Valley of Spies

by Keith Yocum

  “He’s spoken very highly of you, Peter. I think he’s seen you as a mentor.”

  “Well, that’s very kind of him. I like Dennis. He had a very unusual career in OIG. He took on some very difficult cases, and to be honest, I was hoping for his own peace of mind that he would stay retired. But he told me about being plucked out of Western Australia—if I have my geography correct—and tossed back into the muck. I hope he’s doing well.”

  “Peter, he’s not doing well. I’m afraid he’s in very serious legal trouble right now. It’s very complicated. He suggested I get hold of you to see if you would help.”

  “Ah, well, I’m an old man, Judy. I’m sure he’s told you that I retired a long time ago. I’ve not heard of any trouble he’s in. I assume he’s had a run in with folks at Langley and needs some advice. Why don’t you have him contact me directly?”

  “That’s difficult right now, Peter. Dennis is in jail.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Dennis is in jail.”

  “Good heavens. Why is he in jail? A military jail here? Did he take something that was classified?”

  “No. He’s in a jail in Las Vegas.”

  Silence. “What is he doing there?”

  “Can we talk in person? Seems inappropriate to go over this on the phone. It would take a while.”

  “Judy, I have to say that I’m not sure how I can help Dennis. I don’t have any contacts in Las Vegas. Does he need a lawyer? Perhaps I can call around.”

  “Is there any way we could talk today? Perhaps around 4:30 this afternoon?”

  “Oh, I think that might be difficult. We have some plans this evening.”

  Judy decided on a more direct approach.

  “Dennis said he could count on you, and he needs your help right now. Today. It’s very important.”

  “I would like to help, but perhaps later this week we could catch up?”

  “Today at 4:30 is the best time to catch up. Dennis needs your help today, not later this week. I’m sure you can meet me near your home in Washington. Where do you suggest?”

  He sighed. “I suppose the Starbucks nearby. Dennis and I’ve met there many times. It’s on Wisconsin Avenue, near the Naval Observatory.”

  “I’ll see you there at 4:30. I’ll be wearing denim jeans and a yellow blouse.”

  At 4:50 p.m., Judy found herself pacing around the interior of the Starbucks. She once approached an elderly man sitting at a table and said, “Peter?”

  The man simply shook his head and continued to read a newspaper.

  A smartly dressed, elderly gentleman walked in and caught Judy’s eye. He waved and pointed to the coffee counter, which Judy took to mean he was going to order a coffee. She sat down at a small table and waited.

  “Judy,” he said when he came over. “A pleasure to meet you finally.” They shook hands.

  He wore a pair of beige, double-pleated slacks, an open-necked, starched blue dress shirt and a navy-blue blazer with gold-colored buttons. Judy thought he looked elegant and refined. His face was tanned, narrow, and handsome. His nose pointed upwards slightly, drawing attention to his intense, hazel eyes. He sported a full head of dark gray hair, though it was receding at the temples.

  She thanked him again for meeting her on short notice.

  “Oh please,” he said. “Not to worry. Anything for Dennis.”

  Without a lengthy preamble, Judy dove right in, starting with the impromptu visit by Director Kenny to Perth International Airport, the assignment to evaluate an earlier report on Forrester’s disappearance, Dennis’s visit to New Zealand, and his trip to the Washington area. She talked non-stop for what seemed to her like ten minutes but was thirty minutes when she looked at her watch. She had not got to the Las Vegas part, nor the conversation with Louise, or the bizarre events at Simpson’s house and the highway rest area.

  Harbaugh never asked a question; he just listened intently, sipping his coffee now and then.

  “Does that make sense?” she asked. “Did you follow those parts so far?”

  “Yes. Please continue.”

  Judy plowed in again, detailing Dennis’s disappearance and re-emergence in a hospital, his confused state, and the murder of a prostitute.

  “Oh my,” was the only response that came from Harbaugh’s lips after she described the charges against him.

  Finally, she ran through the events with Louise that ended with what she suspected was a posed suicide.

  Exhausted, Judy rested as if she had just finished the defense’s closing arguments in a trial.

  When Harbaugh said nothing, Judy said, “He told me to get hold of you and a man named Karl. We agreed that I would show up at Simpson’s house unannounced, with Karl as backup out front, and with a remote eavesdropping device, recording what happens when Simpson is confronted. Dennis was hoping you could go with me into Simpson’s house.”

  Harbaugh said nothing.

  “He’ll deny everything, of course, but I’ll keep pressing until he realizes that I really witnessed the killing and will be turning the information over to the authorities. My job is to get him to lose his composure and say something incriminating. We’ll have it recorded, and then I’ll tell Simpson that Karl is outside calling the police.”

  “Mmm,” Harbaugh said. “Does Dennis really think this is the best approach? I mean, what if Simpson simply denies it?”

  “My job is to provoke him to say something incriminating. Obviously, Louise would have been the perfect person to go with me to Simpson’s, but, well, that’s not an option.”

  “I see,” he said, rubbing his chin. “I think I could do that. But who is this man Karl? Can you trust him?”

  “Dennis said he’s about as good as we’re going to get right now. It will cost some money, but I don’t care. It’s money well spent if it gets Dennis off the hook and some justice for Louise.”

  “I heard about Louise,” he said. “Very sad.”

  Judy sat forward in her chair. “What did you hear?”

  “That she was depressed after her divorce, had seen a therapist, or so I heard. She was very depressed and shot herself. Tragic for such a talented rising star in the agency.”

  “Well, you don’t still believe that, do you? I just told you what happened to her.”

  “Yes, I heard that. Simpson. Mmm. But why would he do something like that? I’m not doubting what you saw, but why would he kill Louise? To what end?”

  “To stop the Forrester investigation.”

  “But why would Louise go over to his house at night, alone, if she suspected him?”

  “I’m sorry, Peter. I’m not making it clear. She didn’t suspect him; she must have suspected someone else that she didn’t mention, at least to me.”

  “I see. Well, it’s a very dark stain on the agency if this happened. And there’s Dennis’s situation, which we need to fix ASAP. Poor man.”

  “Have you ever heard of C24?” she said.

  “I can’t answer that. I hope you understand. I’m bound by confidentiality agreements.”

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  Harbaugh leaned back in his chair and raised his eyes to the ceiling, thinking. Judy remained quiet and waited.

  “You are sure it’s Simpson who did this?” he said, lowering his eyes at her.

  “Yes. And his wife.”

  “Well, then. If you’ll permit me, I’d like to vet this man Karl. I’ve never heard of him, though that’s not new. I’ve been out of the swamp for a while. Assuming he’s a solid backup, I propose to get you a very interesting, state-of-the-art, wire to wear when you meet Simpson. It’s tiny, and you don’t have to do anything except wear it. When do you intend to do this intervention, so-to-speak, with Simpson?”

  “Tomorrow night. I just need your help with one more item.” “And that would be—?”


  “Verify that Simpson is in town and not on some venture overseas.”

  “I can certainly do that.”

  “You got any cigarettes?” Chili asked.

  “Damnit, I told you I don’t smoke, and they don’t allow smoking in the cells anyway,” Dennis said, pacing back and forth. “Chili, why don’t you ask me something else, like do I have any gold bullion or Big Macs on me? Jeez.”

  “Jus’ askin’.”

  “I know, but you keep asking. All day. The only time you don’t ask is when you’re asleep.”

  “I can’t help it, man. I like to smoke. Calms me down. I git the jitters when I don’t smoke.”

  Dennis shook his head and continued to pace the three steps to the front bars, then back again, over and over.

  “I’m hungry,” Chili said. “Why did you bring up them Big Macs? Why can’t they give us Big Macs in here? They have to be such hard asses.”

  Dennis turned at the back wall, took a step and stopped.

  “Shit,” he said. “Hard ass. Oh crap.”

  “Don’t get all pissed off now,” Chili said. “I can’t help if I got hungry.”

  “Jailer! Hey, jailer. I need to talk to my attorney,” Dennis yelled.

  “Shut up, you motherfucker,” someone yelled from a nearby cell.

  “You talk too much to yer lawyer, man,” Chili said. “He didn’t cut that whore, you did.”

  “Jailer!” Dennis yelled.

  “Shut the hell up,” someone else yelled.

  Karl sat in the booth, staring at Judy across from him. The restaurant was busy during the lunch-time rush.

  “Why did you have this guy Harbaugh check up on me?” he said.

  “Dennis told me to contact Peter and get him involved,” she said.

  “I ain’t crazy about this new plan, to be honest. But it’s your money. You got it, right?”

  “Yes,” she said pushing an envelope over to him. “Cashier’s checks. Three checks for $5,000 each. Just like you asked.”

  “Well, I thought I was only dealing with you. Now, this guy Harbaugh acts like he’s calling the shots. What’s the deal?”

  “He’ll be here in a few minutes. I like his plan. He’ll go in with me, and you’re outside. He’s going to give me a wire of some sort, and you’re going to have the remote recording device in your car, listening in. The moment you hear me say, ‘Karl, let’s get going,’ you call the McLean police department, and then go to the front door and start knocking.”

  “It’s not the McLean police; it’s Fairfax County police.”

  “Call the FBI; I don’t care. Just call the right folks.”

  “You trust this guy Harbaugh?”

  “He asked me the same thing about you.”

  “Well, there you have it. Two suspicious people doing what they do best. It’s a crappy business.”

  “Here comes Peter now,” Judy said.

  Harbaugh, dressed more casually in jeans and a blue polo shirt, dodged a waitress inside the bustling Applebee’s Bar & Grill in Falls Church, Virginia.

  “Hello, Judy,” he said smiling broadly. He sat down on Judy’s side of the booth. “And you’re the famous Karl.”

  “Yeah, that’s me.”

  Neither man shook hands, which Judy found odd. She was nervous enough about the entire venture and wanted the team to work well together, but this was not her realm and she deferred to the apparent testosterone at play.

  Who cares if they don’t like each other? she thought. Just get the damn thing over with.

  Harbaugh brought a black briefcase and put it beside him on the booth seat.

  “So, are we all set for this evening?” Harbaugh said. “Simpson’s in town today and leaving the country tomorrow, so tonight’s the night.”

  “You got the device?” Karl said.

  “Yes. But before I unpack it, let’s review. It’s been a while since I’ve had to employ some street craft, and I find it kind of exciting. But preparation is always key, so can we review?”

  They went over their parts, with Karl picking up Judy and Harbaugh at her hotel, driving to Simpson’s and parking in front. Judy and Harbaugh would talk their way into seeing Simpson. Judy would wear a wire, and Karl would record outside, listening in. Assuming Judy and Harbaugh could provoke Simpson into incriminating himself, Karl would wait for the audible signal from Judy to “get going,” he would contact Fairfax police with an emergency and go the front door and start knocking.

  “What happens if this guy Simpson starts acting crazy?”

  “You mean, gets violent?” Harbaugh said.

  “Yeah. What are you two gonna do? If the front door is locked, how the hell do I get in?”

  “I need a gun,” Judy said. “Karl, can you get me a small handgun?”

  “That might be helpful if you ask me,” Karl said. “What kind of gun?”

  “Something small, a .32 caliber. Any chance you could get a Beretta Tomcat? You familiar with that one?”

  “I can look it up and get something like it.”

  “Is that necessary?” Harbaugh asked.

  “I think so,” Karl said. “Am I missing something, but aren’t we thinking that Simpson already popped someone?”

  “I’m taking a gun with me,” Judy said. “Simple as that.”

  “Fine,” Harbaugh said. “Now, let’s get clear on how this wire works. I’m told this is extremely reliable and good up to two hundred yards in distance. Farther than that and it won’t broadcast a strong enough signal. You understand that?”

  “Yes,” Karl said. “I got it. If I’m parked outside, we’re well within range.”

  Harbaugh took a glance around the restaurant, then opened his briefcase. He took out a plain brown cardboard box. He opened it slowly but did not remove the contents. With the lid up, he turned it to face Judy and Karl. Inside was a device with two meters on the front and several dials. A set of earbuds was placed on top inside a small plastic bag. Another plastic bag held a piece of jewelry.

  Harbaugh opened the jewelry bag and pulled out a gold-colored, half-moon shaped pendant attached to a gold necklace.

  “Judy, this is the wire. The necklace is the broadcast antenna. Please do not cover it with a scarf or any material. And this,” he tapped the pendant, “is the microphone. Under no circumstances cover this with any fabric or let it, um, fall too low into your clothing, if you know what I mean.”

  “How does it turn on?” Judy asked.

  “Karl turns it on remotely with this button here,” he said pointing to a red button on the face of the device. “We’ll make sure it’s working before we head in. Karl will confirm that he can hear clearly, and then we’ll knock on the door.”

  “So, once I get the signal, I have the cops on autodial and tell them there’s a disturbance at the Simpson address. But what if he just lets you guys go and doesn’t do anything crazy, even though he admits it. Why do we need the cops?”

  “We need something official to happen,” Harbaugh said. “We need a police event to make Simpson know we’re for real. I’ve talked discretely to someone at Langley, and they will also be on notice if I haven’t called him by a certain time.”

  “I hate to be Debbie downer here, folks, but what if Judy can’t get this guy to incriminate himself?” Karl said.

  “If on the outside chance the plan doesn’t work, then we’ll just leave by the front door,” Harbaugh said. “End of plan.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Judy said. “I’ll get the bastard going.”

  Harbaugh smiled, closed the lid of the box, and slid it to Karl. “Pick us up at eight o’clock tonight from Judy’s hotel in Rosslyn,” Harbaugh said. “This is fun.”

  “Mmm,” Karl said.

  Dennis called Ruby again. His secretary Phyllis accepted the collect call.

 
“He’s not here, Mr. Cunningham,” Phyllis said. “I gave him your other messages. He’s in court. I’m sure they’ll break soon. But he’s really busy today.”

  “It’s urgent,” Dennis said. “Please, Phyllis. I need to talk to him.”

  “I’ll tell him,” she promised.

  Dennis quickly dialed Judy. It was 4:15 p.m. in Washington, and he was desperate to reach her. She did not answer the collect call.

  “Shit,” he said.

  She ran along the Potomac River in the late afternoon, past spartan Marine Corps runners, Capitol Hill interns and Pentagon workers. It was hot and humid, but she pushed herself to sweat out today’s tension from her body. The perspiration ran in rivulets down her cheeks and onto her sleeveless runner’s shirt.

  She was out of shape, and the first mile was horrid; her knees hurt, her lungs ached, and she gulped air like a giant koi fish at the surface of a pond. The second mile was worse than the first, but the third mile felt better as the endorphins broke through to block the pain. On the return path, even the endorphins failed her, and she resorted to the runner’s dreaded walk-run that signaled failure.

  She walked the quarter mile from the running path to the Hyatt, dodging traffic and trying to cool down. The muscle pain and overheating helped mask Judy’s nervousness about the evening’s plan to ambush Simpson. On the one hand, it seemed simple and straightforward—drive up, put on a necklace, knock on the door, confront Simpson and his horrid wife, then leave him sputtering. On the other hand, it was audacious and dangerous: was Simpson capable of more violence, even though he knew he was being recorded?

  In her hotel room, Judy left her door jammed open while she looked through her closet and bathroom, including under her bed. Her paranoia had increased dramatically since Louise’s death. After checking the room, she locked the door behind her and took a long, cool shower. She toweled down and looked in the mirror. Her cheeks were still flushed red from the run, so she put on her underpants and threw on the hotel’s terry cloth bathrobe.

  She checked her phone and saw that there was an uncompleted collect call from Dennis.