by Frank Perry
on the plane.”
“Yeah?”
She asked, “Was Agent Morales caught by the same guys who had John?”
“I think so. Wasn’t there some kind of ransom demand for him and Corporal Tilman? … oh, Tilman died by the way.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Peter. You did your best to save him. So did John.”
“Yeah, well, he has a wife. Poor girl.”
She reflected, “At least she was with him at the end.”
“I guess that’s something. Anyway, I think there were threats against both of them.”
“Does that mean anything? Morales got loose on his own and didn’t help Tilman or John?”
“Maybe he was somewhere else.”
“Yeah, some place that treated him better.”
“I don’t see where you’re going with this, Rachael.”
“I don’t know, it just seems odd.”
“Now you’re sounding like a spook.”
“Okay. Like I said, it was just a thought on the plane.”
They talked briefly then she drove to Langley. It was a peaceful afternoon. Peter was safe, and John was getting medical treatment.
When she arrived at her office, the first words out of Cybil’s mouth were, “You should have told me you were leaving for two days!”
“Cybil, since when have you kept track of anyone in this office? I don’t know where any of my people are!”
They’re all here but Jamie.”
“And where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“You see. My point exactly.”
“Look, Ms. Aston, I’ve worked here since you were in grade school. You can at least be polite.”
This was the opportunity Rachael had been seeking ever since moving over from DoD weeks earlier, “Polite? Where in the CIA employee handbook does it say I have to be polite? Especially since you’ve been rude from the first time we met.”
“I have not!”
“Yes, you have! I’ve been here a few weeks and you haven’t helped me at all getting settled in here. You may be a civil servant, but I expect more from an assistant. I want you to work with me, not against me.”
Cybil started to say something, but Rachael turned away and walked into her office and logged into the secure server. In it was a message from Vitale: urgent that we meet re: Montes.
Recovering
John Stokes was recovering in the ICU after his third surgery to remove infection and repair damage from a festered gunshot wound in his abdomen. Surgeons had removed his gall bladder and part of his liver earlier. The latest surgery repaired a perforation in his intestines. Carolyn was by his side during the recovery when Peter arrived. He smiled, taking John’s hand. “Hey, soldier, I understand you’re gonna live.”
“Thanks, partner. Josh told me what you did to save me. It’s funny. I don’t remember any of it.”
Peter smiled at Carolyn who was holding John’s other hand to her heart. “Well, let’s hope this doesn’t happen again.”
John was groggy but said, “They said the soldier, Tilman, died.”
“Yes. He was lying in the dirt too long. It’s not your fault John. He lost a lot of blood, and you tried to get to him. He had maggots inside before you got there -- Sorry, Carolyn.” She winced, but smiled gently.
Peter went on, “Anyway, the docs say you’ll live. Could be a year of therapy before the arms and legs work completely, but I think you’ll surprise them.”
Squeezing John’s hand, he said, “So, I’ve got to get back to my day job.”
John smiled, “Tell Rachael to give you a long lingering kiss for me -- then you kiss her back!”
“I’ll try, pal. It’s one day at a time for now.”
Carolyn came around the bed and gave Peter a trembling hug. She buried her head in his chest. “Thank you, Peter. You gave him back to us.”
Gripping her shoulders, he looked at her, “Sweetheart, you’ve got one brave SOB for a husband. Don’t let him do anything stupid again -- at least not without me.”
She and John both smiled as he said, “Adios.”
He left the hospital in his newly-rented car, heading for Bliss to collect his gear and make return flight reservations. En route, he decided to stop at sector headquarters to make sure everything was under control with the Guard unit and to get a better picture of John’s new working environment, assuming he would ever return to the job. His meeting with Mike Schmitt had not gone well the first time and he wanted to be sure he left on good terms. The Border Patrol lived with the threat of capture every day.
Peter had not met the rescued Border Agent Juan Morales. Mike Schmitt introduced them when Peter came by headquarters to say goodbye. Peter shook Morales’ hand, commenting, “Well, Agent, you fared much better than your fellow captives.” Morales was fit from all appearances.
Morales responded, “It’s good to meet Major Shields, the hero. Thanks for rescuing our guys.”
“Yes, well, heroics are for fools. I’m impressed that you were able to escape on your own. You sure look better than our guard boys in the shed.”
“They treated me differently. I’m a Mexican and was able to reason with them.”
“From what I saw, they didn’t seem to care much for anyone, including Mexicans. They kill dozens every day in Juarez.”
“Well, I don’t know. They weren’t that bad to me.” He didn’t offer any other explanation.
Peter reflected on Rachael’s earlier comments, “Were you near the two soldiers?”
Morales stammered before answering, “Ah, they kept us apart. I wasn’t near them.”
“Okay, you’re a lucky man.”
Peter said goodbye to everyone in the office and left for the airport in a taxi.
En route, he dialed Rachael’s mobile phone, which went directly to voicemail, “Hi, Rachael, it’s Peter. I’m on my way home. Call me if you can.” And then he added, “I love you.”
He slept in a window seat most of the flight home.
Meeting
Rachael knocked on Vitale’s open door. “Sandy, did you want to see me?”
He always seemed to be focused down at his desk. “Yes, Rachael, please close the door.”
He gestured her to a chair saying, “Something odd has happened. Jamie Montes wants to talk to me, urgently. Do you know what this is about?”
“No, Sir. Jamie has been missing for almost two weeks and cleared out his desk.”
“How’s your investigation going?”
“It’s really not started yet. I just got back from Texas.”
“Okay, so what do you suggest? Should I call him back?”
“I would, but be careful. We still don’t know what he’s up to.”
“All right, Rachael. I’ll call him and brief you afterward.”
“Thank you, Sir. I appreciate it.”
The meeting lasted less than two minutes. Vitale didn’t seem interested in details about her quick trip to El Paso. After returning to her office, the first thing she did was to use the CIA directory of cooperative agencies to find her counterpart in Mexico at the Centro de Investigación y Seguridad Nacional (CISEN), which she called on the secure telephone. While the phone was ringing, she closed her office door.
She heard “Hola” followed by something in Spanish she didn’t understand. There was a pause, so she said, “Hello. Do you speak English?”
“Yes. Sure. I speak the English.”
Rachael gave her name and explained her position in the CIA, then asked to speak to a senior agent. She was put on hold then heard the phone transfer. A man with remarkably fluent English answered, “Hello, Ms. Aston. I am Chief of Intelligence, Homero Salas. Can I be of assistance?”
“Hello, Chief Salas. I was hopeful that you could help the CIA investigate an American who once lived in Mexico.”
“We are always anxious to cooperate with the United States, Ms. Aston.”
�
��Please call me Rachael. We are seeking any information you may have about a man and his family.”
“It is my pleasure, Rachael, call me Sal. Who is the man, and what else do you know about him?”
“His name is Jamie Montes. He was born in California to Mexican parents and lived in La Paz until he was seventeen.” She provided his birthdate and the date of his enlistment into the Marines. She also provided his U.S. passport information.
They discussed more about the kind of information she wanted, then Salas concluded by promising to find out what he could. He told Rachael that records were not good in Mexico generally and even worse from the 50’s and 60’s when Montes was growing up.
“I’m sure you will do the best you can, Sal, and I can’t ask for more.”
“Si, Señorita. You have my assurance of that.”
After hanging up, there was a gentle tap on the door and Rachael said, “Yes?”
The door opened and Cybil entered, more demure than any time Rachael had seen her before. “Rachael, can we talk?”
Rachael stiffened, “Ah, sure, Cybil.”
She sat down across from Rachael looking down at her hands in her lap. “Rachael, I’ve made a bad impression and want to apologize.”
Rachael didn’t say anything as Cybil continued, “It’s just – well, we had a nice department here for a long time then all sorts of changes got thrown on us after Mr. Lawrence. I never understood it. I knew him for my whole time here, twenty years, and he was a good man. At least he was good to everyone working here. Then you came along to fix us. It didn’t seem fair. We’re all good loyal hard-working Americans. We believe in what we do. Now we’re scum and need supervisors who don’t come from the CIA. I don’t get it, and maybe I shouldn’t.”
Rachael contemplated before speaking,