“He just dragged himself in here five minutes ago.”
“Good. Both of you meet me in the conference room immediately. I’ve got someone who wants to speak with the team.”
He gestured toward the chair at the head of the table.
“J.D., we’ve got a mess on our hands,” Walker said. “And I don’t know that anyone else is capable of cleaning this up other than Firestorm.”
Shields and Black both entered the office, cradling coffee mugs, and then took a seat.
“Welcome back,” Blunt said to Black. “I heard you had quite the adventure.”
“Just another day on the job,” Black said. “What’s this all about?”
Blunt nodded toward Walker. “You remember General Walker, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Black said. “Didn’t you want to tell me the truth about my father’s death?”
Walker nodded. “Yes, and you told me you wanted to take a raincheck. Consider this your raincheck.”
Black shifted in his seat as he looked at Blunt. “Is this really necessary right now? We’re in the middle of a pressing investigation.”
“It’s related to your investigation,” Walker said. “At least, I have a strong hunch that it is.”
“Please, go on,” Blunt said.
Walker leaned forward in his chair. “When I heard about all the agents who’d been murdered, I knew they all had ties to Wilson Wellington during his time in Afghanistan. That was during the same time your father was serving there. So, I’m going to tell you what really happened, and I’ll start by saying that your father never learned about Wellington having an affair because he never had one.”
Black furrowed his brow and cocked his head to one side. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I understand.”
“The story about Wellington having an affair was a cover, one concocted by the Pentagon to obscure the truth about what was really going on over there.”
“Then what was going on in Afghanistan?” Black asked.
“Wellington was trying to figure out a way to get better intel from the Taliban,” Walker said. “So, he worked with the CIA to develop a drug ring with the Taliban. As a result, we were able to penetrate deep into the organization, which helped us fight them. There was only one problem: Not everyone knew about it.”
“My father was one of them, wasn’t he?” Black asked.
Walker nodded. “Your father saw one of the agents selling drugs to a kid outside the camp one day. The next day, he saw that same kid lying dead along the side of the road. Your father put things together and confronted Wellington, who tried to explain what was going on. But your father insisted that selling drugs to kids wasn’t necessary to accomplish the overall mission.”
“And he was right,” Black said.
“Of course he was,” Walker said. “But in the course of war, everyone doesn’t always think clearly nor ponder the implications of their actions. And ultimately, Wellington’s intel was some of the best we were able to get. However, your father threatened to go to the press if Wellington didn’t stop.”
Black shook his head. “And Wellington didn’t stop.”
“No, he didn’t. And your father saw another agent selling drugs to a teenager and snapped a photo. Wellington decided to make sure the truth never reached the light of day by sending your father on his fatal mission, tipping off the Taliban about it.”
Black narrowed his eyes. “And this man was allowed to continue.”
“Not only continue,” Walker said, “but his program was so successful that the CIA asked him to help develop a program called MH-Allectus, which I understand you’re all familiar with. Some of the people he utilized to develop a drug ring with were those who trained the sleeper agents.”
“And all these operatives showing up dead are all connected to Wellington’s program?” Shields asked.
Walker nodded.
“This isn’t really a new revelation for us,” Blunt said. “We just haven’t been able to find a viable connection between Vogle and Wellington.”
Shields held up her index finger. “Not through official CIA records, but we might have something else to link them together.”
“What’s that?” Walker asked.
“Agent Black spoke yesterday with Vogle’s former girlfriend, who said he’d claimed to have some issues stemming from his time in Kabul. Now, we weren’t able to find anything in his personnel record placing him in Kabul at the same time as Wellington, but if he was there secretly, that could explain the link.”
Walker stroked his chin and pursed his lips. “There was a rumor that Wellington was conducting another secret program. If that was the case, any participation would also be withheld from personnel files.”
“So, it’s possible that Vogle was in Kabul with Wellington,” Shields said.
“If those rumors are true? Yes,” Walker said. “But I can’t confirm that.”
“Know anyone who could?” Black asked.
“Lewis Dalton,” Walker said. “He was the station chief in Kabul at the time and would’ve been privy to any such operations, secret or otherwise. But good luck reaching him.”
“Why’s that?” Black asked.
“He doesn’t really want to be bothered by anyone ever again,” Walker said. “He doesn’t have a phone, and there’s no way to contact him.”
“Where does he live?” Shields asked.
“On a remote island off the coast of Alaska called Atka Island.”
Shields sighed. “And you’re sure there’s no other way to reach him?”
Walker shook his head. “Not in a timely manner. The mail only goes there once a week.”
Blunt glanced at Black. “Looks like you’ve got another long trip ahead of you.”
* * *
BLACK RETURNED to his office and shut the door. He collapsed into his chair and sighed. Knowing the truth about why his father was sent into harm’s way didn’t give him any greater sense of closure.
A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts.
“Come in,” Black said.
Shields poked her head inside. “You all right?”
“Compared to what? Getting run over by a tank? Sure.”
She eased into the seat across from his desk. “You know what I mean.”
Black rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know what to think anymore, much less feel. I already knew that Wellington was responsible for my father’s demise. But he’s dead, so there’s no way I can really exact satisfaction out of getting justice from Wellington. That coward shot himself to avoid dealing with the consequences.”
“To me, it makes your father seem even more noble.”
“And look what it got him,” Black said.
“Admiration, respect, a son carrying on in his footsteps.”
“Maybe. I guess I’m just left to wonder if it’s worth it to hold those ideals so high that it cost you your life. I mean, he didn’t actually stop those kids from getting drugs.”
“But he tried. And that is what’s important here. You’re still trying. Better than sticking your head in the stand and acting like nothing’s happening.”
“Yeah, but—”
“But what?” she said.
Black sighed and shook his head. “I miss him. I miss talking on the phone with him about inane things like athletes’ celebrations after scoring or whether or not a new potato chip flavor was delicious. But I also miss the deep conversations, the ones where he encouraged me to be a better man or pointed out when he saw me maturing in some area of my life. But I’ll never get to have those conversations with him again.”
“Perhaps he could’ve been around longer for you and your mother, but he left you something very important—a legacy of integrity. It’s why you do what you do, to make sure that the evil people in this world who prey upon the innocent get the justice they deserve. Never forget that.”
Black nodded, his gaze falling to the floor. “I know you’re right, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Ther
e’s still an ache that eats at me during those quiet times, those moments when I’d just pick up the phone and call him to see how he was doing. They’re gone forever.”
“Your father was a good man,” she said. “Keep making him proud by the way you live your life and do your job.”
He sighed. “Thanks for listening and trying to cheer me up. I’m not sure that’s possible right now.”
“Any time,” she said. “I know how painful it is to lose someone close to you, but we have to keep going, even as we grieve and mourn.”
Black looked up at her and forced a smile. “Thanks. Now I have to keep going, this time to Alaska.”
“Good luck,” she said before exiting his office.
Black clasped his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair. Walker’s revelation had ripped a scab off a wound Black thought was put to rest. It wasn’t.
But if Wellington, even from beyond the grave, had anything to do with what was happening in the intelligence community, Black determined to do whatever he could to stop it.
CHAPTER 15
DURING THE LONG PLANE ride to Alaska, Black read more personnel files on Preston Vogle that Shields found tucked away in other research records. Perusing all the stories helped Black focus on the task at hand instead of spiraling into depression by thinking about his late father. And there were several anecdotes that made Black realize just what kind of person he was trying to apprehend.
According to one report, Vogle was asked to conduct surveillance on a suspected terrorist cell in Iraq. After a week, Vogle grew restless as he watched the leader amass weapons as well as coerce young children into his ranks. Instead of waiting on a precise strike or a long-range sniper to arrive to take care of the matter, Vogle sauntered into the village and gutted the leader in front of everyone. The people broke into a celebration and burned the body within minutes of confirming the leader was dead. Then Vogle walked out, just like he’d gone in, unconcerned with any fallout. The colleague who provided the eye-witness account said Vogle acted as if he had a death wish.
That wasn’t the only story like that either. Vogle had once pulled a girl out of a burning vehicle amidst heavy gunfire when one of the trucks ahead of him in a convoy hit a roadside IED. The truck smashed into another parked car along the street and burst into flames. Vogle noticed the girl inside and darted over to help her. He suffered a bullet in his right bicep but explained that he was just acting on instinct and adrenaline. A footnote to the story mentioned that even after he’d been hit, he still managed to kill two terrorists perched on the building across the street.
This isn’t going to be easy.
But catching him might prove to be easier than getting information out of Lewis Dalton, who was the CIA station chief in Kabul during the time when Wellington was stationed in Afghanistan. Dalton hadn’t spoken to anyone in Washington in five years and didn’t intend to either, not since the last visit from somebody at the agency. Apparently Dalton fired on the previous agent who visited the remote island.
* * *
AFTER TOUCHING DOWN in Atka, Black flung his bag over his shoulder and walked a quarter of a mile to the island’s lone post office. He’d arranged to meet a Mrs. Gertie Mervin, who was going to help him with transportation to Dalton’s place. When he entered the small postal facility, a woman behind the counter was sorting a bag of mail and didn’t even look up when Black entered.
“It’s not ready yet,” she said, not even removing the cigarette from her lips. “Gimme another half hour.”
“I’m sorry,” Black said. “I was—”
She glanced up at him. “Oh, it’s the guy who just flew in. I’m Gertie. Sorry about that. Mr. Knox always shows up at ten o’clock the day each week that mail arrives when I’ve told him at least five hundred times that the mail won’t be ready until ten-thirty. That’s why I call him Mr. Obnoxious when he’s not around.”
“Well, I’m sorry to interrupt your work, Gertie.”
“Are you kiddin’ me? I get paid to run this place, and it’s about as boring as prison. And trust me, I know.”
“You were in prison?” Black asked.
“Caught a man trying to steal one of my cows one night. I may or may not have run him over on purpose. I plead guilty to vehicle manslaughter and spent three months in jail. When I got out, all my cows were still there. Haven’t had any problems since.”
“Well, I’m not here for your cows, Gertie.”
“I know, I know,” she said, waving dismissively. “Or my lame ass stories. You’re here for a vehicle to reach that hermit on the other side of the island, Mr. Dalton.”
“That’s correct,” Black said.
She tossed him a pair of keys. “I’d let you take my firstborn if it meant not ever having to drive out to his place again.”
“Not a fun trip to make?”
Gertie took a long drag off her cigarette. “It’ll take you at least a half-hour or more to get up that steep, craggy hill. It’s way worse in the dead of winter; that’s when I usually make him come in to get his mail.”
“Anything I need to know about Mr. Dalton?”
“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” Gertie said. “Nobody knows anything about him, but I suppose that’s why he chose to build a house out in the middle of nowhere. We Atkans love our privacy from the rest of the world, but we also know everybody else’s business on the island. And we get real suspicious when people won’t at least tell you something about their life.”
“I’m about as clueless as you are,” Black said. “But supposedly, he’s an expert on an issue we’re dealing with at my office.”
“Oh?” Gertie asked, her eyes lighting up. “What kind of work was he in?”
“Finance,” Black said. “Boring stuff.”
“You could’ve just called,” she said.
“I was told he didn’t have a phone.”
She laughed, which quickly devolved into a hacking cough. “You mainlanders are all so gullible.”
She gave Black directions to Dalton’s place, finishing with the sure-fire phrase, “you can’t miss it.” Black knew that wasn’t always the case and was concerned he might not ever return to civilization.
He jumped into Gertie’s half-rusted Chevy S-10 and fired up the engine. Black ascended a narrow pass toward a ridge with a modest house on top of it. In the field below sat a crashed B-24 bomber that had been decaying there since World War II. In the distance, the waves peacefully lapped the shore as fog rolled in. Black could see the appeal of living in the Aleutian Islands far away from the rest of civilization. Maybe that’s where he’d end one day, but not anytime soon. He needed action—and plenty of it.
When he rolled up to Dalton’s property line, a padlocked fence prevented Black from traveling any farther. He grabbed a handful of envelopes and packages Gertie had given him and hopped over the fence. Before he’d taken five steps, he heard the cocking of a handgun.
“Don’t move another muscle,” the man said.
Black looked up and locked eyes with Dalton. “I’m sorry, sir. I would’ve called ahead, but according to the agency, you don’t a have a phone.”
Dalton cursed and spat before wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “I told them never to come out here again the last time some dimwit showed up on my property wanting to ask me a few questions. You can drop the mail where you stand and turn around and leave.”
Black sighed and shook his head. “Sir, I came all this way, and I really need your help.”
“Why should I help you? I left the agency years ago for good reason. I don’t want to get involved anymore.”
“But, sir, this is important. Lives are at stake.”
Dalton huffed and waved off Black. “Lives are always at stake, son. It’s how they convince you that what you’re doing is important.”
Black persisted. “Well, my father lost his life because of some things related to what’s happening here. And I’d like to get some answers.”
&n
bsp; “I’m sorry to hear that. None of us are immune to tragedy. But I still can’t help you.”
“Would you change your mind if I told you that my father was Captain Victor Black?”
Dalton dropped his weapon and nodded. “Come inside. I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”
* * *
BLACK SAT DOWN at Dalton’s kitchen table and produced the personnel file on Preston Vogle.
“I do apologize for the intrusion, sir,” Black said. “I would never—”
“That’s not necessary,” Dalton said. “Your father was a fine man, and I hated what happened to him.”
“Did you know Wilson Wellington was behind it?”
Dalton nodded. “Years later I learned the truth, at least the version I was told. Wellington was in a position of authority at that point, a relative tyrant. He had so many allies that he was nearly untouchable.”
“Well, he’s gone now.”
"I read about that in a news article online a few months ago,” Dalton said. “Did you have anything to do with that?”
Black shrugged. “Maybe in a roundabout way. I certainly didn’t make him pull the trigger.”
“That bastard always was a chicken shit. He bulldozed his way into power and threatened anyone who dared stand against him, which no doubt that’s what your father was doing.”
“Well, it was more than that,” Black said.
Dalton placed a mug in front of Black. “Really?”
Black proceeded to give Dalton the updated story. By the time Black finished, the coffee maker was gurgling out its last few drops into the pot. Dalton poured himself a cup and then served Black.
“That’s a helluva story,” Dalton said. “And sadly, I wouldn’t question a word of it. So, is that why you’re here? To learn more about your father?”
Black shook his head and tapped Vogle’s personnel file. “I want to learn about this guy.”
Dalton removed his reading glasses from the top of his head and peered at the folder. “Preston Vogle. Now, that’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.”
“But you have heard of him?”
“Oh, yeah. This guy was a piece of work. And to be honest, I still don’t know what he did exactly while he was in Kabul.”
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