by James Quinn
Dempsey ruminated. He couldn't imagine the Agency killing its own agents. Pay them off or imprison them, yes. But killing a contractor would send shockwaves through the intelligence network. Word would soon get around that the Agency was free and easy about 'eliminating' its own contractors at the drop of a hat. They would never get anyone to work for them again! He turned to Masterman and spoke, not unkindly. “I don't know whether to thank you or punch you, Stephen.”
Masterman laughed. “A little of both, I would imagine. But I hope that you'll see this as an opportunity to halt something very dangerous and to investigate to see if you have a rogue element working inside your organization.”
The two men walked towards the elevator; the rain had started to come in, and their brief meeting was at an end. The tourists were remaining behind and a tour guide had started shouting out his pitch. Masterman pulled on his gloves and Dempsey stuffed the envelope inside his coat. As they made it into the elevator, Dempsey remembered something from their Berlin days.
“How's the little guy from Berlin? What was his name… ape… chimp… something like that? Protégé of yours wasn't he?”
“Gorilla.”
Dempsey nodded. “Ah, Gorilla, the British Tom Horn. How is he these days?”
“You sound almost jealous. He's fine.”
“I tell you, Stephen, I never saw anyone shoot like him. Maybe we should hire him to solve our rogue agent problem,” said Dempsey in a startling moment of perception which sent shivers down Masterman's spine.
“Grant is fine. He's fast gaining a reputation as one of our best field agents. I'll give him your best, Troy.”
* * *
Troy Dempsey hit the streets and walked away, heading back to his office in the Rockefeller Center. He was tempted to break out into a run, a run that would take him all the way back to Washington in a hunt for a possible infiltrator and a traitor.
He of course did not run. He was a seasoned officer and knew better than to show his hand to a 'Brit', even if they were old friends.
So he sauntered along the street, taking his time and acting like he didn't have a care in the world. But he had to admit that what he had now, in this moment, was a new sense of purpose and determination which he hadn't experienced for many a good year.
Chapter Four
CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia – April 1965
The return to Langley and the subsequent visit to the offices of the Director of Central Intelligence had been brief to say the least, thought Dempsey. An Agency car had collected him from the airport and driven him straight through to CIA headquarters. He was whisked upstairs, through the security gates and past the minimal amount of people necessary. The DCI, obviously a savvy operator, wanted to keep as many people out of the loop as possible.
He entered the inner sanctum and was greeted by an air of tension. A brief handshake and the DCI laid out the problem. “SIS have found something Troy, something that their Chief considers serious enough to pass on to us. They have asked for you personally; I understand that you worked with one of their senior men in the past. He has suggested you as the initial point of contact.”
Dempsey gave the DCI a brief outline of his dealings with Masterman. “We devilled together in the bad old days,” he said, as way of an explanation of why Masterman seemed to have chosen a washed up CIA officer.
“I understand that you have some investigation experience?” asked the DCI.
Dempsey nodded. “Yes, Mr. Director, I served with the Counter Intelligence Corps at the end of the war. Mainly rounding up Nazis and catching a few spies.”
The DCI leaned back in his chair, secure in the knowledge that he had the right man for the job. “Excellent, well, I must say this dossier makes disturbing reading. If it's true, then we do have a problem, a rogue elephant problem.”
Dempsey looked concerned and in truth, was unsure how best to approach his next statement. “So I take it that this operation we've stumbled upon is in no way a legitimate CIA operation. Can I just confirm that?”
The DCI had started drumming his fountain pen on the cover of the file, tapping out a tune Dempsey couldn't quite work out. “I can categorically state that this is not one of our operations. Furthermore, I will not be raked over the coals like my predecessor, in front of all kinds of god-awful committees and hearings because we're being blamed for some kind of false flag operation. If there is a problem, I want it stamped out or contained.”
Dempsey knew the current DCI had been brought in to replace the mishandling of the Agency's affairs following the sacking of its previous incumbent. No one had liked the previous Director, who many at CIA considered way out of his depth both in terms of intelligence operations and as a leader of men.
“I want you to look under the blanket; find where this dossier from SIS leads us,” continued the DCI. “You work directly for me and answer only to me. I want answers, but I want it done with discretion.”
“What about the Office of Security, surely this is their department?” said Dempsey, who had no inclination to get embroiled in an internal turf war.
“At the moment, the OS is out of the loop. I want an initial investigation to see if this rumor has any credence. If not, then no one needs to be any the wiser. I'd like to keep the security people out of it as long as possible, at least until we have something more concrete,” said the DCI.
Dempsey considered this. At least with the DCI at his back, he would have full Agency authority. “I'll need to look through any number of files and interrogate any number of leads. What if I hit a wall?”
The DCI picked up a sealed envelope which had been lying on his desk. It was made from good quality paper with the CIA crest on the flap. He handed it to Dempsey. “That's your keys to the kingdom, at least as far as the CIA is concerned. You hit a wall, you show them that. Boiled down, it basically says that you speak for me. If you want something, you get it or the officer involved will report to me shortly before he begins a new posting somewhere extreme, such as Outer Mongolia.”
“I'll need help,” said Dempsey.
“You can have one officer. Someone you trust, and an office down the corridor. If anyone asks, you're working on a special project for the Director's office.”
The meeting ended as quickly as it had started. Another handshake and then the DCI was escorting him to the door of the office. Dempsey hadn't even had time to take in the view. As they reached the door, the DCI gave him one last parting shot. “Oh, and Troy, I have two simple rules; make it quick and don't fail!”
* * *
Dempsey decided to hit the ground running. He'd set up a temporary office in the east wing, somewhere quiet where he wouldn't be bothered. Then he made his way down to the Intelligence Division to see if he could find the man he was looking for.
Frank Wellings wasn't in his office, but he was down in the cafeteria enjoying a well-earned break and enjoying a cup of 'joe'.
“Holy shit! When did you get back in town? I thought you were hitting the bars down in Manhattan these days.”
Wellings was a rangy forty-year-old who had worked with the anti-Castro movement down in Florida, prior to the Bay of Pigs. Dempsey had seconded him to several Executive Action operations prior to the EA department being blown. These days, he was stuck assessing agent reports for the Northern Europe Section of the Intelligence Directorate. In his opinion, it sucked.
Dempsey knew him as a good man who knew how to keep a secret and was possessed with a good investigative mind. He deserved better than being stuck in a cubbyhole and moving paper around. He sat down at the table next to Wellings and sipped at his coffee. “Oh, I've been dragged back to run something. I've got something for you. You busy these days?”
“Oh yeah, sure, rushed off my feet. There are always paperclips that need putting away,” said Wellings, loosening his tie.
“I need you to do some snooping around for me. Quiet and discreet. Nothing official, at least not yet, not until we have something concret
e.”
“And this comes from?”
For an answer Dempsey merely raised one finger and pointed it directly up into the sky. “God himself,” he said.
Wellings leaned back in his chair and whistled. The DCI himself. It must be explosive. He stared back hard at Dempsey and then a wide grin spread across his face. “When do we start?”
* * *
A day later and the combined forces of Troy Dempsey and Frank Wellings were in full swing. They had an office, phone lines, access to files and the keys to Heaven from the DCI.
“Okay, we start with what we know, which is not a lot. The principals, let's begin with them. We start with the agents and see if it leads us back to the major players in this little drama,” said Dempsey, grabbing an office notepad. He began to write:
INTELLGENCE LEADS:
QJ/WIN
WI/ROGUE
MR. MAURICE KNIGHT – CIA?
HIT-LIST
EUROPE
The first point of call was to pull QJ/WIN's 201 file. A 201 file was a document held for every CIA agent or 'asset' which had been recruited by the Agency. Fundamentally, it gave a biography of the individual and how the case officer involved in the recruitment saw the running of the agent and how it should progress.
The file on Marquez was extensive. Dempsey had put in a 'Priority File Request' to the CIA's Registry and thirty minutes later it was delivered by one of the clerks. He signed for it and then flicked through the agent's file, noting the man's last known address; Luxembourg. Well, that fits with the intelligence from SIS, thought Dempsey. So far so good.
But it was the scale of operations that QJ/WIN had been involved in that amazed him. The agent had initially been part of the CIA's Soviet counter-espionage project, before being upgraded to work on several Executive Action assassination operations. There were no specific details in the files, but the names and locations stood out a mile; Lumumba/Congo, Trujillo/Dominican Republic, Castro/Cuba, Bolivia, Ecuador.
There was a mention of several operations being conducted with a fellow agent; WI/ROGUE. A call to the Registry and another thirty-minute wait before the knock came at the door and that file too, was dropped on his desk. He signed for it and then tossed the WI/ROGUE file over to Wellings. “Here, get up to speed on this,” he said, before returning to the biography of Marquez.
The rest of the file contained numerous assessments by QJ/WIN's various case officers.
“Subject has many contacts within the European underworld and criminal class.”
“He is a man who can rationalize his actions and can ruthlessly execute his orders.”
“Discreet, cultured and a born intelligence operator.”
And so on and so forth. The agent was highly thought of. So, what went wrong?
The last page of the file revealed all. In late 1963 QJ/WIN was 'terminated' as an agent and the reason was the assassination of John F. Kennedy. Since the start of the oversight committees following the Kennedy assassination, and Capital Hill's witch hunt within the American intelligence community – most notably the CIA – the Office of Covert Action had been depleted to almost an administrative section.
Under the leadership of its first Chief, it had a hand or organized roles in the covert world, mainly against high profile targets such as Castro, Lumumba and Trujillo. But once the senators and politicians had started delving deeper, it had been given a choice; toe the line and downsize, or we scatter the Agency to the winds. The new Director of Central Intelligence had capitulated and backed down.
A new Chief had been brought in to reorganize Covert Action; the old Chief moved sideways to a posting in Europe, and the responsibility for paramilitary action was being passed more and more to the mainstream Army and Navy, and less was being done by the civilian operators at the Agency. These days, the Office of Covert Action, or ORCA as it was known, was there only to assist with paperwork and pre-operational planning. ORCA had been neutered.
“So what do we have?” said Dempsey, once the files had been returned to the registry.
Wellings glanced up from his desk on the opposite side of the room and shrugged. “We have a couple of former contract agents who have been reactivated by someone claiming to be CIA. The reason seems to be to eliminate perceived KGB agents in Europe. Someone's definitely trying to screw up a network. The question is, why?”
“Usually it's money or revenge, that's if we take the professional reasons for this type of operation out of the equation. Seeing as this operation is well-funded, I guess we can rule out extortion and if we're to believe the DCI, then it only leaves us with one logical outcome – revenge.”
“Someone certainly knew where to look to find those guys.”
They both sat for a minute, digesting what they'd read. Then it hit Dempsey like a hammer. “Shit, that's it… get those files back up here. Call Registry and get them back now!”
The clerk from Registry came back, lugging both the files. He was barely through the door when Dempsey grabbed them from him. “Come on, come on,” he said, his voice quickening with the thrill of excitement. Could it be the break that could open it up? He flicked through to the last page of the file that bore the title 'ACCESS LIST', the document every officer had to sign whenever they wished to read through a file.
He ran his finger down the line until he came to the dates. The penultimate date was January 1964 and was signed by the Chief of Registry prior to stamping it 'Terminated Agent'. The only other one was in September of 1964, followed by a signature and title.
Dempsey turned and did the same with the WI/ROGUE file. Once again, there was the January 1964 date, the Chief of Registry and the 'Terminated Agent' stamp. The final one on the list was the same date as the other agent; September 1964 and the same signature and title.
“What is it? Who is it?” asked Wellings.
Dempsey turned and stared. “Oh shit… it's the Assistant Director of Plans. It's Richard Higgins!”
Chapter Five
The investigation quickly gathered pace and if it was to go any further, Dempsey and Wellings would need access to the holiest of holies – officer's files direct from the personnel department of the Admin Division.
Filching and examining agent files was all very well, but for CIA officers to have access to their colleagues' personnel sleeves required the direct authorization from the DCI himself. After much wrangling and a few veiled threats by mentioning the DCI's office, the Director of Admin finally capitulated on the clear understanding that any files would have to be viewed in a secure room under the control of the Admin offices.
Wellings took on the role of assessing their new target's personnel file and armed with a notepad and pen he sat and began to dissect the file relating to one of the most senior men at the CIA.
“Find something out of the ordinary. I know that's not going to be easy, given Higgins' prolific role in having an overview of the Directorate of Plans operations. Trust your gut instinct, look for something askew, something that started out as one thing, but turned into something else completely,” said Dempsey.
Higgins' file seemed to be that of the archetypal CIA man during the 1960's. Private money, OSS background during the war, moved over to the Office of Policy Co-ordination with Frank Wisner before it changed its name to CIA.
His career had been on a steady trajectory upwards in various locations around the world, before he'd made his place in the Plans Directorate. In his fifties now, he was riding high as the second in command of the operations arm of the CIA.
As the Assistant to the Director of Plans, his range was far and wide. He could intervene in an operation, had authority to alter or change a mission, and his seniority dictated that he was listened to. Wellings spent the next hour searching through his file, searching for that one lead. He noted several possibilities down, but then later discounted them as being average and not 'askew' or 'out of the ordinary' as Dempsey had stated.
By the end of the second hour, there were still three nota
tions left on his pad. The first was in relation to a blackmail operation against a Bolivian diplomat; the man had been kidnapped by his own people and had simply disappeared off the face of the earth. No, thought Wellings. It was too vague and way off from any European-related operations that this case was a part of. He scrubbed it out with his pencil.
That left the final two. One was to do with a shooting in Poland several years ago, in which a network had been blown and a CIA case officer had been killed. Wellings vaguely remembered the talk around the office about it, but as Polish operations were light years away from the fighting down in Cuba, it had, to him, been nothing more than coffee break talk. It seems that Higgins had decided to open up an investigation into the killing and given himself the role of lead investigator in the case. Unusual for the ADP to get directly involved in such an investigation.
The other was in relation to a possible Russian Intelligence defector who had decided he wanted to come over to the West and live the good life. Higgins had seemingly become embroiled in the case and decided to overrule the defector team which had travelled to see if the man had any 'bones' to validate his claims. The defector team said he was an A Grade source, Higgins argued that after meeting him, he'd judged him to be an agent of disinformation and so on the ADP's orders, the case had been dropped. The Russian had later been found dead. Well, that was interesting, Wellings thought, - decides to come over to us one day, then six feet under the next.
Wellings circled the two notations on his pad and drew a straight line from one to the other. A connection; maybe? But what it was, he had no idea. Yet. He would need to dig deeper into the files again and look at a murder in Warsaw Zoo and the tragic life of a Russian Intelligence defector by the name of Anatoli Galerkin.
