End Times

by P A Duncan

  Yes, she should find that out.

  “How do I go about doing that?” Mai asked Drake. “Visiting them in prison?”

  Drake explained, and Mai smiled.

  37

  Weaknesses

  Northern Virginia

  From his place of cover on a small knoll in Langley Oaks Park, Edwin Terrell, Jr. observed his former Army buddy, FBI Assistant Director Hollis Fitzgerald.

  Fitzgerald sat at a wooden picnic table, a small Igloo cooler at his feet from which he took a beer, even though alcohol wasn’t allowed in the county parks. The morning was warm, and Fitzgerald had more than one beer. Terrell smoked and watched, letting the appointed time pass.

  It was Terrell’s imagination, of course, when he felt a twinge of pain in his thigh where he’d taken a VC bullet, the wound which had made him incapable of walking to the LZ. He’d have never made that chopper if Fitzgerald hadn’t half-carried him.

  Terrell shot his cuff and checked the time. He knocked the fire from his cigarette and ground it out in the dirt. The stub went back in his cigarette case with all the others he’d smoked. He didn’t want to leave DNA behind. He scuffed the dirt where he’d stood. No footprints either. He moved from his hiding place to the walking path and took the roundabout way so Fitzgerald wouldn’t know he’d been behind him the whole time.

  Terrell was a tall, thick-set man with close-cropped, salt-and-pepper hair and a craggy face women found appealing. One woman he’d known had said he looked like a cross between Paul Newman and the actor Richard Burton, but he never saw that in his shaving mirror. His right arm was missing from above the elbow, lost when a CIA mission in North Korea went bad and he spent a few too many weeks as Kim Il Sung’s prisoner.

  Despite the heat, Terrell had dressed in black and wore a windbreaker to hide his gun. His only disguise was the Ray-Ban sunglasses, and that was enough. It took Fitzgerald a moment to recognize him as he strode up the path toward the picnic table. When he reached the table, he extended his left hand.

  “Cap,” he said, “how the hell are you?”

  Fitzgerald stood, his eyes on the missing arm, and he hesitated before he shook the offered hand.

  “Eddie, I’m good,” he said, eyes still on the pinned-up right sleeve of the windbreaker. “Uh, how are you?”

  “I’m good. This?” Terrell said, lifting the stump. “Lost it a few years ago on a job. Tell me that’s beer in the cooler.”

  “Yeah. Have a seat.”

  They sat on opposite sides of the table. Fitzgerald started to hand him a bottle but drew it back. He screwed the top off and handed it over. He opened one for himself, and the two men touched the bottles together and drank.

  “So, Hollis, I heard you threw a helluva barbeque in Texas a while back,” Terrell said, grinning.

  Fitzgerald jerked and drank beer, his face flushing. “I’ve heard that a lot lately. I like it less each time.”

  “Cap, you haven’t changed a bit. You’ve always been wound too tight.”

  “And you CIA pukes aren’t?”

  “Ex-CIA since the gooks took my arm. Man, you should have seen the looks on their faces. They waved my severed arm in front of my face, and I laughed at them. One of them even shit his pants, but enough reminiscing. You wanted to see me.”

  “I called you weeks ago.”

  “I’m a busy private contractor. In fact, I’ve got an appointment soon I don’t want to be late for. What’s up?”

  “Have you ever worked with The Directorate?”

  “What’s The Directorate?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I get it. It doesn’t exist, but have you done any work with them?”

  “They helped the Company on occasion.”

  “Ever heard of two of their operatives, Bukharin and Fisher?”

  “My man Alexei and the lovely Lady Fisher. Yeah, we’ve tangoed a time or two. Why?”

  “I want to know more about them, more than their official dossiers.”

  “Again, why?”

  “National security.”

  “Bullshit, Hollis. Whatever you got up your ass about them, it’s personal.”

  Fitzgerald drank more beer and said, “Okay, fine, it’s personal, but I saved that sorry ass of yours in ‘Nam. You owe me.”

  “You’re calling in that marker for this?”

  “Yes.”

  Men who’d bled together formed an allegiance and had loyalty little could shatter. He and Fitzgerald had had that years ago. Terrell’s relationship with Alexei Bukharin and Mai Fisher was more recent and, on some levels, deeper.

  “What do you want to know?” he asked.

  “Loose cannons, right?”

  “Definitely not. Oh, they’re bleeding hearts to be sure, but I’m not saying either of them won’t do what they have to for a mission. They love bringing down the high, mighty, and dictatorial, but they also believe the ends justify their means. Where’d you encounter them?”

  He knew, of course. He and Mai conversed almost every week.

  “The dyke who’s the attorney general mixed them in at Killeen,” Fitzgerald said.

  “And that fucking disaster still happened?”

  Fitzgerald slammed his beer bottle on the tabletop, splashing the liquid over his hand. “Look, what they planned was bullshit. Dart guns, knock-out gas, and unarmed intervention in the middle of a hostile environment. No way I could—”

  “Cap, you’ve been a fed too long. If Fisher and Bukharin said they could end that crap peaceably, they could have. A crazy preacher would be a piece of cake compared to what I’ve seen them do.”

  Namely get my ass out of a North Korean prison, he thought.

  “Eddie, I’ve had enough shit heaped on me about Killeen. I made a call, and it didn’t work out the way the panty-waist, bleeding hearts wanted. That’s not the issue. I want to know the kind of threat people like Fisher and Bukharin pose. To the country.”

  Terrell drained his beer, and Fitzgerald opened another for him.

  “They’re married, you know,” Terrell said.

  “Yeah, the Russian pointed that out to me. What the fuck does he see in her?”

  “She must be good in bed, Cap. Why else do we put up with them?”

  Fitzgerald laughed at that, and they toasted again.

  “They always put on this act they accept each is expendable, but Fisher, she doesn’t give up,” Terrell continued. “She’s fucking relentless and got more balls than you and me combined.” Terrell smiled at Fitzgerald. “I’ll bet you had that demonstrated to you.”

  Fitzgerald reddened again and drank beer. “What about the Russian?”

  “Even after he defected, he didn’t consider himself a Russian. He’s Ukrainian. Or was. He’s been an American a long time. He’s one of the toughest men I’ve ever met. Soviet special forces then KGB before he defected. We used to call him Ice because he’d cut your throat without a second thought, but if he thinks you deserve it, he’ll watch your back until his last drop of blood.”

  Fitzgerald’s face twisted in annoyance. “Weaknesses?”

  “They’ve both had their share of dust-ups. Fisher was captured once, tortured, raped. Only made her a better spy. She survived undercover in the IRA. I’ve already summed up Bukharin.”

  “Speculate.”

  Terrell thought about which lie to tell and said, “Hers is she can’t have children. His is her.”

  The latter was the truth. Mai’s real weakness was her current one-way trip to being a sociopath.

  Fitzgerald nodded, considering. “Why’d they take the Killeen assignment?”

  “The Cold War is over. Spies adjust since we’re ill-equipped to do much else. The U.S. is a U.N. signatory. The Directorate can operate here. I don’t know. Maybe they want to stick close to home.”

  “Bukharin’s granddaughter lives with them. That may be the reason.”

  Terrell knew that, too, and he noted Fitzgerald didn’t mention he’d had the kid under surveillance. He drained the last of h
is second beer and waved off Fitzgerald’s offer of a third.

  “Hollis, a word of advice. Whatever they did to bruise your ego, let it go. These are people you don’t want to be on the bad side of. Don’t bring the kid into the mix because either of them will fucking kill you for it. Remember, he’s ex-KGB, and when they had an enemy, they never laid hands on him. They went after the guy’s family.”

  “They’re dangerous, then.”

  “Only to people who deserve it. Christ, Cap, I hope you’re not one of them.”

  Fitzgerald drew himself erect on the bench. “I’m now an assistant director of the FBI. They wouldn’t dare.”

  “Not officially, but privately? In a heartbeat, and no one would be the wiser. Cap, don’t think you’re high enough on the bureaucratic hog they can’t touch you.”

  A movement caught Terrell’s eye. “My next appointment is here. Cap, anyone’s reach can be long enough for the right reason—or the right fee.”

  When Fitzgerald started to look over his shoulder, Terrell said, “Don’t do that. No witnesses.”

  “What the hell are you into?”

  Terrell stood, flashed the other man a friendly smile, holding up his hand to stop him from approaching. To Fitzgerald, he said, “This country, which we both almost got our asses shot off for, is being led by a fucking draft dodger, Cap. There are people who’ve paid me and others to bring him down. Not by a bullet but by scandal. The poor slob I’m meeting is a necessary sacrifice. Keep your eye out for the impeachment, and once that’s done, the candidate my employers are grooming will look like a saint in comparison. Agendas, hidden and otherwise, get accomplished. Time for you to leave, Cap. Thanks for the beers. Take the bottles home, and you never saw me here.”

  38

  Secrets

  FBI Headquarters

  Washington, D.C.

  After a quick stop back home for a shower and to change into a suit, Hollis Fitzgerald drove to FBI headquarters in Washington D.C. He made his way from his reserved spot in the garage to his office. The encounter with Terrell hadn’t gone as he’d wanted it, and as he thought about what the ex-CIA agent had told him, he realized he hadn’t told him much.

  Or his thinking could be fuzzy from all the beer he’d drunk while waiting for Terrell to show. Fitzgerald smiled as he rode up in the elevator. That was one the perks of being an AD. If you wanted a beer or six at lunch, a line of cocaine even, who cared? Drug and alcohol testing were for the masses of federal workers, not for managers at his level.

  His efficient secretary—finally, after too many disappointments—handed him a stack of messages, arranged by the importance of the caller. Fitzgerald sifted through them. A slow day. No return calls needed. She reminded him he needed to review and initial several field reports by the end of the day. He told her to hold his calls.

  He entered his office and closed the door. Damn. The stupid cleaning crew had turned his chair, so the back faced the door. Why the hell couldn’t they leave things the way they found them?

  Fitzgerald heard a soft “snick” and turned to see a red light on over the door. It had been sealed off from the outer office, a fail-safe in case an armed intruder got this far. The system was left over from the early days of the building, some of J. Edgar Hoover’s last. Fitzgerald was surprised they still worked.

  His pager hadn’t alerted him to an emergency so his door must have had a glitch. He headed for his desk to pick up the phone to let his secretary know he…

  “Damn,” came a voice from his chair. It spun until Mai Fisher faced him.

  Fitzgerald’s heart beat a rapid tattoo. Surely, Terrell hadn’t… No. Impossible. He swallowed hard and let his anger rise.

  “I wish you’d labeled the door control,” Fisher said. “I had quite the time figuring out how to make it work.” She looked him over and checked her watch. “Do the taxpayers know you come to work after lunch?” She wrinkled her nose and sniffed. “And reeking of beer, too.”

  “Who let you in here?”

  “I surmised you wouldn’t give me an appointment.”

  “You figured right. Now, who let you in?” Because they are fired, he thought.

  “No one. I got in. Hoover, who designed this building, had a series of interior corridors and staircases built in so he could spy on his employees. I’m surprised you didn’t know that.”

  “That’s bullshit. Someone let you in, and you better tell me. A security breach is a security breach, after all.” Fitzgerald set his briefcase flat on the desk, fingers atop it, thumbs on the snaps. Inside was one of his .380s. He masked accessing it by opening the briefcase and removing some files from it.

  “I’m unarmed,” Fisher said. She stood and came from behind his desk, arms out to her sides.

  He looked at his gun and left it in the briefcase. For now.

  “If you shoot me,” she continued, “it would be cold-blooded murder, but that’s not an impediment to you, is it?”

  “Look, your smart-ass mouth I don’t miss. And what do you mean by that?”

  “Killeen wasn’t the first. There have been a number of suspects killed by you, which have been questioned—”

  “And in each case, the ruling was I was justified.”

  “Then, there’s the changing of the rules of engagement at Ruby Ridge, which resulted in the death of a woman holding her baby.”

  “You didn’t do your homework, or you’d know what kind of sleaze the Weavers are.”

  “Granted, Hollis, I don’t think they and I will find any common ground on the religious or political issues of the day. Another point you and I agree on, but, as I’ve had it explained to me, in this country you can be a racist if you want. However, selling two sawed-off shotguns to an undercover agent who showed you where to cut doesn’t seem to warrant a small army descending on a mountain cabin.”

  “Did you know the Skinheads, the Aryan Nation, all those nut cases showed up and bragged to the TV crew about being the Weavers’ friends?”

  “Yes, I did. As I said, I’m not likely to invite the Weavers to tea.”

  “What the fuck do you want here?”

  “A favor.”

  Fitzgerald smiled and licked his lips. “A favor? From me? That’s rich.”

  “I thought that might be your attitude, but hear me out.” She took a slip of paper from her jacket pocket and handed it to him. “I’d like to interview those federal prisoners.”

  He read the list and looked up at her. “The Order? You want to interview members of The Order?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  She smiled at him. “Need to know.”

  Oh, he wanted to smash that smile off her face. He crumpled the paper into a small ball and tossed it at her. It bounced off her cheek below an eye, but she didn’t blink.

  “Arranging visits to federal inmates is the purview of the U.S. Marshals,” Fitzgerald said. “Have a nice day.”

  She sighed and said, “Hollis, you know I know that. I have their approval. The Marshals Service emailed you this morning. Oh, but you’ve only just arrived at work. They explained to me certain prisoners require FBI concurrence, which, they further explained, was now one of your responsibilities.”

  “Forget it unless I know why.”

  She smiled again, but it wasn’t friendly. “Hollis, I want to talk to these men, and I’ll do that one way or another. I’d really rather not impersonate a federal agent, which is illegal.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ve never broken a law.”

  Another smile. “I’ve rarely been caught at it. There was one evening spent in a holding cell in an NYPD precinct, but I digress. Do I have your concurrence?”

  “What do I get out of it?”

  “The satisfaction you’re helping to protect the country you profess to serve.”

  He strode up to her, in her personal space. She had to crane her neck to maintain eye contact, but again she didn’t flinch.

  “Not good enough,” he said. “After all th
e shit you laid on me about Killeen, after getting me reprimanded about the alleged surveillance, I need something more.”

  That damnable smile appeared again. “Oh, please tell me you want a bribe,” she said.

  “Not from you.” He licked his lips again. “How about you suck my cock, and I let you visit The Order?”

  “You think that’s the first time someone has said that to me?”

  “You said it. You’re unarmed. I’m not. I’ve always wanted to have a woman blow me while I hold a gun to her head. With you, it would be added pleasure, especially if you swallow.”

  No reaction.

  “Better yet, how about I bend you over the desk and fuck you, but that infertile ground has been plowed, hasn’t it?”

  “I told Alexei this was useless,” she said. “I’ll get in to see The Order my way.”

  Fitzgerald grabbed her wrist to drag her to the desk but found she was harder to move than he suspected. Again, she smiled.

  “Did I mention I’m wired?” she said. “Who do you think will be more upset to hear you asked for fellatio at gunpoint? The attorney general or your wife?”

  With a twist of her arm, she broke his grip and stepped out of reach.

  “You shouldn’t have pissed off the attorney general, Hollis,” Fisher said. “She has a soft spot for kids. When I reminded her about the surveillance on my granddaughter, Vejar was more than happy to authorize my being wired. You get me in to interview The Order as an FBI agent, and you get the recording of our encounter here. You don’t, and your wife will hear it before the day’s out.”

  He clenched his fists, the image of pummeling her reentering his head. “If I authorize the visit, will I ever have to see you again?”

  “That’s a deal we can both agree to. I’ll even return the credentials after I’ve used them. Use the name Katherine Burke.”

  “Where do I send them?”

  “My house. I’m sure you remember the address.”

  “Agreed. Hand over the tape.”