alive.”

  “I understand,” Ann said. “That’s why I want to call the clinic the ‘Phoenix House.’”

  “What’s the significance of that?” Paul asked, amused.

  “Believe me,” Ann said. “It has all the significance in the world.”

  *****

  During the entire meeting with Sen. Yano, the Gulfstream had been idling at the small jetport in Manassas. Zach had remained huddled in the private cabin and when Ann arrived, she found Frank standing at the door, trying to cajole Zach into coming out.