Sun of the Sleepless

by Patrick Horne

  'Anything else sir?'

  Perched at the foot of the bed, Jackson started to roll his socks on.

  'I think that is everything apart from my jacket and coat in the closet, thank-you Sergeant.'

  He slipped both of his shoes on and bent forward over his thighs to reach down to lace them up, the Sergeant turning and retrieving the two items of clothing from the small closet and holding them out to Jackson, clearly indicating that time was slipping away and that he should hurry.

  'Are you ready sir?'

  Standing up and stamping his feet a couple of times to get his shoes comfortable, Jackson reached out for the jacket and quickly slipped it on before taking the offered heavy winter coat that also hung from the Marine's bulky arm. He swung it around like a cape and fluidly threaded one arm and then the other into the sleeves before shrugging it over his shoulders.

  Jackson grinned benignly.

  'All set Sergeant.'

  He made to grab his baggage but Sergeant Stanley swung open the door and created a barrier with outstretched arms, blocking him and directing him at the same time, herding him straight out into the corridor like a sheep being steered to a shearing pen. Private First Class Oliver had snapped-to immediately the door has started to open and Stanley had caught his eye, nodding back inside and simply barking 'Suitcases!'

  As the senior enlisted man moved out into the corridor with Jackson, PFC Oliver darted into the room to pick up the bags. The Sergeant did not wait; he practically pushed Jackson to the elevator using a rock-solid arm politely but firmly pressed against his back, encouraging him to hurry along.

  It had taken less than five minutes between Jackson opening the door to his Marine escorts to be being bundled into the back seat of a parked black Audi A8.

  The atmosphere was ominous within the interior of the car as it sped along the relatively empty streets of Amsterdam, bumping over small bridges and threading between the famous canals, heading for the main highway down to The Hague. Jackson leaned forward to engage the Marines, hoping to kindle some light conversation.

  'So, Staff Sergeant Stanley and PFC Oliver - Stanley and Oliver. That makes for quite a pairing don't you think?'

  The Private was driving and simply continued staring straight ahead at the road, intermittently checking his mirrors and seemingly completely deaf to Jackson's words. The Sergeant did not look around either but intoned a non-committed Sir to the jocular enquiry, marking the fact that Jackson had spoken but not acknowledging or querying his meaning.

  'Ohh, come on Sergeant,' Jackson chided, smiling broadly, 'you know, Stan and Ollie? Laurel and Hardy? Surely somebody must have mentioned it before?'

  The Sergeant continued gazing forward, preoccupied by the other vehicles on the road and occasionally checking the sparse traffic behind them in the extra rear-view mirror that was placed on the passenger side of the car.

  'I wouldn't know anything about that sir.'

  'You should look them up sometime,' Jackson enthused, 'a classic comedy double-act, everybody loves Laurel and Hardy!'

  The Sergeant still did not turn and his voice remained unchanged from the formal uninterested tone of a Department of Motor Vehicles licensing clerk.

  'Thank you sir, I may do that.'

  Jackson nodded to himself, realising that the view out of his own side window was likely to be the only entertainment that he could hope for during this particular journey.

  'Yes, you do that Sergeant, you do that.'

  He sat back and readjusted his seatbelt, settling himself into his spacious leather seat and consigning himself to silence as he considered that when an MCESG guard was on duty, he truly lived up to the bywords of professionalism, discipline and vigilance.

  After the overtly subdued but mercifully swift journey to The Hague, the car had been waved through the large electronic security gate of the US Embassy, nosing forward impulsively as Oliver gave an unnecessarily heavy pump of the accelerator to lurch the big Audi into the compound.

  Rapidly unbuckling his seatbelt, Stanley hopped out even before the car had rolled to a full halt, quickly turning to open the rear passenger door to demonstrably invite Jackson to exit the vehicle.

  Jackson sighed and heaved himself out of the car, feeling the sharp bite of the cold air in contrast to the warm interior he was leaving behind.

  'A beautiful morning for it, Sergeant,' he beamed widely.

  'This way sir,' Sergeant Stanley stated dourly, acknowledging nothing and simply directing his charge to the double doors of the entrance, 'you're expected in the Ambassador's conference suite.'

  Jackson followed the burly Marine as he lead the way into the building, nodding to the guard on duty behind a desk who made no attempt to request identification, clearly already fully informed of the arrival of this particular guest.

  Hastening to catch up, Oliver automatically fell into step with his non-commissioned officer and they practically marched Jackson as if delivering a prisoner to the brig-house, the heels of their shoes digging loudly against the tiled floor and causing a ricochet of echoes in the foyer.

  'The lift is not working today sir - maintenance - we'll have to take the stairs,' said Stanley, speaking back over his shoulder to at least give some semblance of politeness and conversation.

  He walked through to a fire door and pushed it open, allowing Jackson through before starting to climb the stairs ahead of him.

  'I hope it's not too far,' grinned Jackson, maintaining his friendly demeanour, 'I wouldn't want to end up breathing too heavily if I'm going to be chewed out!'

  'No sir, not too far.'

  Jackson guessed that Stanley at least took some note of his statement as rather than climbing the stairs at a pace one might expect of a fit and healthy soldier, he sedately led the trio up to the second floor a single step at a time.

  From the landing, Stanley pushed open another fire door and walked out into a plushly carpeted and well appointed corridor, clearly over decorated in comparison with standard government décor and obviously a nod to the fact that dignitaries, luminaries and official representatives of foreign governments would visit this part of the building.

  'Pity we had to use the tradesman's entrance,' Jackson quipped, 'it would have been nice to get VIP treatment all the way.'

  Staff Sergeant Stanley stabbed at a series of digits on the electronic keypad to one side of a large set of wood panelled double doors. A buzzer sounded followed by a lock clicking and he swiftly grabbed one of the central door knobs and swung it forwards, hustling up against the hinges to allow Jackson entry past his bulky frame.

  Peeping into the conference room, Jackson took in the surroundings; a floor to ceiling thick glass partition with tightly fitted glass doors created a small lobby area from where the entrants to the room could be viewed by the occupants who in turn, could not be heard. The glass was overlaid with a large imprint of the national coat of arms of the United States and Jackson wondered why it was printed to be seen correctly from the outside rather than the inside.

  The interior was expensively decorated in keeping with the outside corridor, a modernistic style, starkly contrasting with the ageing office familiarity he was accustomed to. He was not sure whether it was Hollywood that had influenced government styling or the other way around, however, he considered that the polished metal and glass surfaces would not have looked out of place in any of the imagined high-tech headquarters created for recent film thrillers.

  The Sergeant stood to, waiting and watching the occupants and Jackson glanced from his escort to beyond the glass wall where two individuals were seated on opposite sides of the large highly polished conference table.

  On the left sat a young man, probably mid-thirties, short dark hair and fit looking but clearly not one of the muscle from the Marines. He wore a shirt open at the neck rather than with a tie and seemed slightly uncomfortable - perhaps he was also a target for inquisition.

  On the right side of the table was a very attractive but rather
stern looking woman, again, mid thirties he guessed, with long brunette hair tied back into a carefully woven plait. Her trouser suit was a deep dark blue and it made the whiteness of her crisp large collared shirt even more intense. It seemed that she was thoroughly in charge of the room.

  The woman looked up from a portfolio that she was examining and immediately beckoned to Jackson; Sergeant Stanley twisted and pushed at the chrome handle of one of the sound-proof glass doors and as it swung open he stood to one side to allow Jackson entry, who nodded politely and ambled in. If the circumstances were not so strange, he thought that he could get used to the apparent elevation of his status.

  The door eased shut behind him with a sigh and as the internal construction became sealed he felt the combination of conditioned cool air and plush sterility hit him. Even though it was freezing outside the building, he had rapidly heated up during the climb up the stairwell and now, even with the arid frigidity of canned air about him, he suddenly felt a little flushed and heady.

  The woman spoke but did not look up immediately.

  'It's alright Officer Revere, you'll quickly get used to it, the room is slightly pressurised to maintain the seals for soundproofing, or so they tell me. It can have the same effect as being on a commercial jet, just not as obvious.'

  She finally looked up and smiled.

  'If you're susceptible it can make you feel a little bit giddy at first.'

  She stood up and immediately stretched out an arm.

  'Hi, I'm Jolene Lovell, please, take a seat'.

  Her indication to join the man opposite her seat clearly demonstrated her authority in the room.

  As Jackson started to remove his winter coat and jacket, she made to sit down again, lightly brushing the seat of her trousers as she eased back into the sumptuous leather chair that she had selected near the head of the table. Jolene went back to examining the papers arrayed in front of her and spoke without looking up again.

  'You know Officer Mallory of course.'

  Jackson raised his eyebrows and looked at the young man, double-taking at the curt introduction. He smiled and raised his arm for a handshake.

  'Mr. Mallory, Dale, hello, pleased to meet you in person!'

  Swiftly standing up, Dale shook the offered hand firmly in a cool grasp.

  'Hi, although I'm not entirely sure whether I can say that I'm pleased to see you! Not just yet anyway.'

  His face broke into a wide grin as he indicated the room about them.

  'I can't help but feel that all of this is down to you!'

  'I'm just as puzzled as you are,' Jackson chuckled, aware that the jibe was light-hearted, 'but something tells me this isn't the staff canteen!'

  Dale pursed his lips and placed his arms akimbo, nodding to the large flat video screen that hung on the wall.

  'The Ambassador's conference suite, usually reserved for diplomatic powwows -'

  He was suddenly cut off as Jolene spoke up.

  'Yes, that is correct Officer Mallory and we're about to have a powwow ourselves. Deputy Director Kappel will be joining us shortly via video conference, so please gentlemen, take your seats.'

  The two men reacted like chastised schoolboys and raised their eyebrows at each other before settling down into their chairs. Jackson looked to the glass partition and saw that the same coat of arms was imprinted on the inner side of the glass; the material used to etch the giant eagle grasping arrows and scrolls was obviously opaque only when viewed from one direction and completely transparent from the other side.

  He looked to the flat screen and understood that with the lights in the small lobby doused, the eagle would provide a fine backdrop to an ambassadorial video conference call.

  A few moments passed before the large flat screen hissed into life but it rapidly became focussed on the image of Deputy Director Stefan Kappel of the Central Intelligence Agency, looming into view, sitting behind a desk as if he were about to address the nation. He relaxed back nonchalantly, immaculate in his suit and tie even though it would have had to have been between ten o'clock at night and one o'clock in the morning depending on where he was located in the US.

  'Jolene, good to see you! Are you getting my signal loud and clear?'

  Jolene Lovell coughed and perked up into a formal sitting position as she swivelled her chair to face the screen and the high-quality camera placed above it.

  'Yes sir, we have excellent sound and vision.'

  Although the picture was good, Kappel's gaze was slightly misdirected, the camera was obviously on the table in front of him but his screen, showing their own conference room, was clearly on a wall some way beyond it. As he spoke to the screen, he appeared to be looking up slightly, over the top of his audience.

  'Good, alright, down to business. Am I correct in saying that we have Jackson Revere and Dale Mallory present?'

  Glancing across the table, Jolene's subtle expression was akin to that of a parent urging her small children to respond to another adult in a polite tone. Jackson and Dale shifted in their seats and chorused together.

  'Yes sir.'

  'Excellent, well gentlemen, you've been called in to clarify some details, in particular, I would like you to tell me everything you known of the book entitled Dirigo Lux. Jackson?'

  Both Dale and Jolene fixed Jackson with an intense stare, although Dale's had a hint of good humoured but satisfied mockery in it compared with Jolene's gaze which was cold and purely interrogative.

  'Well, errm, Dirigo Lux', Jackson coughed, his mind racing to quickly assemble a coherent summary of events, 'well sir, I received a notification that some material of interest had been placed for sale on an online auction web-site,' he quickly glanced between the faces to see if he had started on the right track, 'the book that you mention, Dirigo Lux.'

  'Alright, but what does the title actually mean?'

  Jackson mused on how to interpret the title before speaking.

  'It is Latin and translates to a metaphor,' he raised his fingers to make double-quote signs in the air, ''to direct the light", to guide or lead it. In esoteric circles this can mean to present information in order to bring about enlightenment or understanding, the same way as we might illustrate an idea by showing a light bulb above somebody's head.'

  Kappel's tone was even.

  'Fine, but why fly out to pick up this book yourself? Why not just courier it back?'

  'Sir, the book is antique, almost three hundred years old; I had some concerns that the integrity of the material might be compromised in transit. As you probably know, I ran some requests for further information and on the basis of my findings I ultimately decided to fly over from Langley to personally take possession of the material from Officer Mallory here, seconded to help in the retrieval by my chief, Chuck - I mean - Officer Dean Manson.'

  Kappel was quick to respond.

  'Why the interest though? What makes this so special?'

  Jackson thought for a moment, Kappel obviously had access to all of Jackson's logs and library system interactions so there was no point in trying to hide anything - not that there actually was anything to hide.

  'The flag profile turned up some interesting connections, not least the fact that the trawl vector for this notification was originally defined in and inherited from the 1940's, some reference material links go back even further. Now sir, you probably know that my particular line of work is, shall we say -'

  'Far-out?'

  'Yes sir,' Jackson smiled at Kappel's interjection, 'a little 'far-out', but such is the nature of the beast. I was simply following up on a very strange flag concerning material with a clear connection to my interests.'

  'The Third Reich. Where does that all fit in?'

  It was evident that Jackson had correctly assumed that Kappel had been through the whole of the research material that he had amassed after receiving the flag. He was suddenly conscious that Dale and Jolene were looking even more intensely at him.

  'Well sir, it isn't quite what it seems.
Firstly, let me give some background to the situation by saying that I have not had a great deal of time to perform a thorough research -'

  Kappel held up a palm to placate him.

  'I'm well aware of the time constraints under which you have been operating for the last day or so, I just want as much of a brain dump as you can muster right here and now.'

  'Alright, well, I think it is best if I present this information in chronological order, as it pertains to this case. For that, I need to go back to the 1920's. During this period and right up until the middle of World War II, the Department of State - being responsible for international relations - ran one of a number of foreign intelligence services, as did the army, the navy; even the treasury had their own service.'

  He looked around the room and decided to make the most of his captive audience.

  'The very nature of these somewhat improvised services inevitably meant that rather idiosyncratic sections sprang up, dealing with a whole range of intelligence subject matters. Now, in the vast majority of cases the State Department concentrated on specific aspects of the main political movements of the time, you name it; Marxism, Leninism, Trotskyism, communism - in any number of variant forms - liberalism, fascism and even ostensibly democratic forms of government. They took an interest in anything that might upset the balance of power between individualism and nationalism in other countries and which might, in turn, have a direct impact on international relations, or even worse, the status quo within domestic affairs.'

  It was Jolene Lovell's turn to interrupt.

  'That is no different to what we do today. How is this relevant?'

  'I agree,' Jackson nodded, 'we do much the same, except that the likely enemies were slightly different back then. During the early years of the 1920's and into the 1930's, the developing political situation within the Weimar Republic of Germany was, of course, of interest to the US. Having endured hyperinflation, political extremism, the rise of paramilitary organisations and not entirely free from the hostilities of the victors of the World War I - us included - the instability of this government was of concern to all of the Western nations, notwithstanding the very real threat that it posed to Eastern Europe.'