The Aegis Conspiracy

by Galen Winter

  Clark must have called Teddy. If Clark threatened to spill the beans about Aegis, Teddy would tell him anything. Jake could almost hear Teddy blaming everything on him and then telling Clark he was at the Sahuaro Inn. That sounded so much like Teddy. It also explained why Teddy hadn’t called him. In Washington, it was noon when Den came crashing through his motel door in Tucson. Teddy had plenty of time, but he hadn’t called because he expected Den Clark would kill him.

  Jake ground his teeth. “That lying, two faced bastard,” he thought. “He wanted Clark to kill me. He’d like to shut my mouth forever. I know too much about him. That stone hearted, calculating son of a bitch. He’s trying to get rid of me.”

  Chapter 26

  Gigi waited in the Sunset Motel, watching the street entrance. When she saw Den drive into the parking area, one of her fears dissolved. Den had not been killed. Her fears returned when he entered the room. His jacket and shirt were covered with blood. Blood oozed from the cuts on his swollen cheek and forehead and from his matted hair. He cradled his right hand in his left. She cried out when she saw him.

  Den calmed her. He said he was all right - that he looked much worse than it was. His voice was strong and that reassured her. Den went to the bathroom and winced when he let go of his swollen hand and dislocated finger. He turned on the water and dropped a towel into the filling basin. Gigi was right behind him. She picked up the moistened towel and he winced again as she washed the blood from his face.

  “Your hand, Den,” she asked. “Have you been shot?”

  “No, but it hurts to beat hell. Can you see if they have any tape?” Gigi hurried to the motel office as Den continued cleaning his face and head, wringing the towel in the now almost crimson water in the motel sink. Gigi quickly returned. “This is all they had,” she said and handed Den what remained on a roll of masking tape.”

  “It’ll do.” Den held his injured hand out to Gigi and told her, “Take a grip on my finger - that crooked one - and give it a good stiff yank. Don’t be tentative about it, hon. A good stiff yank.” She did and Den gasped when the sharp pain hit him.

  The motel room provided its visitors with a machine for heating water, together with packets of instant coffee and the usually accompaniments. Gigi broke one of the wooded stir sticks in half, made a splint around Den’s ring finger and, using the masking tape, wrapped it all to his middle finger. Den gritted his teeth and said nothing during the procedure, but he was glad when it was over.

  Finally, Gigi asked: “Is he dead?”

  Den shook his head. “No, hon. The son of a bitch is still alive.” He told her what had happened in the Sahuaro Inn. “I don’t believe anyone saw me. Jake left in a hurry and I don’t think he stopped long enough to take down a license number.”

  Together they cleaned up the room, careful to leave nothing that would identify them or draw attention to their stay. Den needed help to get the suitcases into the pick-up. Then he gave Gigi a light kiss and said, “Come on, Mrs. Adams, let’s get out of here. You’ll have to drive,” he said, waving his bandaged fingers in the air.”

  Gigi, relieved by Den’s confidence, managed a small smile and asked: “Where are we going?”

  “We’re off to see the world. Travel and adventure. We’ll start in Mexico. I think you’ll like it there.”

  In an hour and a half they were at the border in Nogales. The bill of Den’s cap obscured his bruised face when he looked down and busied himself by studying a map as they drove through the United States Immigration station. Gigi answered a few innocuous questions on the Mexico side and they were safely out of the United States of America and into the United States of Mexico. No one looked in the springs under the truck’s front seat. If they had, they would have found a .357 magnum revolver.

  Gigi and Den spent the evening in Guaymas. The next morning they drove south to Mazatlán.

  On the first leg of his flight back to Washington, Jake damned Den for making him behave in such a cowardly fashion. He damned Abdul for his failure to kill Gigi. He damned Teddy for his duplicity. Jake understood the reason Teddy didn’t want to kill Den. Den wasn’t a problem. He was running and as long as Teddy left him alone, he’d keep running and he’d keep his mouth shut. Teddy would leave him alone unless he became a threat. That meant Teddy would keep Jake from looking for Clark and getting his revenge.

  Jake also realized Teddy may have considered him to be a more serious threat than Den Clark. He knew everything Den knew - and more. Unlike Den, he could talk. He could expose the hidden agenda of Operation Ocelot. He could blame everything on Teddy and claim he knew nothing about unauthorized projects.

  Teddy Smith had reason to want to permanently remove him from the scene. What better way than to get Den Clark to do it for him? Well, Teddy wasn’t going to get away with it. He’d see to it that Teddy paid for his treachery. Jake promised to settle that score and to settle it quickly.

  After layovers in Dallas/Ft. Worth and Atlanta, it was approaching mid-night when Jake’s plane landed at Reagan National Airport. He hurried through the terminal and hailed a cab. When it was a block from his Bellavista apartment building, he paid the cabbie and walked to Kensington Park.

  Jake entered the Park and followed a lighted jogging trail, stepping from it briefly to pick up a stone larger than his fist. He continued on the path as it slowly ascended and reached the top of a rise overlooking a reservoir. A bench was placed next to the jogging trail. From it, Jake could look down on the water and on the jogging trail he had followed. Jake left the trail and entered a cluster of evergreens growing a few yards behind the bench. There, partially hidden, he found a comfortable place, backed into it and waited.

  Teddy’s alarm clock buzzed at quarter to six. He awoke and prepared for another day. His day usually began with a before-breakfast jog in Kensington Park. His routine seldom varied. Most of the time, he had the trail to himself at that early hour. That was the way he wanted it.

  As he got into his jogging clothes, Teddy experienced an uncomfortable feeling. He knew its cause. More than a day had passed since he gave Jake’s motel address to Den Clark. If Jake was dead, he expected Den would have contacted him. If Jake was alive, he would have called to see if someone was on his way to Tucson to kill Den. Neither one had called. The suspense made him uneasy. Teddy took the elevator to the main floor of the apartment building, nodded at the security guard and didn’t bother to acknowledge the greeting: “Good morning. Mr. Smith. It looks like a nice day.”

  Once in the street, Teddy began his regular run. In a few minutes, as usual, he entered Kensington Park. A few minutes later, as usual, he turned from the main trail adjacent to the reservoir and entered the one leading to the top of the hill. In another few minutes, as usual, he arrived at his destination and rested on the bench placed beside the trail. It was his practice to sit there for another ten minutes, enjoying the scene and organizing his day.

  From his place of concealment in the evergreens at the top of the hill, Jake watched as Teddy jogged past the reservoir. He knew Teddy’s routine. Often, he had run beside him on that same path. He waited until Teddy reached the bench and sat with his back to him. Without making a noise, Jake crept toward the bench.

  He struck Teddy on the head with the rock, knocking him unconscious. To make sure he was dead, Jake hit him several times on the back of his neck where the spinal cord enters the cerebellum. He would make the death look like a mugging. He took Teddy’s money and threw the empty wallet to the side. He removed Teddy’s Rolex watch. It was not a pirated copy. It was genuine. Jake would keep it.

  Jake walked back to The Bellavista. Everything had gone smoothly. He believed he had left no evidence to suggest his presence at the scene of Teddy’s murder. No one had seen him enter or leave the Park. He was satisfied. He could direct his attentions to other matters.

  Now that Teddy had “met an untimely death at the hands of some unknown petty thief”, it occurred to Jake that a Section Head position in the Projects B
ranch was vacant. The person who filled that position had been an important link in the Aegis organization. The people in Aegis, whoever they might be, would need someone reliable to fill it.

  “Why not me” Jake asked himself. “I’ve got good credentials. Teddy must have given me glowing recommendations whenever job review reports were written.” Jake wished he knew some of the Aegis people, but, with the exception of Den Clark, Teddy had never identified anyone in the organization. Jake hoped and expected the Aegis top echelon knew his name.

  Jake knew the eastern dilettante, Cullen Brewster, would have a lot to say in the naming of Teddy’s successor. He was the Deputy Director of the Clandestine Service, but Jake had only the most casual of relationships with him. Cullen Brewster was hard to get to know. He was born with an aloof nature and he made no attempt to change it. His “stand-offish” manner caused many in the Projects Branch, including Jake, to refer to him as “that patrician son of a bitch.”

  With Teddy’s performance reports, the help of the unknown Aegis people and the support of Cullen Brewster, Jake would be a shoo-in for Teddy’s job. He would have to find a way to get Deputy Brewster’s help.

  Jake had not forgotten his towering need to avenge the humiliation Den Clark had visited upon him in The Bellavista. That humiliation was now compounded. Jake cursed the panic fright he displayed when, like a scared pup about to pee on himself, he had run from Den, first from Grant’s apartment and then from the Sahuaro Inn motel. Perhaps he could find a way to get the Deputy Director’s support and, at the same time, further another of his major objectives - the killing of Den Clark.

  “Could I hang Teddy’s murder on Clark?” he asked himself. “If the ground is properly prepared, I believe it could be done. When I’ve got Teddy’s job I’ll have the facilities to hunt down that son of a bitch and finish him off.” Jake smiled and thought: “The FBI would look for him in the States and the CIA would search for him off-shore. When they found him they would kill him and I’d be rid of him.”

  “Thank you for seeing me, sir,” Jake said as he entered the Deputy Director’s office. Without any preliminaries, he explained his purpose. “Teddy Smith helped me,” he began. “He trained me and he gave me opportunities to prepare covert operational plans. He even told me he would be pleased if I were to be his successor. I will always be indebted to him.

  “Equally important to me, sir, we were friends outside of the Agency. That friendship and my admiration for Teddy make it impossible for me to keep my suspicions to myself. I believe the newspaper reports of Teddy’s death at the hands of a mugger are not accurate.”

  Cullen Brewster didn’t change his expression. Neither did he give Jake permission to sit. Instead, he asked him: “The basis for your suspicion, please.”

  “I assume you are aware of the disappearance of Agent Den Clark?” Brewster nodded.

  “Clark was given the mission of developing information on drug business in Bolivia and, later, in Guatemala. During one of our morning joggings, Teddy told me he believed Clark’s assignments in those two countries led him to involvement in a narcotics distribution scheme. Teddy told me he scheduled an appointment with Clark, intending to question him about the matter.

  “Before that meeting could take place, there was an attempt on Clark’s life. They shot a hole in his apartment window. Teddy told me he thought the Philadelphia mob tried to kill Clark because they feared he would stand between them and their Latin American cocaine suppliers.

  I believe Clark thought it was Teddy who tried to kill him. I don’t believe a mugger killed Teddy Smith. I believe Clark went underground after the mob’s unsuccessful attempt to kill him. I believe he returned to Washington and killed Teddy Smith, making it look like the work of a mugger.”

  The Deputy Director quietly considered Jake’s charge before he asked: “Do we know the whereabouts of Agent Clark?”

  “I don’t know for sure. Teddy sent me to Arizona to follow a lead. We were told Clark had been seen in Tucson driving a pick-up truck with Pennsylvania plates. I looked for him but couldn’t find him. I came back to Washington to report to Teddy, but got here too late. Teddy had already been killed.”

  “Thank you for the information, Mister Jacobson. On behalf of the Agency, let me express our gratitude. We will ask appropriate law enforcement people to investigate.” Then Brewster stood. He did not extend his hand. He said: “Please don’t let me keep you from your duties” and nothing more. He merely stood and waited for Jake to leave.

  Jake made no movement toward the door. “It would be better if Agent Clark were not taken alive,” he said. “It would protect the Agency from media accusations of drug trade involvement.”

  Brewster said nothing. Without moving, changing his expression or making a sound, he stood next to his desk, looking into Jake’s eyes. After a few moments of embarrassed silence, Jake mumbled a “Thank you, sir” and left the office.

  Cullen Brewster’s thoughts were summed up by two words. “Something smells.” Jake’s story was different from the one Teddy Smith had told him only a few days earlier.

  Chapter 27

  The Fiesta Hotel was located within the old part of Mazatlán and was favored by a clientele preferring to look at the two-hundred-plus year-old architecture found in “El Centro” rather than gaze at a seldom changing Pacific seascape. Still other tourists preferred to avoid the higher prices charged at the newer, posh, Five Star and Five Diamond hotels that speckled the beaches to the north of the city in the Zona Dorada - the “Golden Zone”.

  The Fiesta Hotel was not on the beach, but the Bahia de Olas Altas was visible from the rooms that faced the Pacific. The few blocks walk to the Olas Altas beach was no inconvenience to those who preferred a more Mexican and less antiseptic, touristy atmosphere.

  The hotels in the Zona Dorada, the more recently developed part of Mazatlán, were built to accommodate the ever-growing number of people who came to enjoy the climate and the beauty of the Mazatlán area. Any one of those hotels could be expected to have hundreds of rooms, fine restaurants, swimming pools and the other amenities that would attract both locals and visitors from the north. An assassin concealed in a large crowd of hotel occupants and visitors would be difficult to single out.

  The Fiesta had only thirty-four rooms - tiny when compared with the Zona Dorada palaces. Den and Gigi took a room there because of the Fiesta’s size. It was easy to keep track of the hotel’s occupants. Even though their stay in Mazatlán would be brief, they wanted to be able to more easily learn if suspicious strangers were present and watching them.

  In Guaymas, Den and Gigi spent their first night in Mexico behaving like newlyweds. After they arrived in Mazatlán, Den hardly left the Fiesta Hotel. He stayed in the room and worked on his report. His swollen hand and bandaged finger hampered him. Nevertheless, he began to document the history of his involvement with Aegis.

  It started with the revelation of the existence of a secret organization hidden within the Central Intelligence Agency and described it as a group of men who planned and carried out assassinations. He described, in detail, his first meeting with Teddy Smith and the way Smith recruited him into Aegis. He reported Teddy’s explanation of the extent of the Aegis organization and his emphasis on uncompromising insistence on absolute secrecy.

  Den named Teddy Smith as the man who involved him in Aegis’ plan to kill Humberto del Valle. He set down everything he knew about the deaths of Montoya and the Guatemalan students, identifying both Smith and Jacobson as moving forces behind the planning of those executions. He explained how Aegis wove the assassinations into legitimate CIA operations without the knowledge of the CIA officials who reviewed and authorized clandestine operations.

  Though he realized his report would probably be read only after he was dead, Den tried to avoid speculations and personal comments. He accurately reported the part he played in the conspiracies. It was Gigi who insisted he also report his defense of being duped by false representations of Aegis�
� patriotic purpose.

  During the days, Gigi did not stay in the hotel. She thought she would distract Den from the work he had to do. She was probably right. She walked in Old Mazatlán, enjoying its sights and its smells, visiting the Mercado Pino Suarez - Mazatlán’s produce market on Avenida Carnaval - and being impressed by the gothic, colonial Catedral de la Inmaculada Concepción de Maria.

  She would have enjoyed them more if Den had been with her. She hoped he would quickly finish the writing of his exposé. She wanted to close the CIA chapter of their lives and begin the new one that was so much more promising. When she returned to their room on the third day, Den’s look of satisfaction, his smiles and his greeting told her the report had been written.

  “Tomorrow,” Den told her, “we’ll both pretend we’re tourists. We’ll hire a boat. We’ll start at the Marina. We’ll go to the rocks and watch for Sea Lions. We’ll pack a lunch and picnic on one of the islands - Goat, Wolf, Deer or Bird.”

  “Goat, Wolf, Deer or Bird? You’re making that up.” “You’ll see. You’ll see. I’ve already started my new life. I’m a reformed man. I won’t tell lies. At least, not to you. At least, not very often.”

  Early the following morning Den kissed a still sleeping Gigi and left their bed. He dressed and walked from the Fiesta Hotel to a narrow shop operating beneath the one word sign: “Noticias”. It identified the business as a newsstand. A bundle of the Mazatlán edition of “El Debate” lay on the counter. The paper carried a few of the major stories from Europe, Latin America and the United States, but most of its articles dealt with Mexican happenings and, in particular, news items of interest to the people of Mazatlán and the State of Sinaloa.

  In recognition of the presence of gringo tourists, the news stand also carried a modest supply of North American newspapers. Den went to the shelf marked “Internacional” and picked up a two day old issue of the Los Angeles Times. He stopped at a shoreline restaurant, sat at one of the tables with a view of the beach and ordered coffee.