Custos: Enemies Domestic

by Jake Aaron

  “Swim your own race,” he stepdad had told the motorcyclist when he was a disappointed pre-teen swimming contestant. “Don’t worry about beating someone who may have more ability than you or more experience. Judge yourself based on what you are capable of and how much focus you have brought to bear. It is a tough, but fairer standard.” That had been good advice. The weary motorcyclist rose and walked to the bathroom with his whiskey glass and freshly poured two fingers of single malt. He was exhausted and haggard. He looked himself in the eyes in the mirror and toasted, “To the Republic!” He savored the warmth of the alcohol as he sipped his all time favorite Irish whiskey, Black Bush. Then he smiled at the unconquered soul hiding behind the emaciated body and toasted again, “And here’s to you, old friend. Well done!”

  Chapter 55

  January 17

  FBI Headquarters

  “Barb, we got a break on modes of transport to the Orlando area. Our analysts sorted through the traffic camera records for rental trucks on I-95 leaving the DC area and approaching the Orlando area from January 7 at 0900 through January 10 at 0800. We looked for those with a return drive after the attack on Speaker Johnson. We used interstate highway surveillance cameras to identify potential trucks. The truck number on the side of the vehicle gave it away. The rental company uses specific numbers for controlling its fleet of trucks.

  “Then the analysts had to look a little deeper. Turned out the real license plate did not match the one used going south or the different one coming back north. The truck had also been checked out twice since the subject Florida trip for use in the DC metropolitan area. The clincher was trace botanicals. Without getting too technical, the rental truck air filter had pollen and spore exiles — outer layers of spores — unique to Orlando during the Johnson incident. The air filter had been changed out last month and no other recorded trips had been made to Florida. The inside of the truck was clean. The odometer on the truck had obviously been turned back based on where we know the truck went. Our mechanics verified that. The renter paid in cash. The driver’s license was an extremely well-crafted false identify. That’s the short story. In the long one, our people methodically confirmed the local use of the vehicle after the Florida trip. A lot of shoe leather and door knocking. We had to back out miles put on the vehicle by the lessors in the local area. Eliminate the impossibles and what you have left is…”

  “The truth,” Barb added agreeably.

  “You are so right. Here’s where it gets good: The rental company kept a copy of the false driver’s license. It has a photo of the lessor that the rental agent said looked like the driver. It should if the rental agent was on the ball. Facial identification software pulled up no one. The name does not tie to the listed address.”

  “So,” Barb began, “I guess we start with a BOLO using a picture of the driver. Keep following the bread crumbs! Let me see a blow up of the license photo. Why don’t we get our computer artists to do five or six variations on it — you know, different wigs, puffed out cheeks, glasses, etc.”

  _______________

  “Zach, from one of the seven variations on the subject’s looks, I think I have met the driver… It was Christmas. I was a volunteer food server at Walter Reed. He was a volunteer, too. He was very fit. About five-foot-eleven. Missing the tip of his right hand middle finger. Curly brown hair. I only got his first name. He said it was ‘Stan’… We’ve got to get to Walter Reed to ask around with the photo. We can get a list of all the volunteer servers that day, too. Someone must know him!”

  _______________

  Several millimeters of shoe leather later, bits and pieces of information emerged on Stan. It turned out that he himself had been a patient at the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center off and on over the past two years. Using the Patriot Act, Zach and Barb learned he had been admitted to the center back in the spring. He had been discharged after a remission. They also got a current address for Stanley Bricker.

  Barb picked up on Stanley’s occupation first from hospital forms: retired CIA, seemingly a covert operative based on sporadic evidence of his existence, whose partial information might only turn up in databases as necessary for missions under different names. Otherwise, she and Zach suspected government techies redacted his information from public access. Stan’s occupation also looked like a major piece of the profile for Custos, even though perhaps only an accomplice.

  “So, Barb, it was not so much that eidetic memory of yours. It was more that you are fascinated by the bad boy types. That’s why you remembered this spy. I’ve got your number, kid!”

  For all her sophistication, Barb’s face flushed full red. He has me on this, and it’s showing, she thought. Zach had a lot of insight. She struggled to recover her composure. Her uncharacteristic fluster was amplified by wondering why Zach wasn’t capitalizing on it with a few more jabs. Getting back to the case was always a good deflection.

  “Zach, shouldn’t we run this by the FBI Director before we go ahead. There may be a lot more at play than we can possibly know. I know you and John Wayne like to kick the door in first, then ask questions. A little discretion is wise here, no?… I’m trying to help.”

  Zach paused. He took a deep breath and exhaled fully. “You probably just saved my job… Thanks. You’re right. We do need to run this by the Director. Bureaucratic politics has never been my strong suit. You never know, the Director may want to run this by your almost-father-in-law Beau Collins…What’s the survival rule in a bureaucracy: When in doubt, don’t?”

  “Not a lot of bureaucracy in Wyoming, eh, Zach?”

  “I’m from Montana, not Wyoming,” Zach shook his head.

  “Next time, I’ll just go to a higher level of generality: fly-over country.”

  “You really know how to hurt a guy, don’t you?… Anyway, I’d say I grew up with less bureaucracy in Montana than in big urban settings. Where’d you develop the knack to foresee bureaucratic snafus and hassles?”

  “I guess it was a sorority thing.”

  “What sorority was that?”

  “Cadet Squadron 16… at the Air Force Academy when I wasn’t…” Barb’s voiced trailed off.

  “When you weren’t what?”

  Barb hesitated, “When I wasn’t the Cadet Colonel as a first-classman. As Wing Commander, I was no longer in my squadron — just attached to one.”

  “Wow! You were first in your class academically and militarily,” Zach spoke in true awe.

  Barb: “So you’re finally admitting the Air Force is military as well.”

  Zach: “I wouldn’t go that far. In any case, I salute you. Now, get ready… I’m not surprised… I respect what you did at the Academy. You are one competitive lady. Myself, I only had one objective at Annapolis — to get through. That’s what I have to do with briefing the Director later today. I can’t even put lipstick on this slippery pig of an investigation… Botox?”

  _______________

  Zach readied himself to brief the FBI Director. He knew the Director hated run-on reports that wasted time, so Zach condensed the relevant facts and discarded the irrelevant. He struggled to feel strong and speak with authority doing this bureaucratic Mother, may I? routine. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead — that was Zach. He blew on his semi-closed hands as he’d seen tennis pros in the Australian Open do. Does that really slow the pulse? He exhaled loudly and made the call.

  The FBI Director did not take long to process the new information. “Zach, you were right to run this by me. The Byzantine politics of Washington are quite a challenge. Glad you and Barb have made such headway in this Custos case. Leave Stanley Bricker,or whoever he is, to me for the time being. Same guidance holds. Compartmentalize! No leaks on the investigation.”

  _______________

  The Director of the FBI called the CIA Chief directly, “Beau, Sam here, I’ll get right to it. This attack ‘drill’ with the Speaker of the House and his family in Florida, was in fact an attack of sorts. We have a lead on a suspect tha
t needs to be checked out. Considering I owe you one — or is it the other way around?… Anyway, I thought I’d run the name by you before we did anything — for various reasons. The name that came up is Stanley Bricker. Hospital records say he’s retired CIA.

  “We pinned down a rental truck going to Orlando from the DC area and back, around the time of the Speaker Johnson incident. It was rented with cash. Odometer turned back. False driver’s license used to rent the truck, but one agent recognized a version of the driver’s photo. The identifying agent was Barbara Symanski — mind like a steel trap. The photo traced back to a volunteer she met at Walter Reed serving a Christmas meal. My agents found he had been admitted to and discharged from Walter Reed previously and learned his background. That was their stopping point. My agents wisely came to me before going any further. His Company background would also fit part of the Custos profile: military or law enforcement skills. We still have Lem Pfister as the prime suspect. Bricker — probably an accomplice.”

  “Sam, I didn’t think you’d call me on a secure line to discuss poker. Thanks for running this by me. I personally expedited Stan’s admission to Walter Reed, so I know about him. Great agent. The Nation owes him a lot. We’ll check Stan out — if that’s agreeable with you. Let me send my people to get the particulars from your folks. Everything will be on a need-to-know basis from here on.”

  _______________

  The CIA Director got back to the Director of the FBI at 10:30 P.M., “Sam, my people found Stan’s new address. Without talking to him, we also know that he’s the registered owner of a black Ducati 1200 motorcycle. Your agents reported a high-performance black motorcycle was used in planting the magnetic device on the SUV. He stores it at a rental storage facility. The lab found traces of unique Florida flora on the cycle. Neighbors say he went ‘fishing’ over the period in question. They also say he’s hired a private nurse. His sickness is back… What are your thoughts, Sam?”

  “Beau, it’s bad enough at this point in time that Custos is a cult figure to many — credited with bringing fiscal sanity back to the country. While we have the primary suspect in custody, Stan is at least an accomplice. The groundswell of pretenders illustrates the point. I say pretender because to date they copy the threat modality but so far have not acted on the threats… I don’t think we can afford the possibility of his grandstanding or becoming more of a folk hero than he or they already are… Stan is terminal for sure?”

  “Sam, he is. Weeks, maybe days left… We don’t get paid enough for this… Do you want to leave this with the Agency?”

  “Beau, all things considered… I think that’s best for all concerned, don’t you?”

  “Yeah… I’ll see you Friday night at poker.”

  “Friday it is,” the CIA Director closed.

  Director Sam Vincent did not know what he had just done.

  Chapter 56

  January 18

  District of Columbia

  Zach opened, “So, Barb, looks as if you’re going back to your old haunts… Director Vincent said he was concerned about your being sidetracked too long from the Secret Service career ladder.”

  “That’s what I hear about the going back, nothing on the career ladder.”

  “Thought I’d take you out to McDonald’s for a goodbye supper.”

  “Can I have a Happy Meal?” she taunted.

  “Actually, I thought maybe we’d go somewhere nice tonight, since we’re no longer considered ‘working together.’ How does that sound?”

  “So you’re thinking about… say, Kentucky Fried?”

  “Yeah, something like that… No, really, sit-down — cloth napkins, silverware, tablecloth.

  “And I’m guessing, Dutch?”

  “Why are you making this so hard?” Zach wearied.

  “You started it — with McDonald’s.”

  “I call a truce. I will pick you up tonight at 1845, 6:45 P.M. for you Air Force-types, and we’ll go someplace nice… Your smile says ‘yes.’”

  “That is a yes,” she smiled in satisfaction… I hear I’m being replaced.”

  “You know you cannot be replaced… There is a backfill. Looks like it’ll be Angela.”

  “You mean that willowy new agent who ten minutes ago leaned over and flashed her augmented boobs at you under the pretext of delivering files.”

  “I never noticed. I was too intently listening to you.”

  “Mr. Situation Awareness, you deny seeing her! You and your fellow males around here were drooling like teenage boys. Unbelievable!”

  “That’s not jealousy is it, Barb?… I swear I don’t remember.” Zach paused, “Say, do you think you should advise Angela to see a dermatologist about that freckle just above the nipple on her left breast?… The edges looked a little irregular.” Zach appropriately raised his eyebrows. “I’ll get right on that, Zach… Right! You’re disgusting!… Seriously, you’re not disbanding the Custos team?”

  “Not at all, Barb. The number of Custos threats and claims have gone hyperbolic. The Secret Service and FBI have our work cut out for us. The joint protective details will go on. As you know, Lem Pfister’s attorney just got him another delay and is raising the bogus police brutality flag. We’re still looking for Trench Coat… No evidence of Trench Coat being Mag Bomber—yet.”

  Barb did a quick visual scan to ensure Zach and she were alone. “Speaking of Mag Bomber, Zach, what do we have on Stanley Bricker?”

  “Our lips are sealed on that one. I got a secure call early this morning. The CIA is coming by later today to debrief us. I expect we’ll learn nothing. Based on what I was told, they’ll probably sanitize our records. They want any and all references to him, including personal notes… You never met Stanley. Remember?” Zach jested.

  “I do now. Or did I forget?” Barb jested. “Excuse me,” she smiled. Then she left for the restroom as a dark wave of sadness swept over her. She could not condone what Custos had done. Yet, what if Zach’s mom was right?, she wondered. In any case, Stan seemed to be a genuinely good person. She had felt singularly attracted to him. Odds were that he was gone forever. She felt very chilled.

  Chapter 57

  January 18

  CIA Safe House

  The Friday night poker game had reached the optimal point of rapport and inebriation in the compromised safe house. Conviviality had reigned as usual. The repartee had been extraordinary.

  “Hey, Tony, what’s up on the legislative front?” Nate opened.

  “Nate, Speaker of the House Hap Johnson says he’s had some kind of epiphany. He claims to have seen the light. I think it’s politics as usual, a little preachy for me. Says he ‘gets it’ that spending has to be curtailed. Will the Congress change? Don’t hold your breath… Beau, what do you think?”

  “Sounds like a born-again man. Sincere to me. I think he means it. I hope he can carry through. Trouble is, a one-man effort in Washington is like the charge of the light brigade: valiant but futile… For him to succeed would be too good to be true… That’s a jaded spy talking.”

  Sam brought authority. “It is not just one man now. It’s spread like in that movie Spartacus. Custos initially was, to the best of our knowledge, a single person or localized group. Now Custos is fungible. Custos is everywhere. Since the moniker Custos leaked, we don’t have enough manpower to follow up on the massive number of nationwide threats claiming they are Custos,” FBI Director Sam Vincent was uncharacteristically free with his words. “We think they’re pretenders who have not acted on their threat, but that remains to be seen.”

  He went on. “When I recently talked to the Director of the Secret Service, he told me death threats against the President are up by a factor of 4 over the previous incumbent. Nevertheless, the Service has tried to protect the President with the same number of agents as before. So when a new threat comes in, the answer is pretty much, ‘Get in line.’ Puts protecting Congress in perspective. Homeland doesn’t have enough manpower to properly deal with all the threats.”
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  “As much as I deplore breaking the law, it is good to begin a more sober approach to our spending — no offense to our legislators,” Jesus said.

  “I guess it’s a question of how long this band-aid stays on,” Beau joined in.

  “Well, I hope it’s more like a tourniquet,” Jesus again chimed in. “Nice if it begins a cultural change. We need multiple congressional sessions of modest spending until it’s a habit, until it’s again part of our collective consciousness and culture… And I would add — a long time to hold my breath.”

  “I wouldn’t bet my seat on it.” Tony’s voice.

  “You do, though, don’t you?” Jesus poked. Jesus’s sharp wit brought approving grins from the non-Tonys.

  Turning the other cheek didn’t sit well with Tony for long. “Jesus, how about your peer who wants to look to foreign law for precedents?” He referred to controversial Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s pronouncements. “Word is your fellow Supremes want Nate to thaw those frozen aliens at Wright-Patterson AFB. They might have some precedents the Supremes haven’t thought of before. No offense, Jesus.”

  “Excuse the phrase, Your Honor, far out! That Supreme Court ruling on the supposed Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act is such a non sequitur that maybe we can teach aliens how to be not-of-this-world,” Sam Vincent interjected.

  Jesus patiently waited for the jabs to finish. Very calmly, he looked each player in the eyes and looked at his hand, “I can’t comment until I hear from my law clerk.”

  There was laughter as the edge on Supreme Court humor was blunted. Tony followed Jesus’s self-effacing humor, “The other good news is that the Senate can now get back to baseball hearings… Maybe vote ourselves a pay raise.” His reference to Senate’s recent hearings on steroids had made it a laughing stock. The other four card players nodded in agreement and laughed heartily in admiration. Never doubt a politician’s ability to read a room.