Safe Houses

by Dan Fesperman

  “Which was as good as killing her.”

  “Yes. Although, based on Audra’s debriefing, she was as appalled as everyone by what happened. She thought Gilley would steal back the materials, or bully your mom into giving them up. But theft and bullying were never his preferred methods.”

  The table was quiet for a few seconds.

  “Anyway, that’s where Henry came in, right after Audra crossed over.”

  “Me?” he said.

  “Helen mailed me the tapes for safekeeping after she figured out Audra’s role. I took a sounding in the community and didn’t like the rumblings, so I contacted a few sources. One of them got in touch with you, Henry. They’d heard Audra was looking for someone to keep an eye on Helen, so they dangled your name in front of them, the handyman from Justice who was looking for a new job. And, by doing so…”

  “Used me to keep tabs on Audra’s people, like Mitch.”

  “Correct.”

  “Everyone must have been overjoyed when I hired him, too,” Anna said.

  “It was a bit more involved than that. Stu Wilgus, that fellow who referred you to Henry?”

  “He was part of this?”

  “Oh, I doubt he even knew who he was helping, or why. But when Audra got wind that you’d made an inquiry about hiring a PI, she arranged for an old lawyer friend of Wilgus’s to ask him to pass along Henry’s name.”

  Anna shook her head in disbelief.

  “So, if Audra was the Pond archivist,” Henry asked, “where did she keep all the records?”

  “Almost everything now is digital, but all the papers since ’55 are in that barn of hers. Climate-controlled, state-of-the-art. I’m told the Agency is having a fine time going through it all.”

  “Wow,” Henry said.

  “Yes. No more Pond, even under its reduced circumstances. Not that you’ll ever hear any of this in the news. The burial will be private.”

  “What about Gilley?”

  “He’s finished. Facing felony charges and a new investigation, Delacroix as well. I’ve been assured by the U.S. Attorney himself that this time neither of them will wriggle free. Although, if the Agency has its way, it will all be handled in private.”

  “No fucking way!” Henry said.

  “I was hoping you’d say that. And if you’re still willing to stick your necks out—figuratively, this time—then the U.S. Attorney would very much like to hear from you both. He, too, wants to make it public. Call this afternoon and he may even depose you this week.”

  She handed them business cards with the necessary phone numbers.

  “Is that the real reason you asked us here?” Anna said, sounding a little disappointed.

  “One of them.”

  “Whatever it takes,” Henry said.

  “My feelings as well. Now, then. As much as I’ve enjoyed seeing you, Henry, this is where I politely ask you to leave, so that Anna and I can discuss some further things about her mother.”

  “Oh. Sure. But first I’d like a private word with Anna, if you don’t mind.”

  “As long as Anna’s okay with it.”

  Anna looked back and forth between them, as if probing for signs of collusion. Then she nodded.

  “I’ll be in the bar,” Claire said, standing. Henry rose as well, and clasped her hand in gratitude.

  “Thank you, Claire. For everything.”

  “Thank you, Henry. You did good work.”

  “Yeah, well.” He looked down at the floor, probably because he preferred not to remind Anna just then of how good some of that work had been. Claire departed, and he sat back down. When he looked up, Anna was eyeing him closely.

  “Good to see you again,” he said.

  “I’d like to say otherwise, but I’ll admit that I can’t. So how have you been?”

  “Rethinking some of my career choices. And my solitude.”

  “Sounds healthy enough.”

  “Anna, I haven’t always been the greatest at figuring out what I want in life. But on the few occasions I have, I’ve been pretty determined to make it work. And that’s how I feel about you. I’d like to make it work. So, if you’ve decided that you don’t want anything more to do with me, tell me now. Otherwise, I’m going to keep trying to stay in touch.”

  “I may need a day or two to answer that. But if you can wait, I think you might like the result.”

  “I’m good with that.”

  “Provided you’ll never duck another question.”

  “I’m good with that, too.”

  He smiled resolutely, like a man preparing to begin a siege. Then he stood, nodded to Claire at the bar, and headed for the door.

  Claire settled back into her seat as Anna watched him leave.

  “You could do worse, you know,” Claire said.

  “He did lie to me.”

  “For all the right reasons. Mostly. And he did tell you more than he should have.”

  “Still.”

  “Yes. Still. This job will do that to you. Yet another reason I never stayed married.”

  “You were married?”

  “Not your business.”

  “Is that why you live in York? Your neighbors were certainly wondering.”

  “Also not your business. Let’s talk about your mother.”

  “All right, then. What was she like? At my age, I mean, and even younger?”

  “She was bold, brave, witty, and resourceful. One of the most wonderful people I ever knew. And they never should have let her go.”

  “Wow.”

  “Here’s another wow. We had more than one adventure together.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Tell me, did your mother ever run off on any sudden trips on her own, little family visits that maybe lasted a week or so but she never talked about all that much?”

  Anna thought about it for a second, and her eyes widened.

  “I remember her going off to Georgia a few times, to visit a couple of invalid aunts.”

  “These aunts, did you ever meet them? Or come across their photos in any family albums?”

  “Unbelievable. Where was she really?”

  “Maybe someday, when all the dust settles, I’ll write you a long letter to tell you all about it.”

  “I think I’d rather hear it from you in person, when the time comes.”

  “I’m pleased you feel that way. Any other questions?”

  “How well did she know Audra?”

  “Not well. They didn’t even meet until years later. In fact, Helen said you were with her at the time. On Capitol Hill, I think.”

  “Of course! The photo! We found it in her stuff, me and mom with an older woman on the Mall. I remember she took us to lunch. Some place with wood paneling and fussy waiters.”

  “The Old Ebbitt Grill. Her favorite haunt whenever she was in the city. And, as I said, I’m convinced Audra never wanted harm to come to your mother.”

  “She seemed ready enough to kill Henry and me.”

  “Yes, well, by then she’d crossed the line, and all by making a terrible miscalculation about Gilley. She’ll take that to her grave.”

  “Good.”

  “I agree. She’s earned her guilt. We all do in this business, one way or another. So there’s the silver lining for your poor mother. She got out while her conscience was still clear.”

  “Except for Anneliese.”

  “Not her fault, but I’m sure you’re right. It’s why she reactivated our network, because she was determined it wasn’t going to happen twice. You were the Anneliese she could still protect.”

  “But—”

  “I know. You weren’t aware of that. Which is why I brought you something, a note she sent me. One from Kevin Gilley on that day at the mall.”

  �
��He passed her a note?”

  “While you were trying on clothes or something.”

  Claire took a folded paper out of her handbag and handed it to Anna, who slowly read the words with their pointed threat, their ghastly warning.

  “So you see?” Claire said. “That’s the one thing capable of saving us all. Not our compromises, or the things we withhold, and certainly not our betrayals. But the idea that what we’re really doing is fighting for the people we love. You, in the case of your mother. That’s really what I wanted to tell you today. For her sake.”

  Claire stood. She briefly placed a hand on Anna’s shoulder, and then walked away.

  Afterword

  Yes, there really was an obscure U.S. intelligence agency once known as the Pond, and pretty much everything fictional archivist Larry Hilliard tells Anna and Henry in chapter 42 about its origins and its history is right on the mark. John “Frenchy” Grombach started the whole thing in 1942 at the request of a general in U.S. Army Intelligence, and it might still exist if Grombach hadn’t lost out in a power struggle with the fledgling but much larger Central Intelligence Agency.

  As Hilliard also points out, Grombach nonetheless managed to keep the Pond running until the CIA shut it down in 1955, and he was scrambling until the last moment to find a way to surreptitiously keep it alive, partly because he believed the CIA was too blind to Soviet infiltration in places like West Germany.

  It’s also true that Grombach’s long-lost archives were discovered in a barn in Virginia in 2001, although they weren’t declassified by the CIA until 2010. They’re now available for public inspection at the National Archives in College Park, Maryland, where all eighty-three boxes are filed under Record Group 263.

  Grombach’s depicted mania for cryptonyms and coded language is no exaggeration. He employed as many as five names for himself: Mr. Dale, Jean, Dr. Ellis, Valentine, and Professor. As for that handy-dandy “Grombach Crib Sheet,” which Larry Hilliard attributes to “a historian,” well, it also exists, and the historian is Mark Stout, program director of the MA in Global Security Studies at Johns Hopkins University, and a former intelligence analyst with the State Department and the CIA. Stout, probably the leading authority on the Pond, generously gave me a copy of his invaluable crib sheet, or I never would have been able to make sense of the archives as I was researching this book. I also thank him for answering my questions about Grombach and the Pond.

  As for the intriguing and somewhat whacky “Jewelry” file mentioned in chapter 43, in which Grombach writes in deeply coded language about his fevered attempts to keep the Pond going past its shelf life, that, too, is authentic, and I quote directly from one of Grombach’s oddball messages.

  So, then. Did Grombach manage to resurrect the Pond in some privatized form after 1955? Highly doubtful, but not out of the question. And many news stories in recent years have documented the rise of privatized intelligence efforts and their use by the Pentagon in places such as Afghanistan and the Middle East.

  I am also indebted to several people and sources for helping me depict what it was like to be a female employee of the CIA in 1979. The first of these is Francine Mathews, an author of many fine novels who spent four years as an intelligence analyst for the CIA. I’m grateful that she took the time to share her thoughts and observations in a lengthy email, part of which made its way almost verbatim into Helen and Claire’s conversation about their days of training at the Farm.

  Declassified CIA archives offered multiple insights into the working lives of women at the Agency, and the evolution of their roles and responsibilities over the past few decades. One of the most helpful was the transcript of a panel discussion from about a decade ago by four women—Carla, Susan, Patricia, and Meredith (their last names were redacted)—who joined the Agency between 1965 and 1979. Their candid and illuminating stories and opinions helped shape several scenes and chapters.

  Finishing this novel would not have been possible, nor nearly as pleasant, without the editing expertise of Sonny Mehta and Edward Kastenmeier at Knopf, and the valuable counsel of my agent, Ann Rittenberg. I am also grateful for the efforts of all of the other wonderful people at Knopf who make writing and publishing such an enjoyable and rewarding venture.

  A Note About the Author

  Dan Fesperman’s travels as a journalist and novelist have taken him to thirty countries and three war zones. His previous novels include Lie in the Dark, which won the Crime Writers’ Association of Britain’s John Creasey Memorial Dagger Award for best first crime novel; The Small Boat of Great Sorrows won their Ian Fleming Steel Dagger Award for best thriller; and The Prisoner of Guantánamo, which won the Dashiell Hammett Prize from the International Association of Crime Writers. He lives in Baltimore.

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