by Galen Winter
Teddy may have conceived Ocelot and Jake may have devised it, but Den didn’t think Aegis would let men like Teddy and Jake make the final decisions to execute such plans. There had to be someone else, someone who approved Ocelot and signed his death warrant.
That unknown someone ordered the shooting in his Arlington apartment. Den wanted his name.
The building was set back from a well-traveled street bringing traffic into a newish commercial section of Tucson. It was an attractive, but modest sized, one-storey office building. Its lobby opened onto two business suites. One of them was occupied by a realtor and the other by the Law Offices of G. G. Grant.
Gigi had been in Tucson for less than two years. Beginning a profession like the practice of law in a place where an attorney is unknown and has few friends takes courage and, usually, support from an understanding banker. Furniture, a library, office machinery, rent and food all require funding.
G. G. Grant didn’t lack courage and she was able to find an understanding banker. After a half-hour’s conversation, he recognized Gigi as a smart, dedicated woman who would surely create a successful practice and be able to repay both principal and interest. To further guarantee her success, the banker sent Gigi her first client. It was his secretary. She wanted (and certainly needed) the services of a divorce attorney.
As in most parts of the country, there were plenty of divorces in the Tucson area. Before Gigi secured the divorce decree for the banker’s secretary, another client appeared. She was a teller from the same bank. During the ensuing months, Gigi established a good reputation in matters of Domestic Relations.
Family Court Commissioners liked her common-sense approach to property division matters. Guardians Ad-litem liked the way she approached child custody questions. She was competent. She was thorough. She didn’t try to fool them and it was very hard for anyone to fool her.
The number of her representations in divorce matters grew steadily. So did the associated work of preparing new wills for recently separated clients and managing their real estate transactions. Gigi was developing a prosperous practice.
In most divorce actions, experienced lawyers usually have a good idea of how the issues commonly involved in domestic disputes will be resolved by judges and Family Court Commissioners. The settlements of property disputes, support payments and child custody questions follow patterns and good lawyers can negotiate realistic agreements - if their clients are amenable to reason. That’s a big “if”.
Too often, divorces become particularly nasty and difficult for client and attorney alike. Combative parties both insist on trying to tear the skin from their erstwhile partner’s behinds. They are capable of engaging in all kinds of psychological warfare. When the stress of managing a difficult divorce action became too burdensome, Gigi Grant would take a time-out.
She’d drive out into the desert and walk, enjoying the peace and beauty of the surroundings, finding occasional footprints of javelina or being surprised by the explosive flight of a covey of Gambel’s Quail. Her stress, like morning mist, would slowly disappear.
During these desert interludes, after office problems had faded, Gigi’s thoughts usually returned to a less immediate, but still unforgotten disappointment - her experience in the CIA. She remembered how happy she had been when, a year out of law school, she left a Phoenix law firm in favor of a chance to become a CIA intelligence analyst. She had expected so much. She had been so disappointed. She was not prepared for the office politic atmosphere that permeates government agencies. The bureaucracy had strangled her enthusiasm for CIA work.
Of course, Jake Jacobson was a part of her thoughts. Her frown would deepen when his lies and deceits were remembered. That frown would begin to lighten when she remembered how Den Clark had sent him to the hospital. At least a kind of wild justice had been delivered. Then she would think about Den.
She’d remember the fun of their affair. She would wonder where he was. She would wonder what he was doing. After the catharsis of her desert retreats, Gigi would return to Tucson refreshed and ready to again do battle for (and sometimes with) her pugnacious client.
Johnson v Johnson had not been an easy divorce action. From the moment the Summons, Complaint and Order to Show Cause were served, each of the opposing parties became increasingly belligerent. The acrimony was intense and would not subside. Petitioner and Respondent each insisted on unreasonable demands. Compromise was a term neither party was willing to understand. It was a long and strenuous battle.
Johnson v Johnson got very nasty. Gigi finally told her client if she wanted to fight so badly she should remain married. It didn’t do any good. The bitter, malicious and spiteful confrontations raged on and on. After endless Orders to Show Cause and hostile, but pointless battles, a Final Hearing ended late one afternoon and a Divorce Decree was issued. Johnson v Johnson was over.
A burden had been lifted from her shoulders. Gigi felt like a slave who had been liberated. She returned to her office, ready to give the good news to Charlotte.
Charlotte Novitski and Gigi Grant were a good secretary/lawyer team. They understood each other. They liked each other. They shared the same slightly off-beat sense of humor. They even shared the same general physique. When Charlotte went to the courthouse to file documents, she was occasionally mistaken for Gigi. Charlotte was secretly pleased by the mistake even though she was sure it was based mostly on the fact that both were honey blondes.
Charlotte called Gigi “Boss” and when the Boss agonized, she agonized. Charlotte hoped Johnson v Johnson was finished. It had been the cause of a lot of unnecessary trouble - like the time things looked like they were returning to an even keel and then the Respondent brought his girl friend to sit in on a Hearing. It produced the explosion he had maliciously planned.
After what Charlotte earnestly hoped would be the final Final Hearing in Johnson v Johnson, Gigi came back to the office, looking very tired. Charlotte asked: “Is it over, Boss?” Gigi smiled an exhausted, faint smile and nodded.
Charlotte smiled. She, too, was relieved. “I’ll bet it’s time for some desert R and R.”
“Your crystal ball is working well. I need a couple days off. Any appointments for tomorrow or Friday?”
If there were none, Gigi would be free for Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. She’d have plenty of time to relax in the desert as well as time to attend to the cleaning, the shopping and the rest of her regular domestic weekend jobs.
Charlotte picked up the two files already lying on her desk and followed Gigi into her office. The diplomas and certificates hanging on the wall proved the Boss belonged to a number of professional associations, received a Doctorate in Law from the University of Arizona, was admitted to the Arizona Bar and authorized to practice before both Arizona and Federal Courts.
Those official looking framed documents were hung behind Gigi’s desk in order to impress the clients who had to face them when they sat before her. The pictures hanging on the other three walls were the ones Gigi could see when she was seated at her desk. They were landscapes and peaceful desert and mountain scenes.
Charlotte put the calendar and the two files on Gigi’s desk. “Friday is clear,” she said. “You have two appointments for tomorrow. One is at ten and another at three.” Gigi looked at the folders Charlotte had prepared. The lady scheduled for the three o’clock appointment was a new client. It was another divorce action and Charlotte, with her usual efficiency, had completed the preliminary interview report form.
The new client had been married for over twenty-five years. There were no minor children. The lady denied any suggestion of domestic violence or alcoholism. “This one can be postponed,” Gigi said. “She may have made up with him already. If not, a few more days shouldn’t make any difference.” She looked up at Charlotte. “Would you call her and re-schedule? And make her promise not to kill him before Monday.”
Gigi didn’t waste time with people who wouldn’t give the reason for wanting to meet with her.
The last such appointment Gigi allowed herself to schedule insisted on absolute secrecy and then whispered that the Governor and the Sheriff were conspiring to have him kidnapped by aliens from outer space.
Charlotte’s file notes concerning the ten o’clock appointment were brief. The man wouldn’t divulge the reason for making the appointment. As Charlotte had suspected, Gigi wouldn’t meet with him. “Would you call this one and tell him I’ve been called out of town, unexpectedly, and may not be back until the end of the millennium?”
“Sorry, Boss. No can do. He gave no address and no phone number. He didn’t even give me his name. All he said was he wanted to talk about Jake, whatever that means.”
“My God,” Gigi thought. “It’s Den!” She looked down at the nearly blank folder and made one of the easiest decisions of her life. “O.K.” she said. “I’ll take the ten o’clock. It might be interesting.”
Charlotte gave her a quizzical look. She knew Gigi didn’t talk with clients until she knew the subject matter of the interview. Why would she bother to take this one? Something was up. All the signs were there. Gigi avoided looking at her. She acted a bit too casual. Charlotte’s suspicions were confirmed when Gigi, recognizing her secretary’s obvious skepticism, said: “Just do it.”
Gigi knew it had to be Den. He had to be in Tucson. She could understand why he left his cryptic message. If he were on an assignment, he couldn’t announce his name or location to anyone. Did he want to talk about Jake? Of course not. She knew Den wanted to see her. Gigi relaxed in her chair and forgot about Johnson v Johnson.
Chapter 19
In the 1960s, the army created the Green Berets and the navy began to train SEA/AIR/LAND units. They became known by their acronym, SEAL, and were a result of President Kennedy’s repeated interest in establishing a military strike force trained to rapidly response to dangerous threats and capable of operating as a specialized unit to enter the enemy’s territory and strike suddenly and effectively at designated targets. Both SEAL and Green Beret forces often proved their value.
The intelligence community needed the capability to quickly collect information and analyze the degree of danger present in changing conditions in various parts of the world. Stale intelligence can paralyze analysis. Unlike the army’s Green Beret and the navy’s SEAL programs, it took decades for the CIA to establish the Sherman Kent School for Intelligence Analysis. The school was created for the purpose of training CIA people to produce more accurate and complete intelligence services.
When Gigi Grant became a part of the CIA, she was sent to the Kent school for its 22 week Career Analyst Training Program. At the same time, Den Clark, fully recovered from his Gulf War wounds, came to study there. During his first indoctrination meeting with the others who would receive the training, Den Clark heard Gigi Grant laugh. He turned, saw her smile and was attracted to her.
The following morning he saw her again. She had taken juice and coffee and toast from the cafeteria’s selection. She moved to an uncrowded part of the room and transferred her breakfast from tray to table. As she sat, she heard a man say: “You’re G. G. Grant.” She turned and saw Den standing behind her. He held a tray of food. Before she could say anything, he placed his tray on the table, began to sit and asked if he could join her. She said “yes”. She didn’t really have an alternative. That was how it began.
Gigi’s first impression of Den Clark was not favorable. She had been hit on too many times not to be wary of men who sought her out. This one’s obvious self-assurance made her cautious. Watch out!, she told herself. She suspected Den was one of those “Hello, thank you, good-bye.” types.
“I’m Den Clark,” he said. “I’m here for Kent, too. I saw you yesterday afternoon at the indoctrination meeting.”
Gigi acknowledged her name, nothing more. Den recognized her reticence and told her she was safe - he didn’t bite. By the time they finished their light breakfasts, Gigi felt more comfortable with him and Den had confirmed his suspicion. She was someone he wanted to know much better.
During the first five weeks of the Analyst Program, Den and Gigi spent free time together. They attended National Symphony programs and enjoyed dinners together. They visited the Smithsonian, the National Gallery and various monuments sprinkled around Washington. Conversation became easier and more personal.
Den told Gigi of his early years in Bogotá, his service in SEALS and his hope and expectation to move from the Directorate of Intelligence into the Directorate of Operations. He wanted to be a covert operator in Latin America. His experience as a SEAL and his ability to fluently speak Spanish, when supplemented by the CIA’s Career Analyst Program, gave him what he thought were superior qualifications for the work he wanted.
Gigi, obviously, was smart and well educated. Den was not surprised to learn she had been a practicing attorney before deciding to settle in Washington D. C. and pursue a career in the CIA. Den was surprised when she told him her undergraduate Major was archeology.
“By the time I left high school, I was sure I wanted to practice law,” she told him one evening when they were relaxing in a dark and intimate bistro. “I took all kinds of English courses at the University.
Communication - written and spoken - is very important to a lawyer. But Archeology interested me and that was my Major. It’s a strange parlay - law and archeology. I may have become the only lawyer in the country specializing in representing Egyptologists and mummies.
“If you were good enough as an undergrad, you might be asked to take part in an off-shore dig.” She smiled when she added: “I was good enough,” and she told him how she spent a summer in Iraq, collecting and classifying shards.
Gigi also reported her disappointment after being hired by a large Phoenix law firm. “It was like working in a factory - not my cup of tea. I thought about starting a private practice. However, the CIA interested me, too. So, here I am.”
Neither Gigi nor Den spoke about another subject, but they both thought about it. They knew there was no future between them. Neither would voluntarily change their goals. A woman working as a CIA Analyst in Langley and a man assigned to covert projects in foreign stations had no business thinking about permanent arrangements. They were both sure their stars moved in different orbits. They avoided intimacy.
The second four-week portion of their training consisted of interim assignments. Because of his SEAL background, Den was sent to the Navy’s Pacific Command Headquarters in Hawaii. It was part of the Kent School program designed to give CIA personnel experience in coordinating with military commands. Gigi was sent to the Amman Station in Jordan, probably because someone noticed she had experience with Arab cultures.
When that four-week period ended and they returned to Washington, their attitudes about their personal relationship changed. They missed each other. Though they knew they could have only a temporary relationship, they rushed to it. The first night of their return to Washington was spent exchanging that most intimate of gifts men and women can exchange.
Gigi and Den lived together for the time they remained in Virginia. When their Kent School program concluded, they parted. Gigi’s first assignment took her to the Damascus Station. Den was assigned to Langley
Now, when sitting alone in her Tucson law office, Gigi would smile, remembering how their affair started and the passion and fun of its too short a life. She thought of the way it ended. There was nothing that could cast a shadow over her memories. No recriminations. No sorrow. No unfulfilled expectations. They held each other. They kissed. They said their “goodbyes”. They went their separate ways, but they had forged a bond that neither then recognized.
Gigi recalled their last brief meeting in the Sheraton in D.C. It happened under the most trying of circumstance. Den had softened her disappointments and supported her when she most needed it. The warm renewal of their intimacies proved their shared feelings. She knew she was not alone.
The morning after the Final Hearing in the matter of Johnson v Johnson, a b
eep-beep-beep sound roused Gigi into semi-consciousness. Her arm appeared from beneath the sheet, found its way to the nightstand and silenced the alarm clock. For a few moments she struggled with a comforting thought. She could go back to sleep without seriously disturbing the movement of the planets through their celestial orbits. Life on earth would continue if she stayed in bed.
Her conscience won the battle. “Time to get up,” it ordered. Gigi fumbled her way to the apartment’s kitchen and turned on the coffee maker. Every evening before retiring, she readied the machine for morning use. She didn’t want to have to measure coffee and pour water in the morning while still half asleep. She put half an English muffin in the toaster. When she had showered, dressed and returned for breakfast, she was fully conscious, the coffee was ready and the half muffin was still warmish. With the first cup of coffee, another day officially began.
One more housekeeping ritual to perform and she would be ready for the fifteen-minute drive to the office. She checked the cat’s litter box. It was in a good-enough condition. She took what remained of a can of Friskies from the refrig, put it in the cat’s dish, and filled the water bowl. Catastrophe had spent the night prowling the neighborhood. It was waiting, hungry and ready for breakfast, when Gigi opened the kitchen door.
Catastrophe looked up at her. Not wishing to appear to be too eager, it licked its paw, wiped at its whiskers a few times and then slowly walked into the kitchen, sniffed at the food, indicated it was marginally acceptable and began to eat. The cat chore accomplished, Gigi drove to work and to her anticipated reunion with Den Clark.
Charlotte suspected Gigi and the man with the ten o’clock appointment knew each other. That was the only explanation for the Boss meeting with him without knowing why he wanted to talk with her. When Den entered the Law Office waiting room, Charlotte could hardly contain her curiosity. That curiosity, however, went unsatisfied. Her requests for information - name, phone number, address - “for our client files” - were answered with a smile and a request - “Please tell Ms Grant her ten o’clock is here.”