by Keith Yocum
“This Arnold disappearance. And all this silliness about Pavlychko. I mean, you folks know perfectly well what happened. But you act like it’s a mystery. And they send you and that poor fellow who gets poisoned. Just baffling. Why would you fellows do that? I suppose that’s the question. I mean, it’s been clear for some time that you Yanks don’t really trust us Brits. You think we leak like a sieve and are penetrated with Russian moles, but this latest bit of tomfoolery has us completely, utterly confused. It’s delicate to even ask, if you know what I mean.”
Dennis scratched his now clean shaven chin and did his very best to appear composed, knowledgeable and in charge, even though he was confused, increasingly angry and not at all in charge.
“Ian, you know that I work for the Office of the Inspector General for the agency. I’ve never been in operations in Langley, and in fact those people hate folks like me for meddling in their private wars and vendettas. Sometimes they send us on wild goose chases, like this case, just to show they’re open and transparent, which of course they’re not.”
Ian smiled. “So you do know?”
“Of course I know,” Dennis smiled, lying through his teeth. “That’s what makes this so amusing and tragic. Took me a while, mind you, to get my arms around it.”
✦
“Yes, Trevor, I’m coming home very soon. Perhaps next week. I miss you terribly,” Judy said, cradling the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she pulled change out of her purse and handed it to the man behind the counter. “I love you too. Ta.”
Judy took her coffee to a countertop and stool that looked out onto London in rush hour.
A cold front from the northwest had swept through the previous night, sending temperatures down and wind gusts up. Judy watched the hapless Londoners slide by the window bundled up in overcoats, scarves and hats, looking more like miserable Russian soldiers massing for the attack at Stalingrad.
She was happy, or at least she told herself that she was happy. But there was so much that was unknowable, and it drained her, even in her best moments. Could she reenter her old job at the AFP with enough dignity and brush off the gossip and patronizing smiles? Would Dennis, the gruff Yank who seemed to find trouble everywhere, be content sitting idle in Perth, Western Australia? And would she be able to rebuild her life without drugs? She still harbored a perverse urge every now and then for just a bit of the pleasure those damned injections had inflicted upon her.
Judy took a sip of lukewarm coffee and let her mind wander as it did these days, her attention switching randomly from items as diverse as her attraction to a passerby’s silk scarf to an image of Trevor competing in a track meet.
Then a fleeting image of a man passing through a metal detector flashed, followed by a memory of trip she had taken to Singapore with her former husband when they were young. Then the image of the metal detector returned. It stayed with her for a while longer, then dissipated.
Judy frowned, sat up straight and refocused in a more purposeful way on the image of a man walking through a metal detector. She spilled her coffee slightly as she bolted from the stool and raced back to the hotel.
✦
“He’s in Russia,” Dennis said, slowly enunciating every word. “Friggin’ Russia. He defected!”
“No,” Judy said. “That can’t be right.”
“That’s what Ian told me. I acted like I knew what the hell he was talking about, and little by little he just let it out.”
“Dennis, I know that I’m not fully aware of America’s intelligence community, but there’s something wrong with this information. Perhaps you misunderstood him.”
Judy sat on the corner of the hotel bed facing Dennis, who sat at the small desk with his hands on top of his head. She thought he was trying to hold his head tight so it would not explode; she could hear the anger in his voice.
And he had grown more paranoid. When he returned to the hotel room, he took her phone and his and put them in the small hotel refrigerator, then he unplugged the hotel telephone. Lastly, he had gone around the hotel room with a device he purchased recently at a London specialty shop that could pick up radio frequencies, presumably from an eavesdropping apparatus.
“Russia,” Dennis repeated, as if in wonder.
“How do they know he’s in Russia?” she asked.
“Ian said they’ve picked up his voice print, in English, on routine scans of Russian phone exchanges. They were confused, of course, but if it was true, they wanted to look like heroes to the Yanks. So they pinpointed his mobile signal and sent someone in on the ground to verify. Sure enough, every day Arnold seems to go to his favorite coffee shop, called The Grind, in a section of Moscow called Patriarshiye Ponds. So the Brits turned it over to the London station here expecting accolades or something, and Chandler said ‘Thank you very much,’ and left it at that.”
“So Chandler knows that Arnold is in Russia, but he never told you?”
“Seems that way.”
“I don’t get it, Dennis. This is much too strange for me to understand. This fellow Arnold, an important member of the US intelligence service, goes missing in London. The CIA investigates several times, and they claim not to know where he is.”
“And then an influential member of the House of Representatives suddenly presses the OIG to look further into the missing person, and they request me,” Dennis said, continuing the narrative. “And this congressman meets privately with me and keeps hinting that I’m not actually solving the case.”
Judy continued, “But when you finally do come up with a lead — this Ukrainian fellow — someone poisons your fellow investigator. And probably you, too, if you would have joined him that night.”
Dennis stood up, walked to the window and looked at the gray London skyline.
“Funny, but Ian was trying to get me to tell him what was going on with this Arnold charade, but I acted like it was too sensitive to discuss. He laughed and asked whether I felt silly running around like I didn’t know what happened to Arnold.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him it was embarrassing, but such is the work we do.”
Dennis walked over to the desk and was about to sit down then abruptly swiveled toward Judy.
“You know what really pisses me off?”
“I’m afraid to ask,” Judy said.
“I’m guessing that this Ukrainian thing had nothing to do with Arnold. It was a bum lead that got Freddie killed. Shit, what a mess this thing was from the start.”
Judy and Dennis looked at each other, their eyes moving slightly as they processed the information.
“And I thought I had an interesting tidbit,” Judy said. “Big bloody surprise that is.”
“What tidbit?”
“Oh, nothing. Silly stuff.”
“Come on, must have been something important.”
“Not exactly,” Judy said, standing up and stretching. “Feel like going for a walk? This room seems so small sometimes.”
“Sure, but only if you tell me your tidbit.”
“Ah, well,” Judy said, sitting down on the bed again. “I looked through the notes of my extensive interrogation of a Mr. Dennis Cunningham. And I noticed that when you and your pal Fred visited Menwith Hill, you were forced to go through a metal detector and then a hand-held metal detector afterwards.”
“Yeah, so?”
“But when I reviewed my notes of what you said you saw on the video of Arnold’s last visit to Menwith Hill, you never mentioned him going through a metal detector. You only said he was wanded. Or that’s what you said, anyway.”
Dennis cocked his head in thought.
“Yeah, that’s true. I wonder why he didn’t go through the metal detector? That’s odd. Why didn’t Freddie and I pick that up before? Hell, maybe that’s what he was talking about. He said we had missed something on the video
, but he couldn’t figure it out.”
“It’s probably nothing, but I thought you’d be proud of me,” Judy chuckled. “Until you showed up with the Russia connection.”
“But wait. Why would someone at such a top-secret facility be waved through a metal detector? Why would someone not go through a metal detector?”
“For health reasons?” Judy said.
“What health reasons?”
“I don’t know. I thought if you had a pacemaker, you can’t go through a metal detector. Or that’s what I remember.”
Dennis leaned forward, turned on his laptop and let it go through its security protocols while he got up and kissed Judy on the lips.
“You are a smart one.”
“Well, let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves.”
“No, let’s do just that. A little warning bell is ringing somewhere. You might have just found what we’re looking for.”
“Ha. I thought you just found what you’re looking for. Arnold defected and is doing quite well in Russia.”
“Hell, that’s the easy part, assuming it’s true. The hard part is why is the agency hiding it?”
“Well, they’re apparently only hiding it from you and your boss.”
“And the congressman. Or maybe not. Shit!” Dennis stopped walking toward the bathroom, turned and stared wide-eyed at Judy.
“Hello?” Judy said. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“I don’t know how I could have missed it. Nearly everyone knows what happened to Arnold but me and the OIG. The agency knows but doesn’t want it to leak out; MI5 and MI6 know about it and told the agency, but they are confused about why the agency persists in looking for him; and my pal Representative Barkley knows what happened to Arnold, but he can’t do anything about it except prod me into uncovering it officially.”
“You Yanks are so bloody strange.”
✦
“I’m sure glad you’re driving,” Dennis said. “I just can’t get this left side thing down. Why is it that you folks have to drive on the left?”
“It’s a legacy of the Poms,” Judy said. “Every country that they stole or conquered, they now drive on the left. India, South Africa, Australia. Just not Canada, which is part French anyway. About one-third of the world drives on the left. So get used to it. You Yanks can’t have everything your way.”
“We can’t?”
“No, sir.” She laughed. “Though I know you try.”
They drove north on the M1 from London. It was a sunny but blustery cold day, the wind sometimes shunting the small rental car a little sideways.
“Did we have to leave our phones back at the hotel? I feel naked without my mobile phone.”
“I know naked, and you’re not naked,” Dennis said.
“But really, no phones?”
“I told you I have a burner. We have a phone.”
“I won’t ask you again, but do you really think you can bluff your way into Menwith Hill?”
“Well, one of the charming weaknesses of the US intelligence business is that there are so many of these services and contractors running around the globe that no one can keep track of them. Chandler told me I couldn’t see the video of Arnold’s last visit, but he only has a copy given to him by the NSA. And the NSA doesn’t talk to the London Station at this level. They have a shared mutual distrust of each other. So my guess is that Chandler hasn’t told Sorenstam at Menwith Hill that they cut me off.”
“Have you told Louise what you’re up to?”
Dennis grimaced. “Why would I tell her anything?”
“Isn’t she your boss?”
“Yes, of course she is. But that doesn’t mean she needs to know every single thing I do. All she wants is results. And a promotion.”
“You really don’t like her much, do you?”
He sighed and watched the gray Midlands countryside slide by. “That’s not entirely true. She’s more complex than I thought. I can’t tell if I trust her.”
“Why don’t you trust her?”
“Well, she came from operations. We don’t have folks transfer in to OIG from operations. I know that doesn’t sound like much, but it’s odd. And there’s just something about her I don’t get. It’s either that or a tumor I have that’s undiagnosed.”
“Oh, stop it. Those complaints of her seem kind of flimsy to me. And I’m biased, since she saved my life.”
He smiled. “Yes, of course. Don’t pay attention to me.”
✦
“You’re not on the list,” the RAF guard said.
Dennis looked up at the machine gun slung around the man’s shoulder.
“I’m not responsible for your lists. That’s your job. I’m here to see Nathan Sorenstam. Call him.”
The front gate at Menwith Hill sported a one-story brick building to the left of two large metal gates. In the middle of the gates sat a small brick-and-glass gatehouse.
The soldier looked down at him and scanned the interior of the car but said nothing.
“Hello,” Dennis said. “Anyone home? Do the robots here speak, or do they just stare?”
The soldier turned around and spoke to a man inside the gatehouse. He could not hear what they said, but the man turned and pointed to an area outside the fence line.
“Park over there.”
“For how long?”
“Park.”
Dennis backed up and pulled into a parking space. He shut off the engine.
Judy waited for Dennis to return at a pub they’d found in the nearby town of Darley Head. He had given Judy the burner in case she needed to reach anyone, and especially if he didn’t return at all.
✦
“What are you doing here?” Sorenstam said over the phone at the front gate.
“I’m here to see the video,” Dennis said. “You were supposed to be notified. It’s not my fault you folks don’t have your shit together.”
“I can’t just let you in, Cunningham. This is a secure facility, and you know that. You need to go through Fort Meade, and Chandler needs to sign off on it.”
“I did both of those things, so cut the crap and let me in. Obstructing an investigation looks bad on a personnel file, Sorenstam.”
Dennis could hear Sorenstam’s breath skittering across the mouthpiece.
“Give the phone to the officer,” Sorenstam said.
Dennis handed it to the RAF guard inside the shack.
The man listened for a few seconds and then said, “Right.”
“Leave your car where it is and proceed to that building there,” he said, pointing to a two-story brick building twenty yards inside the fence line. “You’ll need to go through security. Then wait and someone will get you.”
Dennis walked to the building and shivered a little from the cold northerly wind.
Inside the building, he went through the same security screening as before. An RAF soldier asked for identification. Dennis placed the fingers of his right hand on a small glass-covered box while it scanned his fingerprints. He was photographed and then asked to remove any metal objects and place them in a bin. He walked through a metal detector. After that he was hand-searched by a husky soldier and was finally wanded again by another soldier.
After regaining his belt, wallet, watch, coins, notepad and pen, he was directed to a small waiting area. He was given a lanyard with a plastic temporary picture pass to wear around his neck. Dennis sat for nearly twenty minutes and was about to commence some highly agitated complaining when a civilian came through a side door and asked whether he was Dennis Cunningham.
“Who else would I be?” Dennis showed him the pass.
The man wore a blue wool coat, had short brown hair and spoke with an American accent. He had no facial expression beyond mild annoyance. He held Dennis’s temporary badge briefly then
let it flop back onto his chest.
“Come,” he said, walking back out the door he’d come through.
They drove in silence about a quarter mile back to the building he and Fred had visited earlier.
Dennis followed him into a waiting area, where his fingertips were again scanned and his badge was scanned.
“Wait,” the man said, pointing to a chair.
“Are you allowed to use more than one-syllable words?” Dennis said.
“No,” the man said.
“That’s good,” Dennis said. “Good stuff. Love it.”
✦
This time Dennis waited nearly thirty minutes. He prayed that Sorenstam had not bothered to call Fort Meade or Chandler. If so, Judy would need the phone to rent a car, since Dennis would be held incommunicado and probably flown back in handcuffs.
The trip back to Menwith Hill was the kind of high-stakes gamble that Dennis loved making; he had no idea what he was looking for, but something compelled him to break all the rules to try to find out what Freddie said they missed.
Miraculously, Judy had easily agreed to the plan and even insisted on going along for the ride. He wondered idly whether she was fully recovered from her ordeal, because she would have typically tried to convince him to avoid outlandish behavior, like being arrested at a US intelligence base.
This time she agreed it was the only way to discover what Freddie thought was missing. And she liked the idea of getting out of London.
As Dennis waited, he grew increasingly sullen and worried that his bluff hadn’t worked.
Poor Judy, he thought. How in the hell is she going to get back to London? Why would I put her through this much stress? Why can’t I protect this woman instead of dragging her into my stupid battles?
“Did I ruin your morning tea break?” Dennis asked Sorenstam when he was finally shown into his office. “You made me wait long enough.”
“Oh, stop your bitching, Cunningham. I can’t wait to be rid of you. What do you want here?”
“To see the Arnold video. I told you that.”
“But you already saw it twice. Once here and once more in London.”
“So what?”
