by Steve Richer
“It did,” Spicer said.
The cop certainly wasn’t convinced and he started walking out. He turned around abruptly.
“You know I can’t let you take any of that stuff, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not handling this investigation but the person who will is gonna need all of that.”
The subtext was more along the lines of, I don’t know who the fuck you are but they’re making me be civil to you. Spicer chose to play dumb.
“Absolutely. Take care of yourself.”
Darrow nodded and left. The moment he was alone, Spicer turned toward the desk so his activities would be shielded him from view. As soon as he was confident that nobody from the hallway could see him, he grabbed a handful of notebooks from a drawer and shoved them down the back of his pants. He did the same with flash drives he found by the copy of the New York Express-Ledger.
Next, he got a USB key Ned had given him earlier and he inserted it into the desktop computer before switching it on. After a few chirps, the virus he had just plugged in was automatically activated. It would not only reformat the hard drive, erasing all data, but it would look for cloud storage services and permanently delete these as well.
After 10 seconds, he pocketed the USB key and let the program do its thing. He was about to leave when Ned entered the office after having done his own quick investigation.
“Fry was heading the project and it seems like he hadn’t told anyone of his results.”
Spicer took the information in. “Was he married?”
“Divorced. He lived alone now, had for several years.”
“Okay,” Spicer said, rolling up the newspaper. “We clean his house before the cops get there.”
They left office.
Chapter 8
Kilmer’s house had an impressive game room. The man had won control of half of the basement and had turned it into a man cave before the term became all the rage. His wife thought it was madness but gave him this small measure of freedom. The room was decorated soberly with framed posters of the Rat Pack, a few neon signs, and a sizable Wurlitzer jukebox.
However, the main attraction was the vintage Ferrari-branded pinball machine. Spicer was currently beating the flippers to a pulp while his former boss was leaning on the wall next to him, a glass of single malt scotch in his hand.
“I told you from the start I didn’t know what kind of job it was,” Kilmer said, swirling the fast disappearing ice cubes around.
Spicer snarled. “They told me it was gonna be peaceful.”
“I’ve never seen you run off in the face of work before.”
Anger mounting, Spicer sent another ball flying into the game.
“It’s not the work I’m afraid of, it’s what they have me doing. I think they expect me to do for them what I used to do for you.”
He missed the ball as it tumbled from his flipper and it was game over. He backed away from the machine and grabbed his drink from the small tiki bar in the corner. Meanwhile, Kilmer set his own glass down and took his turn at the pinball.
“Well, they know what you did before. My guess is that’s why they hired you.”
Spicer sighed. “Look, I have nothing against my job description. I’m supposed to check out security leaks and stuff. I have no problem with that. I’ve had to check out who wrote a newspaper article this morning, what do I care, right? It was about someone who might think he knows about some of our projects. No specifics.”
“First Amendment,” Kilmer said.
“That’s what I said, but I do my job. Then there’s this guy who feels like blowing up half of Virginia, says the government is coming to get us, shit like that.”
Having lost a ball, Kilmer reached for his drink and took a long gulp. He turned to Spicer to listen to the rest of the story.
“But then as the cops are preparing to go in, I get a call. They tell me I have to make sure the guy doesn’t come out alive.”
“Gene, goddamn it. That’s classified information.”
“Two guys trying to denounce our project on the same day? Don’t you think it’s weird?”
Kilmer lifted his hands, palms out. “I don’t think anything right now. You can’t tell me any of that stuff.”
“Fuck that. This is too bizarre.”
“This entire government is bizarre!”
Spicer swallowed the rest of his drink as he began strolling around the room. “I didn’t wanna kill anymore, Doug.”
“I know. But you still have a long life ahead of you. Isn’t it too much to risk? Don’t mess with it. People like us are always better off doing what we’re told to do.”
Spicer started. “That’s exactly the problem.”
* * *
He woke up with a start. Someone was knocking at the door. From decades of conditioning, of being alert to anything out of the ordinary, he was awake at the first knock. Logic told him that if there was danger, they wouldn’t have knocked. Nevertheless, he hadn’t stayed alive all this time by being careless.
While he blinked the cobwebs away, he reached under his bed for his red gym bag and produced his pistol. It was a Taurus though not the same one he’d used in Europe – he had tossed that one in the river after the job.
Making sure the weapon was loaded, he held it firmly and tiptoed quickly to the door. His instincts were in overdrive, thinking about what was happening. The apartment was a tactical nightmare but he supposed he could shoot it out in the hallway and make an exit through the balcony if he had to.
Taking a deep breath, he glanced through the peephole and allowed himself to relax when he saw that the surprise visitor was his neighbor Esther. He was relieved about going back to DEFCON 5 but also simultaneously annoyed by her presence. The one thing he’d never be able to tolerate was socializing neighbors.
He tossed his gun in the closet and finally opened the door. She was barefoot and was wearing a bathrobe over a nightshirt. He realized she was much more beautiful than he’d given her credit for.
“Uh, hi.”
“Good morning,” she said, chipper. “I’m sorry to come by this early in the morning… I didn’t wake you up, did I?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Oh my God, I did, didn’t I? I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Spicer said with a dismissive wave. “What can I do for you?”
“Actually, I ran out of coffee, forgot to buy some. I was wondering…”
She extended her right arm which held a pink mug.
“Sure. Come in.”
He took the mug from her and headed to the kitchen while she lingered by the front door. She craned her neck and gave a cursory inspection to the apartment. There were a smattering of cardboard boxes and the only furniture was a recliner and a flatscreen TV.
“You don’t receive many guests, do you?”
Spicer came back, sporting a frown at her comment. “No.”
He noticed what she was looking at and handed her the cup filled to the brim with instant coffee powder. If she was a coffee snob then she was out of luck.
“It’s pretty much me by myself. And I very rarely nag myself about the mess.”
“You’re a very tolerant person.”
He nodded, grinning. “I am.”
“Well, thank you.”
“No problem.”
He opened the door for her and she left. He couldn’t help himself and watched her go back to her apartment through the peephole. It was the first time in a long time he’d felt more than annoyance from a woman.
That was quite unfortunate.
Chapter 9
The wind was cold as it slapped against Spicer’s cheeks but he couldn’t deny how gorgeous the scenery was. While the campus of Cornell University reminded him of the recent adventures at UVA, there was a laid-back yet classy vibe that could only be found at Ivy League schools. Fallen leaves were whirling around him and Ned.
“If we’re to get to the guy who wrote
that article we don’t have much of a choice.”
Ned agreed. “The Anchises Project is the only active business right now.”
“We check all the ongoing research, see what it’s about. We’ll see how people feel around us.”
With not much to go on, their plan hinged on basic investigation methods, namely beating the bush and see what came out.
Shortly after walking by the Big Red Barn, a charming former carriage house, they went into McGraw Hall. They climbed to the third floor where they had an appointment with an aging professor. He was two cheeseburgers away from a heart attack.
“So you folks are from the foundation. You’re not cutting off my grant, are you?”
He chuckled and the others politely joined in while the academic closed his office door.
“No,” Spicer began. “We came to check up on your research, see how it’s going.”
“It’s going well. I’ve just reached the middle-ages.” He sat down and lit his pipe. “You don’t mind, do you? They threaten to fire me over this terrible habit about once a month. But at my age you start putting pleasure ahead of everything. Otherwise, what’s the point of living?”
Ned shook his head. “It’s fine.”
The professor smiled. “With my prostate down and out and my slight, shall we say, weight problem, this is the only pleasure I have left.”
Spicer said, “Why don’t you give us your sales pitch on this research?”
“I can’t say that I have one. I’m not supposed to talk about it, remember?”
“Just try anyway.”
“Are you sure you guys really are from the Anchises Foundation? I wouldn’t want to be in trouble over this.”
“That’s the spirit,” Ned said.
“Perfectly understandable, sir. I’m sure you have the foundation’s phone number in your notes. Give them a call and ask about us.”
“I’m sure that’d be totally unnecessary.”
“No, really, go ahead. We’ll wait outside.”
The man made the call and after that he suggested they had a talk while walking through the Carl A. Kroch Library, for privacy’s sake. The place was not only state-of-the-art but it occupied three floors underground and was used to house rare books and manuscripts.
“I’m sorry about this, I shouldn’t have doubted you.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Well, this is where I do most of my research, it’s quiet and secret. This is one of my assistants right there. I tell them specifically what to search for so they never really know about the big picture.”
Spicer followed the man’s pointing finger and spotted a grad student at a table, engrossed in a book.
“And what is the big picture?”
“For the last two years, I’ve been researching dictatorships throughout history and the effects of such a regime on the population. I’ve written just over two thousand pages so far, and I’m only half way through. It’s fascinating work.”
“Tell me professor, don’t you find it an odd research. I mean, don’t you ever ask yourself why a foundation would give you the mandate of researching such a topic?”
The man stopped and turned up to face his two visitors. “Look, I love my job. I have a Ph.D. in political science and one in history. This is a dream job. But I’ve seen weirder. Hell, at the height of the Cold War my uncle was recruited by the government to look into the use of torture in interrogation. Now, that’s far out.”
* * *
An hour later, the two CIA men were walking back to their rental car. Ned was silent and Spicer picked up on it.
“What is it?”
“I’m a bit uncomfortable with what we just learned, Spicer.”
“Are you?”
“I’m sure there’s a reason why we didn’t know any of this, why our personal files only read Cornell University, history research. We weren’t supposed to learn what we just did.”
Spicer stopped to face his partner. “Look, you can’t expect a guy to go down in the woods to chop off trees only holding his dick in his hands. That’s what they’re doing with us. We’re supposed to find the guy who wrote the article but they don’t tell us shit. Don’t you find this the least bit strange?”
“We’re messing with deep classified shit, here.”
“Only one guy’s idea of it.”
“You seriously need to blow your nuts, man. Please, go jerk off in the car, I’ll wait for you.”
Spicer walked off and the McGraw Tower chimes started ringing.
Chapter 10
Unable to believe he was actually doing it, Spicer left his apartment and walked over to Esther’s. He was feeling like a teenager which was silly. He had done unimaginable things, shown courage dozens of time, and his stomach fluttered at asking his neighbor out on a date.
And she said yes.
They went out to dinner and then, when he asked her what they should do next, she suggested the FDR Memorial. Designed over more than seven acres, the monument consisted of four outdoor rooms filled with sculptures representing the highlights of Roosevelt’s presidency. The evening was mild and Spicer enjoyed walking along with Esther.
“I can’t believe you’ve never been here before,” she said.
“I used to live in Miami, I only came out here for meetings and such. I never really had the time to hop on a tour bus.”
“Okay, we’re getting somewhere. All evening we’ve only talked about me. You’ve learned I spend my days at the Common Sense Alliance, that I took a sabbatical from the law. I told you about growing up in South Dakota, about high school. You’ve told me you used to live in Miami and work for the government.”
“I told you I was married before,” he said.
“Okay, that’s right. But does it really count as personal information if it was 20 years ago?”
“It does if my heart is still broken.”
“Is it, Gene?”
He looked at her sideways and grinned before shaking his head. He had indeed been married in his 20s but it hadn’t lasted more than a few years. His wife couldn’t cope with his deployments. The silver lining was that they hadn’t had any children to get caught up in the storm of divorce.
Spicer remained silent for a minute before deciding to give her a small dose of personal information.
“I work for the CIA.”
That took her aback. “Is that why you can’t talk about it, you’re a secret agent?”
“No, I can talk about it. I work for what we call the Office of Security. I check on people’s background, that sort of stuff. Phone job, really. I used to work out of Miami but with the budget cutbacks they’re bringing everybody back to DC.”
They passed by a sculpture of FDR sitting in a wheelchair and Spicer glanced at it. He felt a bit like him right now, vulnerable and on display.
He continued. “You haven’t told me what you do at the Common Sense Alliance.”
“I recruit volunteers, train them.”
“That’s right, it’s an election year.”
“You say that like it just occurred to you.”
He nodded. “It did just occur to me.”
“How can that be? It's a presidential election year. That’s all the news talk about. There are posters, ads everywhere. It’s especially exciting since our little third party is neck and neck with the Democrats and Republicans.”
He shrugged off what sounded like an accusation. He hated politics on principle. Politicians had dictated his life for the past 30 years. The Common Sense Alliance had started out as a loose think tank of libertarian intellectuals and exploded into a widespread grassroots movement. They had done what the Tea Party had failed to do by straddling the fence between liberalism and conservatism, cherry picking the best of both parties.
“You thinking about getting into politics yourself?” he asked.
“Actually, I haven’t decided yet.”
“It’s a dirty world.”
“Doesn’t have to be.”
<
br /> They reached the end of the monument. By a common accord they dropped the subject. He liked how feisty and passionate she was about the subject. There were still glow of idealism in her eyes. It was something to admire. For a long minute they walked in silence.
“I’ve had a really nice time, Gene.”
“Me too. I hope I didn’t screw up anything.”
She arched her eyebrows, puzzled. “No, why?”
“I haven’t been on a date since the Hundred Years’ War ended, and I wound up marrying her.”
“Let me assure you that you did just fine. I won’t say yes to your proposal just yet. So you know.” They both smiled. “What happened with your wife anyway?”
“She left me for a cheesy lounge singer.”
She chuckled, unsure if it was a joke or not.
“I’m glad you asked me out tonight.”
“So am I.”
He stared into her eyes for the longest time. He could have kissed her – he should have kissed her – but he was rusty. Besides, it was probably best to take it slow.
Chapter 11
Spicer was getting tired of visiting universities. At least the weather in Lubbock, Texas was far more pleasant. It was a nice 70 degrees on the Texas Tech campus and sunny as well. This made him forget his plight for a moment but at the same time it made him miss Miami.
With Ned, he went into the Engineering & Technology Lab, part of the Whitacre College of Engineering. They followed a middle-aged professor around the sizable research facility. There were lasers, transmitters, a whole bunch of widgets in glass-enclosed compartments.
“This is where we conduct the research.”
An unbearable grinding noise cut through the room which made Ned and Spicer cover their ears. For his part, the scientist seemed used to it.
“Don’t worry about it, it doesn’t cause any permanent damage.”
The noise died after a couple of students flipped a switch.
“What?” Ned screamed.
They both wiggled their ears in the hopes of getting some feeling back into them.
