COPS SPIES & PI'S: The Four Novel Box Set

by David Wind

He didn’t look as bad as he thought he would. The red scratch across his cheek had started to fade, and the six hours of sleep on the plane had helped. But the red-rimmed eyes staring back at him warned him that he needed more rest. He wasn’t twenty any longer, or even thirty, he reminded himself. He was forty-one and felt like it.

  Pulling a beige paper towel from the dispenser, Chapin wiped his face and tossed it into the garbage. He finger combed his hair, adjusted his collar, and went into the hallway.

  The door thirty feet down the hallway was his next stop. Behind the closed door, waited the DDCI—the Deputy Director Central Intelligence. Chapin had no doubt the DD was unhappy with the debriefing team’s report.

  The debriefing team itself, had been a surprise to Chapin. But after they had worked on him for a while, he’d understood why Jeremy Halstin had been sent. Halstin, a case agent and a control officer for over thirty years, had been the man who’d recruited Chapin just before he had shipped out of Nam.

  During the debriefing sessions in Finland, Chapin had found it hard to lie to his old mentor, but he’d had no choice if Davidov’s—Ruby Red’s—information was genuine.

  The more he thought about the information, the more certain he was that it was genuine. But how to convince others to believe him was the uppermost thought in his mind as he entered the outer office of the second most important man in The Company.

  Seated at her desk, her light brown hair short, crisp, and combed back was Eunice Anderson. When she looked up and saw Chapin, her usually distant blue eyes were shadowed with a mixture of hope and pity. It was not a look he’d ever received from Eunice.

  “He’s ready for you,” Eunice said.

  Reacting to her expression and her voice, Chapin said, “Is it that bad?”

  Eunice shrugged. There was no one in the agency who knew more than Eunice Anderson, except perhaps the director’s secretary. “He’s been going nonstop since we received word about you.”

  “Well,” Chapin said lightly, “to quote Kipling, ‘into the jaws of death rode the—’”

  A smile flickered around the corners of Eunice’s mouth. “Maybe you should think about the three hundred Spartans instead.”

  He favored her with a half-smile “Different millennium, same result.” He went to the door, knocked once, and opened it.

  The office looked the same as it always did. Even with the blinds drawn against the late afternoon sun, the corner office had a large and open feeling. It was the lighting, Chapin thought, closing the door behind him. The recessed lighting made the office look open, spacious, and very nongovernmental.

  Thomas Audoban, major general USAF retired, and presently the deputy director of the Central Intelligence Agency, sat behind a large mahogany desk. The DD ‘s five foot eleven inch height was dwarfed by the high back leather chair rising a full six inches above his bald head.

  Walking purposefully to the desk, Chapin extended his hand. With Audoban’s deep brown eyes locked on his, the DD shook Chapin’s hand.

  When the DD released Chapin’s hand, he pointed to the report on his desk. “I’ve just finished reading this... this grouping of words. I’m far from sure why an agent with your experience and background, and the man responsible for the entire Ruby One apparatus, would do something so damned foolish. What on earth possessed you to go into the Soviet Union? You know the orders since the changes there. No unauthorized missions! No CIA involvement.”

  Chapin had expected the reprimand, but acted as if it came as a surprise. “It’s all in the debriefing report, sir. I went in because of a priority signal from Ruby Red. There wasn’t enough time to notify headquarters and wait for an answer. I did what I was trained to do—make a decision and act upon it.”

  The general’s eyes narrowed. “Forgetting for the moment what it was that made you go in, what would have happened if they’d caught you?”

  “They didn’t, sir. And I went in prepared for most eventualities.”

  “Except for the one you found,” the DD snapped. “Kevin, you made the wrong move at the wrong time. The channels you’re required to go through are there because we need these failsafes to protect you, and us. This harebrained stunt could have cost us a lot—might still cost us a lot. What was it all for, Kevin? What? There sure as hell isn’t anything in this!” The DD, disdainfully brushed his hand across the report. “The debriefing team said you did everything but stand on your head and piss gold. How much of this is true?”

  “Everything you’ve got there, except for my talk with Ruby Red. General,” Chapin said, his words hard-edged and staccato, “I couldn’t tell them for the very same reasons I didn’t clear my trip before I went. I couldn’t take the chance of having it leaked.”

  “And whatever this information was that Davidov had…was it really worth the risk?”

  Chapin leaned back. He rested his chin on steepled fingers and stared at the DD “It may be.”

  The deputy director’s features wavered toward impatience. His voice took on an ominous tone. “I think I’m entitled to hear the result of whatever it was that dragged you into Russia, or are you classifying me as a security risk as well?”

  “No, sir,” Chapin said, ignoring the DD’s sarcasm. The DD leaned back in his chair. His eyes turned hard, his mouth tightened. “Then, I’ll have the complete report, now.”

  Chapin exhaled slowly and spoke. He detailed his reasons for going into the Soviet Union,. Then explained what happened at the meeting with Ruby Red, and, how he had gotten out with only a few burns on the backs of his calves and thighs, and a scratch on his face. When he finished, the DD was staring incredulously at him.

  Chapin wasn’t happy with the expression.

  “You broke regulations, went into the Soviet Union clandestinely and without any authority, and you come out with a story about a highly placed mole and a conspiracy to overthrow our government.”

  The DD leaned forward. His open palm slammed down on the desk, sounding not unlike a small caliber gunshot “My God, man, you’re too experienced an operative to fall for that line of crap. Do you know how many times I’ve heard that same story, and over how many years?”

  “When Davidov told me, my reaction wasn’t much different than yours—at first. But his story is more than just the words this time, much more. Davidov had facts, hard facts he recited to me about a secret installation in the Pamir Mountains, so highly classified that he—a senior intelligence colonel in the KGB—had no concept of what it was or why it was in existence.”

  Chapin went on before the DD could interrupt. “And if his information wasn’t right, wasn’t good, then why the hell did they kill him and try for me. That’s not their way. No, their way would have been to capture us both and break us.”

  “But they sniper-shot him, and they had a whole fucking platoon of soldiers waiting to take me. Why did they kill him instead of taking us? Davidov and I would have been great anti-American propaganda. Their actions tell me Davidov was right on target, but when he tried to find out more, he burned himself.”

  “Maybe,” the DD said, his voice low and flat, “or maybe they already knew about Davidov, and it was a setup to catch you and to temporarily put our Soviet apparatus into disorder until we could replace you. How does that sound?”

  Chapin shook his head sharply. “It was a trap, yes, but not in the way you think. If all they wanted was me, they could have broken the rules and taken me out at any time, in Sweden or anywhere else I travel. The Soviets aren’t partial to elaborate bait traps with suspected double agents. What happened with Davidov was a much deeper and more complex scenario than they’ve ever done before, on short notice.

  “No,” Chapin said, his voice urgent, “I think Davidov’s mole is real. I believe they caught onto Davidov around the time he sent out the priority code.

  “You see,” Chapin continued in a lower voice, “the way I put it together, is when Davidov accessed the files on the Pamirs, he set off a warning flag. They traced the query to him around the
time he contacted me.

  “Rather than arrest him they let him play out the scene, because they needed to find out if he’d already sent word about what he’d learned.”

  Chapin paused. When the DD remained silent, he relaxed a little. “When I met Davidov in Sortavala, they must have been watching us. The house was probably bugged as well, but we went outside, which may have taken them off guard. Within minutes after Davidov began telling me about what he’d found, they took him out. Then they tried for me. I don’t think they cared whether they got me alive or dead; they just wanted to make sure I couldn’t report in.”

  The DD leaned forward. His eyes showed promise that Chapin’s words had reached him, but when he spoke, his mouth was still a tight and thin line. “Kevin, at this point in time, and no matter what great new revelations you think you’ve brought home, all that you’ve accomplished was to bring a lot of unexpected and unwanted heat down on us from ‘The Man in the House’.

  “Good Lord man, this country thinks it’s reached peace with the Soviets. We’re cutting back on the military, and intelligence operations against the remnants of the Eastern bloc countries are all but over.

  “Now, within minutes of your making it back into Finland, the State Department received a complaint of significant wording. The president has been drawn into this, which given the timing, is not good for us. Kevin, this is an election year, the president is extremely unhappy about the potential publicity this incident might generate.”

  “I think he should be more worried about what I learned in Sortavala.”

  “And the director,” the DD went on without acknowledging Chapin’s interruption, “following an emergency session of the Joint Intelligence Committee, has suggested that to appease the powers-that-be, you be reassigned here for a while.”

  “Disciplinary action?” Chapin asked, anger growing at what he was hearing.

  The DD shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. That decision is yet to be made.”

  Chapin held the DD’s stare. “You’ll do whatever you have to, but as far as I’m concerned, something important is happening in Russia. Davidov would never have risked his cover, or taken a chance with his wife’s life, if he didn’t believe what he’d learned. He isn’t a fool, nor is—was he a dupe. He learned something so important that the Soviets killed him rather than take him prisoner. And if Davidov believed it was that important, then I owe it to him to find out if it’s true.”

  “You owe it to him?”

  “Yes,” Chapin said in a low voice. It was the first time he had put his thoughts into words; and, as he spoke, he realized it was the truth.

  “That’s not the way a good agent is supposed to think.”

  Chapin stared at his boss. “It’s the way I think. I can’t let this go. If you and the director want to send me down, that’s your choice. I won’t change my mind. General, I’ve got a gut feeling that Davidov was onto something. I feel it here,” he said, tapping his chest with his right forefinger. “I...I can’t let it go.”

  Pushing himself away from his desk, the DD stood. He walked around the desk, stopping three feet away from Chapin. “Kevin, the director and I have discussed possible disciplinary actions, but we haven’t yet made any decision. Oh, I know what the book says should be done; but I’ve trusted your instincts before, and it’s paid off well.”

  The DD rubbed a hand across his brow. “There’s a lot of pressure coming down behind this. Too much perhaps,” he added, looking past Chapin for a moment. “If you believe there’s real substance to this, and not another one of those sleeping mole stories getting out of hand, then Tim Hollman can sit in for you as control leader of Ruby One.”

  Chapin exhaled sharply. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” the DD said, his words quick and dry. “Keeping you here serves two purposes. It frees you to look into this matter without having to also oversee Ruby One, and it will keep the brass on the Hill happy.”

  “I’ll get on it right away,” Chapin said.

  “No, you’ll go home and get some rest. Tomorrow morning, you’ll report to the medical facility for a full checkup. After which, you can start on this Davidov thing.”

  Chapin stood. “I want to play this real close, sir. Just you and me, for right now.”

  “For right now. And, Kevin,” the DD added, “I hope this proves out for you. As I said before, there’s a lot of pressure coming down on me from up high. Some people want your ass…and they want it bad.”

  <><><>

  In the wood-paneled library of Robert Mathews’ modest house in Chevy Chase, Maryland, Mathews and his adoptive father, Walter Hirshorne, sat across from each other.

  “You know, Walter, I just realized how little time we’ve spent together in the past four months,” Mathews said, smiling.

  Hirshorne, who had been attending a meeting at the U.N. at the same time that Mathews was there making a campaign stop, had accepted Mathews’ offer of a ride back to Washington on his campaign plane.

  They’d left New York at eleven that morning, and had been together since. Mathews missed his “father’s” company and was glad of this chance to spend time with Hirshorne.

  “It gets wearying, doesn’t it?” Hirshorne asked, his eyes studying Mathews carefully.

  “I never really imagined how much.”

  “Are you sorry?”

  Mathews shook his head. “Actually, I’m enjoying it.”

  Hirshorne smiled the secret smile of a father. “I can tell. And you’re doing well, too. I’m proud of the way you’re running your campaign. And most importantly, I think the people are being drawn to you.”

  “We’ll know soon enough if they are.”

  “That we will,” Hirshorne agreed. “What about the endorsements you’ve been waiting for from the teachers’ union? Have you heard anything yet?”

  “Word is they’re still wavering, but our contact feels that they’ll come out for me by the end of the week. We’re uncertain about the teamsters, though.”

  Hirshorne moistened his lips. “It was decided last night, but they’re waiting for another few days before announcing. The endorsement is yours.”

  Mathews gazed at the man who had raised him, and knew if he said it was so, then it was. He wouldn’t consider asking how he’d found out. Walter had ways of knowing everything that was important. “That will help.”

  Hirshorne’s eyes sparkled. “It may even win it for you. If that’s what you really want.”

  Mathews looked past Hirshorne to the single painting on the wall. It was a family portrait, painted when his son, Robin, was a year old.

  “Until two and a half days ago, when I was being interviewed by a reporter, I didn’t realize just how much I wanted to win. The man was good, very good. He hit me hard when I wasn’t expecting it. He started asking about the accident. I almost refused to talk about it, but for some reason I changed my mind and answered his questions. It was the act of finally talking about the accident that made me understand just how much I want to be vice president.”

  He looked at the man he considered to be his father and, in the light coming from the overhead spots, saw the reflection of age on Hirshorne’s face. Yet Hirshorne still appeared ten years younger than his seventy.

  Hirshorne held Mathews’ gaze until he shifted in the leather club chair and said, “I’ve been waiting to hear that ever since you told me you had decided to accept Etheridge’s offer to be his running mate. Up until now, it was always an ‘it’s my duty’, or ‘I think I can make a difference’. But it was never, ‘I want this for me’.”

  “And for you, Walter,” Mathews said in a low voice. “I want you to see me take the oath of office. I want you to be there with me. If I’m elected, it’s because of you, and because of what you’ve taught me.”

  “Don’t be so maudlin,” Hirshorne said, his voice thickening with emotion.

  “It’s far from maudlin. Walter, you’ve raised me as if I were your natural son, and you’v
e taught me about life and the responsibility I have for others—if not by words, then by deeds. I’ve spent my entire life watching the way you work and the way you do things. If I win the election, it will be because of what you’ve taught me. I—” Mathews broke off at the sound of a knock. “Yes?” Mathews called.

  The door opened, and Tom Sanders, the head of Mathews’ Secret Service detail, entered.

  “Your car is here.”

  “Thank you, Tom,” Mathews said.

  When Sanders closed the door, Mathews turned to Hirshorne. “I guess that’s it for now.” Standing, Mathews went over to Hirshorne. “When the election is over, we’ll spend some time together at the ranch.”

  Hirshorne stood. “Good,” he said as he embraced his adopted son.

  “Walter,” Mathews said, stepping back and favoring his adoptive father with a searching gaze. “Have you heard anything about the Soviet incident?”

  Hirshorne appraised Mathews for a few seconds. “Such as?”

  “Etheridge and I were talking yesterday, before the speech. He’s of the opinion that we should use the incident to our benefit.”

  “What was your opinion?” Hirshorne asked.

  “To leave it alone. Walter, when I was younger, in high school and you were with the CIA, I remember all the problems you had. I also remembered something you once told me. We had been talking about the CIA and all the bad publicity generated from the Bay of Pigs. You said ‘Espionage is for professionals; politics is for professional amateurs; keep the two separate and the country will run better’. That’s basically what I told Etheridge, except my wording was stronger.”

  Hirshorne smiled. “That was a long time ago... You gave him good advice, Robert. Very good advice. To use what happened in the Soviet Union is a mistake.”

  “What was it about?” Mathews asked.

  Hirshorne shrugged. “I haven’t had a chance to get all the details yet. But from what little I’ve heard, it had to do with a deep cover Soviet spy. The Company was getting him out of Russia, and the operation went bad.”

  “He was killed?”

  Hirshorne looked at his watch. “Your car is waiting.”