by James Quinn
Dempsey picked up on the bitterness and sadness in Barr's voice. Better to turn it around, he thought, and bring the story onto the principal characters. “What was he like?”
“Who, Dan? Oh, Daniel was a great guy. Everybody loved him. Charming, courteous, good at his job, you couldn't not like him. When we heard that the network had been rolled up and Dan had been killed, well, it just took the wind out of me. I was angry at first, then bitter and finally the sadness took over. I cried. I don't mind admitting that. No one deserves to be shot down like an animal and then have his body incinerated.”
“Were there any clues as to who was behind the shooting?”
Barr shook his head. “Not much. It was a Polish security service operation to take down our network, but who the shooter was, we never knew. There were rumors of it being overseen by the KGB, but again, there was no concrete proof.”
They had reached the top of the hilly track and came to a gate with a 'Private Road' sign on it. Dempsey thought that the private road led into an enclave of trees. They were nearing their destination.
“Ah, here we are,” said Barr, as he unhooked the gate and escorted Dempsey through. They carried on walking through the shade of the evergreens.
“What about Dan's father, Charles – how did he take it?” asked Dempsey.
Barr grimaced, as if he'd experienced a taste of something bitter. “Do you know Chuck Ferrera?” he asked.
Dempsey shook his head. “Only by reputation, I never met the man.”
“Let me tell you, Chuck Ferrera was one of the best officers the CIA ever had. We both served in the OSS and then transferred over to the Agency after the war. Chuck was one hard son-of-a-bitch when the mood took him; definitely old school OSS. I had a meeting with him following the destruction of Black Orchestra. As the senior officer responsible for the operation, he had every right to talk to me and find out what had happened, didn't he? It's about a ten minute walk up that way,” said Barr, indicating a track over to his left.
“What did you tell him?”
“Not much, there wasn't a lot of info coming in at that time. Remember, it was only a matter of days after the shooting. Chuck walked into my office and sat down, Christ; I didn't even recognize him at first. I know the death of Daniel must have come as a shock, but he looked like a man ready for the grave himself. I talked to him, told him what we knew, but I'm not sure he was taking any of it in. You see, Dan was Chuck's world, he loved that boy like a father is meant to love a son; utterly and completely. But I think it was a bit more than that also.”
“How do you mean?”
“You see, Chuck brought Dan into the Agency. I won't say he pulled a few strings, because he didn't need to, Dan would have made it on his own under any circumstances. But I know that Chuck certainly pushed CIA and Dan Ferrera together. I'm guessing that the feeling of guilt was the thing that was eating Chuck. The next time I saw him was at the memorial for Dan at Langley. It was a nice service, obviously Chuck couldn't have a funeral because there wasn't a body, but we did the best we could for him. Everyone said nice things and the Director handed Chuck Dan's Intelligence Star. I think Chuck just wanted to get through the day. After that, I lost track of him for a while. Compassionate leave for a few months, I heard.”
“Did Chuck have family around him at this time?”
“I'm not sure, there was certainly no one close that I was aware of; distant cousins, perhaps. The person who Chuck relied on most was Dick Higgins. He was always close to hand.”
A shiver went down Dempsey's spine. Don't react, he told himself. Don't let the outer shell crack. “Why Higgins? Were they close?”
Barr looked at him as though he was a dumb hick. “Why sure, they were family through marriage. Chuck Ferrera married Dick Higgins sister, Theresa. They'd known each other for years, been in the OSS together before moving over to CIA. Dick Higgins was Daniel Ferrera's godfather.”
Dempsey analyzed the information quickly. Higgins was close to Chuck Ferrera, was godfather to Daniel Ferrera. If that wasn't motivation enough, then what was? Troy Dempsey had found what the old hand detectives would call an investigative chain of evidence.
“Of course, the problems for Chuck didn't go away. In fact, as soon as he returned to work, it just got worse. The drinking, not showing up for meetings, his appearance. Eventually, he got moved out of operations and shoved somewhere deep and dark where he wouldn't make a nuisance of himself; finance or something I heard,” said Barr.
The path had cleared and the mass of the forest was starting to thin out. Dempsey could see what looked like the start of a man-made gravel path up ahead, the type which would lead the walker up to the front porch of a lodge.
Barr dug in his walking stick and lifted his body forward. “The booze was the main problem for Chuck, can't blame him, especially after what he'd been through. But I think the straw that broke the camel's back was when he started petitioning the DCI for permission to implement his wacko scheme to send a covert action snatch team into Europe.”
“What?” Dempsey said, surprised by this information. Well, that was new.
“Yeah, don't tell me you haven't heard any of this before. It was all around Langley, Chuck had become a bit of a joke at CIA,” said Barr.
“I've been pretty much away from Langley for the past few years, so the inside gossip has passed me by. Until I was appointed to this case, I very rarely got back to headquarters.”
“That's okay,” said Barr. “I'll tell you what I know, as long as it helps with your investigation. Don't want Langley to think I've been telling tales out of school.”
Dempsey had looked through the files containing Charles Ferrera, the shooting in Warsaw and the Black Orchestra network and none of them gave any hint of Ferrera's actions. The drinking and his shabby appearance sure, even his bust up with the Director, but of planning a covert op; nothing.
“He kept trying to get into the Director's office with this plan of his. I think the DCI humored him for a while, and then quickly grew tired. He wanted CIA to drop in a special unit with the express aim of identifying and snatching numerous Russian agents in Europe before whisking them off to a secure location, one of the forts that we use in Malta for prepping special operations, and submitting them to interrogation,” said Barr.
“You've got to be kidding. That's a crazy idea!”
Barr nodded, he'd said much the same himself. “Of course it is, and CIA would never run anything so plain ass dumb in a million years. It was too much to lose and not enough to gain. But you've got to remember, we were dealing with a grief-stricken man at the end of his tether. That and copious amounts of booze don't exactly make a good combination for clear and practical thinking.”
“So how did it resolve itself? Did he get fired?”
“No. At least, not straight away and not in the way you're thinking. Chuck began to start yelling louder and louder about his 'special operation' and in the end, someone on the senior staff had to pull him in and give him some straight talking.”
“Let me guess; Higgins,” said Dempsey.
“That's what I heard. Higgins gave him a good talking to and several days later, Chuck Ferrera formally resigned from the Agency. I think there was a collective sigh of relief when it happened, for everyone's sake. He never showed up for his leaving party and meeting with the DCI. Probably for the best in the long run.”
“What happened to him after he left the Agency?”
“This happened,” said Barr, pointing to the rise of the hillock. What stood before them was the long since burnt remains of a typical Vermont family hunting lodge. In its time, it must have been quite a building, capable of sustaining several people over the course of a season. Dempsey thought it must have been beautiful in this location in the mountains. The two men stood among the ruins of the wooden building. Dempsey flicked the charred remains with the toe of his walking boot.
“I got a phone call from him, several months later. He said he'd pretty much sold
up and moved to Vermont and was living here. Would I like to come up and visit for the weekend, do a bit of shooting and fishing? So that's exactly what I did,” said Barr.
“How was he?”
“Better, much better in fact. He still had his demons, you could see that, but he was better than before. The isolation, the environment, the lack of whisky had obviously done wonders.”
“How long had he been up here?”
“Oh, months. I'd come up and visit him every now and again; play some chess, do some hiking. In truth, I fell in love with the place. So much so that when I retired from the Agency last year, I bought a place a couple of miles down the road; Karen and I get up here whenever we can.”
“So what happened here?” asked Dempsey, pointing at the remains of the lodge.
Barr turned around, inspecting the scene. “That's partly why I asked you up here. Don't get me wrong, I was glad to receive your call and I'm happy to help with your investigation, especially as it comes straight from the Director. But I wanted to see if you could help me.”
Dempsey looked confused. “I don't understand Ralph. What happened?”
Barr sighed. “I came up here about a month before I retired. I hadn't heard from Chuck in a wee while and just decided on the spur of the moment to make a visit. It's a pain in the ass to get up here, but I was worried. When I arrived, I found this. The place had been deliberately torched and by all accounts, had gone up like an inferno.”
“But no one inside?”
“No, sir, no bodies inside at the time. The local fire investigator said that a propellant had been used extensively inside. That's his way of saying that someone doused the place with petrol and then set it alight.”
“And Ferrera?”
“Gone. Missing. No word, no letters, no contact numbers; a big fat zero. Everything from his life had been… disconnected.”
Dempsey tried another tack. “What about Higgins, did you try him? Especially as you say that they were friends, family. Maybe he knows?”
“I tried Higgins, but he knew nothing. He said he'd been busy, hadn't seen Chuck in a while. I got the impression they weren't on speaking terms anymore.”
Dempsey walked around the carcass of the property. An old kettle lay on its side, blackened by the heat, a chess piece had somehow survived and was hidden away among the broken wood. A clock, a picture frame, a metal chair leg…
Where had Chuck Ferrera gone and why? Wherever he was, he certainly wasn't dead if the theory of Mr. Knight's identity carried any weight. Ferrera had obviously made a pact with the Devil and decided literally to burn the bridge back to his old life.
“Is there anything else you want to see? It'll be getting dark soon,” said Barr, looking at the sky.
Dempsey shook his head. “No thanks, Ralph, I think I've seen enough. You've been very helpful. I think it's time we made it back to the cars.” Back to the cars and then back to Langley. Dempsey had a report to write.
* * *
It had taken Dempsey a week to compile his final report which would be shown to the DCI and when it was ready, and both he and Wellings were satisfied that they'd covered all the angles, Dempsey put in a call to the Director's office.
That very afternoon, Dempsey sat in front of the DCI as he read through the report. The only other person present was the Deputy Director of Central Intelligence, Royston Webster, the DCI's hatchet man. Taking his time, turning the pages carefully, occasionally turning back to remind himself of a passage in the eight-page report, the DCI began to devour the information. But it was the conclusion that the Director wanted to make himself conversant with.
OPERATION: TALLON
Subject - Internal Investigation;
Date - May 1965
CONCLUSION:
I BELIEVE THAT THE ILLEGAL ACTIONS OF TWO INTELLIGENCE OFFICERS FROM THIS AGENCY, AS WELL AS THEIR FRAUDULENT USE OF AGENCY LOGISTICS AND RESOURCES, WAS CONDUCTED TO CARRY OUT AN ASSASSINATION OPERATION TO TARGET SOVIET INTELLIGENCE ASSETS THROUGHOUT EUROPE. AS FAR AS WE KNOW, SEVERAL PEOPLE HAVE ALREADY BEEN MURDERED. WE HAVE NO REASON TO DOUBT THAT MANY MORE WILL ALSO BE KILLED.
FOLLOWING THE CONNECTION BETWEEN THE TERMINATED AGENCY ASSETS QJ/WIN AND WI/ROGUE TO RICHARD HIGGINS AND FORMER CIA OFFICER CHARLES FERRERA, I BELIEVE WE HAVE A CLEAR CHAIN OF EVENTS; THE SHOOTING IN POLAND, THE MURDER OF ANATOLI GALERKIN, THE INSIDE INFORMATION OF HIGGINS TO THE COVER IDENTITY OF FERRERA AS 'KNIGHT'.
HOWEVER, AS THIS INVESTIGATION WAS ONLY A PRELIMINARY OPERATION, I FEEL THAT A MORE INDEPTH ENQUIRY SHOULD BE CARRIED OUT BY THE RELEVANT BODY WITHIN THE AGENCY, NAMELY INVESTIGATORS FROM THE OFFICE OF SECURITY.
TROY DEMPSEY – OFFICER ASSIGNED.
The Director placed the file carefully down onto his desk and stared at it for a moment. “So it was for revenge, revenge for his son. I can quite understand that, even if I can't condone it.”
Dempsey sat relaxed in the chair. “If I can just correct you a moment, Mr. Director, I don't think it was all done for his son.”
The DCI frowned and turned to look directly at Dempsey. “Explain please, Troy.”
“I think it started out that way, I mean what father wouldn't want to catch the person who cold bloodedly murdered a loved one. No, I think Chuck Ferrara's thirst for vengeance went much further than that. He set up this fake operation and network to track down the KGB man responsible certainly, something he achieved with ruthless efficiency.”
The Director and the DDCI nodded. The CIA trained their operatives well it seemed, even retired ones.
“But,” continued Dempsey. “I think it went much further than that. I believe he wanted to set a spark, a spark that would ignite a war between the CIA and the KGB, something that would engulf both agencies and possibly break down the fragile truce of the Cold War.”
“But why? I mean revenge for the death of his son, yes, but all-out war… that's madness. Just insane!” said the DCI.
Dempsey nodded. “Probably by the end he was insane, we will never know. But look at it from his perspective. His son was murdered in the line of duty, something that is anathema in our profession; the killing of each other's officers. Added to which the unwillingness and inactivity of the previous DCI to at least try to find out what had happened to Daniel Ferrera on that operation in Poland. But I think the final tipping point was when he was fired from the Agency. It left him with no options, and for a man with little left to live for, that's a dangerous combination.”
“And we're definitely sure that this Mr. Knight is Ferrera, are we?” said Webster, seated at his Master's left shoulder.
“As sure as we can be. It all leads back to him. We received a copy of the tape of Mr. Knight speaking in Luxembourg from SIS. We sent it down to Technical Services Division for voice recognition analysis. We had also managed to search out a recording of Chuck Ferrera, giving a lecture at the 'Farm' a few years ago.”
“And what was the result?” asked the DCI.
“Ninety percent match on both voices. It was the same person.” Dempsey could see that the DCI was deliberating, unsure if this was enough evidence to hang the former CIA man. He decided to force the issue and give his own opinion. “Mr. Director none of this would stand up in a court of law. A good defense lawyer would rip this investigation to shreds. My remit was to follow the seam and see where it led us. Unfortunately, we'll never get to know all the answers about why and what they did.”
The DCI seemed satisfied with Dempsey's analysis. “Precisely, the last thing we'll be doing is dragging this to a court of law. It's the culprits that we want and not necessarily a prosecution. I have no desire to preside over our agents' details being dragged out into the public domain.”
“So where are they now? Today, at this moment in time?” asked Webster.
“As I understand it, the Office of Security has conducted a preliminary interview with Assistant Director Higgins. They played it low-key, as per your instructions. Questions about his relationship with Chuck Ferrera, Ferrera's current wh
ereabouts, his godson Daniel, the shooting in Poland. Details that don't implicate Higgins directly, but send a clear message that we know he was up to something without going as far as accusing him.”
“So give him enough rope to hang himself. A good tactical move. So what has changed?”
Wellings spoke for the first time. “We've had a surveillance team on Higgins; the usual stuff, bugging his home phone and office line, surveillance units following him, and up until recently they had nothing. Then, following the interview with OS Investigators, Higgins was seen to leave Langley and drive into Downtown DC to make a call from a payphone. We traced the number back through the company phone records and found that it was an international call through to Mexico. When he did it again several days later, we were ready for him and the call was able to be recorded.”
“Ferrera?” asked the DCI.
Dempsey nodded. “The Hotel San Domingo in Mexico City, room 533 is registered in the name of Maurice Knight. We've had Mexico Station keep a team on the comings and goings. So far, the elusive Mr. Knight hasn't left his room for the past week and probably not before that either.”
“He's frightened of being snatched. Wise man,” said Webster.
“But he can't stay there indefinitely. He'll have to come out, sooner, rather than later. I think we need to authorize a containment team to bring him back. Roy, can you arrange that with Mexico Station and the Mexican police?” said the DCI.
“Consider it done Mr. Director,” and the DDCI pulled himself out of his chair and left the office to issue orders to his subordinates.
The DCI looked over at Dempsey and Wellings. “Gentlemen, you have performed superbly, a credit to the Agency. I think we can afford you some vacation time. How does that sound?”
They both looked at each other. Some vacation time sounded just what they needed – anything that didn't involve searching through files or surveillance logs.
“And after that, we'll look at perhaps a change of role for both of you. Something a bit more in line with what you're trained to do. Operations is a big place, I'm sure we can make use of your talents,” said the DCI.
