by Green, Carey
Dylan parked his car about one hundred yards from the cemetery on a quiet side street of houses and yards, dogs and post office boxes at the curb. He put on his dark sunglasses as he approached the entrance.
Walking towards the gravesite, Dylan could see the details taking shape. People were already gathered at the grave. The crowd from the church had thinned greatly, and there were only about thirty people for the graveside ceremony. The one notable absence was Josh Corbin.
The minister came and said a prayer. Final words were said over the casket, and a woman sang an Aria from “Don Giovanni,” Ray’s favorite opera. The ceremony lasted about twenty minutes. After that, people dispersed back to their cars. Dylan was among the first to exit.
Dylan reached his car and used the signaling device on his keychain to open the door. When he went to open the door, he was surprised to see Josh sitting in the passenger seat. Dylan was so startled that he jumped back for a second.
“Hello,” Josh said.
“OK,” Dylan said. “I thought I paid that parking ticket, but I guess not. Now, can you please tell me what the fuck you are doing breaking into my car?”
“I could ask the same of you. What the hell were you and your pal Binky doing breaking into our financial records?”
“Is that what this is about?” Dylan watched while Josh slowly got out of the car.
“Yes. Maybe. What were you looking for?”
“We were snooping around.”
“Through five years of financial statements? Through ten years of accounting records?”
“We’re curious guys.”
“Did you find what you’re looking for?”
“You sure picked a hell of a day to play twenty questions. Your brother is dead. Don’t you have other things to do today?”
“Whatever I do today is not going to bring Ray back.”
“True,” Dylan said. “You know Binky is missing?”
“Yeah,” Josh said. “I heard something about that. Have they found anything yet?”
“No. Actually, they haven’t. You wouldn’t know anything about it, would you?”
“Me? What would I know?”
“I have no idea what you’re involved with, Josh. But you still haven’t answered my question. Why the hell did you break into my car?”
“Your friend is missing, and so is a lot of money from our accounts.”
“What? How much?”
“I don’t want to get into numbers, but a lot.”
“Where did it go?”
“It was transferred to a bank in the Caymans the day your young friend went missing.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, and I’m certainly not involved.”
“I think Binky stole it and left the country.”
Dylan laughed. “Are you insane? Why would you think Binky stole anything?”
“I ran a report of all the cash transfers that happened on the day that Ray died. A lot of money seems to have left in a hurry.”
“Can’t you track it down?”
“Impossible.”
“And why would you think Binky was involved?”
“All of the bank accounts were hacked. The money transfers were done programmatically through banks in Russia, where they have people who specialize in this type of stuff.”
“Call Gorbachev. Binky is not Russian.”
“That’s not the only thing. The trading system has all these ‘Easter Eggs’ in the code, strange messages popping up and freezing the system.”
“Sounds like you need to talk to a psychologist, not me.”
“Come see for yourself. If your friend didn’t steal the money, maybe it will help you find out where he is.” Dylan shook his head.
“This is insane.”
“There’s one other thing: there was some money that Ray placed in an escrow account for you.”
“What about it?”
“Just come in to talk tomorrow and take a look at these messages in the system Regardless of our conversation I’ll have Martha write you a check. I’ll call it a severance payment if you decide not to stay.”
“And all I have to do is come talk to you? It sounds too good to be true.”
Josh seemed to study the ground for a moment. A brief smile came upon his lips.
“Will you come in tomorrow?”
“I don’t think so, Josh.”
“Just one conversation; I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Let me think about it. I’ll call you tonight.”
Chapter 33
The sundial at Columbia University was a popular meeting for both students and visitors. Vanessa took the subway to 116th street and entered the campus through the university gates. There was no problem finding the sundial as it was located smack-dab in the center of the campus. Vanessa had visited the school many times while still a student at Princeton, both for athletics and visiting friends, and had always admired the school people referred to as the urban Ivy. Though she loved her education, it was easily apparent that Columbia was a far cooler place than Princeton.
Glancing at her watch, it was just past 11 a.m. Though it was summer session, students were rushing by, stumbling on their way to mid-morning lectures. In their baggy jeans and fresh bed heads, some of them seemed as if they were still half-asleep. A few people lingered near her on the sundial, either chatting with friends or listening to their iPods. For a moment, Vanessa felt a wave of nostalgia for student life. When she looked up she could see Devin striding down college walk, heading directly towards her.
“Well, Well, Well.”
“I should say the same thing.” They hugged and Devin kissed her on the cheek.
Devin had hardly aged in the ten years since they had both graduated from college. He still had the boyish charm mixed with worldly exuberance. Back then his dress had been that of a nineteen year-old going on forty, now he seemed a thirty year-old going on fifty. But his face still looked sixteen. He was now decked out in his khaki’s and boat shoes, blue blazer and rep tie. A fedora was on his hat, and Raybans were perched atop his nose. A dandy. She wondered if this was his take on spy attire.
They turned and walked up the long staircase that led towards Low Library. They found an unoccupied area and took seats on the steps.
“You like it here?”
“I love it,” Devin said. “Not like Princeton.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“A little bit of both, I guess.”
Devin had been one of her closest friends since college, and a general enigma to everyone who knew him. They had not spoken in months, and she had called him out of the blue, looking for information on a man that neither of them knew. She had encoded the information and sent it to his anonymous account. Devin had said nothing on the phone, but had left a message several days later, asking that they meet in person and in a public place. Instructions of this type were a key part of his persona. Devin took off his hat and removed his sunglasses.
“Life treating you ok, in the FBI?”
“I like it. Everyday is different. I’m never bored. How’s grad school?”
“Tedious. Never ending. Boring. Basically, the opposite of your life.”
“And things in general?”
Devin smiled at her for a long time, before uttering, simply, “Fine.”
The other aspects of Devin’s life were never spoken of. His involvement in other affairs were simply alluded to, or surmised indirectly. How he lived in a luxury apartment in New York on a grad student stipend, or had spent years in various foreign cities without a clear source of employment, these were the details of his life that to the casual observer would have pointed to one source only: a trust fund. But Vanessa knew differently: that Devin’s father had somehow been in the clandestine service and Devin had been keen on becoming a chip off the old block. His father had been in Vietnam and possibly Korea. The details were sketchy, which was appropriately fitting for Devin Harris, an inscrutable type. After gr
aduation he had disappeared for a few years then re-emerged at Columbia as a Ph.D. candidate in the world of Arabic studies. He was in his sixth year now, two years from graduation, all in the service of his country. Perhaps because she was in the FBI, or maybe because of their shared years of friendship on the college green, it was over a long and daring night that he had shared these truths and one important other, that he was gay.
“Devin, thank you for seeing me such short notice. I know, in retrospect it wasn’t the greatest idea.”
“No, it wasn’t. Come with me,” Devin said as they got up from the steps. “Let’s take a walk.”
They walked past the various buildings on campus. Devin guided her across the campus towards a small chapel.
The chapel was empty. They slipped into a pew in the back. Devin removed several photographs from a leather briefcase that he had been carrying. He slipped them to Vanessa, facedown. Devin stared straight ahead as she glanced through the photos.
The first photograph was of a bearded man, probably in his forties, heavyset and of Middle Eastern descent. The photograph was dated 2005, Dubai. The man was dressed in western clothes, a briefcase in his hand, presumably hailing a taxi at a curb. From the style of his dress, the season seemed to be summer. Vanessa flipped the photograph over and placed it next to her on the seat. Devin had quietly gotten up and approached the front of the chapel. From what she could tell, he was lighting a candle at the altar.
The next photo was of a youngish man in his late twenties, Caucasian, blonde hair cropped short, muscled. The photo was dated 1981, Afghanistan. From the background of the photo she could tell it was taken in a rural area. No other information was revealed. She looked at the photo several times. Who was it? Why had Devin given it to her? The second photo had no relationship with the first one. Was it a puzzle? Just as she had placed the photo face down on top of the other, Devin was standing directly in front of her.
“Let’s go,” he said quietly. Vanessa stood up and they left the chapel.
Outside they walked towards the steps of the Library. Vanessa finally spoke as they reached the steps.
“I take it the first photograph was Fazziz?”
“You are correct.”
“Do you know anything?”
“A businessman of Saudi descent. Very wealthy. Well connected politically, both to the royal family and certain members of our government.”
“Our government? So he’s not a terrorist?”
“What’s your definition of terrorist?”
“Touché. Is he in this country?”
“Vanessa, I’ve already given you too much.”
“Okay. The second photo. Who is he?”
“Ah,” Devin said, with a grin. “You didn’t recognize, him?”
“Should I have? Who is he?”
Devin laughed. “He works with you.”
Vanessa began to jog back through the banks of her memory, the short blonde hair, militaristic crew-cut, only one name sprang to her mind and she blurted it out in surprise.
“Dan Highland?”
Devin looked around. No one was watching. He stared at the ground as Vanessa looked on.
“Dan Highland is our boss. Why would you have a file on him?”
“Think about it, Sweetie.”
Vanessa said nothing as Devin cracked a smile. “He’s also one of us.”
Later that evening she met Conroy at the local donut shop near their office. Coffee buddies. The shop was on the corner and they often went in there the afternoon. Vanessa searched for a seat while Conroy ordered the coffee. She found a small table for two in the corner and sat. Several minutes later Conroy sauntered over with two cups of coffee.
“You want a donut?” Conroy asked. “I feel like a donut.”
“I’ll pass.”
Conroy went back to the counter and order two donuts: one plain, one chocolate. When he returned, he set the chocolate one down in front of Vanessa.
“So, you met with your friend? What did he say?”
“It’s complicated. But he did brief me on or our target.”
“Anything useful?”
“It’s different than what we thought.”
“How different?”
“Hard to say at this point. He’s a Middle Eastern businessman: very well connected, here and abroad. Not the proto-typical guy you see coming up on the radar.”
“Okay. Why’s he on an FBI watch list?”
“It’s not exactly clear who he is, or why the interest.”
Conroy dunked his donut into his coffee. “Maybe the guy is legit then,” Conroy said. “Maybe he was just investing money with Corbin. A lot of people are on lists for various reasons. You’re innocent until proven guilty.”
“Somehow, I don’t think it’s as simple as that. My friend gave me another piece of information that I found interesting.”
“Are you going to share it with me, or keep beating around the bush?” Conroy asked.
“It’s about Dan.”
“Dan? Dan Highland? What does this have to do with him?”
“What do you really know about him?”
“You mean, personally?”
“Yeah.”
“I know enough. He’s married, kid in college. Lives in Jersey.”
“Okay. But what else?”
“Like, does he hunt or fish? What are you asking me?”
“Does he ever mention his politics? What his thoughts are on things?”
“Not really, but a lot of people don’t talk politics at work. It’s like talking religion. Both are to be avoided at work.”
“True. But Dan was in the military, right?”
“He was a Marine. Saw some action in Vietnam.”
“Did he? Did he say what he was doing?”
“Duh, I think he was fighting a war. There was one going on, back then. How much detail do you want?”
“Look, we need to talk. Let’s get out of here,” Vanessa said.
“Okay.” Conroy downed his coffee, and they headed for the street.
Outside, the afternoon air was hot and stifling. They both walked slowly as Vanessa began to speak.
“I’m just curious about something. Have you ever wondered, well, with all of this war on terror stuff, if any of our people were linked with other organizations?”
“Like the military?”
“Not the military, specifically, but other watch organizations.”
“You mean, like the CIA or something, like your buddy?” Vanessa shook her head.
“Vanessa, you’ve been watching too many movies. Why would they be linked?”
“I’m just asking a question. You have the CIA working on terror stuff, and you have the FBI working on terror stuff. Before, there was no connection. And 9/11 exposed their lack of shared information. What if, I’m just asking, what if you now had people who were both? Like a bridge between the two, helping to expedite the flow of information and resources.”
They had come to the corner of the street. They stepped away from the curb towards the entrance to their building.
“I suppose it’s plausible, but I’m not thinking about this when I eat my oatmeal in the morning. And what does this have to do with your friend?”
“Tim, he showed me a picture of Dan Highland, from Afghanistan in the 80s.”
“And?”
“Based on what he told me, Dan Highland is CIA.”
Conroy laughed. “This is ridiculous. You’re joking, right?”
“No, I’m not. Tim, I saw the picture. It was Dan. My friend was also able to verify the name. And his sources are good.”
“Dan can’t be CIA.”
“Why not?”
“There’s no logical reason. Even if you were right, it wouldn’t make sense, because he’s not working on terrorism. That would be Thompson’s unit.”
“Maybe they want someone watching Thompson, giving them feedback, rather than running things. An eye on the inside giving them a heads up, providing a l
ittle disinformation here and there. Think about it. It would be best to have an objective eye close, but not in charge. The same purpose could be achieved even with a little distance.”
“Even if you were correct, what the hell does this have to do with Corbin and this guy Fazziz?”
“I don’t know yet. But suppose we stumbled upon something we weren’t supposed to find? And Highland knew it. What would he do?”
“He would suppress it?”
“Exactly, knowing you can’t go to Thompson.”
“What else did your friend tell you?”
“That was it. He wasn’t comfortable with the situation at all.”
Conroy looked at Vanessa. His mood had grown somber and quiet.
“Something told me Dan was lying when he came to my office the other day. I just felt it in my gut. That’s why I agreed to let you speak to your friend. The CIA thing is a little far-fetched at this point, but something is going on here, and it is not naked short selling.”
“Agreed. But we’re off the case now.”
“Yeah, but Dylan called me today. Said he had something for me. I didn’t tell him we were done. Let’s see what he gives us. You want to join us?”
“No, Vanessa said. “I don’t think so.”
Conroy stopped walking. He smiled at Vanessa deviously. “I thought you two got along well?”
“We do. That’s kind of why I’m not going. I don’t want to start mixing business and pleasure.”
“I can understand that. But what if he asks about you?”
“Tell him I said “hello”. Besides,” Vanessa said with a grin, “he knows where I work.”
Chapter 34
Vanessa sat on a bench in a Brooklyn Park devouring a ham and cheese sandwich purchased from the diner across the street from her office. Her diet had gone to hell with the workload, and a greasy afternoon meal had become her only comfort of the day.
When he arrived, Dylan was wearing the same suit as that morning, but was far more disheveled. His tie was loosened and his shirt was soiled and wrinkled. His collar was astray and flapping. He took a seat on the bench next to her.
“The strangest thing just happened to me.”