Old Growth & Ivy (The Spook Hills Trilogy Book 1)

by Menard, Jayne

  ***

  Once back, he called Brian to see if the investigation was turning up anything, then he settled back with his lunch. The hospital staff brought in food for Ivy, but she went on sleeping. Steve did not move. Around one, a nurse woke up Ivy and told her to eat. She drank the milk on the tray, poked at the yellow gelatin, but left the plastic-looking cream of chicken soup alone. Once the tray was taken away, Mathew opened a second bag and handed her a carton of the good Mama Leone's chicken soup from Elephant's Deli, knowing it was a favorite of hers. She took it gratefully and began eating.

  "There's some pudding too. And an oatmeal raison cookie for after your next nap."

  She smiled and nodded. "You're a lifesaver – I’m starving. Mathew, tell me what Steve was like when you worked together at the Bureau."

  Mathew thought about where to start and decided it may as well be at the beginning. "Back when I was at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Steve conducted a guest lecture series about what prospective agents should expect on real cases. He would depict situations from cases he handled as much as ten years before where he made each situation come alive with details. He talked without notes, going for two hours at a clip. His memory was astounding.

  "After about an hour to describe the situation, he made the lectures interactive, asking us what we would do, drawing out comments and questions. At first only the show-offs raised their hands. He never shot anyone down; he explained why whatever scenario, let's say 6.3, had weaknesses or risks. He always had the scenarios numbered and remembered the numbers -- we checked the case histories."

  "Is that standard protocol at the FBI?"

  "Not the way Steve did it. He placed a particular emphasis on planning and on examining as many possibilities as he and his teams could think of, particularly before going in for an arrest."

  "He is so logical."

  "And uber-organized. Anyway by the fourth lecture, I gathered my courage and responded with what I hoped was a scenario outside the box. While I was naive to think I could impress him given how green I was, I wanted to succeed where others had failed. His reaction was different as he listened; he stopped for a moment, looked hard at me, and then explained the fault in my solution that created too much risk, but he didn't recite a scenario number. Steve made redacted PDF copies of the case files he cited, including all the planning scenarios, and made them available to the students on a server -- a relatively new approach back in the ‘90s. After class, I checked the case study and my scenario wasn’t listed."

  "That's interesting."

  "I didn't know if it was feeble or if I had actually come up with a possibility that this superhuman agent and his team missed. Years passed before I learned the answer. All of us prospective agents talked about him. He had a reputation as the most successful agent, team leader, and FBI executive in the business. He also had a rep for being about the meanest SOB too. No, mean is not right word. Most demanding, that was it. Never have I known Steve to be mean, unless the situation -- the scenario -- required it and then he directed his angst towards the perps. At the Bureau, rumors about him so enhanced his reputation that it became an aura. He was sui generis, a sort of demi-god to us as students. Seeing this living legend in our classroom took our already high goals for ourselves and moved the bar up."

  "Did he have any nicknames besides 'the Boy Scout'?"

  "Yeah, one was 'Drittsekk'. I am sorry to say that is Norwegian for asshole or more literally 'shitbag'. Yet another was simply, 'B.A.', which could be for bad ass or big agent, depending on the circumstances."

  "Like the ‘B.A.’ one.”

  Mathew continued. "When it came time for me to graduate from the FBI Academy at Quantico, my first choice of assignment was the International Operations Division where Steve then was. He had made such an impression on me that I hoped to test my worth by working for him, but the Bureau assigned me to my second choice, the Criminal Division in the New York office.

  "On the job, I buried myself in each case and in my free time, learned about cases with international roots. From New York, the Bureau transferred me to D.C., where my boss had earmarked me to move into management. I set the record straight that all I wanted was fieldwork. Within a few months I was sent to Dallas, by way of annoyance I think. From there, the Bureau transferred me back to New York -- six years older and with significant chapters of experience behind me.

  “Sometimes I would hear about cases Steve was on and I saw him in the office a few times, but that was it. In 2007 in New York, we began working on a case that involved drugs from Afghanistan, money laundering, and suspected funding of terrorist activities. From the money-laundering point of view, it was not unlike the case we picked up last year involving this Astuto character. The trails were leading to Turkey, which might have meant a drug cartel, but the path the money took was off. The money routed from the U.S. through France, then Spain, then Bermuda and then Cairo and there it sat from everything we could tell. Most money schemes associated with laundering had the money re-invested or withdrawn. We found it puzzling; we were stalled. Then guess who showed up to take over the investigation?"

  "Steve," Ivy said in a whisper.

  Mathew nodded in confirmation. "The very announcement that he was managing the case caused a flurry of speculation in the office and generated more than a little apprehension. I was worried that I might fail to measure up to his standards. His aura had not faded. In fact the intervening years had enhanced it. The rumor was that he always ran the perps to ground, usually quickly, but even if it took months, he would get them. He never forgot a case or a perp or an agent."

  "Like he will never forget Astuto," Ivy said as she leaned over in her bed to look at Steve.

  "On the day Steve took over, we had to assemble at seven in the morning. He walked in, introduced himself and then had us go around the room giving our names. Unbeknownst to us, Steve had researched each member of the team. After each person said his or her name, Steve recited some notable action from the agent’s record. Ten of us were on the team. He had no notes. All the information was in that incredible brain of his.

  "When it came to me, he stated my class year at the Academy, the case I had responded on and a new scenario number. That is when I realized that I had come up with a new and valid twist on that classroom case. At the end, he announced the leaders for four sub-teams. I was to head up the Scenario Planning Team. He expected us to choose our teams on a round-robin basis. Brian was also in the New York office although not assigned to this case. I chose him for the team because he can be a good sounding board, a solid data man and a meticulous organizer. The next agent I asked for was Moll. He would bring the creative twist we needed. I could have chosen one to two more agents, but those two were my team; it felt right. I noticed a lifted eyebrow from Steve when I shook my head, refusing to take a Round three selection. It made me apprehensive about my decision to keep my team small."

  "This is great stuff!” Ivy said. “Keep going."

  "He moved us to rooms with a different layout than most Bureau operations. The suite had four workrooms, one office and an open space, which he soon filled with a long table and a trio of computers and projectors. Our workroom had two computers per agent, each with two flat screens; every room had a projector. That meant that in my room, we had 12 flat screens, plus the projector. Since this was to be a paperless operation, the room lacked the traditional flipcharts or printers or even scrap paper. The only concession to creature comforts were water coolers, but every morning Steve had pastries or bagels and coffee delivered for us and late every afternoon, he had some sort of snack brought in. Often he also had lunch delivered and sometimes dinner. The suite had landline phones in each room; it had its own security system and full-time armed security guards.

  Steve introduced us to his electronic casebook that he had designed and created long before the Bureau had one as comprehensive. Every day all of our drafts, findings and work papers had to be stored in his casebook system to ensure secure backu
p and easy recall. Every night he read what we checked in. I sometimes wondered when he slept."

  Mathew paused and looked over at Ivy. He watched her pick up the pudding container and begin to lick the inside of it to get the last smears of her dessert. Clearly the only thing wrong with her appetite was the taste of the food in the hospital. He got up, poured some ice water for her, cleared the debris from her table and sat back down.

  "Was he really that fearsome?" Ivy asked.

  "He was tough. He had high standards. We heard that if agents failed to measure up to what he wanted, he booted them off the team. In addition he was so darn big and smiled so seldom that he seemed intimidating, at least until an agent worked with him for some time.

  "As an aside, the Bureau implemented a big system for electronic files last year called Sentinel at a cost of, no joke, over $400 million. It took almost seven years to develop, well eleven, if you count the first false start. Steve wrote his system in 2000 and kept updating it as technology evolved. Admittedly the Bureau's system is much broader in scope and serves the whole of the FBI; Steve's only served his teams. I have used both -- his was better from an agent's perspective, containing exactly what the team needed for each case. Steve is simply brilliant at understanding how to use technology to get the job done."

  Ivy smiled and nodded. "I can see that. He is very technical, yet practical too. He could have been an industry leader if he had chosen a career in software development."

  "Never thought of that, but I bet you're right." Mathew paused and took a drink from his own water bottle before continuing.

  "You know anything about Steve's personal life?" Ivy asked.

  Mathew looked at her, debating if Steve would want Ivy to know about the dark time earlier in his life.

  Seeing his hesitation, Ivy said, "Only what you’re comfortable telling me."

  "For a time, years actually, Steve was really empty inside. What I am going to tell you is about the time before he became what we all jokingly call an FBI monk. Has he talked about that time?"

  "Only that he went through a bad time in his life. He has said he would talk about it but he hasn't, at least not yet."

  Mathew wondered if he should proceed but decided that since it long predated Ivy, he could go ahead. "At night some of us would meet up at a nearby bar. Sometimes Steve would join us. From what the rumor mill said, often in the evenings he went to various hotel bars, ordered a drink and waited. From what we heard, most nights some woman would hit on him. Well, that was the rumor.

  "Near the end of the first week after Steve took over the case, a couple of agents on the team put on disguises and followed him. Within 20 minutes, a tall woman with short brown hair came into the hotel bar, glanced around, walked over and started talking to Steve. Less than an hour later they went out together but at the door Steve stopped, turned around and strode back to the table where the two agents sat in their disguises. He gave them one of his glares and told them to get back to work. He was unmerciful on those two from that day on. He questioned every suggestion they had; they never researched their work well enough. He made sure they would never follow him again."

  He noticed that Ivy was laughing and was glad she was so good humored about this disclosure of how Steve had once been. "Starting the first week, Steve had us take physical fitness tests and do shooting drills like those that at the Academy, only these were harder. At seven every morning he began the day with a discussion around his code of operation, the Bureau's code or basic truths. Anyone who was late was subjected to what we called 'the stare' from Steve. Late twice and he or she had a private session with Steve. No one was ever late a third time, not even Moll who was the least morning person on the team. At 7:15, it was on to business, including information sharing, critiques of our casebook contributions, etc. Trust me, Steve could be very pointed in his evaluations, but not belittling.

  "At the start of week two, Steve dropped several agents from the team for not making the grade. From this point forward we ate together, we drank together, and we worked together. We worked 12, 14, 16 hours a day, every day of the week. When we drank together, Steve would often repeat the same pickup routine but now openly.

  "One night we decided to place bets on how long it would take for some woman to hit on Steve. Some variation in our demeanors betrayed us to him. He was walking out with a tall thin blond, when he turned back, walked over to our table and held out his hand. He made five hundred bucks from us that night. We left the bar shamed that we had failed. If we couldn’t to fool him, we would be unlikely to fool a perp."

  A doctor and nurse came in, interrupting Mathew's story. They checked Steve first and then Ivy. After they left, Mathew studied Ivy's face still feeling concerned that she might be upset over hearing about Steve's practices in those days, but all she seemed was interested.

  "I was never desperate enough for one-night stands,” she said, “But I had my share of dates and relationships. So much so that I became tired of it and stopped dating for several years. Until Steve. He was different."

  "He told me once that the dead time started after his parents died. He felt he lost the last ties he had to a personal life."

  "How sad for him. How very, very sad."

  Ivy sagged back against her pillows. Mathew stood up, moved her tray table away and helped her slide down for a nap.

  "More to the story?" she asked fighting to keep her eyelids open.

  "Yes, later."

  Chapter 16

  Around four that afternoon, Ivy woke up again, refreshed her makeup, checked her hair and asked Mathew to help her get over to Steve. He remained as immobile as before. Ivy stayed with him for some time, talking and holding his hand. Then she decided to sit in a chair until dinner, such as it would be, was brought in.

  "Let me hear more about Steve."

  After all the hours of sitting in the hospital, having Ivy to chat with was a welcome relief. Mathew gladly resumed talking. "That third Friday night into working with Steve, only the two of us were left in the hotel bar -- Steve and me. We began talking about love and marriage. I told Steve that I believed someone special was out there for me; but that I needed to earn the right to unconditional love.

  "I stretched out my legs and waited, wanting Steve to say something. Finally he started talking about his parents, how together their marriage was and how much he was a part of their lives. He told me that he knew people joked about his boyish Beaver-Cleaver grin and then said that his childhood home was a lot like the Cleaver house only with a Norwegian twist. He always assumed he would grow up, find Miss Right and live happily ever after like his parents had.

  "I remember that he paused then and looked off across the room at nothing in particular. He tilted his head slightly back and forth a couple of times, as if debating if he should disclose more. He then talked about how he was a failure at relationships and how he had so much trouble carrying on a conversation with the women he went out with that he gave up and went only for what he called 'the wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am’ sort of deal."

  "Interesting. We never have trouble talking. Well, sometimes we have trouble owning up to the things that bother us the most about ourselves, but other than that, the words flow between us."

  “That’s because you are a lot like Steve – kind of light on the chit-chat, but intense on more meaningful conversation. Anyway I asked about his marriage, hoping I wasn't prying too much. Steve shook his head and told me that his ex-wife wanted the D.C. social life, so she divorced him and quickly married an influential lobbyist making tons of money. Then he asked about me and what I was after in life.

  "I talked about how I wanted a woman with enough life experience to put the man inside me ahead of my face, my brain and the fortune I inherited. I wanted to build a life with her that brought us so much joy we could never leave each other. However I had to get me figured out first. All those years when my parents were traveling their separate ways, I was with nannies and housekeepers or in boarding school. All
that aloneness took its toll. A heavy shroud was so enmeshed in my heart that casting it off felt impossible. Intellectually I understood what I needed to do, however the pathway remained illusory. In the meanwhile, I planned and dreamed.

  "I'll always remember what he said next -- he wished he had enough hope and faith to dream."

  Mathew looked over at Ivy. Her face was very sad and he could tell that while she may never have felt the degree of isolation that Steve experienced, she understood it well enough.

  "He did a funny thing then," Mathew continued. "Steve ordered two glasses of milk and a plate of cookies. Then he smiled that open grin of his and I marveled at the dichotomic nature of the man. He could act so world-weary and in a flash, despite being a man in his fifties, he would turn into the wholesome kid next door. When the cookies came, he split one in half, dunked it, chewed slowly and asked me how I thought a man could get un-disillusioned.

  "I found it odd that Steve with his aura of invincibility was having this conversation with me and seeking my advice. He was so commanding on the job and had a powerful magnetism that attracted women to him. It was only then that I appreciated his weaknesses when it came to more sensitive interpersonal relations. We talked about paths to finding more of ourselves, opening up our hearts and pursuing a woman romantically, as a life partner and as an equal.

  "When we finished the cookies and milk, Steve asked me if the other agents and I often talked about this sort of romantic idealism. I responded with something to the effect of, 'Yeah, we do sometimes. And you and I just did. El Desperados.' "

  He became somber when I used that epithet and I worried I had gone too far. Steve settled the bill in silence and we parted, each of us looking thoughtful. The next morning our break came in the case, leaving us with no time for follow-up conversations. However I never saw him pull the pickup act again.

  Ivy stretched in her chair. She was smiling. "He is so appreciative of me. No wonder. All those one-night stands. All those wasted years. Thank you for telling me more about him. What else?"