by D. B. Silvis
“I know. We’ve been discussing it, and have come to the conclusion that Spencer wouldn’t have done it without Director Waterton’s approval.”
“Then, Kip, we need to do something about both of them.”
“We’re going to have a meeting here tomorrow evening. It’s a tricky situation. Word is the Mafia and the CIA are working together to find out who gave General Dugan the information, and who killed the Loretti brothers.”
“You need to do something about Waterton and Spencer, Kip.”
“I agree, but you can’t kill the directors of the CIA, Killian.”
“For God’s sake, Kip, why not? They had General Dugan murdered.”
“We believe that’s true, but right now we can’t prove it. The Mafia won’t admit it, and they’d kill anyone who said they knew anything about the General’s death.”
“So what do we do about them?”
“That’s what we’ll discuss tomorrow night. Maybe put the fear of God in them. Maybe we’ll just lay low for a while. Hell, I don’t know, Killian. It’s a big hurdle, almost an impossible task to take on the CIA. Maybe we’re over our heads in this matter.”
Neither of them said anything for a few moments.
“Well, you tell the others I’m all in. I’ll do whatever they need me to do, and I mean anything, Kip.”
Kip patted his friend on the back. “I know you will, but I want you to be safe. You mean more to me than the problems with the CIA.”
They mounted their horses and continued their afternoon ride.
The following evening Zack arranged for an outdoor barbecue on the large, well-illuminated patio for Kip, Admiral Hildegard, General Mittlebonn, Whelan Dunne and Congressman Bernard. The five guests laughed, drank, ate and thoroughly enjoyed Zack’s hospitality. Killian was invited next door for dinner with Kip’s parents.
After their barbecue dinner, the guests went into the spacious living room, and lit up their choice of a cigar or cigarette. Zack didn’t join them for the meeting. He went next door to visit with Killian, Jesse and Arthur.
The five guests enjoyed a few minutes of light conversation, and smoking, before starting their intended discussion.
“We found out what we wanted to know about the CIA, but we sure as hell stirred up a hornets’ nest,” said the admiral.
General Mittlebonn agreed, “Yes, that’s true, now the Mafia and the CIA have a burr under their saddle as to who was informing General Dugan, and who killed the Mafia’s two best assassins.”
“For one, I think our man did a hell of a job,” Whelan Dunne pointed out. “Now we know for sure Director Waterton and his Deputy Director of Plans, William Spencer, were behind Dugan’s death.”
“Yes, but I would have liked a heads-up before the killing of those two mobsters,” said a concerned Congressman Bernard.
“Our chameleon wanted me to pass on how he felt,” Kip responded. “He told me timing was everything, and it was necessary to eliminate the men who killed the General to send a message to the CIA, and Mafia, that we’re not afraid of them. Now it’s our decision to decide what to do about Waterton and Spencer, who arranged the hit on the General.”
The men thought about what Kip had said.
“He’s right,” Admiral Hildegard conceded. “I believe we need to center on Spencer. There’s no question the CIA’s out of hand. He and Waterton have the pompous belief they’re invincible.”
“They may be out of hand, but to challenge the CIA director? I don’t know about that,” said Congressman Bernard.
“At this moment, and for the first time I’m sure they feel somewhat compromised,” emphasized Whelan Dunne. “The CIA and Mafia are friends. The Mafia has just lost two of their top men. General Dugan had challenged Director Waterton, and threatened to expose things the CIA doesn’t want the United States public to know about.”
“And they don’t have any idea who’s on to their dirty tricks,” said Kip.
“So far they don’t, and we damn sure need to keep it that way,” cautioned General Mittlebonn.
“I believe we should lay low for a while,” Congressman Bernard suggested.
“I sort of agree, but…” Whelan hesitated.
“But what, Whelan?” General Mittlebonn asked.
“Laying low is a good idea, but I’d still like to rock both of the directors’ apple carts,” Whelan confided.
“Like how?” asked Kip.
Whelan looked at Kip. “I’m not sure, but let’s let them know that someone is closely watching them, and all the current operations of the CIA. I’d like to make them feel uneasy.”
“Yes, I like the idea,” agreed the admiral. “Maybe our chameleon can do it for us? It might make the CIA; back off on planned covert endeavors, like the rumored deal regarding the Mafia and Fidel Castro.”
“What are you suggesting our chameleon do?” asked Kip.
“That’s a tough one, as we don’t know what his capabilities are, Kip,” said the admiral.
“Well, he’s done a good job so far,” Whelan Dunne reminded them. “He secured the information for General Dugan, killed those two mobsters, and passed on the proof we needed about Spencer’s involvement.”
“We have some secret information regarding operations the CIA is presently doing, or planning on doing in the near future,” said Admiral Hildegard. “One of their secrets is how they’re illegally manipulating the lives of both individuals and countries. We could give Kip our information and he could feed it to the chameleon. It would upset Waterton and his organization, to know the people he’s trying to identify are aware of the plans of the CIA.”
“Then it would be up to our chameleon to hound Deputy Director Spencer, and constantly let him know we have knowledge of CIA operations?” asked Congressman Bernard.
“Yes, if he’s able,” answered the admiral.
“How about it, Kip, can our man do it?” asked General Mittlebonn.
“I’m positive he can. He asked me to tell you he’s all in; he’ll do whatever we want him to do, and he emphasized he meant anything.”
“Bravo,” said Whelan, as he and the other men clapped.
“If this plan works, Spencer will be reporting what he’s hearing to his boss, Director Waterton. It could go a long way toward limiting CIA operations,” said General Mittlebonn.
“I’d like it! I’d like to irritate those SOBs,” Whelan Dunne exclaimed.
Everyone laughed.
“Kip, let’s put it in motion,” said the admiral. “We’ll see how this works over the next month.” He looked at the other men. “All agree?”
There was a loud, “Yea,” from all present.
For the next half hour Admiral Hildegard and General Mittlebonn briefed Congressman Bernard, Whelan Dunne and Kip on what they had learned regarding the current clandestine and covert operations of the CIA.
At breakfast the following morning, Killian and Kip went over everything that had been discussed at the meeting the previous evening. Killian wanted to do more than simply irritate Spencer and the CIA but, as he had promised, he went along with the team’s plan.
Over the thirty days, Killian followed and watched Deputy Director Spencer, always making sure to blend in with the general public. Sometimes Killian was a dude dressed casually and wearing a baseball cap, at other times a businessman, a construction worker, a rabbi, a Catholic priest, or whatever he felt like being that particular day, while shadowing Director Spencer.
Some days he entered the CIA’s 1,400,000 square foot building and wandered the lobby and hallway outside Spencer’s office. Whether Spencer was walking in the building, out on the city’s streets, in a store or in a restaurant, Killian noticed there were always suits nearby the now overly cautious director. It was easy to spot the suits as they blended into the crowds about as well as wolves in a flock of sheep. It was obvious to Killian that since he gotten to the Loretti brothers, Spencer was nervous. Killian smiled when he saw the suits following close to Spencer and, at time
s, like playing a game, he’d walk next to them until they glared at him to back off. He did, but he enjoyed toying with them and it took some of the boredom out of his daily surveillance.
Once a week, Killian met with Kip, who brought him up to date on what the CIA had been involved in, and who they’d been interacting with. Killian, in turn, would inform Kip about what he had been doing.
Killian had been biding his time, waiting for the right moment to approach the deputy director. One evening, Spencer went to a Black Angus Steak House to have dinner with one of the CIA’s anti-Castro leaders, who had once been the prime minister of Cuba. Killian morphed into a tall, well-built black man, nicely dressed in a brown Hickey Freeman suit. He followed them to the restaurant and sat at the end of the bar, near the restrooms, and watched the two men ordering drinks. Killian ordered a Glenlivet and soda.
A short time later, the two men ordered dinner, and then Spencer went to the men’s room. Killian waited a few seconds, and followed him into the men’s room. He watched as Spencer finished at the urinal and walked to the sinks to wash his hands. Killian stepped over to the sink next to the director. Spencer acknowledged the black man with a nod. Killian nodded back. Then with his strong right hand he quickly grabbed the director by the throat and forced him back against the wall.
“I should kill you, Spencer, but I won’t. We know you met with the underboss Mario Marcinetti at the Italian Grotto restaurant. We know you ordered the hit on General Dugan. We know you and DCI Waterton have recruited anti-Castro exiles and organized special guerrilla training at Useppa Island in south-west Florida and other areas. We’re watching everything the CIA does, deputy director.”
Spencer was bug-eyed and choking as he stared at the large black man holding him by the neck. Then his assailant released his tight grip and shoved him toward the door. Gagging he staggered out of the rest room, and half-ran to the table where his two suits sat. They saw Spencer coming toward them and jumped to their feet.
“Quick, into the men’s room!” he gasped. “I was threatened by a large black man!”
The CIA men ran to the men’s room with their weapons drawn. They burst through the door, but all they saw inside; to their surprise and bewilderment was a stooped old gray-haired white man, who was bending over one of the two sinks. They looked around and then cautiously opened the two toilet stalls, which were empty. They barely glanced at the old man as they rushed out. Killian grinned, dried his hands, ran a comb through his thin gray hair, and went out the door. He heard Spencer shouting at his men. One of the suits hastened toward the front door, while the other headed for the kitchen. Killian slowly shuffled along toward the front entrance. He was chuckling as he left the restaurant.
Days later, at the CIA building, Spencer and a suit were exiting one of the elevators on the ground floor. As they were getting off a tall, thin, well-dressed Asian got on to go up.
As the door closed the Asian called out. “We’re watching you, Deputy Director Spencer.”
The deputy director and the suit grabbed for the door and tried to reopen it, but it was too late. The elevator headed up, indicating it was stopping at the third floor. The two men ran for the stairway. When they arrived at the third floor the elevator door was just starting to close. The suit grabbed the sliding door and held it open. They looked inside; a casually dressed, medium-built man with a blond beard was looking back at them.
“Looks like you guys just made it,” he said, with a smile.
“Did you see a well-dressed Asian get off this elevator?” asked the deputy director.
“Yes. He hurried out before I got in,” answered the man.
Spencer and the suit turned and each headed off in a different direction down the long hallway. The elevator door closed and went down to the ground floor. Killian, still in the guise of the blond-bearded man stepped out of the elevator and left the CIA building.
Angry and frustrated Spencer went to the office of his superior, Director of the Central Intelligence, Mason Waterton.
“I don’t know what to make of their tactics, Mason. It’s weird.”
“It’s obvious that, whoever they are, they’re trying to irritate us. I admit that it’s strange using a black man and an Asian,” said the DCI.
“It makes you wonder who’s behind this,” said Spencer.
“William, you can be sure it’s the same people, who were working with General Dugan.”
“I’m sure you’re right. But we haven’t been able to identify them.”
“Yes, it’s too damn bad your friends botched it up.”
“Mason, it was a mistake using the Mafia. We should have used our own men.”
“Well, that’s probably true, but at the time we didn’t want it to appear we were involved.” Director Waterton hesitated for a moment. “You know the expression, ‘Foresight is better than hindsight’, by a damn sight!”
They chuckled grimly.
“The general must have had meetings with other military personnel,” the DCI continued. “Do you know who he met with most often?”
“For a general, he was a bit of a loner,” Spencer answered. “We’ve checked into all of his subordinates and no one stands out. There’s nothing unusual. His telephone logs don’t show anything special except for two calls from Saigon. They originated from the offices of the Brown Root Construction Company. However, we’ve checked, and no one there knows who made the calls.”
Neither of them said anything for a few seconds.
“It’s damn annoying,” said a perturbed Mason Waterton. “We can do damn near anything imaginable, and yet we can’t find out who it is that’s threatening our secret clandestine and covert operations. William, you need to turn up the heat, put more men on it. We must find out who the hell these people are.”
“I totally agree. I’ll amp up our efforts. It’s my belief it’s a group right here in Washington that’s behind everything, most likely one with connections to the military.”
“Yes, I’d bet the farm on that. Let’s find and bury the bastards,” said the DCI, with emphasis.
A week later, Director Spencer was having lunch with three other men at the restaurant in the Mayflower Renaissance Hotel when a brown-eyed, mustached waiter with a slight Italian accent came over to their table.
“Excuse me, gentlemen, but there’s a telephone call for a William Spencer from a Mason Waterton,” said the waiter apologetically.
“That’s me,” said Spencer, pushing his chair back and standing up.
“Sir, you can take the call at the telephone at the end of the bar,” said the waiter, pointing in the direction of the bar.
Deputy Director Spencer walked over and picked up the telephone receiver, which was lying off the hook. “Hello, Mason, this is Spencer.”
There wasn’t anyone on the line, only a dial tone. Spencer looked down. Next to the telephone was a note. It read, “We’re watching you, Spencer.”
Spencer dropped the telephone quickly, and looked round for the mustached waiter who had given him the message. He hurried over to the maître d’, only to learn there was no such waiter working in the restaurant.
At that time, a hotly contested election was going on for the post of President of the United States. Admiral Hildegard called for a meeting at Zack’s ranch. The team discussed current events and all were pleased with the reports the CIA was concerned and uneasy about some outside group, which was badgering them regarding current operations. Nevertheless, the team decided to lay low, and to take the pressure off Deputy Director Spencer and the CIA until after the presidential election and the installation of the new president. They wanted to see what new changes might occur, and learn if the newly elected president was going to be as enamored with the CIA as was the current president.
During the holiday season from Thanksgiving to New Year’s Day, Killian saw and experienced what family life was truly like. He had been on this earth since 1832, one hundred and twenty-eight years, and most of his time had been spent
in war and conflict. Now he was able to relax and enjoy his time at Zack’s ranch. He went on long, peaceful horseback rides, swam in the warm pool, and had many interesting conversations with Zack over a fine dinner and a few drinks. Kip’s parents, Jesse and Arthur, had the family over for a delicious turkey dinner on Thanksgiving Day. Killian was surprised to see Whelan Dunne there, until he met Kip’s new lady friend, Maggie Dunne.
A week before Christmas, Kip and Killian drove to New York City to do some shopping. They stayed at the famous Pierre Hotel overlooking Central Park and ate at excellent restaurants like the ‘21’ club and Delmonico’s. They also attended two newly opened Broadway musicals—Camelot, starring Richard Burton and Julie Andrews, and The Unsinkable Molly Brown, starring Tammy Grimes and Harve Presnell. They shopped until Kip’s car was loaded with Christmas presents.
In the past, Killian had had some good Christmases at his ranch in Texas. He and the Freeman family would exchange a few gifts on Christmas morning, mostly for the children, and then have a modest ham dinner. But that would be the end of the holiday celebration, as it was back to ranch work the next day. Things were greatly different in Virginia, at Jesse and Arthur’s home, and at Zack’s opulent ranch. It was a festive time all the way from Thanksgiving through New Year’s Day. Neighbors, friends and family were always stopping by. There was an endless succession of cocktail parties and social events.
Christmas Day started with mass at the overflowing local church. The breakfast brunch, at the country club, began with a mimosa, followed by a seemingly endless buffet table. Then it was home to change into casual clothes, a cocktail, and the opening of presents near the eight-foot, well-lit Christmas tree. Throughout the day distant family members and friends came by for drinks, conversation and to wish everyone a Merry Christmas. Early in the evening, an elegant dinner featuring duck a l’orange and baked Alaska concluded a wonderful day, which Killian could have previously only imagined.
Over the following days, Killian became acquainted with Maggie as she was staying at Jesse and Arthur’s for the rest of the week. She, Kip and Killian went riding almost every day. Killian liked Maggie, she was interesting to talk to and proved to be quite athletic, beating both him and Kip at croquet and tossing horseshoes. But what he liked most about her was she was a fun person, who could tell jokes with the best of them. Killian was happy for Kip, glad he’d found a lady like Maggie.
