Agent Omega: You Only Live Forever

by Schaffer, Bernard

  Running along the length of the box was a long thin metal tube with tooled ridges. It was machined at one end to fit perfectly into the mouth of the gun's barrel. He picked up the tube and screwed it into the Beretta. When he pulled the trigger, the person about to die would hear nothing but a soft click.

  The lobby at CIA Headquarters in Langley was filled with people, most of them hustling in and out of the building, busy-looking employees carrying briefcases and vendors loading cartons of soda and snack food, and none of them paid him any mind. Intelligence agencies around the world employed secret agents in much lesser extent than they did analysts, scientists, technicians and office personnel. The common man thought it was all speedboats and Italian princesses on distant vistas.

  Well, it is. Just not for most.

  He kept his head down as an army of thick-spectacled men in ugly suits walked past and thought, they would fit right in at MI-6. It took an entire army of janitors and office managers to keep the lights on the bathrooms clean and the paychecks coming every two weeks, all so that men like me can do astonishingly stupid things like this.

  The lobby secretary smiled at Price as he walked up and said, "Welcome to CIA, how may I help you?"

  Price tipped his hat to her and said, "Commander Price, British Intelligence. I'd like to see Emily Watson, please."

  The secretary looked down at a clipboard on her desk and scanned the names there with the tip of her finger. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't see her name here. What department does she work for?"

  "She doesn't," Price said. "She's with Special Agent Chuck Regis at the moment."

  The secretary picked up the phone and said "I think he's on the sixth floor. Who shall I say is asking, sir?"

  He looked at her and said, "Price. Stuart Price."

  The secretary spoke his name into the phone and then said, "Well, yes, I'm sure, sir. He's standing right in front of me."

  There was a long string of violent cursing that erupted through her phone loud enough for Price to hear, even surrounded by people in the lobby. The poor thing looked frazzled as she hung up the phone and Price smiled warmly at her and said, "We're old friends."

  An elevator sped down to the lobby behind the secretary's stand, and when the bell rang and the doors slid open, Price expected to see the red and flustered face of Chuck Regis. Instead, a tall, thin, silver-haired man emerged. The man made immediate eye contact with Price and waved for him to come around the secretary's station, away from the crowd. They shook hands and he said, "I'm Paul Grimley, Division Chief for this outfit. What can I do for you, Mr. Price?"

  "It is my understanding you are holding a British citizen in custody, in violation of Her Majesty's treaty with your government. I must insist that I see her immediately."

  Footsteps pounded the stairs above them as Chuck Regis came running down, shoving people out of his way, shouting, "You limey son of a bitch!" Regis leaned over the railing and jabbed the air with his finger at Price, "I told you to get your ass back to England. Now you're going to wish you listened!"

  "You also told me that Emily Watson never arrived in this country," Price said evenly. "I lose track when I'm supposed to ignore one lie and pay attention to the other."

  "You're going to regret the day you set foot in my country, you son of a bitch."

  "That's enough, Agent Regis," Grimley said. Regis' eyes were wide with hatred, but he backed away from Price. "I'm Paul Grimley, Division Chief. Let's go upstairs into my office and sort this whole thing out."

  Grimley's office was decorated in warm, dark colors. There were several medals and awards on his walls, but only important ones, from Presidents and foreign governments. Some men felt the need to hang every plaque they'd ever gotten, until their offices were more decorated than the uniform coat of a Mexican general. Grimley's office, like the man himself, was more reserved. His desk was smaller than Admiral Knight's and surrounded by shelves of books. A wide assortment of titles of everything from legal texts to hard-boiled detective novels. Price liked the man immediately. "May I ask, sir, why you are keeping Emily Watson in secret custody?"

  "It's not very secret if you found out about it, I suppose," Grimley said, shooting a glance at Chuck Regis.

  Regis bristled at his stare and said, "I'll find the leak. Don't you worry about that."

  "Be that as it may, why are we keeping Miss Watson?"

  "She's a threat to national security, Chief. She's a verified leader of an international subversive organization."

  "I see," Grimley said, nodding. He looked at Price, "I'm sure you and the admiral can appreciate our concern in this matter. While, Agent Regis wasn't being as gracious a host as I'd prefer, he was acting in line with his duties."

  "More importantly, how the hell did you find out Watson was here anyway?" Regis said. "Let's start with that."

  Price ignored the man and directed his attention to Grimley, "Sir, I can appreciate that you have your own concerns. I just believe this entire situation could have been handled differently. Perhaps you could provide me a more, shall we say, nuanced agent to work with."

  "You go to hell," Regis said.

  Grimly held up his hands and said, "Gentlemen, let's remember we are professionals and colleagues. What is British Intelligence's interest in this Watson matter, exactly?"

  "Well, for starters, the CIA is in violation of our treaty by failing to notify the British embassy of Watson's arrest. The right phone call could have this office swarming with UN Inspectors."

  Regis lifted the telephone receiver off of Grimley's desk and waved it at him. "Here. Make the call. Want me to dial it myself?"

  Grimley took his phone back and folded his hands, leaning forward. Price wondered if the man ever played cards. He had the posture and demeanor of a seasoned gambler. "I am assuming you have an alternate suggestion in mind, Mr. Price?"

  "I do," Price said. "Let me see her in private. I'll verify that she is well-cared for and swear out a statement that will protect you if she files a false complaint."

  Grimley looked up at Regis and said, "I don't see a problem with that."

  "I do," Regis said. "Who the hell is this guy, coming into our office, in our country, trying to act like he's a big shot? Now we're just gonna cave to him?"

  Grimley considered the agent's words for a moment before he said, "Do me a favor and step outside for a bit, Chuck?"

  Regis stormed out of the office, slamming the door so hard that the books on the shelves shook. "He's a bit of a live wire, Stuart. Don't hold it against him though. He's damn good in a tight spot."

  "I'm doing my best sir," Price said. "I keep reminding myself that Regis has an excellent reason to hate me."

  "Why is that?" Grimley said.

  "He and your agent, Jack Ivor, are good friends. He said they trained as new recruits together."

  Grimley frowned at Price and said, "Are you sure? Jack Ivor was working down in the Florida Keys five years before Chuck Regis came to CIA. I should know. I trained them both at Camp Peary before they were assigned."

  Price nodded slowly and said, "That is most interesting, sir."

  Grimley folded his hands on his desk and said, "I want you to shoot straight with me, Stuart. I know we don't know each other, but I've got a good feel for people, and something tells me you're an agent I would want working for me. Why are you guys fussing over this Emily Watson girl so much, anyway? If she's as bad a person as you're implying, aren't we doing Her Majesty a favor by keeping her on ice here?"

  "Perhaps," Price said. "Except Watson isn't the only person in play here. If this Apiary Society of hers is willing to poison children to further their interests, there is no telling what they might do next."

  Grimley's face blanched a bit and he said, "The Apiary Society? Poisoning children? Where the hell did you get that from?"

  "Directly from Watson's house. One of our technicians cracked a secret code that said either Watson or Arsenal are going to poison Jonas Salk's polio vaccine."

 
Grimley scratched his chin and said, "Go talk to her and see what you can find out. Let's get to the bottom of this."

  "She's right down here," Regis said, waving his hand for Price to follow him down the hall. His entire manner had changed now and he wore this new affectation of congeniality like a slick suit. "Listen, I'm sorry we got off on the wrong foot. When all this is said and done, let me take you out for a beer."

  Price nodded and said, "No harm done. That sounds perfect."

  Regis massaged his temples wearily, "I just haven't been sleeping right slept right since that thing with Jack. I know it wasn't your fault. I've just been trying to convince him the same thing."

  "Thank you," Price said.

  "So anyway, Miss Watson's in there. She's a stone cold lunatic, so don't expect to get much out of her."

  "Lunatic?"

  "Completely crazy. Conspiracy theories that would fill a book. You know, it wouldn't hurt if you slapped her around a little, just to soften her up. Just something to consider. I won't mind." Regis opened the door and Emily Watson yanked the handcuffs keeping her strapped to the table and spat at him. Regis reared back to get out of the way and Emily saw Price standing the doorway. "What are you doing here?"

  "Sit down and shut up," Regis said, shoving Emily back into her seat.

  Price looked at Emily and then at Regis, "I was under the impression I would be speaking to Miss Watson alone."

  "Yeah, well, I can't really do it that way right yet. I'm sure you understand."

  Emily pounded the desk she was chained to and said, "Stuart, you have to listen to me! This man is part of it! Do not listen to a thing he says!"

  "See?" Regis said with a knowing wink. He backed away to give Price a clear path to Emily, eagerly anticipating things getting rough.

  Price stared down at her. "Emily, tell me how to find the Arsenal. That is the only way I can help you."

  Emily blinked silently for a moment, twisting in confusion, "What?"

  Price grabbed Emily by the shoulders and shook her violently, "We cracked your cipher, so don't play stupid. I know the beekeepers are sending an enemy agent named Arsenal to poison the vaccine. Who is he and how do I stop him?"

  "You bloody, incompetent idiot. The Arsenal is the school!" she said. "MKULTRA is substituting the vaccine. We came to stop them!"

  Regis laughed out loud as he rattled his keys and said, "All right, that's enough fun for one day. I told you, this broad's a fruitcake. Let's go." He opened the door and tugged on Price's arm, drawing him out of the room. Price was too stunned to speak as Regis pulled him. He was too busy staring at Emily in grim astonishment to resist.

  "Get to Pittsburgh, Stuart!" Emily cried out just as the door closed. "Find Jonas. He's one of us!"

  Regis slammed the door shut with a loud clang, instantly shutting out Emily's voice into nothing more than an indecipherable murmur. The agent hitched up his pants and said, "Anyhow, what do you say to that beer, now? I could use one after this day."

  Price could hardly move. He looked to Regis, taking in the man's sweaty, pasty-faced eagerness and swallowed, collecting himself enough to say, "I…I'd love to, Chuck, but unfortunately, I think I'd better get going. I have a long drive back to Newark tonight. I fly out in the morning."

  "That's probably for the best," Regis said. He waved his hand at Emily's cell door and said, "Go home and forget all this craziness. Listen, you need anything, don't hesitate."

  Price walked quickly for the door leading out of the hallway, feeling like he was about to be ill.

  It had been a long day of dealing with impatient travelers and needy customers, so when the tall, handsome British man with the nasty scar on his face rang the service bell, the hotel manager tried vainly to look helpful. "How can I help you tonight, sir?"

  "Where the gift shop is?" Price said.

  The manager pointed over Price's shoulder and said, "It's directly behind you. It's the same place you purchased whiskey from just last night."

  "Of course it is, how silly of me," Price said. He turned around and looked across the lobby at the old woman working in the gift shop, making sure she saw him. "It must have been a longer day than I thought. What did you put in that whiskey anyway?" he said with a light laugh.

  "Whatever it is, I sure could use some now," the manager sighed.

  "Thank you, so much," Price said. He walked across the lobby toward the gift shop, smiling cheerfully at the woman working the register. "Pardon me, love. May I please use your phone for a moment?"

  "I'm sorry, but you have to use the one in your room," she said.

  "I know, but the blasted thing seems to be on the blink. I just asked that nice manager fellow at the front desk and he told me to use this one. Is that all right, or should I go get him?"

  She shrugged and said, "I suppose if he said so, here you go, dearie."

  Price thanked her as he picked up the receiver and quickly punched in a sequence of numbers. It rang once and was picked up, but before Miss Maxwell could speak, Price said, "Put him on the phone."

  Maxwell sounded confused, "Stuart? Is that you? Why on earth are you—"

  "Put him on the damn phone right now," Price said.

  She transferred the call and Admiral Lee picked it up, sounding extremely irritated. "Why the bloody hell are you calling this number, Commander? It is a serious breach of protocol."

  "I have a serious situation here," Price said.

  "Which is?"

  "Our package arrived in perfect condition, sir, but the local suppliers here are going with another brand. A made in China brand, sir."

  "What? Why on earth would they do that?"

  Why? I'll tell you why. MKULTRA.

  The word made his bowels feel wet. Only in the darkest corners of the intelligence field was the word even whispered about. Horrifying rumors that the Americans were conducting experimental research on their own citizens with drugs like LSD, heroin, morphine, sodium pentothal, and more. Grim experiments that were being conducted on members of the US military, who were being told they were participating in a health experiment designed to help soldiers get stronger and faster. Prison inmates, normally black and poor, who were not given any option but to participate, and would soon get too sick to move. Even, Price had heard, on pregnant women.

  Most disturbingly, there were strong indications that the Americans were giving safe harbor to Nazi researchers who had extensive experience with various methods of interrogation in exchange for their assistance with the MKULTRA program. Price had read an article published by a man named William "Wild Bill" Donovan who was accusing the CIA of helping Nazis evade prosecution at Nuremberg.

  Bastards.

  He thought about little Jillian limping across her mother's store, who was more than likely now in a hospital, crippled due to polio, and now MKULTRA wanted to poison the vaccine?

  Bastards!

  Price pressed the phone receiver close to his ear and said, "They are conducting market research, sir. On their own employees."

  Lee was silent for a very long time.

  Finally, he cleared his throat and said, "Stuart, listen to me. This is a direct order. I want you to return home immediately. Do not take any further action. Come home. There is nothing else there for you to do."

  Stuart Price was a creature of duty.

  He'd lied, cheated, and killed, all in the name of Queen and Country for years and always remained true. He loved Britain more than any person in his life. He was true to her when he'd betrayed every woman he'd ever been intimate with.

  So go home.

  He took a drink.

  Otherwise, the consequences for Britain will be disastrous otherwise. If the Yanks want to poison a few schoolchildren, it's on their heads.

  He took another drink.

  Regis will kill Emily. They'll disgrace Jonas Salk. Easy to blame his faulty serum for making the kids sick. Salk will be run out on a rail, if not thrown in prison.

  Another drink.

  And
if I do interfere? Prison. If I'm lucky, that is. Most likely, they'll set me up as an enemy agent tampering with the serum and I'll go to the gas chamber. Britain will disavow me in order to maintain relations. No one will ever know the truth.

  If Price did as he was ordered, he would be standing in Admiral Lee's office within a day, listening to the old man say, "It was a damned tricky situation, Commander. I know you wanted to stay, and I appreciate the sentiment. Listen, how about taking some time off? Go on a holiday and relax a bit. Put all this behind you."

  He finished his drink.

  To hell with the Yanks. None of them worth a damn anyway, except Jack Ivor, and look what happened to him.

  Jack Ivor, the smiling, suntanned Texan with an easygoing smile as wide as the state he called home. Jack Ivor, a good man who lost his arm and leg doing the right thing. He would understand Price leaving, wouldn't he? He would say, "Well, you were given orders, so there's little you could have done." He would say, "It was just a few kids who got killed."

  Right?

  Price looked out the window and felt his face twist into a savage snarl and he said, "Like hell he would."

  The hotel's hallways were empty. Price walked quickly toward the nearest stairwell, mentally plotting out his next moves. He needed to ditch his rental car and pick up a new one. Something fast, preferably. Paying for the car Price was going to abandon was going to be the least of Admiral Lee's concerns. They can take the cost out of my severance check, he thought.

  He opened the door to the stairwell and paused as the sound of two people talking in hushed tones several floors below. Two men, speaking with heavy New York accents. One of them was huffing and grunting as he walked.

  Price quietly closed the door and went back to the elevator. He pressed the button quickly, trying to make the doors open for him. It arrived and he got in, immediately pressing the ground floor and the close doors buttons. The hallway was still clear. He exhaled and tried to relax.

  You're getting jumpy in your old age.

  As the doors closed, a fat hand stuck between the small opening and started to pry them apart.