by Alan Zendell
“You can tell me I’m nuts, Jerry, but I’m convinced that’s the reason this is happening to me. I’m supposed to make sure people understand what’s at stake, and that if we continue with business as usual, it’ll happen again.”
“You intend to go public with everything when this is over?” Jerry asked.
“Definitely. At first, I wanted the documentation to prove I wasn’t crazy. Then, in case I needed to explain my actions to the authorities. But now, it’s clear to me that we have to find a way to convince people this isn’t just a fantasy we invented. Think about nine-eleven. Suppose we’d averted it somehow and then tried to convince people how serious it might have been? Would our message have had the same impact as if they’d seen it happen?”
“It would have been like the first attack on the towers in ’93,” Jerry said. “People would have forgotten about it within a week if not for the federal indictments and trials that went on for five years.”
Ilene said, “It won’t be easy getting anyone to listen, but we can deal with that later. I assume you and Henry have a plan to use your day-swapping to catch these guys?”
“That’s the goal, but right now it’s more wish than plan.”
***
John Barksdale called just after Jerry left. It was late on Friday afternoon, and he was getting ready to quit for the week.
“I thought you’d like to know the Ari Gelsen matter’s resolved. He returned the papers like your man said, and wrote us a formal apology for using bad judgment in removing them from the facility. We could have pressed charges, but things were already tense enough over his expulsion from the States, and no real harm was done.”
“Are you satisfied with the outcome?” I asked.
“I have no problem with it. Ari’s not a bad guy. But I have something else to tell you. Are you still coming up empty locating the people who used our sub to recover the canisters?”
“The trail is stone cold.”
“You’ll never guess who called me, today.”
“No shit?”
“They must think they’re completely in the clear. Either that or they’re the most arrogant bastards I’ve ever met.”
“What did they want?”
“You’re not going to believe this. We make everyone who goes out on one of the demo runs post a bond. It’s big enough to get their attention, but really not a large amount considering the value of the vehicle. These guys posted $10,000. They were calling to complain that they hadn’t gotten it back yet.”
“What did you say?”
“I considered telling them there’d been some costly damage to the sub on their nickel, but instead I said it was a bureaucratic snafu and asked where to mail the check.”
“You get an address?”
“A P. O. box in Trenton. But the caller also gave me his cell phone number.”
Rod had been right. In the aftermath of nine-eleven, most people assumed the terrorists were fiendishly clever. As John’s call demonstrated, that wasn’t necessarily true.
I relayed the message to William, and he was on the phone to the New Jersey State Police almost before we’d hung up. In addition to overestimating the intelligence of the terrorists, most people rightly associate nine-eleven with New York and DC, but New Jersey suffered heavy losses too, and police agencies don’t forget things like that. The NJSP was on the job staking out the post office box early that evening. No one answered when they called the cell phone.
36.
Friday evenings aren’t usually times when I hear from my friends, but an hour after I said goodbye to John, Gayle called. She was tired of letting her walking cast govern her life, and still celebrating Rod’s reversion to the man she married. We chatted a bit and she commented that I hadn’t been around much lately.
“I was called in to consult on a hush-hush government project. I’d tell you about it, but then I’d have to kill you.”
She laughed as though my overused joke wasn’t trite and finally got to the point. “I need to get out of here and have some fun. Rod suggested that I call and see if you and Ilene were free for dinner tomorrow night.”
I knew she expected me to be surprised that the invitation was at Rod’s initiative, so I said something appropriate. We’d been to dinner with them a few times, the last about three years earlier, so the invitation wasn’t entirely out of left field, and Gayle sounded delighted by the prospect. I didn’t spoil her enjoyment by telling her that Rod undoubtedly had another motive for wanting to get together, and to be fair, there was no reason to think that making Gayle happy wasn’t an equal priority for him. I made an immediate command decision and accepted.
Ilene raised her eyebrows when I told her – normally I wouldn’t have said yes without checking with her first. She was happy enough to go along, but if she’d been capable of moving her ears that way, she’d have looked like a deer alerted by a sudden sound in the forest. I made a second command decision.
“I need to tell you something before we meet them for dinner.”
“Oh, really?” She looked sideways at me, exaggeratedly play-acting as if she expected some shocking confession concerning Gayle. She waited patiently while I gathered my thoughts, which I should have done before I said anything. Despite my determination to be open with Ilene, I kept running into things I wasn’t sure I should say.
“You know Rod represents overseas business interests, mostly from southwest Asia?”
She nodded. “The implication being that southwest Asia includes the Middle East and the Arabian Peninsula?”
“Right. It probably won’t shock you that our paths have crossed recently, or that he isn’t exactly who he seems to be. Rest assured, though, he’s one of the good guys. I’m sorry I can’t be more specific, but don’t be surprised if Rod and I slip off for a chat together some time during the evening.”
“Does Gayle know?”
“Not because of anything I said to her. I’d guess she’s completely in the dark, or she has been until very recently. I know she’s been ecstatic over the change in him.”
“I talked to her while you were gone. The Wednesday when Union Station wasn’t attacked turned out to be a slow day, so I called her that morning to see how she was doing with her ankle. I got the same impression you did. She’s very happy, and I doubt that she’d have been so lighthearted if she’d just had a revelation about Rod being involved in something dark.”
“Who said he was involved in anything dark?” I said. She gave me a playful kiss, then pantomimed locking her lips and throwing away the key.
Dinner, Saturday night, was quite enjoyable. Gayle and Ilene had always clicked. Seeing Gayle so happy reminded me that I missed the time we spent together at work, and though much of it was hidden from view, my new relationship with Rod completed the picture. An observer might have mistaken us for two couples who’d been intimate friends for years.
We went back to their house for dessert. Rod made a likable show of putting his kids to bed, after bidding the babysitter goodbye, and Gayle poured us mugs of steaming coffee. Rod tasted his, told her how good it was, and said, “Mind if I show Dylan my new software?”
Ilene quickly said that was fine, she needed to gossip with Gayle in private. Gayle seemed surprised, I guessed, because he was taking me inside his inner sanctum, but she smiled without saying anything.
Rod closed the door and we sat in upholstered chairs that faced each other at an angle. It was the first time we’d talked in private since he’d come to William’s office.
“I’m very glad we’re on the same side, Dylan,” he began.
“So am I,” I said, without enumerating my reasons.
“We’re secure in here, in case you’re wondering. I have some things to tell you. My sources confirm that Hamas approved William’s deal. Their man’ll be flown out of the country with Hamas’ pledge that he won’t return. The promise is worthless, but it doesn’t matter. What does is that we convinced them it was your people who snatched him and t
ook out the two Arabs. They know their local organization has a leak, but not where it is or whose garden it waters. These people don’t take that well. I imagine a couple of throats will be cut,” he added with a leer.
“We also confirmed that the Iranian militant group behind the dirty bombs is sending a heavyweight to direct the endgame. We don’t think the current Iranian regime supports them directly, because they know the White House would like nothing better than an excuse to strike at their nuclear facilities, and this would certainly be it.”
“My FBI source sees it that way, too,” I said.
“You mean Henry White?” When I let my surprise show, he said, “Mr. White has become a celebrity in my arena. I’d love to meet him. Look, Dylan, I know the people you caught weren’t bank robbers. Your superiors did an excellent job of creating cover, but what went down in Washington is no secret in intelligence circles. You haven’t been involved in the politics very long. In situations like this, there are few diplomatic secrets. The enemy already knows – they provoked the situation – so why not warn your allies? It’s only the public that’s in the dark.”
“You’re right, politics isn’t my thing. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“What I can’t figure is how you were on to them. The terrorists did a good job of hiding their intentions. The only indication that something wasn’t right was that they were too quiet.”
“Henry caught that, too. He was sure they were up to something.”
We were silent for several seconds. When I didn’t volunteer more, Rod said, “Please don’t take this the wrong way, Dylan. If I’m out of line, I apologize, but there are a few things about your involvement that don’t fit. Should I continue?”
“Sure. As long as you know there are limits to what I can say.”
“First, let me be clear that my interest in this is professional. An attempt to irradiate New York or Washington sounds very much like an attempt to irradiate Tel Aviv. I have no interest in busting the official story.”
“Okay,” I said, and I meant it.
“I’m very interested in how Agent White was able to coordinate an effective response involving three strike forces so quickly. We’re not proud. We’re willing to learn from anyone. It’s almost as if he was primed and waiting.”
“He was. When he observed the lack of chatter, he called and asked me to find out if our people had heard anything. He had everything arranged in advance just in case.”
Rod hesitated. “I’m just going to lay my cards on the table. Did Ilene tell you she called Gayle Wednesday morning? I only know because you and Gayle are friends, and she was concerned about what Ilene told her. Gayle lamented about having a husband who can’t share a lot of what he does, a reasonable complaint, I admit. Ilene mentioned that you were always being pulled away, too, these days. In fact, you were home late Tuesday evening when your FBI friend from Washington called and spoiled whatever mood you two were in. See the problem?”
I did. If I was home Tuesday night with Ilene, how did I wind up in Baltimore in Henry’s office at 5:00 a.m. Wednesday morning?
“There’s really no mystery. William assigned me to liaise with Henry. After I talked to him, I decided to go down there, but I was too wired to sleep. It made more sense to jump in my car and burn my manic energy driving to Baltimore at midnight than to toss and turn for hours and drive down in the morning, exhausted.”
“So it was just coincidence that you arrived in Baltimore right before Henry got the tip and called in his strike team?”
I nodded. “I told William it was Henry’s operation and I just happened to be there. He didn’t want to believe me, either. What does everyone think I’m hiding, that I have a crystal ball and a magic button that instantly transports me hundreds of miles?” The best thing I had going for me was that the truth was so improbable.
“I don’t think you have either. Yet you turn up in the damnedest places at the most interesting times. I saw your team’s reaction to your story about having sources they don’t know about. They didn’t buy it as much as they had no basis for challenging it. I’ve been doing this a long time, Dylan. Every success I have comes from cultivating confidential sources. Maybe you discovered that your neighbor was into something ugly and you blackmailed him into being an informant, but people like that don’t grow on trees, and we both know that’s not your specialty any more than politics is.”
“What do you want me to say?” I asked.
“You don’t have to say anything. I’m just telling you you’re on thin ice. Things are bound to get screwed up eventually, and William won’t be able to bail you out if he doesn’t know what’s up.”
“He implied as much.”
I’d opened up to Henry, based mainly on a feeling I had about him. After all, I barely knew the guy. For some reason, I had the same feeling about Rod, yet I was afraid to trust William. What the hell was that about, anyway? The truth was, I’d anticipated that this might happen, and I came prepared. Lately, whenever I’d relied on my feelings and screened out confused and jumbled thoughts, the results had been good.
I reached into my pocket for the flash drive that hadn’t been out of my sight for five days, notwithstanding that its contents had been copied on to several different hard drives, including Henry’s. I held it out to Rod. “Didn’t you tell Gayle you wanted us to look at something on your computer?”
He offered me his desk chair and keyboard. “Be my guest.”
I popped the drive into its slot, looking forward to the expression on his face when he saw what was on it.
The extensive directory of files appeared: newspaper downloads dated Thursday, August 6th, and news and business website downloads date/time stamped between 12:00 p.m. Wednesday and 2:00 p.m. Thursday.
“Take your pick. Ilene made a copy of every news site she could, to document the attack on Union Station.”
“But the media doesn’t know about the attack.”
“You said you wanted to know what was going on. Pick a file and open it.”
He clicked on the Wall Street Journal for Thursday, and read: “Successful terrorist attack in Washington causes largest stock losses since 9/11. Smoke bombs laced with radioactive cesium close Union Station, casualties in the hundreds, mostly from exposure to radioactive elements.”
Rod didn’t say anything. He just clicked on file after file, reading various news services’ versions of the story, his face an unreadable mask. We couldn’t stay down there all evening, so he scanned several pages of text and put down his mouse.
“Okay, Dylan, you have my complete attention. What in hell am I looking at?”
“I told you. It’s a record of what occurred at Union Station on Wednesday and Thursday, as recorded by Ilene and a colleague of hers, to document what’s been happening. Which, in a nutshell, is that I experience two versions of reality each week. We all do, really, but only I seem to retain a reliable memory of both sets of events. What you’re looking at actually happened until Henry and I changed it.”
I don’t think it was intentional, but Rod had a certain smugness about him. I couldn’t help enjoying see it evaporate as he struggled with notions he’d never have given credence to an hour ago.
I put my flash drive back in my pocket, and he said, “What is this? A secret weapon?”
“Not in the sense that you could build one or sell the design to anyone. It’s just something I can do.”
I explained it all to him, then, in essentially the same terms that I’d used with Henry, only more succinctly. I was really getting the hang of this.
“Assuming this is real, aren’t you concerned that I might tell someone?”
“Like who? The Israelis? The Chinese? You won’t tell anyone because as long as we’re the only ones who know, this gives us an edge the terrorists can’t possibly account or compensate for, and besides, I’m holding the proof. No one would believe a word of this without it. Frankly, I’m more concerned that a day will come when I want people to believe
it and they won’t, regardless of how much evidence I produce.
“I wouldn’t have told anyone if the choice had been mine alone. But Ilene had to know, and then I realized that even with this weapon, as you call it, I need a select group of people working with me, people with the right skills and motivation who I can always count on. Including you and me, only five people know the truth.”
WEEK 5
37.
Was I weaving an overly complex web with Gayle and Rod? Rod knew I kept Ilene informed about most of what I did, Ilene knew Rod was involved in some way but she didn’t know the details, and Gayle knew nothing. That meant I had to be on my toes all the time, like Monday morning. I’d planned to put in a couple of days at the office until William called a Monday afternoon strategy session.
When I turned my computer on that morning, I found a message from Gayle, asking if I’d like to meet her for coffee around 10:00. She must have sent it from home before she left for work, which made me curious. Coffee with Gayle was usually not a big deal, at least it hadn’t been before I started spending so much time chasing terrorists. I replied, saying I’d love to, hoping she’d keep things casual and lighthearted. For the most part, she did. Her cast seemed not to be inconveniencing her – she hobbled into the coffee shop with something approximating gracefulness – and she seemed as happy as she’d been Saturday night.
Just when I thought I’d escape unscathed, she said, “You and Rod seemed pretty cozy the other night. What’s going on between you two?”
I’d anticipated the question, so I was prepared with some of my best misdirection. “Gayle, I’m surprised at you. Do I ask what you and Ilene discuss in private?”
“That’s not the same thing, Dylan.”
“You’re right, it isn’t, but you’re placing me in an awkward position. Rod and I work in areas that sometimes overlap. It happens that one of those times is now, but it’s very delicate. I can’t discuss it, not even with Ilene.”
