by S L Shelton
“Understood,” Nick replied. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Thank you. And thank you, Scott,” Burgess said as he opened the door. “I’m sorry there’s no time for a welcome party. But that’s the nature of the beast.”
“No apologies necessary,” I replied before he nodded and left the room.
Nick immediately opened the door to the hallway. “Come on. You’ve got a plane to catch.”
“Clothes? Shaving kit?” I asked with a crooked grin as I followed him out.
He ignored me and instead spoke to Black Suit. “We’ll need a ride to Andrews,” Nick said.
“Yes, sir. A vehicle is already on its way around,” the man replied.
Once outside, we got in and sped away into the early morning sunrise. I felt good. I felt like the world was right and was springing up to meet my feet. I reached forward and lowered the divider panel between us and the driver.
“Yes, sir,” the driver said, looking up in the rearview. “Do you need something?”
“Nope,” I replied contentedly. “I just wanted to watch the sunrise.”
I settled back into my seat and looked over to see Nick with his eyes closed. I didn’t know if he was truly asleep, but he looked peaceful. It gave me a moment of silence to absorb the moment, letting it flow through my body as I accepted it.
The clacking of the road beneath us and the swish of air past the Ford Expedition began to tug at my eyelids. My burning eyes and aching muscles seemed more than happy to melt into the backseat, but my thoughts pushed back to the forefront of my mind, snapping me awake. I had just come from the White House and was now a sworn operative for the Central Intelligence Agency.
Holy shit! I’m a CIA Agent.
nine
Departure
Early morning on Tuesday, January 18th—Suitland Parkway, en route to Joint Base Andrews
We sped through the early morning traffic after leaving the White House, weaving and dodging vehicles at what I considered a dangerous speed. I tried to relax and reminded myself these were professionals, but I hated being a passenger—especially when going fast.
“Any word from the Farm on how many we lost?” I asked Nick.
“Not yet,” he said quietly, without opening his eyes. “But I don’t want you worrying about that. You have orders, and that should be the only thing on your mind right now.”
“You need to keep an eye on—”
“Don’t worry about the Farm,” Nick repeated as he turned and looked at me.
“You can’t trust Penny Rhodes,” I said, finishing my thought.
He stared at me a beat before nodding his head. “I know.” His voice was quiet and sad.
“I don’t know how much anyone could have gleaned from being around me at camp, but I’m worried—”
“We stick to the plan,” Nick said and looked forward again as if he didn’t want me to see his expression. “I don’t want to know where or how you disappear. Give the pilot a city destination once you’re in the air.”
The seriousness of the situation was becoming apparent. I was feeling isolated already, and it was really rubbing me the wrong way that I was being asked to run. Then it dawned on me: on my own, I was free to follow leads wherever they might take me…without having anyone looking over my shoulder.
An idea hit me immediately. The gleam in my eye must have been apparent to Nick. “I don’t want to know anything,” he restated firmly.
I nodded.
“I’ll need a new SIM for my pho—”
“They’ll have what you need on the plane,” he said, interrupting me. He was being unusually short, and I couldn’t figure out why—until he turned to say something before seeming to change his mind.
You’re worried about me and are desperate not to show it!
I grinned as I sat back.
Upon arriving at the Joint Base Andrews, the SUV pulled up to the edge of the tarmac at Andrews field and stopped. I got out, still wearing the same dirty, bloody clothes.
“Welcome to the fraternity, brother,” Nick said sincerely.
I shook his hand as I shouldered my bag. “Am I supposed to contact you when I have something?”
“I don’t know when I’ll see you again, but as soon as we have some answers, we’ll be online,” Nick said, pointing at the package of documents and communication protocols that I had in my hand. With that, he unceremoniously turned and walked back to the SUV.
“That’s it?” I yelled after him incredulously. “Welcome aboard, here’s your ticket, now fuck off?”
He turned with a grin on his face. “What do you want? A good-bye kiss?” he yelled over the noise. “Get used to it. I’ll see you when I see you.”
I smiled, then turned to climb aboard the waiting jet. It began moving before I even seated myself. As I buckled my seat belt, I looked out of the window and watched the SUV drive off the tarmac before disappearing around the corner.
“The babysitter is gone,” I muttered.
One of the two pilots came back to check on me as we taxied to our takeoff position. He was in khakis and a blue Oxford. The shoulder of his shirt appeared to be wrinkled, indicating he had been wearing a shoulder holster recently.
He pointed to a door in the back of the cabin. “There’s food and drinks through there once we get airborne. As soon as we get going, we can have a chat about resources,” he said. Then he disappeared back into the cockpit without waiting for a reply. It sounded like boredom in his voice as if it were a speech he gave ten times a day.
Sitting there, my eyes wandering across the cabin as we prepared to takeoff, I felt a sudden swell of pride in my chest. It had taken some time to get to this point, and despite the violent nature of my arrival, I was a very different person now than I had been only nine short months earlier.
I took a personal inventory of my feelings, realizing that all the “gray” areas that had seemed to confuse me before had taken on crisper, black and white tones. It was almost as if those things that had confused me—about other people, the world, and even my own future—were suddenly well-defined, even if I didn’t have all the answers.
The sensation of takeoff had always been one of my favorites. It almost felt as though something was forcibly removing me from the past and propelling me into the future. I know—poetic nonsense. But something about having just been sworn into the ranks and then immediately launched into the sky seemed poetic.
A few minutes later, the intercom chimed and the pilot’s voice came from overhead. “Okay, get yourself some grub. As soon as you’re ready, tell us where you’d like to be dropped off, and we’ll be on our way. We are currently on course for Iceland.”
I got up and went to the cockpit. “You mentioned resources. Do you have phone SIMs?” I asked.
“Yeah. Do you need 3G?” the copilot asked.
“If you’ve got it.”
He unbuckled and made his way into the cupboard/kitchen/interrogation room in the back, then reemerged a few moments later with an envelope in his hand.
“Thanks,” I said as I opened it and popped one of the four SIM cards out of its plastic cutout.
“Food?” he asked.
“I have to send a message first. I’ll help myself in a minute if that’s okay.”
He nodded and returned to the cockpit.
I slipped the paper clip from my identity package into the SIM card slot to eject it before inserting the new one. Once it clicked into place, I powered my phone up and then opened my secure messaging app. I typed a quick message to Storc and hit send as I rose to go to the rear of the plane.
I found a bag of pretzels in a cupboard and munched on them while I pillaged the mini fridge. Not much in there, but enough for a great sandwich. I reached in and retrieved a couple of bottles of water when the app on my phone chimed.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey,” came Storc’s reply. “I wasn’t sure who it was until I saw the secure link.”
“I had to ditch my S
IM,” I replied. “How far along are you on the distribution map for the accounts?”
“It’s slow,” he said. “I’m not comfortable giving a location yet.”
Always so safe.
“I need something,” I said firmly. “You’ve got to have at least a region mapped out.”
“It’s pretty far-flung,” he said defensively. “With the number of accounts we’re talking about, I’ll need records on at least a thousand deposits to nail down anything solid.”
“I understand,” I replied. “But I need something.”
There was a momentary pause while he considered his response. “Western Europe,” he said finally.
“That’s a big place. Can you narrow it down any more?” I asked.
“Scott,” he said in protest.
“I won’t hold you to anything, pal…and it’s just you and me now. No one else will know.”
“Okay,” he replied with resignation. “A lot of the entry accounts are in France, Belgium, Germany, and the Netherlands…I’d say about forty percent of what I’ve already tracked.”
“That’s better,” I replied. “How about you put the list for those countries up on one of your private secure servers so I can access them?”
“Not TravTech?” he asked.
“No,” I said firmly. “There’s no one who will be having access to this but me, and I’d like to keep the exposure low.”
“Understood,” he said. “You know, I’ve got less than one percent of the deposits mapped. Any percentage I give you is based on a tiny fraction.”
“It’s a start,” I said. “That’s all I need for now.”
“Okay. I’ll keep working on it. As soon as I can narrow it down some more, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks, bud,” I replied sincerely.
“That’s why I’m here.”
“Later.”
I immediately accessed my secure e-mail server and typed out a message. Once it sent, I finished building my sandwich before going to the front of the plane. The copilot turned in his seat and looked at me, pointing at his watch.
“Western Europe,” I said. “Give me a few more minutes, and I’ll see if I can have a city for you.”
“That’s good enough for the moment,” the pilot replied before leaning forward to enter new coordinates.
Just before I finished my sandwich, a chime came from my phone. I read the reply to the message I had sent and smiled as I walked up to the cockpit. “Do you think we have enough gas to get us to Antwerp?” I asked.
“No problem,” he responded with a business-like demeanor. “We even have a hangar there.”
I nodded and returned to my seat to finish my sandwich and reread the reply I had received:
Monkey wrench,
So glad you are alive and well. Would love it if you came for a “getaway”. Am in Antwerpen. Will you join me? I’ve missed you much.
Gretle
Her response almost made the last two days worth it.
I typed: Will see you in a few hours. Where should we meet?
A moment later, my new phone chimed with another e-mail message:
Dock’s Cafe. Joordaenskaai. So happy!
I slept the rest of the trip, letting the drone of the engines lull me into darkness.
**
9:35 p.m. on Tuesday, January 18th—Antwerp, Belgium
It was cold when the door opened in Antwerp. The pilot had taxied the jet inside and closed the hangar door behind us, but even inside, the air was frosty. I could only guess how cold it would be outside. The copilot dropped the door and the stairs, and we deplaned. I followed behind him as he ushered me to a door in the corner. A loud buzz sounded as we reached the door; he opened it revealing the office. Inside the heat was on, and a TV was playing in the corner.
The man behind the desk looked up and asked the copilot, “Black or Blue?”
“Blue,” he replied.
The man behind the desk relaxed and put his hands on top. It suddenly dawned on me that he’d had his hands on a weapon when they were out of sight.
The office was sparsely appointed but clean. There was a security station with several monitors next to the desk—he had seen us coming long before we’d arrived.
Outward appearances made the space look like a normal industrial-type office. But upon closer inspection, there were some things that made it irregular. There were no windows in the office. The walls were too thick to be standard two-by-four construction, and the door we came through felt so heavy upon opening that I could only assume it was a solid steel door, cast or covered to look like a normal door—it was a secure facility.
“Can you please set this gentleman up with Euros and equipment? An ‘A’ package,” the copilot asked from the doorway.
“Can do, buckeroo,” said the man behind the desk with a startling south Texas drawl.
The copilot rolled his eyes then nodded toward me. “Have a good one,” he said.
“Thanks for your help,” I replied, not knowing protocol for voluntary rendition.
He nodded and left, closing the door behind him.
“Now. Let’s see what we can find for you,” Tex said as he opened a metal door in the back wall of the office.
It was a vault disguised as a closet. He proceeded to pull out two fat envelopes and hand them to me, then paused, squinting at me, his head tilted to the side.
“Do ya have a weapon preference?” he asked me.
“Hammerless subcompact,” I replied, “other than that, anything reliable will work.”
“I don’t have anything but reliable. I assume you’re going through customs?” he asked.
“That’s the plan.”
He pulled out a metal briefcase from the floor of the “closet” and placed it on top of the desk. He spun it around dramatically and lifted the lid.
“Does this tickle yer fancy?” he asked.
I looked into the case and saw a Glock 26, Gen 4. Black. In a cutout of foam there were four magazines, for a total of five (including the one in the weapon), two boxes of ammo, and a silencer. Behind the foam in the lid was a false back. I dropped it and found cleaning supplies, but it was empty otherwise.
“Perfect,” I said.
“You want a holster or shoulder rig? Nylon or leather?” he asked me as I tossed the two envelopes of money into the lid.
“Nylon shoulder,” I replied.
“Good choice,” he said, pulling one off a wall hanger inside the closet and tossing it into the lid compartment.
“Do you need phones? SIM cards? COM equipment?” he asked.
“No. I’m good,” I said. Then I had a thought. “You wouldn’t happen to have an iPad back there, would you?”
“Indeed I do,” he replied with a grin, seemingly happy he could provide me with something else.
“Cool. Can I get these delivered?” I asked, pointing at the case and the iPad package.
“Sure. Put this on,” he said, handing me a fluorescent green and orange ski hat. “Go to ground transport after you get through customs and look for a black feller driving a crappy little DRM taxi. He answers to the name Sky. Your case will be in the back seat. He’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
“As long as you’re picking out fashion accessories for me, is there anything here I can change into that isn’t covered in blood?” I asked, waving my hand dramatically over my dirty, bloody clothes.
“Yeah, sure,” he said. “Take a look in here for something that fits.”
He walked to the other side of the room and pulled open the door on a small office. Lining the walls were clothes racks, equipment racks, cameras, radios…even a small towable artillery piece.
“How about that?” I asked, pointing at the miniature cannon.
“Wouldn’t do you any good…I got no ammo for it. Besides, it wouldn’t fit in your holster.”
His grin and sunny disposition made him likable. By all outward appearances, this was a man who loved life, if not his job.
>
After picking out a few items that fit and slipping them on in his presence—most likely because he wasn’t comfortable leaving a stranger alone with the electronics—I stuffed a couple of spare shirts and an extra pair of pants into my bag before walking out of the storage space.
“Just put that dirty stuff in a plastic bag,” he said. “We’ll burn it before we leave.”
I complied and pulled the personal IDs out of my wallet and tucked them in the bag as well when he had his back turned. Most all of my wallet contents were already gone—locked up securely in a safe deposit box back home—but I still had my Scott Wolfe driver’s license and my TravTech ID with me.
“Don’t forget your hat,” he said, tossing me the ugly ski hat. “Sky won’t pick you up if you aren’t wearing it.”
I nodded and put the hat on. “Thanks,” I replied before we left the office and walked over to the bulky incinerator in the back of the hangar.
I watched with an odd sense of displacement as Tex tossed the bag into the fiery furnace, my previous identity and literally the clothes off my back reduced to ash.
He turned with a grin but must have noticed my blank stare as I watched my old life go up in flames; a serious question rose to his face.
“Leave something important in there?” he asked, worried.
“Nothing that hasn’t already been replaced,” I replied with sudden steely resolve, turning and walking to the exit.
The cold blast of arctic air assaulted me as soon as I opened the door. I quickly pulled the collar up on my new black wool coat and shouldered my bags for the walk to the terminal.
“I’ll give you a ride. I have to drop your package at the back gate anyway,” he said as he closed the door and set the electronic lock.
It was a short ride to the terminal, but I was grateful for it. It was a very cold night. During the ride, I pulled my travel ID documents from my shoulder bag and tucked them into my now-empty wallet: a Scott North Connecticut driver’s license, Visa card, American Express, a gym membership card complete with photo, a grocery card for two different major grocery chains, and a brew of the month membership card.
I flipped my wallet closed on my new identity with no ceremony—in fact feeling nothing at all—before sliding my new passport into my coat pocket.
