“Colonel; Major – thank you for your time. I am sure we will find some other way to track down our subject; looks like we hit another dead end here.”
Colonel Thornton and Major Carson stood up as well and both men shook the hands of both FBI agents.
The Colonel spoke up one last time, “Well, maybe your cohort you mentioned earlier will have better luck at Langley. Nevertheless, good luck to you both. It was a pleasure to meet such fine representatives of the FBI. Please don’t hesitate to call if we can be of some assistance in any other matters.”
With the farewell and the handshakes out of the way, they left the Colonel’s office and made their way out of the command post and back out to their vehicle – a shiny powder blue Chrysler Crossfire that had been given to Agent White from her father upon her graduation from the FBI Academy. She always let Knox drive whenever they shared a vehicle.
As soon as Knox fired up the engine, he was turning his head to back out of the parking space when Agent White spoke up, “You thought we had something for a second there, didn’t you?”
Knox put the car in gear and headed towards the main gate.
He replied, “Something just isn’t right. We’ll have to see if Malik has any better luck. In the meantime, can you do a rundown of anything you can find on this Chief Petty Officer Robert Brady? I don’t guess a dead guy can be our man, but you never know if he might have had some subordinate try to follow in his footsteps.”
They left the base through the main gate and headed back to the highway. It was a long drive back to Detroit.
The Colonel watched from his office window and waited until the agents had left the parking area. He dismissed the Major and sat down in his big leather chair. He thought about the former soldier that everyone at Fort Benning had referred to as the Ghost. He had been given very specific instructions one day about nine months prior regarding the man known as Chief Petty Officer Robert C. Brady. The Director of the C.I.A. told the Colonel to personally call and inform him if anyone should happen to come asking for any information pertaining to the Ghost, a.k.a. Robert C. Brady – deceased.
The Colonel reached over and picked up the telephone and contacted the switchboard at Langley.
“Yes, patch me through to the Director; this is Colonel Bob Thornton at Fort Benning. It is important.”
The operator sent the call through, and after several rings, a dry, Boston accent answered the phone.
He answered, “This is Director (DI-recta) Marks (Mocks), Colonel. What can I do forya?”
The Colonel replied, “Mr. Director, Sir – you spoke to me about nine months ago and told me to call you if anyone ever came to me inquiring about one of your own, Robert Brady, that passed way a little over a year ago. I thought you should know that the FBI sent two agents to speak with me today. They’re apparently working on a case that involves a subject with a lot of training. Anyway, it caused them to ask about Brady.”
The other line was silent for about ten seconds, and then the Director simply said, “Thank you Colonel. You’ve been helpful.”
And then he ended the call. Colonel held the phone out and stared at it; “What a jerk!” he said to the phone as if it could hear him.
The Colonel enjoyed his meeting with the agents; he liked nice people. He sure liked that Ms. White. He then thought maybe he’d look her old man up and give him a call. Perhaps they could reminisce, maybe talk about the old days, one eagle to the other.
17
Langley, Virginia
CIA Headquarters
Malik hung up the phone. That was the second phone call of the day. The first had been to his mother in Kuwait; he called her before leaving for the airport. He apologized for not getting to come see her like he had planned, and he told her he would make it up to her when he was finished with his current case. Of course he couldn’t tell her what he was working on, so that limited his conversation a bit; especially since the case was all he could think about. He had left things in good standing with his mom by the end of the call, though, so he was off to Langley, Virginia. He didn’t like the road trips like his cohorts, Agents Knox and White. He flew into Dulles International in D.C. and rented a car to drive the rest of the way. He decided he would make some calls along the way. His Interpol badge would help him get to some places, but he knew he would have to make some phone calls, first. His second call had been to Agent Knox. Knox filled him in on what they learned at Fort Benning. He told him to get in touch with someone in Counter-terrorism and ask about an agent who died in a terrible accident; a man named Robert Brady. Knox had given a brief summary of their interview with a training Major at the base, and basically said that their best suspect so far was deceased. Malik pulled into a gas station before passing Langley High School.
He googled the number for CIA Headquarters and pulled up the phone number for single point contact. He left a message with the person on the line, including who he was and with whom he had an inquiry. Then he hung up and waited for a return call. Two minutes later, his cell phone rang, and the Director of Counter-terrorism; Logistics Division was on the line. Apparently this was as far up the chain as he was going to get regarding counter-terrorism, but he decided it would have to do. Paul Rutter was the guy’s name, and he sounded nice enough on the phone. Mr. Rutter gave Malik specific instructions, and said Malik needed to follow them to the letter, unless he wanted to cause an international incident. He sounded like he was only half-kidding about that last part. Malik parked his car in a large parking lot in a space simply marked VISITORS. He then reported to the security check-in station, flashed his Interpol badge, and signed off on a security badge that Mr. Rutter had specifically requested for him. The security officer informed Malik before entering that the badge would give him access to all points necessary for his reason for visiting, which had been entered through a computer by the person he was visiting. He walked through the main front doors and crossed over the Great Seal stretched out across the marble floor. So far, so good.
He went to the first elevator on his right like Rutter had instructed him. He scanned the temporary security badge; the door opened, and a robotic feminine voice spoke to him, “GOING TO – FOURTH FLOOR”. He walked into the elevator, and the doors closed. They opened up on the fourth floor. The elevator opened facing a wall, and labeled the two hallways that could be reached to the right and left. Malik figured that the large rectangular shape of the building meant that the floor was basically like a city block, but one side was missing. To the left was 4A. To the right, you could reach 4B and 4C. Director Rutter had told Malik that his office was at the end of 4C. He took a quick right turn down the hallway, and was amazed at the length of the hallway. He was about to turn onto 4C, when he happened to notice an open office door as he approached. The man inside glanced up from his desk, and saw Malik coming down the hall. The man stood up and walked towards his office door. He was tall, with red hair and a very clean cut and trimmed red beard. He looked Irish, but had a slightly darker complexion than most people would expect from one of Irish descent. He made brief eye contact with Malik, and for a split second, Malik saw brilliant bright green eyes. Then the man smiled at Malik, nodded his head in a friendly gesture, and closed his door. Malik didn’t give the random encounter a second thought as he saw that 4C was much shorter than 4B.
He got to the end of the hall and saw that the door to the office at the end of the hall was dead center of the hallway; it was standing wide-open. Inside, there was a short spectacled man with a small pooch of a belly and balding gray hair. Agent Rutter stood up from his desk and walked around to meet Malik.
He extended a hand and introduced himself, “Inspector Sharif, very pleased to meet you. I am Agent Rutter; please come in and have a seat.”
Malik grabbed his hand and gave him a firm handshake.
“Please, just call me Malik. I like to be informal when it’s possible. Thanks for meeting with me. I just have a few questions, and I hope I won’t
take up too much of your time.”
They walked into his office, with Rutter taking the sleek, ergonomic office chair behind the desk, and Malik sitting in front of the deck in a quasi-comfortable padded pleather chair with small armrests.
Agent Rutter said, “Okay Malik, how can I help you today?”
Malik started off, “Agent Rutter, first of all, what exactly do you do up here? You don’t strike me as a field agent.”
Mr. Rutter chuckled and answered, “A field agent, I am not. However, without our division, the field agents on the Counter-terrorism team would be lost. They would be thrown to the wolves, not knowing where the wolves are going to come from. I help lead the logistics division in all the practical details of understanding the organization of the terrorist cells; where their bases of operations are located; which assets are nearby; the best ways to communicate without having their cover blown – those kinds of things. You might say one can’t exist without the other.”
Malik nodded. “I see, so you don’t actually go with the field agents to most of these mission locations; you analyze a lot of the data that other field agents have gathered on the ground – from other divisions.”
“That’s correct,” Agent Rutter replied.
Malik continued, “How much direct contact do you have with the field agents, Agent Rutter?”
Rutter replied, “Me, personally? Practically none. You have to realize, Inspector – we have several team members broken into sub-units around the world. More of the analysts underneath me would have a chance.”
Malik nodded. “By any chance, would you recognize a name of an agent who died while not in the field?”
Rutter nodded his head at this question.
“You must be referring to Agent Brady. Everyone heard about him and knew his name. I never met the man personally. I don’t even know what he looked like. But he was so good on the Counter-terrorism unit that he still earned a black star on the wall downstairs. I am sure you noticed our wall for fallen agents?”
Malik nodded, but looked puzzled.
“I thought only agents who died in the line of duty earned a tile star.”
Agent Rutter nodded his head and replied, “Yes, that’s usually the case. They made an exception for Agent Brady because the man and his unit were known throughout the agency as the best at what they did. Such a tragic loss for the Agency.”
“So was it like the military reports to some feds that are working with me on a case; did he and his family die in a river rafting accident?” Malik asked.
Rutter nodded again; “That’s affirmative. There was a memorial downstairs, but those things around here are very brief, and the family and agent are not visually recognized; they’re honored incognito in death, just as they were in life.”
Malik was fascinated by the way the C.I.A. worked. He had heard things when he was growing up in the Bronx, and while working over in Europe, but it was different hearing how they operate from the lips of an actual employee. He could imagine himself being one of these field agents Rutter described; it sounded more exciting than his job with Interpol…and Allah knew, he had plenty of excitement in his current job.
“What else can you tell me about Brady, Agent Rutter?”
Malik wanted to get as much out of this guy as he could; he knew it wasn’t often you had information given willingly by the C.I.A.
Rutter answered bluntly, “I’m afraid not a whole lot. I know the guy came to us from the Farm with a nickname; the Ghost. It was said that he could virtually disappear; anytime, anywhere. Some of the other analysts who had the pleasure of working with him said that he brought the art of tradecraft to a new level; that being a thief or undercover agent came as naturally to him as swimming does for a dolphin.”
Malik crossed one leg high on the other knee, and propped an elbow up, scratching his chin.
“Do you happen to know if Brady had any prejudices? Was he right-wing; left-wing; Christian?” Malik continued with his questions.
Rutter had a look on his face like he knew he had some information of some use and answered promptly, “The word on the grapevine was that Agent Brady came from the Navy SEALS shortly after 9/11. I don’t know if this is true or not, but it’s said that he lost both his mom and dad in the World Trade Center. I don’t know if he was a Christian or not…but being a red-blooded American, I seriously doubt he would like Islam after what those terrorists did.”
Malik just nodded. He didn’t want to be too quick to judge Rutter’s obvious presuppositions on Islam; his father had told him just how hard the terrorist attacks hit Americans on that fateful day. He understood how anybody would feel – but the Islam he knew; the Muslims he was brought up to know in his mother’s family – they were not like that. Malik had one more question.
“Agent Rutter – I know you didn’t know the man. But in your working with the Agency in the last year, have you noticed or heard of any agents in the field that might be following in Brady’s footsteps?”
Rutter sat and pondered for a second.
“I can’t say I am familiar with anyone as of yet. I am telling you – Brady was a legend around here. It’d be like Kobe jumping into the NBA right away and thinking he could hang with MJ step for step…it just didn’t happen.”
Malik laughed to himself; if only Agent Rutter knew how much he admired Michael Jordan.
Malik suddenly stood from his chair. He extended his hand once again and offered, “Agent Rutter – once again, thank you for your time. I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience for you.”
Rutter responded in kind and shook his hand firmly, “Not a problem. It’s not often we logistics people can feel of some use for anything else around here besides logistics – I hope I was helpful.”
Malik gave one more smiling nod and walked out of the office. Although at a distance it seemed like another dead end, Malik still felt like it wasn’t a total waste of time. It wouldn’t be until much later that he’d realize just how helpful that trip to the fourth floor would be.
18
Langley, Virginia
Office of the Director of the CIA
Director Marks looked around into the faces of the serious men seated in his office. They were a very exclusive group of men who ran the top secret society within the intelligence community for the United States of America. The President of the United States was an honorary member of the group known only as the Activity, but had express orders carried down from Harry Truman himself to not actively participate in the Activity; a sort of historical plausible deniability that had been passed down since the inception of the CIA in 1947. The only rules the Activity absolutely had to follow was that nobody who was associated with the Activity could disobey a direct order given by the President. In other words, although the President was not to be aware of the everyday plans of the Activity, if he asked a question to the CIA Director, the truthful answer was expected. If the President discovered certain actions had been taken and wished for them to cease, they were stopped immediately. There was only a handful of people who were included in membership, and five of them sat in the Director’s conference room now. The other six were the highest operatives and activists for the organization; they were the members who worked in the field, and they did not even know the entire truth of who they worked for.
The highest ranking generals (and one Admiral) in all four branches of the military were the other four who were guaranteed membership into the Activity. This is how it had been since post-World War II. When the CIA Director and Deputy Directors of Intelligence were the top tier positions in the CIA, the Director of Intelligence had been the knowing member; the Deputy was out of the loop. Once the positions were merged into the Director of the CIA in 2004, whomever held that position was the default member. The actual Director of National Intelligence was totally oblivious of the Activity’s existence. Only the predecessors of these five positions in the American government would make the men new to their positions
aware of the existence of the Activity. Every man presently in the room had been members of the Activity for over a year and a half.
The Generals and the Admiral paid close attention as Director Walter Marks cleared his throat.
“Gentlemen, one or two of you might know why I called you in here today, but not all of you. So I am going to be frank with you. I have reason to believe we have a rogue agent in our midst.”
The military industrial complex-elite all looked at each other with some puzzlement in their eyes, but looked back at Marks as he continued.
“Men – the acting Colonel in charge of Fort Benning contacted me earlier today and informed me that the FBI is asking questions about one of our own. The Feds are looking into a case that involves a certain assassin that has eerie similarities to our most trusted activist.”
General Greg Baumgartner, the highest ranking general in the Army, asked right away, “How do they know he still exists? I thought we covered that base last year.”
Director Marks glanced over at him from his spot at the head of the conference table and replied, “They don’t as of yet. But his name has come up because one of your own was just doing his job and was very forthcoming and truthful with information. That is where it stops so far. We even had an Inspector from Interpol come to headquarters today and inquire about the Activist. He had to walk right past our man’s cover office, and was none-the-wiser.”
The only Admiral in the room, Admiral Grant Stokes, added, “Is there any possibility that the Ghost is the guilty party the FBI is looking for? And why is Interpol involved?”
Director Marks answered, “That we don’t know, as far as your man the Ghost. But Interpol is involved because the same crime that was committed here on American soil – happened in Egypt. I wanted to make sure we were all aware of the situation. And should the activist be involved in such unapproved actions, I am afraid you know what we must do.”
Misguided: The Jesus Assassin Page 9
