Sigma Division

by Steve Richer

  “Come on, I thought you were the kind of guy who took risks for the hell of it.”

  The pregnant woman approached the kitchen and they both stared at each other for a moment. Suddenly, all his priorities were straight.

  “Not anymore, Spicer. I’m sorry. Good luck.”

  He hung up and it was the easiest decision he’d ever made.

  “Ned, why does my living room still look like a second-rate airport lounge?”

  “I missed you, baby.” He walked the short distance to her and took her in his arms. “We’ll redecorate, baby. I’ll do it tonight.”

  She was puzzled as he hugged her a little stronger and longer than usual.

  “What happened when I was away? What did you do?”

  “I just love you so much.”

  She still wasn’t too sure about what was going on but she hugged him back. All was right in the world.

  * * *

  Spicer needed an ally. He’d spent most of his life working alone but the situation was bigger than anything he’d ever encountered. He couldn’t handle it by himself. Luckily, there was one man he could trust above everyone else.

  He was standing on Kilmer’s porch and in less than two minutes he was able to summarize the entire state of affairs. However, by saying this on the porch, his friend not letting him in, this told him it would be an uphill battle. Kilmer was in his bathrobe, holding the door almost closed to avoid cold air from getting in and to keep from being overheard.

  Kilmer exhaled and shook his head. “You’re seriously brain damaged, you know that?”

  “All I need is to get in with you. Once I’m through the first checkpoint, I can easily bypass the others.”

  Kilmer looked down for a moment, pondering his decision. Spicer had just asked him a huge favor.

  “You’re the last chance I got to make it right, Doug.”

  “You know, when most people retire, they take up arts and crafts. You’re the only one I know whose idea of a good time is to break into CIA headquarters.”

  Spicer shrugged. “I also like needlepoint.”

  He winked.

  * * *

  The ride to Langley took forever and Kilmer kept quiet from the beginning. Spicer decided not to push his luck and kept his mouth shut as well. If the security team at the gate checkpoint was suspicious of them showing up right before midnight, they didn’t show it. These days, with sensitive missions being conducted overseas on a routine basis, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for senior personnel to be at CIA headquarters at night.

  After parking, Kilmer walked into the building with Spicer in tow. The latter was carrying his little red gym bag. They walked to the security station where the guard was fighting boredom by drinking coffee.

  Kilmer said “I have an S-T four clearance. I’m taking this man up to my office.”

  This was the magic formula. Spicer was ordered to go through a metal detector, as was his gym bag, but within moments he was issued a temporary pass and the two men were waved through.

  In the elevator, Kilmer became jittery.

  “Why did you come here anyway? What do you expect to find?”

  “The guy who wanted to blow up the psych lab in Virginia, we took his notes. I was fired before I could see them, they were being analyzed by forensics.”

  “Sure you can do this?”

  Spicer nodded and put on rubber gloves before producing a small device the size of a cigarette pack from his bag. It had gone through security by being stuffed in the wooly case he usually employed to sneak his weapon through security checkpoints.

  “CIA gave me the most sophisticated high-tech gadgets. They fucked themselves and they don’t even know it.”

  The car stopped on the second floor.

  “I’ll see you in your office in 20 minutes.”

  Coming out of the elevator, Kilmer took off to the right while Spicer headed left. Every second neon on the ceiling was turned off and it made him feel like he was in a hospital at night. At least the place was deserted.

  He followed a corridor until he reached a closed the glass door. There was a keypad and a slot for a card ID. This was completely expected. He extended a card-thin circuit board from his little device and inserted it into the slot. He pushed a button on the side and it began to hum.

  A security camera was conspicuous in the corner but there was nothing he could do about it. He didn’t even glance at it to call attention to himself. After nine seconds, a seven-digit number appeared on the digital readout panel of his gadget and he punched it in the keypad.

  The door clicked open and he slipped through it.

  Walking briskly, he went through a series of cubicles until he spotted a glowing EXIT sign. He headed in that direction, got to the staircase, and climbed the steps down two by two.

  Back on the ground floor and away from prying eyes, he went to the B wing. He worked on controlling his breathing as he did the taxi driver maneuver. That’s what he called it when he scanned addresses, looking for the right number on a door. At last, he located B-1943.

  Thank God for systems integration, he thought. The keypad system was the same throughout the building. He pulled out his device again and plugged it in so it could find the passcode. A few seconds later he walked in.

  He pulled out his cell phone so he could use it as a flashlight and the first thing he noticed was the nameplate on the desk. It read Clara Mailley.

  Clara?

  Chapter 20

  Spicer decided to stop thinking. He had to stay focused on the mission in play, that was how he’d survived so long in the field. Using his phone/flashlight he looked at the floor and noticed that the boxes Ned had said he’d brought down were gone. He closed the door behind him, turned on the light, and got working.

  He went around the desk to the file cabinet, a model similar to the one he’d had in his office, and kneeled. There was no card slot for this keypad so he got a screwdriver from his bag and made quick work of removing the four screw on the pad.

  Next, he produced alligator clips and pinched them between the wires after skinning them. The other end plugged into his device. He pushed a button and it took six seconds for the code to appear on the readout.

  He punched in the code and opened the cabinet drawer. It was filled with the notebooks and drives he’d gotten from Harland Fry. He grabbed everything and stuffed them into his gym bag before doing the same with his tools once the keypad was screwed in again.

  Getting back to his feet, he used the desk to keep his balance. But while he did so, his hand slipped and he knocked an object off the desk. He swiftly picked it up from the floor. It was a framed photograph and thankfully there was no damage.

  But then he noticed the subject of the picture. It was his informant, Clara, and she was posing with an older man he’d seen on TV, a guy named Regis Ford.

  “Fuck me,” he whispered.

  * * *

  Spicer carried his gym back into Esther’s apartment while glancing over his shoulder as if he was being followed. It could very well be the case, too. The gloves he’d worn at the CIA were only for form, out of habit. If – when – they noticed his intrusion, they would review the tapes and readily identify him. On the other hand, he counted on Sigma Division not wanting to draw too much attention.

  Their first instinct would be to spirit him away, but the US intelligence community had gotten so bloated that you couldn’t do that without involving at least three different agencies. No, he decided. If what they were working on was as secret as he believed it was, they would want to keep this quiet.

  “Thanks again for letting me stay here,” he said. “I really appreciate it.”

  Esther was wearing a similar pajama as before. “It’s like a genie has granted my wish.”

  “Be careful what you wish for, I’m moving in permanently.”

  She smiled and locked the door behind him. Meanwhile, Spicer set his bag on the couch as he sat down next to it. He emptied all the material he’d stole
n and then he changed his mind, carrying the notebooks to the kitchen table.

  “You want a beer?”

  “Sure.”

  He sat down at the table while she went to fetch the beverages. He didn’t waste any time and opened the first notebook. All the notes were handwritten and he kept frowning as he bumped into hundred-dollar words. He ignored the beer Esther poured into a glass for him.

  “Do you have a dictionary I can borrow?”

  “Here,” she said as she got her laptop. “This is much faster.”

  She put the computer on the table next to him and browsed to an online dictionary. This reminded him that he also had USB drives to go through. He plugged one in, prayed it wouldn’t be a virus that would destroy Esther’s computer, and began scrolling through the files. As it turned out, it was the same material which was in the notebooks, only cleaner.

  And he started reading. For the next hour he went through dozens of files, all scientific formulas and theories which took twice as long to absorb due to his limited vocabulary. By the third notebook – because he still compared the books to the flash drives in case of discrepancies – he was almost asleep. Then he heard a voice coming from the television and he stood up.

  He went to the living room where Esther was on the couch watching some cable news. There was coverage of a political speech and Regis Ford was outdoors in front of an adoring crowd, addressing his voters.

  “The future is knocking on our door, asking to be let in. I say let it in!” The crowd went wild. “The future is a time when Washington will decide once and for all to solve the problems instead of shuffling them along. The future is for those back on the moral track. The future is a place where America stands alone on the world’s highest peak. I am the future!”

  Spicer said, “And you really want to elect that wackjob, uh?”

  “Well, I don’t agree with all his views but I sincerely believe he can put America back in first place.”

  “It’s those assholes that get people like me killed. Besides, he’s just a baby-kisser.”

  The picture on TV changed to Ford shaking some hands.

  Esther rolled her eyes. “He’s not that cheesy.”

  On TV, Ford held a baby in each arm and Spicer grinned.

  “See?”

  “Well, it’s a tried technique.”

  “He’s a bit too radical for my taste,” Spicer spat.

  “I’m sure he’ll mellow down once in power. It’s always like that, you pander to the base to get in power and then you work with both sides to really make changes people will get behind.”

  Spicer still wasn’t buying it and she switched channels. Just knowing that he’d been played, that his mysterious informant Clara had been working for Sigma all along to trip him up and that she was an obvious fan of Regis Ford, it made his blood curdle.

  Because that’s what had happened, Houseman and Michaels had wanted to get rid of him the moment he’d started asking questions. So they’d had one of their own feed him false information, giving him rope so he could hang himself. And he’d fallen for it.

  He looked at the notebook he was still holding, ignored his desperate need for sleep, and continued flipping through the pages. He was about to give up when he noticed something was written faintly inside the back cover.

  What the…

  It was a free e-mail address containing the word Anchises.

  “Bingo.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I need to send out an e-mail,” he said as he hurried back to the kitchen.

  Intrigued, she got up and followed him to the computer. Spicer went to one of his throwaway Gmail accounts, not bothering to sit down, and started typing.

  What is the Anchises Project about? I used to be an insider and I want to know. What is so secret that they’d want to kill Harland Fry for? I don’t have the ability to trace you, please call or write.

  He wrote down his number, a burner phone he’d bought today, and hit the Send button. He felt out of breath by the time he was finished.

  “I won’t get in trouble over this, right?” Esther asked. “My place, my computer…”

  “I’d say less than 65% chance of getting waterboarded.”

  “Good odds, great.”

  * * *

  Kilmer was in his man cave playing pinball. He’d been playing this game since he was a boy. He’d gotten his first job as a paperboy strictly so we would have money to play at the arcade down the street. It had been worth getting read the riot act for coming home late and hanging out with the local juvenile delinquents. To this day, playing pinball helped to clear his mind.

  His wife lumbered downstairs and leaned against the wall, watching him play.

  “I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, her voice hoarse from sleep.

  “Yeah, I’ve been downstairs for a couple of hours. Sorry I woke you up.”

  “Are you coming to bed?”

  “In a little while, something at work got me wound up. I wanna relax a bit more.”

  “Okay then, just don’t forget to set the alarm.”

  She kissed him on the cheek and left.

  He barely felt her presence as he continued to mash the flippers aggressively like it was the last time he would ever play. And that’s exactly what it was.

  Chapter 21

  Spicer had opened his second beer but he wasn’t drinking. His heart wasn’t in it and he was past dulling his senses. He was on the couch next to Esther and the TV was the only source of lighting in the room. It seemed like the only thing that was playing were infomercials. It was that late.

  He stared at the tip of his shoes, his feet up on the coffee table at her insistence. He was lost in thought, possibly overwhelmed by everything that was happening, and she picked up on it. She turned sideways and propped her head on her elbow against the back of the couch.

  “It’s gonna be all right, Gene. I don’t think there’s anything worth that amount of anxiety.”

  “There is,” he said.

  “Look, this guy’s gonna call back. You’ll get him on the record and then you can blow the lid off whatever the government’s hiding. All they’ll be able to do afterwards is vigorously deny everything.”

  “It’s not all they can do.”

  “Sure it is. I’ve read stuff where in some cases they fabricate a story to corroborate their lies. Sometimes they send people away to prison, Guantanamo, but with the truth on your side they can’t touch you.”

  He took a deep breath and lifted his head to face her. “I used to kill people for the government.”

  She stared at him, agape. “What?”

  “I used to be proud of it too. I got rid of national security threats, I destabilized regimes. I like to think that because of what I did I avoided wars.”

  She stood up and walked behind the couch. He realized she was putting a physical barrier between them. He couldn’t fault her. At least, she wasn’t running away or trying to call someone.

  Esther closed her eyes for long seconds before speaking again. “Why… why did you stop?”

  “I didn’t believe in it anymore. When they have you kill a geeky scientist who happens to be a quiet family man, it’s hard to believe that there wasn’t any other option.”

  She backed up ten feet to the kitchen table where she sat down.

  “You’re not scared of me, are you?” he asked quietly.

  “I’ve had less stressful moments, Gene.”

  “I’m scared enough for the both of us, believe me.”

  “Why?”

  He stood up but kept his distance, anything so he wouldn’t appear menacing.

  “I’ve killed people who were less a threat than me. Don’t think they’ll give two shits about taking me out.”

  The phone started ringing. It was the burner phone.

  Spicer looked at her to see what her reaction was but she remained seated at the table. She didn’t make a run for it. That was a good start.

  He got the phone
from the couch and answered. “Hello?”

  Esther stood up and came within earshot. As far as he was concerned, she had earned the right to know what was going on so he let her listen in.

  “You the fella who sent the e-mail?”

  Spicer perked up at the southern accent. “Your voice, I know your voice. We’ve met, haven’t we?”

  “If you are who I think you are, yes. You want to know what kind of deal you made with the devil?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we have to meet. What I have to say is too valuable to say over open lines.”

  “How soon can you be in Miami?”

  The man hesitated and said, “Nine tomorrow night.”

  Hesitation was good. That meant the man was thinking and not simply answering what Spicer wanted him to.

  “Okay, meet me at the Salvador Sea Hotel, the outdoor bar. Order a blue drink, I’ll do the same.”

  “This better not be a setup.”

  “I can say the same about you.”

  The line went dead and Spicer hung up.

  Esther frowned. “Why Miami?”

  “Because I know that city like the underside of my dick. Something goes bad, I can disappear in three and a half minutes.”

  “The city will be crawling with cops.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “That’s where Regis Ford will be holed up for election night.”

  That gave him pause. Then he shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, I’m familiar with the place.”

  “I hope you won’t disappear without saying goodbye.”

  He looked at her and she seemed to have digested the information about him being a former hitman. He liked that she had an open mind.

  “I’ll grab some sleep and leave early in the morning for the drive to Miami. You mind if I spend the night here? I’ll use the couch.”

  She nodded.

  * * *

  There was a sound.

  Kilmer bolted upright in his bed and scanned his room. He rubbed his eyes and waited. There, it happened again! It was a muted creaking sound. It was too gentle to be coming from outside, too gentle to be natural.

  Or had working for the CIA for almost 40 years made him paranoid? Then again, knowing what he knew, everybody had a reason to be paranoid.