Favors and Lies

by Mark Gilleo

“I think we’re a little beyond that, don’t you. Planning to wash my mouth out with soap?”

  Dan’s mother eyed her son from his shoes to his head. “You are injured.”

  “Been better. Been worse. I want Reed Temple. Or at least that was his name earlier this evening when he was tying me up in a basement, ordering me to be killed.”

  “He is gone.”

  “Destination?”

  “Somewhere you can’t reach him. He was reassigned. New passport. New identity. New cell phone. Cash. He will be in the air in a couple of hours. By dawn he will be in another country. With a new life. More accurately, his old life back, reissued with a new identity.”

  “He killed Conner.”

  “It was an accidental death.”

  “He also tried to kill me.”

  “You survived.”

  “He is a murderer.”

  “He is a patriot.”

  Dan stepped back as if his thoughts of revulsion manifested into muscle movement. The gun was re-aimed, finger now on the trigger.

  Dan’s mother slowly raised and lowered her right hand, hushing her son as if trying to calm a dog. “Put the gun down. Have a seat. Let’s talk.”

  “I’ll stand.” Dan moved his finger slowly to the side of the trigger guard but didn’t loosen his grip. The veins in the back of his hand bulged.

  “Your eyebrow is starting to drip,” his mother said.

  “And now the concerned mother routine?”

  “Very well,” his mother said. “We can discard the niceties. When did you know it was me?”

  “I’ve known for a while. My first clue was the initial police report on Conner. According to a dead police detective, there was nothing in his medical records regarding CIPA. We both know how substantial his medical files were. Dozens of visits to multiple hospitals for myriad reasons. All of them included references to pain insensitivity and CIPA. But when the police obtained the medical records, only the injuries were included in the files. How could a very pertinent piece of his medical records disappear from multiple medical files? And why? From that, I knew his death was related to his condition and I needed to find someone who had the knowledge of the illness and the ability to have records erased. On top of that, there was the incident involving the disappearing phone call. No phone record of the call to my house Vicky made the night Conner died. Coincidences like that do not occur. It was obvious it was the work of an intelligence operation.”

  “You couldn’t have suspected me at that point. As far as you knew, I was an English teacher and I was deceased.”

  “I suspected Dad. I had him pegged for it, really. It wasn’t until I talked to a helpful gentleman from the Russian Embassy that I considered it was you. He mentioned how the Russians identify agents working under diplomatic cover at embassies overseas. It was something so simple perhaps I should have realized on my own. He said official cover operatives at foreign posts have to perform two jobs. One is a legitimate job, albeit a cover job, and the other is spycraft. This is common knowledge. What he said next was not. He said if you want to identify a foreign intelligence agent working under diplomatic cover, just keep track of the employees putting in the longest hours at the embassy. Dad never worked at the embassy. You did. And you always stayed up late. I didn’t think much about it when I was growing up. I always thought we moved when Dad found a new job with better pay.”

  Dan’s mother laughed a quiet cackle. “Oh, my dear Dan. I wasn’t following your father around the globe. He was following me.”

  “So I have realized.”

  “Your father was a geologist. He was very good at what he did. He loved his job. And big companies with unlimited resources are scouring every corner of every country for oil and gas deposits. It was a perfect marriage. He could work anywhere. I could teach anywhere.”

  “Except you weren’t teaching.”

  “I wasn’t only teaching.”

  “How does the CIA capitalize on an English teacher?”

  “My official cover was as a foreign service English language officer. We establish English programs in foreign countries to ultimately facilitate better relations with the US. We teach teachers how to teach more effectively and try to positively influence the lives of students through the expansion of English.”

  “I understand the diplomatic perspective. I am not sure I follow the intelligence side.”

  “Take a poor African country, for example. The establishment of English programs, as with most aid programs in Africa, is rife with corruption. The ruling party and those in power want their children to learn English. Rules will be bent, broken, and created to serve those in the inner power circle. After the program is filled with the children of the elite, there will be some elements of the general population who will be offered a place in some classrooms.”

  “Sounds like a wonderful program.”

  “It serves two purposes. One, it provides an opportunity to interact with the offspring of the power elite in a manner that cannot be accomplished through standard diplomatic channels. It helps mold these children to view the US and other English-speaking countries in a more favorable light. Two, when properly leveraged, one can get meaningful intelligence of the lives of those in the inner circle of power through their children . . . all under the auspice of learning English.”

  “Using children to spy.”

  “At no risk to the children.”

  “It is a little thing called ‘principle.’ Africa doesn’t have the best track record regarding the treatment of their children. Chopping off arms, forced labor camps, using them as soldiers. And now you have the US, employing these children as spies.”

  “The world is not black and white. And the Belgians started the African custom of limb-chopping.”

  Dan changed the subject. “Tell me about the plane crash that killed you and Dad.” Dan nodded towards his mother’s injured leg. “And if you tell me my father is still alive, I will shoot you right here, right now, mother or not.”

  “No, son. He is dead. Your father and I were, in fact, in a plane crash. That is the truth.”

  “Don’t call me ‘son.’ Again. Ever.”

  “I understand you are angry.”

  “You have no idea what anger is. I want the details of the crash.”

  “It was a small single-engine plane taking off from Johannesburg in heavy rain. It crashed less than a minute after takeoff. Your father and the pilot died on impact. There wasn’t much left of the aircraft. The last thing I remember is looking over the wing as the plane banked left and the ground closed in at a great speed.”

  “And you survived. Conveniently.”

  “I was in a coma for two days. Another half a year in rehabilitation. Broken back, legs, pelvis. I have more metal below the waist than I do bone. Cold weather does me in. Hate winter.”

  “And you decided to leave me and my brother without parents? Clean it up with a closed casket funeral?”

  “You were grown men. You had lives of your own. Lives you were free to live. Your father was dead. What you see in this chair is my life. My life to lead. The agency and its mission are in my blood.”

  “More than your own children, apparently. So who knew about your secret life as a spy? Did my brother know? Dad?”

  “Your father knew. Your brother did not.” His mother glanced out the front window. “I saw to it that you were taken care of.”

  “It isn’t about the money.”

  “But it gave you the opportunity to do what you want with your life.”

  “Maybe I would have preferred the opportunity to have a life with you in it.”

  “I wasn’t going to be around forever. My death was an inevitable eventuality, as it is for everyone. My departure from your life was only premature. The airplane crash reminded me that life can end at any moment.”

  “What
about Connor, did he know you were alive?”

  “He did not.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He died serving his country.”

  “Explain.”

  “He was recruited by the CIA under the premise of a medical study. Contacted regarding his medical condition and asked whether or not he would be interested in participating in a program to advance the interests of the United States.”

  “For money?”

  “We appealed to his patriotic convictions. And he also got paid.”

  “You use the word ‘patriotic’ as if it is a get-out-of-jail-free card.”

  “Conner chose to help his country. The choice was his. We merely opened the door to him. He was eighteen at the time. He was able to make the decision for himself.”

  “You recruited your own flesh and blood and it killed him.”

  “He volunteered.”

  “He didn’t know any better. He was a child. I see a recurring theme.”

  “Eighteen, Dan. If that is a child then we need to re-examine our definitions. The military is full of children. Wars are won with children. Tanks are driven and fighter jets are flown by children. Bombs are dropped by children. And the new drones, well, most of the really talented operators are not too much older than twenty. Who knew the video game generation would prove to be such an advantage?”

  Dan shook his head, unable to believe what he was hearing.

  His mother continued. “Connor understood that in all likelihood he would not survive long-term. He wanted to help.”

  “Help with what?”

  “Do you remember 9/11?”

  “Of course.”

  “How did you feel that morning?”

  “Sick. Shocked. Sad. Disgusted. Angry.”

  “Angry. Every red-blooded American was angry. And if you would have asked any American on that fateful morning if we should use any method at our disposal to bring those responsible to justice, every American would have said yes. Yes to torture. Yes to drones. Yes to occupying foreign countries. Certainly yes to working with American volunteers in the name of creating super soldiers. Super spies.”

  “Do you know how mentally unstable you are?”

  “I am not talking about science fiction, Dan. This is very real. We are close. We are very close to medical advances that will provide advantages to the way wars are fought, the way intelligence is gathered. And if we don’t accomplish it first, the Russians or the Israelis will. Imagine a soldier who can feel no pain. Combine a soldier or a spy who can feel no pain with one who has a superior memory. A soldier or spy who is not slowed by the elements. These are no longer far-fetched. They are doable. We are not talking about superhuman, mutant capabilities. We are talking about replicating capabilities of a very select number of individuals with very special skills. Imagine adding soldier enhancements like an exoskeleton. Smart bullets. Now you are talking about humans who are no longer purely human. Humans who can serve as virtual robots—robots we can use without relinquishing security controls to the binary whims of computer systems, programmers, and hackers.”

  “So what happened with Conner?”

  “He had a reaction to one of the experiments. An allergic reaction to pain-inducing medication. We were testing pain thresholds, using compounds that exponentially increase pain reaction in humans. Imagine an injection that could create a pain reaction so great that the pressure of a simple handshake could bring crippling agony.”

  “I can imagine the implications.”

  “Yes, you can. Torture. With a single injection, we could extract meaningful intelligence through extreme pain, without any physical implications. Grab an arm, squeeze, and get the answer to your interrogation question. Release the arm and there is no damage. No long-term effects.”

  “I’m sure it’s great.”

  “We were testing this medication on Conner as an ancillary evaluation of his pain receptors. He showed no discomfort when injected with this compound. He had no pain reaction to the test compound, unlike the discomfort demonstrated by normal humans in the control subject groups. Unfortunately, the allergic reaction to the injected compound wasn’t realized until it was too late. He didn’t suffer.”

  “Of course he suffered. He suffered mentally. He suffered with fear. It may have not been painful, but he suffered. Don’t confuse the two.”

  “It was an accident. You act like I didn’t care. I had him under near-constant surveillance. He was being observed at school. Supervised by the Resident Assistant in his dorm. He was being watched here.”

  “This house?”

  “It was under surveillance.”

  “What kind of surveillance?”

  “Electronic. Human.”

  “Human who?”

  “The elderly man next door. He is a retired colleague.”

  “What else did you have? Cameras? Video? Audio?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you have evidence and I want it.”

  “It has been destroyed, or will be shortly. The last bit of evidence left this house with Reed Temple minutes ago.”

  “Who is Reed Temple?”

  “A talented agent with a distinguished career.”

  “What is his real name?”

  “I cannot divulge that information.”

  “Does he know who you are?”

  “No. I met him in person for the first time tonight. Of course, I refrained from divulging my true identity.”

  “You mean he doesn’t know you are Connor’s grandmother?”

  “I told you we met for the first time this evening. We have spoken before, anonymously.”

  “Is Reed Temple a prodigy of yours?”

  “Not my prodigy. Certainly my peer when it comes to being convincing. Believable. As you have witnessed.”

  “Why are you protecting him?”

  “Because our country needs him. We need people like him. People who are willing to do what is asked, and sometimes willing to do what is not asked. This country is becoming a land of whiners, lawyers, and pussies. Excuse my language.”

  “I always knew I got my propensity for cursing from you.”

  Dan paced the living room, never taking his eyes off his mother. He glanced out the front window and could see Detective Wallace in his police car. Sue was still seated next to him.

  “Who is Sue Fine?”

  “An agent. We infiltrated your email and set up the internship. It wasn’t difficult. It wasn’t without risks, but it wasn’t difficult. I sent her to protect you. To keep an eye on you.”

  “That is what she said.”

  “Is she still alive? She neglected to provide an update today.”

  “She is alive. Thanks to an old wooden chair and a bit of luck.”

  “For what it’s worth, she reported that she was uncomfortable with this assignment after spending a few days with you. She inquired about reassignment.”

  “Maybe she should have been reassigned. She did a poor job of protecting me.”

  “It was not from lack of effort. You know, as hard as this may be to believe, I tried to keep you insulated. After Connor’s death, I ordered the sterilization of most of your existence. Access to the majority of information about you now requires a top-level security clearance. Your medical history. Your employment records. Your tax records. Birth records. You were cleaned up, redacted, removed from various databases where normal people have their lives stored.”

  “I discovered the lack of medical records.”

  “Outside of the witness protection program, there are few people in the civilian population with less history than you. It was not a trivial undertaking. And it was done to protect you.”

  “And yet, why do I think this was done for you? I mean, if you wanted to protect me, you could have handled Reed Temple. I’m sure
you were aware of the seriousness of the situation when you saw my face on the news after the bomb at my office. I don’t think you were trying to protect me very hard, if at all. I think you assigned Sue to the case so she could keep an eye on me and inform you when I got too close to the truth.”

  Dan watched as his mother stared stoically ahead.

  “In fact, you know what I think? I think Connor died and you hit the panic button. You didn’t want anyone connecting the dots between your domestic pain study and the fact that experiments were being performed on your own flesh and blood, on US soil. I imagine, even in the CIA, people would protest the perversity of that dynamic. I also imagine, someone, somewhere in the food chain at Langley would be able to connect the dots between Connor and his not-so-dead grandmother. Birth records, the last name of Lord. Someone could have figured it out.”

  Dan’s mother remained silent and he knew he’d hit the nail on the head. “I think when Connor died, you ordered a cleanup. But thanks to Reed Temple and his sidekicks, it got out of hand. Somewhere along the way your cleanup became a cover-up. And you decided to see it through to the end.”

  Dan’s mother turned away and glanced out the window into darkness. “I’m not the only one covering their tracks. We all have secrets. Even you. For a period of five years, you do not exist. Not even a credit card or utility bill in your name. Nothing. Even a CIA agent struggles to imagine how you pulled that off.”

  “My life is my life.”

  “I am still curious about my son. It’s a mother’s job.”

  “As is deception, apparently, which you excelled at throughout your life.”

  “You were always perceptive as a child, Dan. You would have made a great operative. For years I was certain you would be the one to discover my real occupation. But you didn’t. All that time you spent doing martial arts and hanging out with diplomatic security and marines at all those embassies kept you occupied. And the times you weren’t in the dojo, you were out with your father on some expedition or you were studying.”

  “Your life was a lie.”

  “But my love was not.”

  “Your definition of love has no basis in reality.”

  “I am sorry you feel that way.”