by John Nelson
The Cub looked as sleazy as ever, its black walls and low lighting unable to cover up the atmospheric grime. I did notice a few more suits in attendance as the hostess escorted me to my booth. I had asked to be seated in Apple’s section, and the girl snickered and asked me if I was sure. I imagined she wasn’t as good a “provider” as some of the other girls. I ordered a beer and after a while, a rather attractive if not seductive woman, short but busty, with a blue-laced bra and long blonde hair, served the beer and tentatively sat down next to me.
“Hi. I’m Apple. We’ve ‘partied’ before?”
“Well, not actually, but a friend of mine who likes … horses told me to look you up,” I said.
It took a moment for her to make the connection. “Oh, yes, ‘Maverick.’”
“He’s a wild one,” was my cover reply.
Apple relaxed noticeably and started to rub my crotch and warm up to me. As she lowered her head under the tablecloth and faked giving me a blow job, she told me that she’s been unable to get any leads on Emma or ‘Dorothy’s’ whereabouts. She thought Big Mike, the bouncer, might know something but he hadn’t been forthcoming. I figured I needed to talk with him.
“Okay, Apple. I’m going to create a scene, just go along with it.”
I grabbed her by the hair and yanked her up. “You call that a blow job,” I yelled at her. “You use your gums, not your teeth, bitch.” Heads started to turn, and I definitely got Big Mike’s attention.
This huge wall of a guy, at least six-five and three hundred pounds, sauntered over. In an earlier age I might have accused him of using steroids to bulk up, but today musclemen had to do it the old-fashioned way. He came up and put his outstretched hands on my table and leaned over to get into my face. “What’s the problem, here?”
“The problem is I paid good money for a BJ and this bitch doesn’t know the first thing about giving one.”
He glared at Apple. “Take a hike, babe.”
“Sorry,” she said, scooted out of the booth and hurried away.
“How about sending Dorothy over? She could drain juice out of a lead pipe.”
“You want another girl, you pay for it and take your chances, buddy. There’re no guarantees.”
“That sucks, literally,” I said in a pout. “Okay, I’ll pay for Dorothy.”
“She doesn’t work here anymore. But, I’m sure one of the other girls can take care of you.”
“Fuck.”
“That’s extra,” Big Mike said with sneer.”
“You know where I can find her?”
“Hey, buddy. I don’t run a lonely hearts finder’s service. Get another girl or get the fuck out of here.”
I took out my wallet and laid down three crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. Mike stared at them for a moment, and then pulled up a chair. He pocketed the money. “All I know is that she was staying at some flea-bag hotel on Bowery Street near Chinatown.”
“What hotel?”
He shook his head. “Just heard her complaining about the drunks and the pimps.” He stood up. “That’s all you get from me.” He gave me his best bouncer look. “You want another girl?” he asked.
“Nope. I’ll just head out.”
So, I made the circuit up and down Bowery Street south of Broome. I thought these hotels couldn’t be any worse than the Club. I was wrong … wall-to-wall sleaze. Must’ve checked out a half-dozen in a three-block radius. I showed Emma’s picture around and spent another couple hundred bucks before I found a hotel where somebody recognized her, but she was long gone. I called Musgrave to check on Jean’s condition. He said the NP exchange was made and she seemed to be doing better, but they wouldn’t know for another couple days. This was a relief. I told him I had struck out on my search for Emma, gave him the name of the hotel where she had last stayed, and he said he’d follow up on it and get back to me later.
The next morning a car picked me up and drove me to the FBI headquarters at Federal Plaza, on Foley Square in lower Manhattan. Musgrave was waiting for me in the lobby, dressed like a lawyer in a dark gray suit, with blue pin stripes and a white shirt. I glanced down at my herringbone sports coat and black slacks. “Am I underdressed?”
Musgrave snickered. “Nobody’s going to see you anyway.”
We took the elevator down to the detention facility, where they were holding Su Ling.
“I called yesterday, and her lawyer will be present to speed this up. You’re staying in the viewing booth. I don’t want Ling figuring out what we’re up to.”
Ling and her lawyer, a black woman with a short Afro, named Paula Mansfield, were waiting for him in an interrogation room.
Musgrave started off, “Ms. Ling, I’m interested in locating Emma Knowles. If you can help me, I’ll have the charges against you … reduced, and you’ll serve no more than five years in prison.”
There was some jockeying back and forth with her lawyer, who wanted all charges dropped, which Musgrave would not agree to, and then she asked for three years in a minimum-security facility. Musgrave agreed to the prison but wouldn’t budge on the time.
Su Ling asked, “I guess you won’t tell me why you want Emma?”
“No, I can’t divulge any information on an ongoing … operation,” Musgrave replied. However, the use of “operation” over “investigation” was enough of a clue.
She now stared at the one-way mirrored viewing glass—not all the rooms had them—and made some assumptions. “I guess that’s Alan Reynard on the other side.”
“Why would you say that?” Musgrave said in a neutral tone, not giving anything away.
Ling didn’t reply to his question but nodded at her lawyer, who told Musgrave to draw up the paperwork. This only took an hour. I assumed she figured that she had guessed right, and that if I was involved, it was more of a job offer than a manhunt. After the papers arrived and Musgrave delivered the brief and her lawyer read through it, Ling said, “Emma’s cousin, Joyce Power, has a small cabin on Crescent Bay, on Lower Saranac Lake, in upper state New York where she’s been hiding out, off and on since she went under, or so she once told me.”
30.
I was in the command center at FBI headquarters that afternoon when they located the cabin at Saranac Lake and identified Emma Knowles as its sole occupant. A surveillance team was dispatched from their Albany office, to set up surveillance in the woods around the cabin until we could fly there. On the helicopter ride, Musgrave told me that he wanted me to go in first and talk with her.
“You’re not actually negotiating for us, but you can tell her that you’re on an important op and you need backup, and that if she agrees to be reinstated at K Industries, for this one-time-only operation, she’ll get back pay and be released of any further obligations afterward.”
“After you’ve … interrogated her, to make sure she’s not affiliated with any of the anti-government groups, like Ling’s,” I said.
Musgrave stared at me for a moment. “Yes, but just routine inquiries, not chemical interrogation, and you’ll be present at all debriefings.”
“And exactly what can I tell her about the op?” I asked.
“Nothing at this point. If she agrees to cooperate, I’ll brief her … with you present.”
I nodded my head. This was unusually accommodating for the by-the-book Musgrave. I figured he was really getting pressured at his end.
Musgrave tapped his operational earpiece—he must’ve received a call. He listened for a moment. “She’s probably driving into town. Don’t approach but follow her.”
He turned to me. “She’s heading toward town. Hopefully, she’ll end up at a café or restaurant, where your approach will be less intimidating.”
“Well, if I were her, I’d want to know more before I signed on.”
Musgrave thought about my inquiry. “You can tell her that it’s in the Southwest Sector and doesn’t involve any anti-tech groups.”
“Yeah, that should ease her mind.”
As it turned out,
Emma was doing her weekly shopping, but afterward she stopped off at a café for coffee and to read the late news on her portable. The helicopter landed in a parking lot six blocks away. I was fitted with a remote camera and com link. A car dropped me off a block from the restaurant, and I walked down from there and went inside. Her table was facing the entrance; she spotted me the moment I strolled inside. She was thinner but looked healthier than when I last saw her.
Emma didn’t panic and try to run; she must’ve assumed that the building was surrounded, or maybe she was just relieved that I was the initial contact. I went over to the counter, ordered a coffee and then walked over to her with the cup in hand.
“I guess Ling must’ve given me up?”
“They struck a deal with her, but only after she realized that it was just a job offer, and I was involved.”
Emma looked skeptical. “A job offer, after what they’ve put me through?”
“This wasn’t my idea, but you’d be with me as a kind of research assistant, separate quarters, and it’s in the Southwest—no anti-tech group involvement.”
“Like Ling’s,” she said.
I nodded.
“So, they’re not really sure if I was turned, and they’ll want to determine that before they agree to put me out in the field again?”
“No chemical interrogation and I’ll be present for any questioning.”
Emma took a sip of her coffee, stared at me over the edge of the cup. “So, it comes down to me trusting you, or I should say, trusting your assessment of the situation.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I said.
She thought about this offer some more. “So, it’s an established op and your current partner was either taken out, or compromised?”
I was getting feedback from Musgrave through my earpiece, but I shook my head at his instructions to stonewall her. “She was incapacitated by a fairly benign intrusion, that I handled just fine.”
Emma smiled. “So, I can’t go in as your wife or girlfriend?”
“No, but we’ll see if they have two rooms with a connecting door,” I said with a chuckle.
She laughed. “This must be really important if you’re willing to sleep with me again.”
“Yeah, I really did hate that,” I added with a broad smile. “And you may also have to meditate—no born-again churches.”
Emma sat back in her chair, took another sip of her coffee; she was really making me work for it. “I guess you’re not prepared to … negotiate the deal?”
I shook my head.
“Well, send your handler in, and let’s hear what he has to say,” she said.
Musgrave gave me instructions over my com link. “They want me to drive back to the cabin with you, and he’ll meet us there.”
“He’s not afraid we’ll make a run for it?” she asked and laughed.
“Guess they figure I’m not the running type.”
Emma picked up her portable, and we left the café and got into her car. It was only a ten-minute drive back to the cabin. The once green trees along the road were dying, due to climate-zone displacement, creating an even more somber mood. At one point she started to say something, then stopped herself, realizing they were listening in, or so I assumed. At the cabin we unloaded and put away her groceries, as Musgrave drove up with another agent.
“Emma, this is Tom Musgrave, a bureau chief for the FBI.”
She turned to me. “This isn’t a K Industries operation?”
Musgrave replied, “Officially you’ll be working for them, but under our supervision.”
“Must be pretty critical if you’re involved?” she asked, but didn’t really expect an answer.
“Ms. Knowles. If you’ll pack a bag, we’ll fly back to the City and hold our debriefing … and briefing there tomorrow.”
“Can I call my father?” she asked.
I could see Musgrave was ready to deny her request. “Tom, she’s cooperating with us, and isn’t officially under arrest.”
He gave me a critical look and then turned to Emma. “Tell him you’re coming in to straighten things out with K Industries, and may be reinstated short-term. That’s all, and we’ll be monitoring the call.”
Emma gave me a quizzical look, then pulled out her portable and made her call.
It was early evening when we landed in New York; Musgrave booked Emma in a nice hotel on East Broadway, about ten blocks from the Federal Building. I was told to return to my hotel, and to have no contact with her this evening. A female FBI agent would take her to dinner and stay with her, but I was on my own. When I returned from dinner, I looked up Ling’s lawyer online and gave her a call; well, left a message and she called back an hour later. I told her that Ling’s friend, Emma Knowles, was negotiating a reinstatement deal with the FBI tomorrow and may need her help. Mansfield thanked me for the heads-up, and said she’d just turn up tomorrow, telling them Ling paid her to represent Emma. I was sure Musgrave would figure it out, or even do a back-check on my phone logs to confirm his suspicion. But, there wasn’t much he could do about it, and he might even consider it a bonding ploy on my part.
Chapter Eleven
31.
Paula Mansfield negotiated an airtight deal for Emma, although showing up and claiming to be her lawyer caused a little rift between Musgrave and me. I knew he’d figure it out. Anyway, Emma passed her debriefing, and while it didn’t include chemical interrogation, he did make her take one of the modern and sophisticated lie-detector tests. Musgrave was convinced that Emma wasn’t working with Ling or other factions, and I sat in on her read-in on the operation. He wasn’t as forthcoming as I would’ve been, and I was told not to elaborate later, but he also knew that I would and so he just had to accept that to keep this op moving forward.
Emma and I flew to Chicago, and then two days later, we were to fly to Phoenix, where I would pick up my car, and we would drive back to Jerome—our new cover story required a Chicago base. Musgrave’s team was hard at work creating Emma’s legend, as we call cover stories for spies, and hopefully it would be in place when we arrived. An FBI team photographed her in local places and pre-dated the social media tags.
I doubted that Fria’s group would do any back-checking, but I would tell Maria that Brenda had a bad reaction to her healing, needed to be hospitalized, and wouldn’t be coming back. For the general public, it would still be the allergy story, but Musgrave wanted me to use Brenda’s bad reaction to probe Fria further. We’d explain Emma as a researcher familiar with my novels, and that I hired her to take Brenda’s place as my assistant. She had downloaded the novels to her processor and could now readily call them up. Musgrave emphasized that we needed to keep our relationship chaste, or her cover might unravel rather quickly. I assured him that since Emma wasn’t a cover wife or girlfriend, that wouldn’t be a problem. We were also told not to talk “business” on either flight.
After we landed in Phoenix, we took a cab to the Metrocenter Mall, and while Emma did some shopping for Southwest attire, I visited the FBI’s deep-cover office there but there were no updates. Musgrave had remained in New York for the time being. A car drove us to the Air Force base where we picked up my car, and we were on our way back to Jerome. Again I took the southern route to avoid Sedona. Since we had exhausted the normal chitchat of colleagues reuniting on our two flights, Emma felt free to ask me more questions about the operation.
“So tell me about Fria. My briefing papers give a pretty dry description,” Emma said.
“Well, despite what Musgrave and his people are saying, I think she’s just a wonderful spiritual healer without ulterior motives.”
She noted my tone and glanced over at me. “You seem quite taken with her?”
“Well, my healing seems to have helped me to expand my intuition, and I feel a lot more … connected since then.”
“And Whatley’s reaction?”
“Musgrave would have a fit if he heard us talking.”
Emma gave me a look.
�
�Yes, I did check for bugs.” I drove on for a few minutes as she patiently waited my reply. “Jean apparently had a lot of repressed feelings, and I figured this healing energy, which seems to have a mind of its own, would compensate for that, but it didn’t.”
“What’s the latest word on her?” she asked.
“Musgrave said she may never be the same. For now she’s been decommissioned and placed in a psyche ward.”
“I’d call that a bad reaction, and just when I was hoping to get a healing myself.”
“You’d be fine with it.”
Emma gazed out at the desert landscape with its Saguaros, pine cactus, and scrub brush. “It’s really beautiful here. I’ve never been to the desert before. I think I’ll like it.”
“The wide-open vistas expand you,” I added.
After we had driven in silence for a while, Emma turned back to me. “You know there may be another reason for Jean’s reaction.”
“Really?” I said rather skeptically. This was a fairly esoteric subject for her perusal.
“Well, when Su Ling was giving her recruitment pitch, she said that their scientists claim that neural processors can be used to program people, behavior modifications, or maybe it’s just a special version.”
“Well, I haven’t heard that one, but if anybody would have a ‘special version,’ it would be an operative. But who can say.”
“Maybe Fria can tell you more about Brenda’s reaction, from her vast experience with patients.”
“Well, and I wouldn’t put it past Musgrave to lie about the severity of her condition, to set this up.”
We were now turning north on Route 89 to Prescott and the parched desert vista continued to grab Emma’s attention, at least putting a halt to her rather free-ranging speculation. But it made me wonder if she had her own personal agenda. I didn’t believe she had been turned, but Emma may have dropped out for other reasons than the given one, which Musgrave didn’t explore in his debriefing—maybe she shared some of my own doubts and was into a similar self-exploration. I was curious about her initial response to my work-in-progress novel, which could be telling—she had read it on the flight to Phoenix—but we couldn’t talk about it until our road trip.