by Jake Devlin
“And look there, JB. He's writing in a notebook.”
“And flipping back a page. Uh-oh.”
“No, JB, hang on. See there? He kinda shrugs, puts it away and goes back to chatting with the other guys. I think we're okay.”
- 7 -
June 17, 2013
9:49 a.m. local time
St. Tropez, France
“Anyhow, In the middle of April 1970, I arrived in Ohio, at Kent State, and passed a whole lot of intel back. Those kids were the most radical students I'd encountered so far, and it seemed that some professional revolutionaries were there, agitating the loudest against the war and fomenting a real Commie revolution. I was tasked to take out three of the loudest, and I did that; bodies never found. People just thought they'd moved on to another college.
“Understand, at this point, I was still a totally indoctrinated and committed patriot and agent, so I really hated these Commie clowns. At 24, I was a dedicated robot, almost a sociopath, blinded to what was really going on behind the scenes.
“When Nixon announced the 'Cambodia Incursion' on April 30th, I'd been briefed to prepare for a big response, and the next day, May 1st, there was a demonstration with about 500 or 600 students on the Commons, and I was in the middle of that, shouting and urging some history students to burn a copy of the Constitution, claiming that Nixon had killed it. But instead of burning it, they buried it. To me, that wasn't anywhere as powerful as burning would have been.
“That demonstration ended about one, when most of the kids had to go back to class, and plans were made for a huge protest on the 4th.
“The next day, I was ordered to provoke anything I could, and I got the fire started at the ROTC building and helped slash the fire hoses.
“On the 3rd, I watched the governor's press conference and got a protest going that evening on the Commons. But when the National Guard pushed us out, I got them to reassemble downtown, and then the National Guard dispersed us all again.
“That night I was given a collapsible rifle and a radio, both easily concealed, and on the 4th, when the demonstration began and the National Guard was called in, my handler gave me an order that I followed with no question, but which was the first nail in the coffin of my career with the Agency.”
“You don't mean” –
“Yes, I do. He ordered me to fire at the National Guard, which led to them firing back and the deaths of four innocent college students and the wounding of several more.
“And when the shit hit the fan over that, my handler lied and told the review board that he'd never given that order, that I'd acted on my own.”
“Bastard.”
“Yup, just like what that Raunchy Randy tried to do to you.”
“Sonofabitch.”
“But that's not all. Guess who my handler was.”
“No idea.”
“My classmate at the Farm, your seventh-floor guy.”
“No!”
“Yup.”
“Double sonofabitch.”
- 8 -
August 17, 2013
11:03 a.m. local time
Bonita Beach, Florida
“Guess I'm a little out of practice, Ro.”
“Oh, you're doin' fine, Gordy. Just a little more to the left. Ah, you've got it. Oh, that's nice. Mmmmm.”
“Ow! Sonofabitch!”
“What's the matter?”
“Stubbed my toe on something. Hang on.”
“Want me to hold your noodle?”
“Naw, that's okay. I think I can – yeah, I got – oops. Ah, shit. Where'd it go? Oh, okay. Yeah, here it comes. Can you grab it?”
“Got it – oh, geez, Gordy, your toe is bleeding.”
“Musta cut it on those barnacles on it.”
“I've got some bandages in my bag.”
“Oh, good; thanks. Let's go.”
“What is this under all that? A beer bottle?”
“Yeah; some idiot musta dropped it in the water. I hate those clowns who bring glass bottles or any glass to the beach.”
“At least there's a fine for that.”
“Yeah, I think it's a hundred bucks for glass, fifty for alcohol.”
“But only if the rangers catch 'em, and they don't come around that often.”
“They've got a lot of beaches to cover. Can I see that?”
“Sure; here.”
“Oh, this is an oldie; probably been in here for decades.”
“Really?”
“Yeah; probably got pushed in with that storm a couple nights ago.”
“Think it's worth anything?”
“Maybe, but not with all that crap grown all over it. Not worth the work to get it clean.”
“It could make a nice centerpiece.”
“Have to get rid of the smell.”
“Yeah, I guess so. Okay, let me get that bandage out. You got some fresh water to rinse it off?”
“Yeah. Oh, ow; that towel scratches.”
“Geez, that looks bad, with the skin flap. You really tore it up. Wait, let me put some of this antibacterial cream on first.”
“Okay. Ow. Sorry.”
“You've had a tetanus shot?”
“Yeah, couple years ago.”
“Okay. Now hold still.”
“Okay.”
“There. Now lemme wrap another one around it. There.”
“Oh, that's good; thank you, Ro.”
“No problem. Can you walk on it?”
“Lemme – oh, ow. Ah, if I – yeah. It's a little awkward, but yeah. Ow. Guess I'll need to work on that some. It'll be okay in a few days.”
“You'll probably need to stay out of the water; don't want to risk an infection.”
“Not sure I can do that; it's pretty hot here on shore. Maybe I can get some finger cots.”
“Some what?”
“Finger cots, like the ends of latex gloves; they're supposed to be waterproof. I'll see if I can pick some up at the drug store later.”
“Well, I hope they work. I like being in the water with you.”
“You just like playing with my noodle.”
“Well, there's that, too.”
“Kewl.”
- 9 -
June 17, 2013
9:56 a.m. local time
St. Tropez, France
“I was in real hot water, and I had nothing to counter his claims, no recordings, no paper, nada, nothing like you had with Raunchy Randy. But I'd been such a good assassin and salesman that they just put a reprimand in my file, assigned me to a new handler -- at my request -- and sent me back to my assignment with the security company, mostly in the Paris office. And, of course, they covered it all up and kept it out of the public eye and away from the subsequent investigations.
“But that sure opened my eyes to how easily some ambitious, devious little prick can betray you, and I started planning to leave the Agency right then.”
“Little wonder.”
“Got that right, Pam.
“And then I met Amber.”
“Amber? Your Amber?”
“Right, my chief of staff, as she likes to be called. But to me, she's a full partner, same as Wes and Gordy.”
“She was with the Agency, too?”
“Nope; she was a sniper with MI6.”
“She's British?”
“Belizean, born there back when it was British Honduras; Canadian parents. But a British citizen when I met her.”
“But she doesn't have any accent, far as I can tell.”
“Not really. Once in a while, it'll sneak in, but mostly she sounds like an Indiana or Ohio gal.
“I met her in late '70, right here in St. Tropez. We both had the same target and wound up picking the same nest to fire from.”
“Can we see that from here?”
“Ah, nope; it's up behind us, just below the path around the Citadelle, where we walked last month.”
“Oh, yeah; that was a nice place, great views.”
“Yup.
“Anyhow, there was no cross-communication between the two agencies, so we got separately tasked to do the same KGB guy. We'd both scoped out the site earlier, and when I got there, I saw her in full camo gear, same as mine, lying next to the tree I'd selected to shoot from. I ninjaed up behind her, stuck the barrel of my rifle on her neck and shushed her, not yet knowing she was a woman.
“'Who are you?' I asked her.
“'Who's asking?' she replied, and that was my first clue that she was female.
“'Ladies first,' I said.
“'You're American?' she asked.
“'Yup. You?'
“'Brit.'
“'MI6?'
“'Right-oh.'
“'ID?'
“'Nope, none with me; sorry. You have ID on you?'
“'Nope.'
“'So CIA?'
“'That I can neither confirm nor deny.'
“'Okay; so CIA. You're after Oleg, too?'
“'Yup.'
“'As am I.'
“I pulled the barrel away from her neck and told her to sit up, but she demurred.
“'Sorry, cuz; I'm in place. My target, my shot.'
“'You any good?'
“'Ace, top of my class. Twenty-seven kills, all clean.'
“'Hmm. No problem, then. Need a spotter?'
“'No. But you're welcome to observe, Yank. Just be quiet.'
“'Okay.'
“Maybe half an hour later, the target came out his door and she took the shots, one to the chest and one to the head, pfft, pfft; hit both spot on. I was impressed.”
“Because she was a woman?”
“No, no, no, Pam; because she was a better shot than I was, got both shots perfect at maybe 550 yards.”
“That is good.”
“And back in '70, the scope, silencer and rifle were primitive, too, compared to what we've got now.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. She was a good young shoot, one of the best. After she dropped him, we slipped away undetected, she went her way and I went mine. Didn't see her again for another year.”
- 10 -
June 17, 2013
12:43 p.m. local time
Washington, DC
“Authentication 4873645, encryption on. Hi, Amber. Yeah, we're both good. But we may have a problem. No, just maybe, like a ten percent possibility. So we'll need a new car, new plates on the rotator, mounts for the dashcam, jamb cam and deck cam, both sides. Right, right. No, as long as it's not beige. Tonight would be great. Good; thanks. What? No, nothing yet. It's gonna be tricky; he's got a lot – and I do mean a lot – of security. Yup, almost as tight as at Langley. Carie and I are looking everywhere for an in, but nothing so far. Any luck on the floor plans? Great. And who's on those? Okay; they're good. But can you send us copies, too? Yeah, fresh eyes, and we're on site. I'll send you the videos we shot this morning, too; maybe Phil and Nadia can see something we've missed. Good. Oh, Amber, on the car swap, there's a remote chance his people could have tracked it to maybe six or eight blocks from here, so when they take it out, cover it, okay? Don't want any other cams to get a glimpse. No, no, no, just in case; excess of caution. Okay, good. No, I think that's it for us. Anything else from your end? Okay. I will. Thanks. Bye.”
“Sounds like it's all set, right, JB?”
“Yeah. And Amber says hi and take care.”
“Cool. Look, I think I may have found a blind spot.”
“Yeah? Where?”
“Here, back along the side wall. When the corner cam swivels to follow a car, it doesn't look back there.”
“Oh, CB, I don't think they'd overlook that; they'd have to cover it somehow. They can't be that stupid.”
“Well, keep your fingers crossed. Maybe they can be.”
- 11 -
June 17, 2013
10:03 a.m. local time
St. Tropez, France
“So back in Paris, I kept up with the security business, did really well with that, but only an occasional hit assignment, just seven, including the one where I met Amber, over the next year. But I heard about a lot of jobs that I could have done that went to other agents. So something was going on, I was sure, but I couldn't ask or prove anything. I just felt things slipping away, and I was pretty sure my old handler, your seventh-floor guy, was sticking his tentacles into my new guy.”
“That was his style when he got pulled as my case officer, too.”
“But like you, I had no real proof. But we're gonna find it, if it's there, and then we'll see what we're gonna do about it.”
“Anything new from your people?”
“Nope, nothing since that batch last week, and I talked with Amber last night.”
“Damn.”
“We'll find it, Pam, if it's there. I promise.”
“I know, Jake, I know. But only seven jobs in a year?”
“Yup, seven. And I needed to double-check each one to make sure I wasn't being set up somehow, and I had to do that way under the radar.”
“Were you ever set up?”
“Not that I could tell, at least not in any of those seven.
“But in that year and part of the next, I was analyzing the security business and the market, seeing lots of flaws and inefficiencies and bad decision-making systems, and gradually came to see that it was a great biz, especially if it could be expanded into bodyguarding and some other associated businesses. But I kept all those thoughts to myself, started making up a business plan and keeping my eye out for a few other disenchanted people I might want to have involved if I ever did make the break and start another biz.
“I was also fending off a lot of headhunters who saw how good I was at the sales and consulting stuff and wanted to get me out and into one of their clients' companies. I turned 'em all down on their first calls, until one guy, Wes, actually made a very cool pitch.”
“Wes? Your Wes?”
“Yup; Wes Farley, my COO.”
“Chief Operating Officer?”
“Right, formally. But again, like Amber and Gordy, I think of him as a full partner.”
“So he was a headhunter?”
“Nope. I'd met him on a sales call in Madrid, where he was the country manager of a division of a multinational appliance company, and we were pitching a system for their planned new office building. He impressed the hell outa me, and as we went through the sale and the install, his attention to detail and his grasp of the intricacies of the system as I laid it out were the best I'd ever seen in a client.
“I saw that he was a little dissatisfied with his position, and one night when we were having a few drinks in a hotel bar there, he said that he was really envious of my job, the travel, the freedom and the flexibility, and that he'd always dreamed of having his own business. Then he dropped the bomb; he said he had a backer ready to put up a hundred thousand bucks if he ever wanted to go off on his own. Remember, 100K was a lot back then. Wes's problem was that he didn't know what kind of business he wanted to get into. But he liked mine, and we talked about it long into the night. And after a few more drinks, he said he might be interested in going into business with me.
“Over the next few months, I used the Agency's resources to vet both him and his backer, and found them both to be squeaky clean; no Soviet involvement, which was something I'd always been alert for, ever since the Farm.”
“Me, too. Always had to watch out for the double agents and the 'useful idiots.'”
“Ah, yes; lots of those around, even today.”
“Which?”
“Oh, both, I guess, but I was thinking of the useful idiots, the blind followers.”
“Or what that radio clown calls the 'low information voters'?”
“Them, too.”
“But Wes passed all your tests.”
“Yup. And about that same time, we got a new graduate, came to us right out of the Farm.”
“Lemme guess. Gordy?”
“Bravo, Pam; got that right. Gold star for you.”
“Not on the wall, I hope.”
“Oh, no, no, no; didn't mean it that way.”
“Gotcha.”
“Ah. Yup.”
“Sorry. So it was Gordy?”
“Yup. But that wasn't his name back then. 'Gordy' came later.
“He reminded me of me when I first got out, a total robot, brainwashed, indoctrinated, and very skilled, especially in martial arts, hand-to-hand. He'd been a Marine, got recruited right after his second tour in Vietnam. Good shooter, great at camo, wiry build, strong, and two years older than I was. And I was supposed to train and mentor him in the biz and partner with him on some hits. He'd done his test kill while at the Farm, but I wound up having to carry him emotionally after his second one, even after his shrink visits; he had real trouble with that one, mainly because it was a female.”
“But hadn't he killed women in 'Nam?”
“Yeah, but that was jungle warfare, and male or female, they were all just gooks to him, just like most of our other guys felt over there. This was a beautiful white Russian woman, and he had to take her out at close range, strangle her, face to face, so that hit him harder.”
“Ah.”
“Yup. Anyhow, we made it through that and did another two – no, wait -- three hits together – damned Quarterheimer's -- and then his handler screwed him over, too.”
- 12 -
August 17, 2013
1:27 p.m. local time
Bonita Beach, Florida
“Oh, no, you dih-n't, oh, no, you dih-n't.”
“Yeah, you got it, Ro.”
“Kewl.”
“Got that, too. You're a quick study.”
“I had a dialect course in college, one of my favorites.”
“Ever do any acting?”
“Just a little, some community theater while I was married.”
“Ever use dialects?”
“A few times.”
“Which ones?”
“Oh, geez; long time ago. Lemme see. Ah, okay. German, Italian, Cockney, ah, French, um, Chinese, ah” –
