by Jake Aaron
“I do believe you,” Deirdre began. Then she paused, “Stan, what happened to us? I know I chose a headquarters career after two years in the field and dedicated every fiber of my being to my work — a laser focus only on my career Of that, I am now cured. It was blind vanity. It was a bad choice to pour so much of myself into my work, to the exclusion of everything else. Other than the CIA, I had no hobbies, no family, no life. I was very good at my work — to a point. I climbed the organizational ladder on pure merit. When the next deputy director was chosen, Fred Winters got the nod, not me. Though I was better qualified for the job — better than Fred, he had greased the right wheels and skillfully networked. I relied on my hard work and skills to be promoted. I was wrong. I hit an unexpected emotional wall when I did not get to be deputy director… I left the Agency a year ago primarily because of that. I have been convalescing since, so to speak. Unburdened myself of a big house in the suburbs to be freer to do this and that, to travel, to reflect.”
Stan paused as he mulled what Deirdre just said. “I think the change suits you! You’re fit. You seem centered. You have a glow about you, a healthy aura… You know what you did as a dedicated manager made a significant difference to CIA field operations. Those in the field suffer immensely when political hacks like Fred Winters reign. Operations become compromised; strategy goes willy-nilly. I’ve seen it as an Army grunt and as a CIA operative.
“I’ve heard about it in the Air Force, too. A friend’s dad piloted C-123Ks in Vietnam. One fateful day, he had a reciprocating engine that would not start at a remote Special Forces camp’s dirt runway. He correctly followed leadership’s directives and called for maintenance support. He was told support had a tight timeframe to get in and out before an expected Viet Cong attack on the camp that night. Support came in time. The aircraft was repaired. The pilot flew it back to his home base.
“That night a major from the command post that provided the maintenance support called the pilot aside in their hooch. ‘We were hoping you’d make a takeoff with that reciprocating engine out,’ the major confided. The pilot was aghast. Top leadership would take no responsibility for directing an engine-out takeoff — a prohibited maneuver. Yet the pilot knew of cases of Article 15 punishment for pilots much less flagrantly violating directives. The pilot learned that top Air Force leadership frequently dodged the tough calls. I may seem a little far afield here, but my point is that, Dee, your integrity made a difference. While it’s hard to measure the effects of a steady hand on the tiller, it’s value is certain and known in the long run. Feel good about your sacrifice. And one more thing…
“If you had not sacrificed so much by immersing yourself in your work, you never could have had the impact you did. To rise to the heights of any organization, you have to go in at 150% — no 8 to 5 routine. That is, unless you’re a schmoozing kiss-ass like Fred Winters. Having a balanced life is what you do after you achieve a few major goals.
“Dee, you may think you have regrets about what you did with career choices. I think everyone wonders a bit about what if. If you did not, you’d have no imagination. No one could ever accuse you of lacking imagination! Bargaining with the past is less fruitful than trying to push back a tsunami with a pinkie finger. When I catch myself ruing choices, I usually realize that it’s my neuroses at work, an excuse for not facing the future. You have a marvelous future, not to mention present,” he smiled. “Now, though, you should enjoy catching up on what you think you have missed.”
Stan rose and gently patted Deirdre’s left shoulder with his left hand. He picked up her flute and filled it with more Dom Perignon. He then filled his own flute and sat back down. “Dee, here’s to your new life and your many accomplishments!”
Deirdre was pleased. She returned the toast, “”Right back at you. Here’s to your continued health and the best unsung operator the CIA has ever had!” Her emerald green eyes smiled.
“Stan, after what you have been through — that year of captivity and later terminal illness diagnosis, I should be consoling you! King of irony, you know how to reframe the impossible. No wonder you’re unstoppable. You are a marvel!” Deirdre’s approval was unmistakable and sincere.
Stan’s eyes twinkled. “Dee, back to us. For you as an Ivy Leaguer, the headquarters route was probably the right one. Since you were the only one with scores better than me at the Farm, I think it’s safe to say you could have done very well in the field, if you’d chosen to continue there… I still think you cheated at Camp Peary,” he laughed at his joke. “Even if you had stayed in the field — the only place for me — in retrospect, you were right in giving me back the engagement ring. We would have been apart most of the time… I should have stayed in touch, in any case,” Stan assumed responsibility and tried to stay objective.
Deirdre picked up with a note of wistfulness. “That knife cuts both ways… I should have made more of an effort to see you… Truthfully, I don’t think I was tough enough to deal with the pain of what could have been. You were and are a trigger for my remorse. Right now, it is almost too much to bear,” the tough ex-CIA leader choked out as she wiped her tears with Stan’s handkerchief.
“Dee, I was the same way. I cared so much for you… I knew seeing you again would have torn me up, so I did not contact you either. Now, though, I have a different perspective on life. There’s really only the here and now — and a hint of the future.”
“Stan, just so you know, I haven’t cried since I gave you back the engagement ring.”
“Well, feel free to let go. You’re in safe company… Speaking of knives,” Stan consciously segued, “I still have your granddad’s K-bar knife. You gave that to me for Christmas. Can’t tell you how many times it has saved me. I think of you every time I see it. I can’t thank you enough for it.” Stan tried to turn off the waterworks across from him.
“Oh, yes, I remember. You’re welcome,” Deirdre softly replied, bringing another cascade of tears in remembrance.
“I always wanted to get it engraved; but, as you said when you gave it to me, that kind of personal information compromises one with an interrogator.” Stan wanted to get out of the emotional trough with rationality. “My stepdad frequently told me to forget the past and live in the present. I’d like you to consider coming away with me for a weekend, a week, a month, a year, a lifetime — whatever you want. No commitment on your part required. I have enough money for us to live well — some place far away. Will you join me?”
Deirdre was taken aback. There was an existential pause.
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Stan’s mind flashed to his past in Afghanistan. There he and the CIA station chief found the Company’s secret policy of tolerating the opium trade abhorrent. Acting on their own, they pitted two warring opium factions against each other. After near mutual annihilation of the factions, the two agents uncovered opium-sourced war chests in excess of $200 million. The station chief took care of the confiscated cache, as a matter of protocol. Stan forgot the funds but remained proud of what their brotherhood had accomplished.
A year later, reminiscing with the ex-CIA chief over ale in London, his old co-conspirator slapped him on the back with hushed bravado, “I want to thank you for your years of service. On behalf of a grateful nation that can never repay your service, including that year as a prisoner of Hezbollah, you are hereby given access to over $100 million in off-shore accounts. Here are ten account numbers…”
His old boss was a genius. Short of killing Stan, this money was the next strongest deterrent to Stan’s ever speaking of the incident.—.to anyone. Stan knew he could not turn the funds over to the government without exposing the ex-station chief and himself to ruin for doing right. Since, Stan had never accessed the accounts, other than to give five of them to Mark Trace without mention of the source —and to anonymously and untraceably compensate Congressman Paige’s maid with $3 million for unintentional damages. The remaining five were a confounding issue to him. Stan had championed the ideals of the Natio
n. At his core, he knew that the root cause of the Nation’s current ills was spiraling corruption. National overspending, hemorrhaging borders, Balkanization of the culture, proliferation of illegal drugs, lack of governmental accountability — these were all symptoms of burgeoning corruption. He did not want to consider himself part of that corruption. Fighting that corruption with the opium money was arguably, pragmatically justified; but his own potential private use of the cache haunted his dreams.
Perhaps he really was due major recompense for his year of abject abandonment in Lebanon, he rationalized. He wrestled with his conscience. He could give the remaining five accounts to charity, or…
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Deirdre’s reply brought Stan back to the room. “It is the best offer I’ve had today — actually, of a lifetime, excluding, of course, your marriage proposal twenty-two years ago. You know me, though. I can make decisions on the spot, but I’d much prefer to sleep on them — one reason I chose headquarters over the field… Will tomorrow be soon enough?”
“Dee, tomorrow’s fine… Actually, I’ll wait for you forever. Hope that’s not too sappy… I need to tell you a few more things before you decide. It’s about what I have been doing recently. You know I trust you, but I need your word you will not ever divulge or act on what I am about to tell you.”
“A tall order,” she began. Deirdre morphed to the unruffled persona of her past life, then she softened. She did not hesitate too long and nodded in the affirmative. “And, of course, because I trust you.”
The only details of the Custos operation Stan omitted were his connection to Mark Trace and the source of his cache of funds. Compartmentalization was a way of life to Stan, an occupational habit that kept his world from coming apart or being destroyed. It was as if he had two buckets to file facts: “tell” and “don’t tell.” The buckets were empty until he knew his audience. Then his quick mind immediately sorted and filed facts appropriately for discussion. He continued his narrative until his mouth became dry. “So, Dee, in two hours I’ve told you more than I know.” he jested.
“Well, you certainly know how to sweep a girl off her feet,” Deirdre exhaled and replied ironically in response to Stan’s lengthy account of the high points of Custos’s activities. She found Stan’s rationale for what he had done, compelling. She tried to be humorous, but she was near apoplectic in the face of the completely unexpected revelations. She rose and walked to her bar. “I need a couple of brandies after that!… Same for you?…So Stan…” Deirdre went on after a breathy sigh and subsequent thoughtful pause, you and I have devoted our lives to protecting a system that you no longer trust to heal itself?”
Stan smiled and then went very somber. “Deirdre, Americans have lost faith in the three branches of national government. The executive branch flouts the Constitution, ruling by pen and telephone with arrogant executive orders and blatantly lying to the public. I don’t have to tell you how Benghazi played out. The legislative branch flagrantly overspends and gives lip-service only, to protecting the general welfare. Pass a bill to see what’s in it? I am apoplectic! The judicial branch makes law with legal activism and sometimes rules a law doesn’t mean what it clearly says. The Supreme Court sure did a happy-dance for the Affordable Care Act, didn’t it? We have gone through the looking glass, Alice!
“Cut another way, the White House degrades our culture by honoring anarchistic entertainers at the White House. It divides the people by inciting class-envy. It undermines local police officers. The government — both political parties contributing — insures a porous border for self-serving purposes, not the people’s. One side to guarantee future elections; the other for cheap labor for multinational businesses. Never mind that a welfare state can never last long with an open border. And full circle to dividing the people, the do-gooder encouragement of languages other than English splinters the culture another way, making us a nation of nation’s rather than one nation.
“As the ship of state was about to run aground — and my days were numbered, I judged that measures like an Article V Convention could not be effective soon enough. I regrettably had to do something — the only way I could, given my skills. You have to trust me that I also had some wise counsel before I acted.”
Stan opened his arms and continued, “It’s a lot to digest, so let’s imbibe. I can use some iced water, too, please. My mouth is drier than the Sahara after my explanations.”
After both exchanged several good-hearted toasts clanking snifters of Grand Marnier, Deirdre offered, “You trusted me. Now I’m going to trust you. There is another reason I left the Agency… I was acting director of the Agency. It had looked like a quiet period in the world’s crisis continuum, so the top tier of the Agency went to a management retreat at Aspen. Someone was to remain in charge at Langley to provide emergency decisions. That was yours truly. When the compound at Benghazi was being overrun. I ordered an “all hands” effort: maximum CIA assistance in the area to respond against the terrorists. It was clearly the right thing to do on the spot. I subsequently referred the matter to the Director for review after setting forces in motion, but I had felt an immediate decision was required so as to not lose any lead time.
“Well, Director Beau Collins countermanded the use of force and ordered a stand down of our resources. He never elaborated on his reasons. He did come by personally within a week to restate his continued confidence in me and asked me stay on. I still respect the man, but this new overlay of cross purposes in strategy was the last straw for me. If my role in Benghazi becomes public knowledge by my doing, I lose my pension… We both now share a confidence that insures the other’s silence. I owed you that.”
“Dee, not that you needed to, but what you did on Benghazi just reinforces my faith in you… On many levels, I feel better about all things at once than I ever have. I am having a great deal of difficulty expressing that. The experience is beyond words…”
“Is that the ineffable you once told me about?” Deirdre smiled.
“That would be the word,” Stan stabbed his right index finger at Deirdre to signal her correct reading. He simultaneously softened his pointing with a wide smile. “It’s a sad day when I can’t come up with a word meaning ‘can’t be expressed in words.’” He laughed, “That is irony wrapped in gold.”
“Stan, your sense of humor has not suffered a bit… It strikes me that part of your emotional high may also be the gratification of doing something historic. What a feeling of accomplishment you must be experiencing! How fulfilling! Part of my rationale for doing headquarters work was to be highly leveraged so I could make a big difference. I never dreamed that a sole operator in the field could bring about so much change. You are amazing!”
“Dee, I am humbled by a lot of luck and a little skill. What can I say? I never really felt that I had much of a choice. My particular skills, my apparent lack of a future, my love of the Nation, some guidance from an insider, and the desperate need for the country to change course immediately — all channeled me toward what felt like destiny, or a requirement to change destiny. At the end of the day,” Stan laughed, “… I hate that expression… I’m still a patriotic guy who likes cold beer and hot women.” As he said hot women, he gestured at Deirdre.
Deirdre flushed. She was used to compliments, but his was most meaningful.
“Stan, I am feeling quite good about all things myself, Deirdre squinted to stifle a yawn, covering her mouth with her left hand. “Please excuse me! Stan, my body cannot keep up with how rapt I am in the moment… We have had such a memorable reunion. I’m sad to say it’s past my bedtime. Please follow me. Let me turn down the covers in your room for you… You can see you have your own bathroom and shower as well. If there’s anything you need, just let me know.”
“I will. And, Dee, it has been a wonderful day.” He kissed her softly on the cheek and then on her lips. They held a longing embrace that bespoke their emotional intensity. As they slowly broke from the hug, Stan continued, “It’s so good
to see you! Sleep well!”
“That will be hard!” she sighed. “… You have given me a lot to think about… Good night.” In the doorway, she turned and asked in disbelief, “Is this a dream?” Her emotions ran the gamut: happy, sad, shocked, and perplexed. For the moment a Chinese Wall of uncertainty stood between the two.
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Several hours later, Stan was in deep REM sleep. He did not hear the quiet footsteps. He did not feel the covers tug slightly as they were lifted. He did not feel the queen-size mattress sag slightly. Those unexpected cues normally would have elicited a rabbit chop from the career spy, as a very minimum. He called these reactions PTSD: pre traumatic stress disorder. Stan did sense the presence of warm skin next to his. His then semi-conscious mind asked, “Is this a dream?”
END
Acknowledgments
Three very special people encouraged me on this maiden voyage. An eternal thank you, alphabetically by last name, to Jerry, Cindy, and Jeanne. Together, they also threshed out tragic inconsistencies, fatal character development shortfalls, and one missing comma. That three persons of such integrity and character would honor me with their time is humbling. They shine me down. Theirs are energy ripples into eternity.
About the Author
The author is an award-winning essayist in competitions at college, the Freedoms Foundation, and a major command of the United States Air Force. He is a distinguished graduate of a United States service academy and was first in his MBA and MSIE classes. He was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross as an aircraft commander in Vietnam. Later, he was the first pilot to land a C-141B on McMurdo Sound’s ice runway in Antarctica. He served as an instructor pilot, acquisitions program manager, engineer, senior command-and-control officer, and squadron commander. In a subsequent career, he was a top territory manager for several leading international medical companies.