by HN Wake
“Yup.”
“You see that shit?”
“Yup. It was a cash economy. No other options.”
Neha was worked up. “Yeah, but like a cash economy to repair what we did there. It wasn’t meant to be a cash economy for our guys to literally just walk off with duffel bags.” She calmed herself. “They’re saying in Iraq the Coalitional Provisional Authority lost like $20 billion. Poof. Vanished. 20 billion.”
“Don’t doubt it at all.” Mac sipped her beer.
“You think they know this back home?”
“I dunno.”
“I know you spooks get close to that cash. You NOCs especially. Officially you’re not there.” She stared at Mac. “Ethics are what you do in the dark, when no one is looking.”
Mac watched her.
Neha said, “This is what I say about ethics. If I’d been that close, if I’d been in Iraq, I’d have gotten some for a nest egg. That would have been my ethics when no one was looking. But little ole me? I’m no NOC. I’m a fucking USAID worker in Afghanistan and all I’ve got to show for my time out here was some great manly sex, some swell photos of me handing out meds to barely functioning health clinics, a chronic yeast infection and an overinflated sense of patriotic martyrdom. Fuck.”
The guys around the bar hooted over a joke. The lopsided fan over their small table creaked as it spun.
Neha whispered, “You ready to talk about Beijing yet?”
Mac blinked, pulled hard on her beer bottle. Her eyes retreated to a distant place and she told the story in a detached voice.
It had been a great cover; her alias had been a mid-level expat banker with a huge American investment bank based in Beijing. It had not been the first time she’d been embedded with a US bank, but it had been the first time in China. She had been meeting the tech start-up kids, the newly emerging rich class. Her list of potential assets wanting to move their money and families to Silicon Valley had been growing every month. Langley’s approval to approach hadn’t arrived yet, but after 12 months she had been optimistic the green light was coming soon.
Instead, a knock at the door to her high-rise apartment had come in the middle of the night. She had opened it as a mid-level banker would, in a sweatshirt and jeans, blurry eyed.
Six Chinese secret police took her off into the night.
Two months later, she had been released from an off-the-grid work camp fifty pounds lighter, hair falling out, fingernails growing back. They had tried but had not broken her.
Someone back in Langley - most likely Odom - had worked a deal with a senior Chinese Managing Director in the bank who then worked his back room connections.
She had been driven to an airplane, sworn to silence, and blacklisted from Chinese territory.
Langley had given her three-months personal leave. She had chosen a dive resort on a remote Indonesian island where she had spent every day in silent, aquamarine swells, watching fish and sea creatures get on about their lives while the tanks’ oxygen cleansed her lungs, veins and memories.
When she emerged, they put her back in the field.
Just not in China.
Under the loopy fan, Mac ran all ten fingernails across her scalp.
Neha placed both hands flat on the table. “Did they rape you?”
Mac whispered very slowly, “You don’t want to ask that question.”
“Don’t I?”
“Of course they did.”
“Jesus Christ.” Neha reached across the table, squeezing Mac’s hands.
A loud laugh from the bar jolted them.
Neha leaned in closer. “No fucking harm in planning an exit from the Agency. You don’t owe them shit. You’ve done your time and then some.” Neha’s hands were covered in red dust. “Mac, they can’t take it all away.”
27
Capitol Hill, DC
At 8:10 p.m. it was already dark in DC. From the cafe, Mac watched Amanda Hughes step out of the red brick SFG Lobby office wearing another bright, slim summer dress. This time she had paired it with sneakers for the commute home.
Mac followed her and caught her just before the Metro entrance. “Amanda. Hi!”
Amanda turned, unsure but then recognizing the blond bob. “Hi, Dora.”
“How’s it going?”
“Fine, fine.”
“Listen, I was going to try to get in to see Neil about a last minute thing. Darn.”
Amanda waited.
“You know, I really would love an invoice or a receipt or something, like on SFG letterhead.” Mac nodded back toward the office. “Do you mind? I’m on a plane home later tonight.”
Amanda hesitated, but her commitment to the organization combined with the respect for a big donor got the better of her. “Sure, let’s just run back up now and I can print and sign something for you.”
“Super! That would be great, Amanda.” She gave a quick squeeze on Amanda’s upper arm.
Amanda unlocked the glass door, stepped inside and punched in the alarm code.
Mac gushed, “I really appreciate your help! Phwew, what a weight off.”
“Sure, sure. I mean, it’s not every day we get, you know, such big donations.”
They walked in step down the long hallway.
Mac said, “Well, Mrs. Bodie is real serious about her politics.”
“That’s the way it should be. My father always says ‘Good Politics is Passionate Politics’”
“Well said. It must be nice to be so passionate about what you do.”
“Sure. Constitutional rights are important.”
At her desk, Amanda turned on her computer and printer and sat down to pull up a file.
Mac stepped behind her, looking out the window. It had started to rain. She spoke to the pane. “I’ve often wondered what I’d do if I found out that the folks I was working for were not all I was led to believe.”
Amanda’s fingers slowed on her keyboard.
Mac’s breath made a small fog circle on the window pane. “Mrs. Bodie is a very careful investor. She asked me to do some homework while I was here.”
From behind her, Amanda asked, “You didn’t get me up here for a receipt, did you?”
Mac shook her head, watched a car’s headlights pass on the street.
Amanda asked, “Then what?”
Mac turned. “I’m not completely convinced…well, how do I say this…that your boss is totally above board.”
Amanda gaped at her. “Of course he is. He’s the chief strategist for one of the most - if not the - most powerful advocacy organizations in the world.”
“Hear me out.”
Amanda’s voice raised an octave. “I’m not sure I want to, Dora.”
“I’ve got something you need to see.” Mac pulled her cell phone out. “I just want to show you something. Two minutes.” She pulled up a file. “I think you’ll want to hear this.”
Mac handed the phone to Amanda. The photo of Koen and the Congressman at lunch was open. “I took this recording while they were at lunch.” She hit play on the audio.
Through the cell phone’s speaker, Congressman Peter’s twang was clear. “Now wait a good goddamned minute, Neil. Are you saying she’s offering to pay ya’ll to support Hannover’s race against me?”
Amanda glanced up in confusion. The audio continued. Mac leaned against the corner of the desk, watching her.
Amanda stared back down at the photo, listening to the recorded conversation.
Very slowly, Mac slipped her hand into a pocket, pulled out the pink barrette, and set it on the window sill. It was being left behind enemy lines but at least it had a view.
When the recording ended, Amanda looked up at Mac. “I don’t understand.”
“I think you do. In fact, I think you’re smarter than they think you are. I think you’re a helluva lot smarter than you give yourself credit for.”
“This can’t be happening. Why are you doing this?”
“My boss is first off smart, second off a good bus
iness person, and lastly a woman. She’s been burned by husbands. She’s been burned by business partners. She checks out her alliances very seriously. Second Amendment rights are something both my boss and I hold dear. We, like you, are true patriots. This partnership is serious for us.”
Amanda looked around, searching for an answer.
“It’s called fraud, Amanda.” Mac’s tongue touched her back tooth, opening her mouth slightly. It was a subconscious sign of superiority combined with boredom. “What Neil is doing. Pure and simple. Fraud.”
“Shut up! I don’t know why you’re doing this.”
Mac pressed her palm against her mouth, eyeing Amanda for a long moment. When she lifted her hand, she said, “I think you do. I think you knew, somewhere in the back of your mind, that something wasn’t right here. Just like we suspected. We - Mrs. Bodie and I - suspected. We just dug in a bit.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to believe me. You just heard the recording.”
Amanda handed back the cell phone. “Stop it!”
Mac shrugged. She took the cell phone, made to leave, but said a final thought. “There are moments in everyone’s life when they get to decide what kind of person they want to be. Amanda Hughes, this is one of those moments. I’ll be in touch.”
Mac walked back down the long hallway.
Langley, VA
Odom was reviewing documents when Beam knocked lightly on the door. “Sir, I think I have something.” He sat down and opened a file folder. “You asked me to run a full 12 month trace on Agent AD99.”
“Go ahead.”
“We found some fairly recent travel plans that may be of interest.”
“Go ahead.”
“First, Mac was in Kabul ten months back on assignment. Your approval is on her travel documents.”
“Correct. She had some intel for our counter terrorism guys there.”
“She then returned to Kabul about two months after that. Not assignment related. That trip was unauthorized, to be exact, Sir. Eight months ago.”
“What?”
“Unauthorized.”
“Then how do you know about it?”
“It was buried in the travel logs. She used an Agency ID.”
“She went back?”
Beam nodded.
Odom asked, “What did you find out about the second trip?”
“When she arrived in Kabul she did not check in with Station. Like I said, this was an unauthorized trip. So we talked to Station and one of our guys said he remembered seeing her at the Agency hotel in town.”
“And?”
“He said he remembers that specifically because one of his friends - Army - had propositioned her the night before at the hotel bar.”
“What?”
“Well, an Army Ranger had…hit on her, Sir.”
“And?”
“She, ah, turned him down. So the Army Ranger was on the look out for her in the hotel bar and around Kabul the next few days.”
“And?”
“Well, our contact says no one saw her again.”
“That’s all you’ve got?”
“Yes. Sir. She has no other unauthorized travel. That we could find. All her official travel was signed off by you.”
“You can go.”
28
Dupont Circle, DC
Even though the apartment is hot and humid at 9 p.m., the air that rushed Cal’s skin as he stepped out of the shower felt chilled. He grabbed a plush, grey robe and swung it on. It had been an anniversary present six years ago from his ex. She had often complained Cal’s outlook on life and work was uncompromising, ‘too black and white.’ They had been in a Tempe department store when she pointed to the robe and mocked him, saying “Look Cal, it’s grey. Can you handle it?”
The robe still looked and felt new.
In the kitchen, rain pelted the windowpane. He picked up a mug from the drying rack and stood for a long minute, deep in thought. He poured himself a coffee, walked through to the living room, and settled at his desk. Outside, a street lamp appeared fractured in the heavy rain.
The coffee tasted weak despite the fact that it was the regular Dark Roast from the ACME around the corner he had been buying for two years.
He made a call. “Hi. Ranty. It’s Cal here. Have you got a minute?”
“Of course! To what do I owe the honor? Oh, and first things first, I hear through the grapevine you briefed a Joint Task force on Scimitar today. Congrats!”
“You already heard?”
“The Agency is bad at a lot of things. I’m not going to under-represent our failings. But we can spread gossip on the wind my friend. Don’t even need smoke signals.”
“I was just about to tell you that the briefing went well. Also, that you were an invaluable, anonymous, part of our team. A sincere thank you.”
“For you, Cal, of course.”
“Ranty, there’s something that has been plaguing me.”
“Yes?”
“I can’t figure out why the third cable - from Peshawar - was the last cable on license 88088. It just doesn’t make sense. Why didn’t the Blue Lantern Coordinator in Islamabad push any further? Why didn’t he investigate beyond that third cable? I over-shoot almost everything I investigate. Had it been me, I would have OCD’ed the missing M4s for a long time. Probably months. Maybe years.”
There is a long pause. Ranty spoke slowly. “Cal, it’s a funny thing you calling me about this. I was actually thinking the same thing earlier this evening.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I dislike a conundrum as much as the next man.”
“Ok?”
“It occurred to me that the third cable from Singer in Peshawar was classified ‘Confidential.”
“Yes?”
“Well, here’s the potential issue in front of us, my friend. If additional cables on 88088 had been classified Top Secret - instead of just Confidential - well, then only those most senior in State or CIA would have seen them.”
Cal instantly recognized the potential gap. “Are you able to access Top Secret?”
“Not on this particular topic, no. This is ‘need to know’ only and severely restricted, even on the network.”
On the street below, headlights passed in the rain. Rain hammered down the drain pipe near the bay window.
Cal furthered the thought. “So, if the Blue Lantern investigation did find additional information on the missing guns - and - and sent it up classified as Top Secret, only the Mandarins would have seen it.”
“Indeed.”
“But, Ranty, if we assume the investigation found that Scimitar - a US gun manufacturer - was involved in the missing M4s there would have been a big scandal. Which would have led to a cross agency task force - like the one we have now.”
“Presumably.”
Cal leaned back in his chair, the phone was tight against his ear. “So, if there was additional investigation into the missing M4s - it either didn’t turn up Scimitar’s fingerprints or…they discovered Scimitar resold their own guns and…buried it.” The last two words floated on the apartment’s humid air like a thick, black cloud. “Ranty, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I believe I am.”
“My gut says Blue Lantern did find Scimitar’s fingerprints and someone upstairs at State or CIA buried this.”
“Your supposition sounds very likely to me.”
“Maar isn’t mad that the investigation stalled. Maar is pissed off the investigation got buried. I’d have to agree with him. I’m starting to get pissed off too.”
“Please be careful, Cal. You’re pulling strings that lead right up the food chain. There are a lot of people involved in that industry.”
“There are. Lots of people. And a lot of money.”
29
Capitol Hill, DC
Across town, Mac was watching the SFG Lobby door when her NYC labeled burner phone rang.
It was Penny. “Whatcha
doin?”
“I’m on a stake out.”
“No way.”
“Way.”
“That’s awesome.”
“Actually, they aren’t so great. You sit around just watching crap.”
“Like how long do you have to sit around?”
“Tonight is gonna be a long night.”
“Wow. Where are you?”
“In a coffee shop.”
“It’s like a le Carre novel.”
“What are you doing?” Mac asked.
“Just wrapping up here at work.”
“That’s late, no?”
“Pretty normal actually.”
“Huh.”
Penny asked, “Do they know you’re off the ranch?”
“Probably. Right about now. Yes.”
“What will they do?”
“Not a lot they can do. They’ll try to get me to come in. Then explain to me what I can and cannot do now that I’m no longer Agency. It pretty much boils down to me keeping my mouth shut for eternity.”
“Can they direct your future like that?”
“They used to be able to do that. Our parents’ generation stayed in for life. I know guys while I was coming up that had their wives and kids with them overseas. They had covers as Political Officers at the Embassies. People like me, we’re in the trenches with the garbage flotsam. Anti-narcotics. Counter terrorism. It’s not like you can have a personal life when you’re deep-cover running a covert op surrounded by Columbian psychopaths or Pakistani mass murderers.”
“Good lord. What will they do if you don’t go in?”
“Best case scenario: they back off and let me walk, but keep an eye on me. Worst case scenario: they threaten to burn me.”