by Keith Yocum
“Freak him out? You’re freaking me out.”
✦
Judy settled back into her seat and looked out the window as the plane taxied at Perth International Airport. It was a warm spring day, and she worried whether she’d brought the right clothes for the gloomy London weather. She already dreaded the layover in Singapore, and knew she’d look like a rag doll by the time the flight was over.
If she kept thinking about the clothes, she would stop thinking about Dennis and how they were going to settle their relationship. She bit the inside of her lip and for the hundredth time vacillated between just wanting the relationship to be over and just wanting to be in Dennis’s arms again. The former thought was the mature wish; the latter was the romantic but childish wish.
She sighed and pressed her forehead against the cold window as the jet screamed down the runway.
CHAPTER 6
I’m afraid it’s going nowhere,” Dennis said. “There’s no thread. Can’t find the story line that pulls it together. Might be a random criminal act that’s totally unrelated to his work life.”
“How much longer are you going to be there?” Louise asked.
“Maybe a week; no longer than that.”
“What should I tell the IG?”
“Well, you can say that we met with the folks at Menwith Hill and are going to revisit some people at the London station.”
“Okay. You’re not holding anything back, are you?”
“No. Nothing substantial.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I don’t have anything solid, just a hundred dumb hunches. And I don’t think you want to hear all my dumb hunches. It’d be like watching one of those French movies without the subtitles. Wouldn’t make any sense.”
“Please don’t start this crap, Cunningham. Give me one of your hunches.”
“All right. Chandler. Something’s up with him. Don’t know what it is, but he’s holding something.”
“Maybe he’s just trying to save his career; this is not good thing to happen on his watch, you know.”
“No, I don’t think it’s that. Feels like we’re not getting the story.”
“What story?”
“You know what I mean, Louise. You were in operations for years. You know what I’m talking about. He’s probably a good guy, but he’s not going to let OIG in on his little secret, because he doesn’t have to. I mean, we’d like him to believe he’s required to tell us, but they lie to us all the time. I just get the feeling he’s sitting on something. And it’s the kind of lie that he’s okay with, if you get what I’m saying. He’s not authorized to tell the IG, and he’s just following orders. It’s a hunch.”
Silence.
“Louise?”
“I’m thinking.”
“Let me in on it, maybe?”
“No.”
Silence.
“Okay,” she said. “Got to go.”
“Um. Bye then.”
✦
The bar was loud with early evening drinkers pouring out into the streets from the service industries powering the London economy. East Europeans, Africans, Germans, Chinese and even Yanks had settled into the booming city to fuel its growth as one of the world’s financial powerhouses.
“I’m not going to give you his address, so stop asking for it,” Fred said, hunched over his beer. “You’re talking like a crazy man.”
“Well, I’ll get it through my own channels then,” Dennis said.
“And what do you intend to do, even if you do find out where he lives?”
“I’ll just leave it up to my intuition to guide me,” Dennis said, waving his left hand dramatically.
“I think you’ve had too many single malts, my friend.”
“I’m going to head over there tomorrow; come if you want or stay in your little itty bitty hotel room and surf the web for pick-up bridge games in the neighborhood.”
“I hate you most of the time; like 99.9 percent of the time.”
Dennis slapped Fred on the back. “You don’t hate me. You just don’t want to get outside your comfort zone. As long as you have a computer screen in front of you, you’re comfortable. But people in front of you, well, not so much. People to people; that’s where the real truth comes out, not with algorithms. There’s too much reliance on that stuff, and you know it.”
“Oh, please, let’s not take on the entire intelligence establishment, if you don’t mind. If we didn’t scrape this stuff out of the digital universe, we’d be in much worse shape, believe me.”
“So why don’t you join me then tomorrow? You did a good job — though I hate to admit it — on the Menwith Hill guy. I was impressed. Thought you were going to play footsies with him, but you got him going there.”
“You think so? Honestly?”
“Yes, you were pretty damn good. My type of interview.”
“You don’t think I was too hard on him?”
“Hell, no!”
“You’re just saying that so I’ll go with you tomorrow.”
“Never crossed my mind.”
“And you might be drunk,” Fred said.
“Not true. After an eight-plus hour drive into sheep country, I’ll admit to being tired. But drunk, no.”
“Well, I still think it’s nuts to confront the Ukrainian.”
“I told you, stay here,” Dennis said. “It’ll be fine.”
“Suppose it wouldn’t hurt. And so what if we’ll be watched by MI5? We can explain it.”
“Fucking A, we can.”
“Maybe you are drunk.”
“Fucking A, I’m not.”
✦
The dog sank its teeth into her forearm first, then her elbow. It wasn’t the pain that bothered her or the saliva-frothed teeth clamping down; it was the evil of its large black eyes that drove her insane with fear.
She awkwardly jerked her right arm away from the dog and in the process slapped her tray table, which was down.
The woman sitting next to her was snoring slightly, so Judy was relieved at not being observed in a nightmare.
She sat up and tried to stretch away the awful vision of that dog. The lights had dimmed throughout the huge jetliner, and she could see the random signs of wakefulness: a flickering movie being watched here or a book being read there.
Reluctantly, she turned on her overhead light and reached for a book she had brought along. It was a mystery by a Norwegian author whose main character, a police inspector, seemed haunted by both a villain and his own frailties. She liked its authenticity.
✦
They took a cab until it was a block away and got out.
Dennis told Fred that he could probably pick out the car the surveillance agents were sitting in, watching Pavlychko’s house. Dennis guessed the surveillance on the Ukrainian was more for show than substance. More serious surveillance would not be noticeable. Public surveillance was designed as a nuisance; you know we’re watching you, and we know you know we’re watching you.
Fred said nothing in the cab, and Dennis guessed he was having second thoughts but was too embarrassed to tell him. Dennis had developed a strange fondness for his frumpy fellow investigator, and although it was completely out of character, he was concerned about him.
So he stopped walking.
“Got an idea,” he said, grabbing Fred’s arm. “You stay here. Maddox Street is the next corner. I’ll go up to the front door by myself and ring the doorbell. He’s probably not even at home, and there’s no use two of us showing up on the surveillance report and having to explain ourselves when the Brits complain. Just stay here.”
“Nope. Came this far, and I’m not backing out. You said yourself last night that I spend too much time in front of a computer, and I think you’re right. Plus I trust you. Don’t ask me why I
trust you, but I do. So there it is. Let’s go.”
Dennis considered arguing more vigorously, but he liked the sudden spunk his pal showed. And hell, he thought, isn’t this work a contact sport and not a video game?
“Let’s go then,” Dennis said.
They turned the corner on Maddox Street and made their way slowly down the opposite side of the street toward the townhouse. Dennis scanned the street for parked cars and vans but could only see a small white utility van ahead. As they passed the van, Dennis looked in and saw two older gentlemen in the front seat. The man behind the steering wheel had his head back and appeared to be sleeping; the other man, closest to the sidewalk, was reading a newspaper.
Dennis and Fred crossed the street, walked up a half-flight of stairs, and Fred pushed the button next to a huge, ornate, glossy red door. They waited three minutes before Dennis rang the doorbell again, but this time he pushed it in a strange pattern of ring-pause-ring-pause-long ring.
“Why’d you do that?” Fred whispered.
“To get his attention. He’ll think it’s a friend or a prostitute.”
“Very funny.”
Inside, Dennis could hear the heavy thud of footsteps and then an explosion of mechanical sounds from locks being turned and hinges swinging. The door opened, and behind it stood a very large man, perhaps six feet three inches, with broad shoulders and a block-shaped head with longish brown hair. He was barefoot and wore an old pair of sweatpants and a white tee shirt.
No one spoke for several seconds.
“Who are you?” the man said in heavily accented English. “What you do want?”
Dennis had known what he was going to say all along but had not told Fred. And he was going to say it to whoever opened the door, whether it was a valet, a girlfriend or Pavlychko himself.
“Hello. We’re looking for Richard Arnold. He’s an American official who’s been missing for a while here in London, and we thought you might be able to help us.”
Fred’s head swiveled sharply toward Dennis then swung back to look at the man in the doorway.
“Who?” the man said.
“Arnold. Richard Arnold. An employee of the Central Intelligence Agency.”
For the first time, Dennis noticed the chill London air, and he reflexively hunched his shoulders inside his khaki-colored raincoat.
The three men looked at each other; from the interior Dennis could hear a television announcer. A large lorry passed behind them in the street, creating a momentary crescendo of sound.
Dennis did not like the fact that the man in front of them kept passing his eyes from Dennis to Fred, then back again. Was he memorizing their faces? Looking for a joke? Gauging their sincerity? What was he doing?
And then, in slow motion, the man closed the door but did not take his eyes off Dennis.
“Let’s go,” Dennis said, and they crossed the street and walked by the two men in the van, who were both staring.
Dennis waved at them.
“Stop it,” Fred said. “If they’re who you think they are, why piss them off? Maybe no one’s watching this guy’s house, and these jerks are utility workers. Sheesh, can’t believe I just did this.”
“You were great,” Dennis said. “I liked the way you stared him down.”
“Shit, I didn’t stare him down; he pretty much made me shit my pants. Did you see those eyes?”
“He wasn’t that bad.”
“And thanks for being subtle with your questions,” Fred said. “‘Hey, Mr. Ugly Ukrainian, have you seen our missing CIA employee? We’d really appreciate it if you could help us out.’ I don’t know what I thought you were going to ask the guy, but I didn’t expect you to be so direct. I mean, what was the point of that?”
“Just wanted to see how he responded. No need to dance around.”
“Well, how did he respond, in your careful judgment, being a professional pain in the ass that you are?”
“Thought he was pretty pissed off.”
“Pissed off because he didn’t know what the hell we were talking about, or pissed off because he knew exactly what we were talking about?” Fred said.
“The latter, not the former.”
“You could tell that just by his response?”
“Yes, that’s what I’m saying,” Dennis said.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, don’t believe it then.”
They walked for ten minutes until they found a cab to hail, during which time the chilled air continued to penetrate Dennis’s thin raincoat. He shivered.
As they got into the cab, Fred said, “Now that you mention it, I think I like computer screens better than knocking on the doors of Ukrainians living in London.”
Dennis laughed. “Come on, you did great.”
✦
“Are you crazy?! Jesus Christ, Cunningham, what the hell has got into you?”
“Louise, take it easy. Fred said he discovered some kind of geolocation link between this guy Pavlychko and Arnold. So I decided to just stop by and say hello to the guy.”
“Number one, you didn’t say a damn thing to me about it, so I was completely blindsided and was made to look like a fool with the IG; number two, if you would have told me what you were doing, I would have told you not to dare visit the guy; number three, what in God’s name did you think the Brits were going to do after seeing you show up there?; and number goddamn four, what the hell is a geolocation link?”
“Well, to answer the fourth question first, Fred says there was data showing this Ukrainian and Arnold were twice in the same location at the same time; to answer question three, I would have expected MI5 to identify Fred and me and then go through channels to complain or at least ask what the hell was going on. Which they did, and it’s the reason we’re talking right now. To answer number two, well, I was certain you’d tell me not to knock on Pavlychko’s door, so I avoided you on purpose. And number one, well, I knew I was going to blindside you, but I thought afterward you’d cut me some slack because I was on to something strong. Anyway, that was my thinking.”
“Your thinking is not particularly linear,” Louise said. “I’m going to cut you some slack, but not more than an inch of rope. Never, ever blindside me again on something as important as this. Got that?”
“Yes, got it. Can I say something else?”
“What?”
“How far have we got on Pavlychko? I’m telling you he was freaked out to see me and Fred standing in front of his home asking about Arnold.”
“You’d freak me out if you showed up unannounced at my home,” she said. “Why are you so damn sure this guy is part of the Arnold disappearance?”
“I can tell; I saw his face. He was half pissed off and half-worried. What do we have on him so far?”
“Operations is putting together a report now, though I have no idea what they’re going to tell us. And officially MI5 says to stay away from Pavlychko’s home or they’ll file a complaint. Do you know what that would mean?”
“Something not good?”
“Yes; something not good for you. Have to be honest, Cunningham, if it wasn’t for Barkley offering you cover on this, the IG would have yanked you off this assignment. Next time you stumble, he’s already promised to go to the congressman to get you reassigned to a desk job in Buffalo, or maybe Anchorage.”
“Snows a lot in Buffalo,” Dennis said.
“Yup.”
“Okay, got the message. And I mean this, Louise, but I’m sorry I put you in a bad spot with the IG. I just had to go this route. I think we’re on to something, and if I would have asked permission, I wouldn’t have been able to confront him. You see?”
“You can’t tell, because I’m in my office in Langley, and you’re probably in a pub in London somewhere, but I’m yawning. That’s how bored I am by your promises.”
“No, honestly, Louise. I promise.”
“Oops, another yawn.”
“Okay, I deserve it. But you’ll see.”
“Yawn.”
“Man, you are a tough one,” Dennis said.
“I’m actually falling asleep, I’m so bored. Goodbye.”
✦
“I’m getting cold, Freddie. You said you were going to show me something important. ‘A slice of London history,’ you said. I’m freezing.”
“Now look who’s the baby,” Fred said.
They walked for another block, and then Fred stopped, looked at his iPad and then pointed at a long building on Shardeloes Road.
“Notice anything?” Fred said.
Dennis looked around at a row of three-story, modern brick buildings. “I give up. They look like apartments.”
“We just passed other homes on this street back there,” Fred said. “You don’t notice anything different about these buildings?”
“I’m trying to work with you here, Freddie. I mean, they look just like the other buildings. Well, actually they look more modern. Maybe.”
“Very astute,” Fred said. “November 1, 1944. German V2 rocket shattered this part of the street. Killed thirty-six people. After the war they rebuilt the buildings in this block.”
“You play bridge, have ‘movie buddies,’ and walk around London finding World War II missile strike sites,” Dennis said. “I’m going to have to report you for being the weirdest NSA employee I’ve ever met. And there are a few really, really strange ones.”
“Ah, but Dennis, you’re missing the story,” Fred said, closing his iPad. “The V2s were modern history’s first terror weapon. They were shot sixty miles up into the stratosphere then came barreling down at three times the speed of sound with a thousand-pound warhead. No warning sirens, no nothing, except a crack as the sound barrier was broken. At least 1,400 of them fell on London. One hit a Woolworths Department store and killed 160 people who were shopping.”
“I thought World War II was over,” Dennis said.
“But the lessons are still there.”