Akiko sighed and removed her coat, then pulled her seat into Vaughn’s little cubicle. She lowered her voice. “The CIA never fires anyone, Vaughn,” she said. “I’m talking about something else. You know how our instructors were always going on about PDR?”
“Procure. Document. Report,” Vaughn repeated. “The mantra of the directorate of operations.”
“Well, over at the justice department, they had another name for it: LCS,” Akiko said.
“LCS?” Vaughn asked, rolling it around on his tongue. “Losers chewing superstitions?”
Akiko laughed. “No,” she said. “Though that’d be a good name for us too. LCS stands for lying, cheating, and stealing. What the folks in justice thought CIA officers sometimes got a little too caught up in.”
Vaughn was confused. “What are you saying?” he said. “That they think we’re liars?”
Akiko shook her head, pulling her coat back on. “No,” she said. “Just that office politics can get bad enough just in the real world. But picture what happens when you stick a bunch of people who lie, cheat, and steal for a living in an office.”
Vaughn kicked back in his seat, locking his hands behind his head and gazing up at Akiko. “Well, let’s say I agree that that’s what we’re really doing—”
“Are supposed to be doing,” Akiko broke in.
“Just what does that mean for us?” Vaughn continued. “That we’ll never get our careers out of the circular file unless we learn to lie, cheat, and steal with the best of them?”
Akiko shook her head sadly, a small smile crossing her face. “Just how did you ever graduate from college, young man?” she asked. “With so little ability to understand what anyone’s saying, and such poor self-esteem that you blame yourself for everything . . .”
“C’mon,” Vaughn said, crumpling a piece of scrap paper and tossing it in Akiko’s direction. “Tell me what you’re trying to say, then, without the lawyer-speak, will you?”
Akiko slung her backpack over her shoulder. “Just that in the CIA, everything isn’t always what it seems,” she said. “Right now, we’re on the bottom, and some other people are on the top, right?” she asked. “Except I’m not one hundred percent convinced that that’s how it really is.”
Vaughn just looked at her. “And this is entirely just a hunch on your part?” he asked. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved that he wasn’t getting fired or annoyed that Akiko hadn’t heard any real gossip.
“Yup,” Akiko said. “But remember, I can tell when Blanche is about to hit her brother or when Eugene is going to fall down the stairs from three rooms away. Mothers,” she said, tapping her forehead, “have pretty good hunches.”
“Fine,” Vaughn said. “Tell me whether I’m going to go for pepperoni or lo mein when I finally get home tonight.”
The next morning, Vaughn arrived to find a thick expanding file on his desk chair, courtesy of the archives of the Historical Intelligence Collection. As if she’d wanted to grind it into their faces how poorly they understood the directorate of operations, Betty had recently ordered summaries of a series of successful operations in the Middle East, South America, and Russia. Going through the raw field data in the reports, Vaughn had started to notice code names that kept repeating. After doing his own research on the Web and in various directories and finding nothing, he’d ordered some related files from the Historical Intelligence Collection to see if anything that wasn’t classified would come up—or if he’d get the typical reams of reports so heavily black-lined that they still said nothing.
Lifting the heavy file onto his desk, Vaughn noticed a piece of what looked like scrap paper stuck to the bottom. He took it off and was about throw it into the trash when a familiar name caught his eye.
10/4/76 3:11 A.M. VOX to IRIS re: STRIKEOUT
Agent Vaughn rendezvoused with ####### ##### at 1100 hrs and again at 2200 hrs at Location ##. DD at 2300 hrs. ####### ##### retrieved #### from DD location at appx 2400 hrs. Agent Harlow made second contact with ####### ##### and ##### successfully completed. ####### ##### payment to Adler & Co. AG Zürich #######-#########-### for next five successful transactions pending DO approval.
Although too much of the report was black-lined for Vaughn to figure out exactly what was going on, a few things were clear. This was a typical cable from the field, involving a dead-drop, retrieval, and payment to an asset at his or her Swiss bank account. The relevant code names and account numbers had been deleted, of course, but Vaughn wasn’t interested in them anyway. He was interested in the names of the agents that had been left untouched.
Agent Vaughn . . . and Agent Harlow.
“Hey, Akiko,” he hissed over the cubicle. “Did any other Agent Harlow work at the CIA in the seventies?”
Akiko’s head popped up over the side. “I don’t know. Why?”
“Just find out, will you?” he asked. “I think it’s important.”
Akiko looked from side to side to see if anyone else was watching. It was lunch hour, and the floor was deserted. “If you’re trying to figure out if Betty’s ever been married,” she said. “I know for a fact she never was.”
Vaughn looked up from the scrap. He was mesmerized by the torn piece of paper with its old-fashioned typeface. It was as if he’d just received a letter directly from his father. “Huh?” he said.
“Betty was never married,” Akiko said, looking disappointed that Vaughn hadn’t asked how she knew. As if she’d measured his level of distraction, she went whole hog. “She told me once, when she was discussing her concerns for my family,” Akiko snorted. “Like sticking me in a dull job really makes my husband’s life a lot easier.”
“Could you find out if there was some other Agent Harlow around anyway?” Vaughn asked. Something he’d just thought kept ricocheting around in his head, and he needed to go home right away and see if his suspicion was correct. He only hoped that he still possessed the documents to prove that what he was starting to suspect was true.
“Sure,” Akiko said. “Do you need me to handle those?” she asked, nodding toward the stack of folders from the intelligence archives.
“Yeah,” Vaughn said, sticking the scrap in his pocket and grabbing his coat. “Go ahead and get started. I’ll be back in about an hour.”
As he walked out of the wide bank of doors at the front of Langley, one idea kept repeating in his head. It’s as if I’ve just received a letter directly from my father.
What if the notebook his mother had sent him was exactly that?
As Vaughn reached his car, his thoughts starting racing. It had been ridiculous to think the CIA had sent something to test him or that they routinely tampered with the mail of their recruits, Vaughn now realized. That really was just part of the paranoia the job produced—the wilderness of mirrors. But it wasn’t ridiculous for his mother to suspect that they might check his mail or his phone—and to take the precaution of acting accordingly when she sent him something that dated from his father’s days at the CIA.
Whatever I told her about Geneva, she definitely knew I was joining the CIA when they came to interview her for my security clearance, Vaughn thought. But for some reason, she didn’t want to let me—or them—know that she knew. But why?
The answer was obvious. For my own protection, Vaughn thought. After all, she never knew the exact circumstances of my father’s death, did she? But when she knew that I must be going into the CIA too, she wanted to let me know whatever he knew.
But was the notebook really a record of his father’s days at the CIA? And even if it was, how was he ever going to crack the code to read it?
As he spun his car out of the Langley parking lot, Vaughn didn’t know the answers. He also didn’t know why Agent Harlow hadn’t told him she’d worked with his father.
But he was going to find out.
8
VAUGHN STRODE BACK INTO Langley with the proof he was looking for in his jacket pocket. He needed to show it to Akiko immediately and make sure he wasn’t
crazy or mistaken.
But as he reached the cubicle area, he sensed something in the air. Akiko was standing up in his cubicle, wildly shuffling through the folders in his overflowing boxes. She turned to meet him, her eyes large and serious.
“Vaughn. Thank heaven you’re back,” she said.
Vaughn suddenly felt panicked. What was going on? Was it possible that Betty had realized he was looking into his relationship with his father—already?
“What’s going on?” he asked, desperately hoping that he hadn’t put Akiko in a bad position yet again. Then he felt a sudden surge of anger. Ever since he’d met Betty Harlow, it seemed he’d been second-guessing himself, trying to live up to some ideal image no one would provide or explain. The whole time he’d been a candidate, and the whole time he’d been a trainee, he’d been judging himself harshly, and it seemed that those around him had only been too happy to do the same. But now he was sick of it. He’d done nothing but put his heart and soul into his work at the CIA, and if that wasn’t good enough for them, he’d damn well take himself to some organization that appreciated what he had to offer.
I’ve also got a right to know more about my father, he thought, blood pounding in his ears from the sudden rush of emotions. This organization took him away from me before I had a chance to get to know him. If they can tell me anything about him now, they owe it to me to let me know.
By the time Akiko replied, Vaughn had worked himself up into such a furious lather he barely heard her. “Vaughn, Betty’s called a meeting with the director, and she wants those reports from yesterday. Did you have a chance to finish them?”
Vaughn took a minute to process Akiko’s words. A meeting—about his father? But if so, why would she want the reports? Perhaps to complain that his work was subpar?
“Did you finish them?” Akiko repeated, leaning over his computer to click through his hard drive.
“No, I didn’t get a chance to,” he said. “Listen, Akiko, I have to talk to you about something.”
Akiko turned around and glared. “Vaughn, can’t you see I’m trying to get us prepared for the meeting?” she said. Suddenly her face went white. Vaughn turned around. Betty Harlow was standing outside his cubicle, watching them with her usual unreadable expression. This talent of sneaking up on people must have served her well in the field, Vaughn thought. How long has she been standing there?
What came out of Betty’s mouth was exactly what he expected and precisely what he least wanted to hear. “Don’t worry about the reports, okay?” Betty said. “Let’s just get started.”
As they followed Betty down the hallway toward her office, Vaughn felt as if he were headed for the guillotine. Akiko turned and sent him a wordless, questioning, What did you do? look. Don’t worry, he tried to project back. This doesn’t have anything to do with you, and I’m not going to let you take the heat along with me again.
Betty, he thought, watching her long gray ponytail swing over her jacket like the end of a hangman’s noose, if you mess with me, you’re going to get it back this time—in spades.
Betty held the door to her office open until Vaughn and Akiko had entered, then shut it behind them, tossing some folders onto her desk. Vaughn had expected to see the director seated there, but the office was empty. “Please go ahead and take a seat,” Betty instructed them, lifting one of her files. She began to leaf through it absentmindedly, squinting at certain sections and perusing its contents as if Vaughn and Akiko weren’t even there.
Akiko’s face had taken on a stony look, as if she knew what was going to happen and was incredibly displeased about it. Believe me, Akiko, I will do everything possible to make sure you do not get fired, Vaughn thought. Betty might have it in for me because of whatever happened with my father, but she’s going to have to understand that whatever is happening here, you have nothing to do with it.
Betty finally looked up. “I’m sure your first months with the CIA have not been working out exactly as you’ve expected,” she began.
Vaughn had never been fired before, but he was sure that that line could be found in most corporate guides to gently releasing those employees who had, for whatever reason, just not worked out.
“I’m hoping that what I say next will be somewhat of a relief, and, in fact, something you’ve expected for a while,” Betty continued.
Vaughn saw that Akiko’s lower lip had begun to tremble. He couldn’t stand it anymore—this was brutal. He had to do something to stop it and to set this situation right side up again before Betty had finished her speech. “Officer Harlow, I’d like to speak to you in private, if possible,” he broke in.
Betty looked up in surprise and put the folder down. “Of course, Vaughn. But I’d like to brief you and Akiko on this mission first, if that’s all right.”
I’d like to brief you and Akiko on this mission first.
Vaughn and Akiko exchanged tentative looks, which then turned to startled and delighted smiles. Did you just hear what I just heard? Akiko’s eyes seemed to say. I heard it, but I’m not sure I believe it, Vaughn thought back, raising a quizzical eyebrow.
Betty had continued, undeterred. “For various reasons it was necessary that you remain at Langley for a period before we placed you in the field, but there’s a breaking situation in Brazil that requires your immediate attention.” She pushed two of the folders she’d been carrying forward on her desk and nodded at Akiko and Vaughn to take them. After a moment, they leaned forward and opened the files, and Betty began to speak.
“ProTem is a multinational company run by the three gentlemen you see before you—Raul Suarez, Gadi Muhammed, and Dmitri Ruslanovitch, whom the Agency refers to as Triple Threat. They were roommates at Oxford in the nineties, and they’ve been trying to cash in on every big business craze since then—technology, bioengineering, you name it.”
Akiko and Vaughn exchanged glances. Were they going to be investigating some shady company’s finances? Akiko had often told Vaughn that she’d left the justice department precisely to avoid that kind of grueling, how-many-decimal-points-can-you-fit-on-the-head-of-a-pin kind of work.
But Vaughn’s fears were precipitate. “ProTem is a different sort of company entirely,” Betty went on. “Supposedly, it’s working to set up environmentally friendly businesses in emerging Third World communities, and it’s the first such company to really take off—they reported net profits totaling over one hundred million dollars in the last quarter alone.”
“So what’s the problem?” Akiko asked, leafing through the folder. “And why isn’t this an issue for the IRS?”
“Bear with me,” Betty smiled. “The problem is that it’s all a front. And we’ve been hard-pressed to come up with the proof we need to move on them.”
“A front for what?” Vaughn asked. The minute he’d realized that his worst fears were not actually going to be realized, his heart had begun pounding in an entirely new and different way. It’s finally going to happen, he thought. Not only am I not getting fired, I’m actually being sent on my first mission!
Betty laced her fingers together. “A variety of things, actually. When they first set up ProTem, we suspected they were funneling munitions from the former Soviet Union into various terrorist groups in the Middle East. They scotched that pretty quickly, though—the trail was becoming too easy to follow. Now we think they’ve moved into a bigger sphere from simply being the middlemen.”
“Let me guess,” Vaughn said. “They’re not just having ten-year-olds crochet a bunch of potholders.”
Betty smiled again—a genuine smile. “Not exactly,” she said, her expression darkening with her thoughts and becoming serious. “We think they’ve moved into the realm of biological warfare.”
“Anthrax?” Akiko asked, sitting up.
“We don’t know exactly what kind of biological agents they’ve developed, or the amounts they’ve stockpiled so far. Your mission is to determine what’s going on at Triple Threat’s new facility and destroy it, if need be. We�
��ve got an agent already stationed in the field, Steve Rice, whom you’ll coordinate with to determine the next step.”
“So where are we headed?” Vaughn asked, straightening the tie he knew would soon come off for whatever disguise he’d be required to wear. One thing was for sure - it wouldn’t be a wrinkled gray suit and black shoes.
Betty stood up. “You’re going to São Paolo. And you don’t have a minute to waste.”
The hour or so that had passed between the time of their meeting with Betty and the moment when Vaughn and Akiko boarded a military cargo plane headed for Brazil passed mostly in a blur. First, they’d been given their covers. They would be traveling as journalists covering an event at the embassy, a party welcoming Nicole LeRoc, a French pop singer and the fiancée of the prime minister’s son. International paparazzi were flocking from all over the globe to photograph the happy couple, and Vaughn and Akiko, outfitted with cargo vests and thirty-five-millimeter cameras, would pass unnoticed in the mix. Their contact, Steve, was undercover as a journalist working for the Associated Press. He’d have almost unrestricted access to the party and would be there the entire evening, making sure that Raul, Dmitri, and Gadi stayed put for the night. Vaughn and Akiko would head over to Suaraz’s sprawling compound, which was about a ten-minute ride from the embassy. There, they would get the photos the CIA needed.
“Now, this looks like a normal camera, right?” Barry, the technical consultant, explained. “And it is—you can use it to take photos. Smile, click, you know the drill.”
“Barry, get on with it,” Elena, his partner, commanded. Vaughn thought the two technical consultants looked like fraternal twins, both with long, dark ponytails, glasses, and the same mushroom-white skin. Maybe the CIA grew techies in the basement instead of recruiting them.
“But flip it over and it’s a control system for the real camera we’ve got going here. Okay. Are you ready?”
The Pursuit (Alias) Page 8