Custos: Enemies Domestic

by Jake Aaron

  “Now who’s building a watch, I just wanted the time of day!” Barb challenged.

  “You asked… Sorry for the rant. You have so many strengths. I have a few, and that’s one I’m proud of. I was kind of preaching to myself. That’s one of the things that deserves reinforcement. It keeps me alive… It has kept me alive.” Zach cracked a small smile, “I was over the top with that. Sorry.”

  “Point made… As you might guess, the Secret Service teaches the same kind of awareness you’re talking about. Particularly useful guarding dignitaries. Personally, I have to consciously do that. It’s not natural for me, as you might guess… Where were we?” Barb observed, “Oh, here comes the manager, hopefully with a copy of Earth Angel’s receipt.”

  ______________

  Earth Angel’s receipt totaled $299.67. Notably, he purchased a bottle of Sumoat lotion. At customer service, a clerk said she vaguely recalled Earth Angel. She remembered he brought a bottle of lotion into the store. “I was really busy that day. I didn’t want to stare at him, so I concentrated on the bottle of Sumoat lotion. He said he brought it in to make sure he got more of the same. I remember thinking that no seemingly homeless person ever brings anything into the store. He had the bottle marked by me so that he wouldn’t wind up paying for it again. Never saw him before.”

  ______________

  “So what do you make of Earth Angel, Barb?”

  “I was thinking that I picked up on him in the parking lot coming in — in my peripheral vision. Part of my hyper-situational awareness.”

  “Really?”

  She turned her head 45 degrees and glared sideways at him with half a smile.

  “Okay, you got me, Barb. If you keep mocking me like that in public, people will think we’re married.”

  “Seriously, Earth Angel takes the identical lotion into the store — the same brand that killed McClain while Inez is shopping! And he’s using high tech to eclipse his face! An infinitesimally small probability of these happening at the same time. And you don’t expect a homeless guy to have such a high tech device.”

  “The good news is that Earth Angel might be able to identify Lem Pfister as Custos. The bad news is that he may go underground and be very hard to find… Any chance you’d like to brief Director Vincent on this development?”

  “No, that’s okay, Zach. You get that face time!… It’s a sad truth that throughout history, shooting the messenger has been the sport of the powerful. And no matter how smart humans think they are, scapegoats are always sought, as you said before… On that upbeat note, I wish you well… Know any good jokes to tell the Director? Here’s a tip: Don’t start out with, ‘An FBI agent walks into a bar’…’”

  Chapter 40

  December 13

  FBI Headquarters

  Sipping coffee at the beginning of the morning alone with Zach, Barb called him out. “Zach, you don’t seem like yourself. You seem down… Did you lose a bet, or what?”

  “I talked with my mom last night on the phone… She said she hopes we don’t catch Custos. It’s demoralizing because she’s usually right about things. Thinking about that has given me pause. She says she’s tired of feeling like Cassandra,” Zach spoke in unusually hushed tones.

  “Yeah, Cassandra, as in the Trojan character who accurately foretold future events but was not believed. She predicted that Troy would be destroyed if Paris brought Helen from Greece to be his wife.” Barb rattled off mythology as if it were a current event.

  Then Barb punched the despondent Zach in the shoulder, trying to cheer him up. “So do you think she’s worried about your getting married? Did you tell her about Angela. I can see her being worried.” Angela was a new agent in the Cyber Division — a “hottie.”

  “Very funny!” Zach cheered up a little. “No, she’s been worried about the Nation’s overspending for a long time. For a while, the Tea Party successfully highlighted overspending, she says. But then we went back to our old ways. Everyone with a pet project wanted it funded. The media convinced the public that not passing spending bills was slothful inaction. The pork barrel rolled on, so to speak. Same old, same old. Custos has apparently stopped that, at least for the time being. Her take: Choose your poison.—.loss of the Nation or loss of a few corrupt politicians. For her, it’s an easy choice.”

  Sobered by Zach’s sincerity, Barb observed, “You really respect what she says, don’t you?”

  “I do!” Zach elaborated, “Did I tell you she teaches history at the University of Montana? She’s not your usual left-wing academician. Smart lady, if I do say so myself, but a real taskmaster.”

  “Zach, you’ve got me worried.”

  “Barb, don’t worry. I’m a professional. I’ll lead this investigation as if nothing has happened. I just don’t have to like it.”

  “That’s not why I’m worried. I’m concerned that you haven’t told your mom about Angela!”

  “Get out of here! Okay, so you cheered me up,” he grinned. “Get me some more damn coffee, woman.”

  Barb returned the grin, “You’ve got it, Tarzan! “I think I’d like your mom. Can’t hold her male offspring against her.”

  Zach’s recharged spirit caused him to open his mouth to deliver a real zinger. The phone rang once interrupting the banter. Zach picked up the receiver, “Yes, Director!… Yes, I can talk. No one is around. Go ahead.” Honoring confidentiality, Barb gave Zach a left-hand salute as she left the area. Zach nodded to thank her.

  “Zach, this is not about the case… I need you to do something for me on the QT. I understand you have some inside sources at the CIA. I need you to slip some Cuban Cohibas to the Director of the CIA. Get them to him as an untraceable gift. It’s kind of a running joke…”

  “Director,” Zach chuckled, “I’ve heard about the Cuban cigars. I think everyone has. That will not be a problem. Always wondered how it was done. Convenient for me to stop by your office to pick them up, say a quarter of five?” Zach knew his brother-in-law Glenn Curley could handle the harder part of smuggling the gift into the CIA. This would be fun.

  “Zach, that’ll work. Let’s keep the Por Senor Collins card off until just before delivery. The package is wrapped.”

  “Glad to do it, Director. I was just about to call to give you an update on the case…”

  ______________

  “Zach, thanks for keeping me up to speed on the Custos case. Let’s hope this Earth Angel tightens up our case when we find him.”

  Zach was relieved by the Director’s good mood. It seemed silly, but Zach, like many workers in the bureaucracy, found an outlier from the routine to be the high point of his day. The practical joke with the Cohibas reminded Zach of moving his high school Latin teacher’s Volkswagen away from where she remembered parking it.

  On Saturday nights the very prim and proper spinster routinely visited the Platinum Nugget casino in Missoula, MT. She invariably left the light blue vehicle unlocked. Noticing her vehicle while out cruising, Zach and his best friend put the teacher’s VW shift in neutral, took the parking brake off, and pushed the car around the block with little effort. Hours later and a few sheets to the wind, Ms. Spieler left the casino and began a grid search for her missing auto, muttering out loud, “I know I came in that damn car. Where the hell is it?”

  For Zach and his friend, the prank became exponentially funnier each time they did it. Veni, vidi, vici — indeed! Julius Caesar’s words meaning, “I came, I saw, I conquered,” had seemed appropriate to raging adolescent hormones.”

  _______________

  Back at his desk, Zach digressed, “So Barb, ever been married?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “Oh, one of those bitter divorces. I get it. Must have been some dummy. You’re too good to let go.”

  “I’d thank you, but I feel a setup coming… How about you, Zach?”

  “I don’t mind… Five years ago I was engaged to this amazing lady. Beautiful, intelligent, perky. Long engagement to be sure. See
med too good to be true, so we both talked to a counselor to guarantee we weren’t in Fantasyland. The counselor thought we were a great pair… It’s boring. You’re starting to nod off.”

  “Please continue. It’s not boring.” Barb motioned appropriately with her left hand extending and opening.

  “Well, the day before the wedding, and it was going to be a big church wedding, I woke up in a cold sweat. I realized that I did not want to be married to her for the rest of my life. I think if you even say at the outset that you can always divorce, you’re already planning to get out. That out was not an option for me. So the day before the wedding, I called my dad and told him I was strongly considering calling it off… I’m boring you. Another time.”

  “No, not another time, what happened?” Barb’s eyes opened wider, showing her sincere intense interest.

  “My dad and I talked over the pros and cons, especially how I felt and the downside of calling off the wedding. Long story short, I called it off… Dad said I was braver than he was, and he admired me. He added that the disappointment of others, the upset plans, lost deposits, etc. should not outweigh the long-term happiness of my fiancee and me.”

  “My gosh!… Wow!… How did it go after that?”

  “The expected tears, even though I let her know it ‘really was me, not her.’ Disapproving looks, but really more amazed looks than disapproving from other people… And the world did not end… I expected the world to end, but my heart kept pumping. I kept breathing. The sun came up the next day… I run into her now and then in public. We’re cool. I probably feel better about it than she does. She’s at least polite. I think I did the right thing… And I’ll bet she has a voodoo doll of me…”

  “No prospects since?”

  “I date, but I’ve come to realize that I tend to project my fantasies onto attractive women. The longer I’m with them, the more I realize that they really aren’t my projection. Since I can’t marry my projection… A psychiatrist would probably tell me to forget the preconceived notions, like that’s possible, and learn to love who they are.”

  “Better yet, who she is. Being monogamous might be a good start,” she jested at his plural reference. “By the way, Zach, have you noticed how disconcerted Angela gets when she reports something to you… I think she’s got her eye on you. Better watch out,” Barb teased.

  “You’re not projecting now, are you, Agent Symanski?” Zach looked directly at her.

  Caught in her own snare, Barb wiped off her self-assured smile. “Listen, I’m only being objective here. Anyone with eyes can see. That young thing smiles at you all the time. She watches your every move. She hangs on your every word. Just watch her primp when you’re around. Flirty and obsessive, to be clinical. You’ll see.”

  “I hadn’t noticed… Maybe she admires my mind… Think I should ask her out?”

  Somewhat hesitantly Barb replied, “If that’s what you want. That’s up to you,” she snipped.

  Zach smiled, “I don’t know. Relationships with women… I’m not sure I’m compatible with the drama women seem to enjoy — present company excepted. Gross generalization, I know. Men Are from Mars…, you know. I don’t know where women are from.”

  “You might be right about most women needing the drama. I started seeing what you’re talking about at Colorado Springs at the Academy, being around mostly males. I began appreciating the… Women Are from Venus view. You seem to have some great personal insights for a non-navel gazer.”

  “Well, here’s another insight for you. Don’t you find it puzzling that most people at the core claim to want to be understood yet react like a turtle when someone says, ‘I have you all figured out?’ Just musing here, but maybe none of us knows what we really want. Who are we really? Who really knows oneself, whatever that means? Do I want to be loved for who I am? If I don’t know who I am, that seems like a dog chasing its tail. If I want to be loved for who I wish I were, that’s pretty elusive, too. The whole love thing is a bit of a mystery to me.”

  “Zach, perhaps you’re overthinking love and life just a little bit. Should I call you Naval Gazer?”

  “Says the high-IQ lady who wants essay questions in lieu of multiple choice to provide a broad spectrum of nuance to her answers,” Zach said wryly. “I overthink; you study in depth… You know I get my radar up when I’m not getting barbs from the Barb. Good to have you back. So that’s my marrying history.—.not. Now how about you?”

  Barb skillfully changed the subject, “You dad was right. You are a very brave man!”

  She pursed her lips and gave him a friendly slug in the shoulder.

  “Does that mean we can go scrapbooking together?” Zach grinned, taking the emotional edge off the occasion. “I won’t ask about a slumber party.”

  “That would be an overstep!”

  “Was that a red flag?”

  “At least a time out! And no milk and cookies.”

  Zach ended the exchange, “As long as it’s not no soup for you.” Zach watched Barb for an indication he had gone over her head with the Seinfeld reference signaling rejection. He could not tell. She was a consummate actress.

  Chapter 41

  December 14

  FBI Safe House

  “A toast to our fellow public servant, John McClain!” was the opening for the Friday night card game’s four remaining members and one new one. “We will forever miss his presence at our Friday exchanges.” Sam was somber. “May God hold him in the palm of His hand.”

  “Sláinte!” CIA Director Beau Collins seconded.

  “Vaya con Dios!” Justice Martinez added.

  “Here, here!” the five toasted in unison.

  “Gents, let’s raise our glasses to the most recent addition to the poker group, Senator Anthony Giamatti, distinguished alumnus of the University of Chicago Law School. Tony, welcome!” said CIA Director Beau Collins. “You guys over at the FBI checked him out first, didn’t you, Sam?”

  “And he passed with flying colors,” Sam laughed. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t smuggle Cohibas in from Cuba.” The running joke on the CIA Director’s receiving Cohibas caused Beau to shake his head. It was particularly funny to Sam as the uncaught perpetrator. Sam had tears leak from his eyes as he stifled brimming laughter.

  “Tony,” Sam went on, “you should know I have a standing invitation to our poker game members to come over to smoke a Cohiba on my deck, anytime. I know you married guys are sometimes banned from the cigar habit at home.”

  “Thanks, Sam,” Tony nodded. “Not married — charming, good-looking guy like you?”

  “It’s a long story… Short-version: I was engaged at West Point. She broke it off by leaving without a word… Haven’t found anyone to compare since… Her one and only flaw was the minor misjudgment of leaving me. Otherwise, she was perfect.” He put the unlit Cohiba back in his mouth to maintain his deadpan delivery, giving everyone else a mildly embarrassed chuckle. A slight squint of his eyes was the tell to Beau that Sam was himself laughing with the group.

  “… That is why we love this guy,” Beau explained to Tony. “He is brutally honest — even to himself. And his sense of humor is not to be laughed at!” Honor and irony — a great way to start an evening.

  _______________

  Later the conversation turned to the unsaid. “Sam,” Beau began, “I hear rumblings that the FBI has nailed this Custos character… Care to share?”

  “There is a preponderance of evidence that shows the man in custody is the perpetrator. That evidence is circumstantial. We had delayed release of a name. We didn’t want a repeat of the Richard Jewell affair.” During the 1994 Olympic Summer Games in Atlanta, security Guard Jewell found an abandoned knapsack containing a bomb. Initially, he was proclaimed a hero for his find and quick action to evacuate the park. Later, law enforcement, including the FBI, and some in the media spotlighted him as the perpetrating bomber. When the real culprit was found, irreparable damage had been done to Richard Jewell’s reputation. “The news ha
s reported a name, as you know. No confession — yet,” Sam finished.

  “Well, on behalf of my colleagues,” Senator Anthony Giamatti began, “it will be wonderful to get back to normal, to get back to the nation’s business.”

  “With due respect, Tony,” Nate laughed, “is that the mindless spending of money the country does not have?… I apologize. Tony, welcome! You don’t know the history of the ‘Round Table’ — we five knights who assemble now and then to solve the world’s problems. We’ve had an ongoing dialogue about the unsustainability of our country’s spending… What are your thoughts?”

  Tony Giamatti began,“… I think you all would agree we must contain spending. I also believe you all would concur we must have a wide safety net for those less fortunate. The present climate of fear in Congress inhibiting passing needed appropriations for the less fortunate is abhorrent. We’re slipping into social Darwinism… The deaths of Zimmer, Paige, Kelly, and McClain… you can’t bring up a bill… We need to return to the rule of law.”

  Nate wondered out loud, “Makes me think of what that economics professor from George Mason says about taxing being legalized stealing. It sounds good-hearted and all, warm and fuzzy, to offer help to others. But when its other people’s money and done for the purpose of getting re-elected, isn’t that immoral — worse than violating the law? At it’s base, it’s buying votes. It’s selfish and unstatesmanlike — corrupt to the core.”

  The Illinois Senator replied, “We’re no better than a banana republic if our legislators can be intimidated this way. Congresspersons literally fear for their lives if they sponsor major spending. Aren’t we slipping into moral relativism here? We must live by the rule of law, or the country will die without it.”

  “Putting aside the means of constraining this ever-widening vortex of spending, looks as if we’re saying we must die by the rule of law. We have an out-of-control dynamic that seemingly can’t be stopped. For God’s sake, this is the bus to Abilene — going down a winding 8%-grade mountain road — without brakes — with a drunk driver goosing the accelerator,” Sam observed with an edge of disdain. “It is groupthink run amok.”