A Spy Came Home

by HN Wake

  Stacia watched her.

  “That story we got fed. About having it all? Reality didn’t quite live up to the hype.”

  Stacia was at a loss. “It’s kinda not like that for us.”

  Shaking her head, Freda talked to herself. “I don’t know a single woman over 35 who is happy with who she is dating.”

  “I’m just not sure you should be telling me all this.”

  Tipsy, Freda was adamant. “Listen, I’m trying to give you a heads up.”

  “About what?”

  “I’m just telling you like it is for women my age. On Match.com you get a few pings. You go on these shitty dates. You realize all the guys your age are picking younger girls, girls 20 years younger.” Freda scanned the room, satisfied she hadn’t missed the entrance of an eligible men then held up her empty glass to the waitress. “So you drop off Match. You sign up for the book clubs. You tell all your married friends that they need to set you up. You go out with your other single, age-appropriate friends. You put on make-up, show off your assets.”

  She tilted the last drops out of her glass. “You go and go and go. You sign up for power yoga. Then they bring out Tinder.”

  She looked again around the bar. The waitress showed up with the new champagne. Freda took a long sip then continued her saga. “It’s all really hard. You lose energy. You start dating younger guys. You know they only like you because you’re a cougar.” She shook her bangs across her forehead to liven herself up, but her voice had slurred. “You have flings with your ex-boyfriend from college who’s married but who flies into NY for work.”

  “You do?”

  “Yup. He’s dumb as rocks but can get me off and we have fun. His wife is a total gold digger so he’s afraid to divorce her cause she’ll take him to the cleaners.”

  Stacia’s discomfort rose. “Uh. Freda…”

  “It’s what life is like - I’m telling you.” Her voice began to calm. “Maybe I should have waited longer.”

  Stacia was hopeful the rant had ended. “To get married?”

  “Yeah. Maybe I would have waited for a man. Not a boy. Maybe at 37, I would have been able to detect boy better. But then, of course, at that age you’re starting to get screwed on the kid front.”

  “I’m telling you, I hear you. Girls today have our eyes wide open. There is no ‘having it all.’”

  Freda sipped her champagne. Her head swayed. “God it’s been fucking years since I’ve been emotionally intimate with someone --” Suddenly, she latched onto a new subject. “Listen, it was good. The article was good. Jack liked it.”

  “He did?”

  “Let’s hope the SFG members read it. They are the ones who should care the most. Yeah. And it’s going to mean something.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Freda had difficulty setting down her now empty glass. “Just that it’s bigger than us, lots of moving parts.”

  Stacia moved forward, gently prodded. “Huh? What?”

  In response, Freda leaned in but slipped on the stool and had to right herself. “Fuck, I gotta go home.” She grabbed her bag, threw down some cash, and stumbled off the stool.

  Stacia watched her weave through the crowd, reach the bar’s glass door, pull it open and walk to the curb, arm outstretched for a cab.

  She pulled out her cell phone and texted Charlotte. “Shiz just got weird up in here with boss lady. The conspiracy theory grows. Must debrief.”

  “Grab a bottle of red. LOL”

  36

  Dupont Circle, DC

  At the Dupont Circle townhouse, Cal looked up Neha Malhotra on the internet. There were over 50 articles.

  The Washington Post described her as having been a young diplomat posted to Kabul to manage community development projects. A year into her posting, she attended the opening of a clinic in Khandahar Province. She and her entourage had exited their armored vehicles to walk the last few yards, surrounded by a large crowd of excited children. Up ahead, the community had come out in full force; the clinic staff, the parents, and the village elders stood waiting to greet her. Just as the entourage came within sight of the clinic, a lone gunman had emerged from behind a ramshackle house. He had discharged five shots before US military personnel jumped him. Three Americans had been wounded and rushed back to Kabul for medical treatment. Neha Malhotra had died within minutes of reaching the US Army base in Kabul.

  At the ceremony marking the arrival of her body back to the US, the Secretary of State had remarked, “Neha Malhotra was the epitome of a Foreign Service Officer. All who knew her, knew of her passion for helping people. She committed her professional career to serving her country.” Ms. Malhotra, a native of New Orleans, was survived by her parents and a younger brother.

  Cal stared at a photo of her on the web. She had been a smiling, happy woman.

  He placed his fingers back on the keyboard and started a new search on Blue Lantern.

  It took another twenty minutes, a lot of wrong turns, and a few dead ends before he found what he was looking for. It was a 2010 archived C-Span video on the National Archives website. Cal hoped the video would illuminate who had real authority over Blue Lantern investigations.

  The opening still frame was of a Senate committee room with Senator Blake Scott, Vice Chairman (R-KY) sitting alone on the platform in front of a few, bored staffers. He was young for his seniority, about 50 years old but looked 40. He had beautiful light brown hair cut perfectly in a tousled, manly way. In his ads, he always wore a lumberjack shirt and grinned smoothly. In real life, people commented that he was a lot meaner than they had expected for a southern gentleman. Rumor had it his mother couldn’t attest that her husband was his father; their bullying had strengthened his mean streak. In the video, he was glaring at a grey-haired man seated at the center table in the middle of the empty room. The video title appeared on Cal’s screen. “Statement of Deputy Secretary General, Edward Thornton, for the US Department of State for the Senate Intelligence Committee”

  Cal hit play. Thornton read from a prepared document, slowly turning the pages. Once in a while, someone walked behind him in the frame, but otherwise the seats remained empty. When the video time stamp reached 1:53, Thornton began a new topic. “Since 1990, the DTC’s formal end use checks - known as the Blue Lantern program - have included pre-license and post-shipment checks.”

  Cal turned up the volume.

  “The program verifies end use and end user of US defense exports. It is clear to this management team that the Blue Lantern program requires significant improvements. A key failure of the program is its timeliness of monitoring and completing Blue Lantern requests.” On the screen, Thornton paused and looked up at the Senator, who continued to read from a document.

  Thornton looked down and read the various responsibilities of the Blue Lantern program.

  At the video’s 4:01 mark, Thornton’s voice raised slightly. “The problems I have outlined today are exclusively an issue of insufficient resources to meet increased responsibilities. This is a significant problem. It is a problem we have raised to this Committee going on five years.”

  He looked up again to the Senator, this time waiting for an acknowledgement. “As you know, Senator, we have consistently been denied additional funds in appropriations.”

  Behind Senator Scott, the staffers were surprised by this unusual boldness.

  Senator Scott gave Thornton a withering look.

  At the 8:20 time stamp, Thornton completed his statement.

  Senator Scott asked, “How many Blue Lantern checks were conducted last year?”

  “Last year we conducted 451 ‘end use’ Blue Lantern checks. This in comparison to 44,000 licenses issued. We simply do not have the man power to check more,” Thornton said.

  “Yes, yes, we hear you.”

  Thornton sat taller. “Well, Sir, respectfully, I hope the whole Committee hears this. Not just us here today. We’re talking about state of the art military hardware that is exported overseas.”
/>
  “Yes, yes, the Committee is aware of your concerns. Now, of those 451 Blue Lantern checks made, how many were resolved?”

  “400 were closed. We have some cases that are still open after an excessive period of time.”

  “What does your office consider excessive?” asked Scott.

  “Our records show we currently have over 29 cases still pending after two years.”

  “Unresolved cases that have been open for over two years.”

  “Yes, Sir. We just don’t have the man power.”

  “So you keep suggesting. All government agencies are under budget constraints Mr. Thornton. Yours is no exception.”

  “Senator, I am not suggesting. I am stating. We cannot do our oversight role with the budget we currently have.”

  “So you say.”

  Cal stopped the video, picked up his phone, and dialed a DC number.

  A woman answered. “Good morning, Deputy Secretary General Thornton’s office.”

  “Yes, good morning. This is Agent Cal Bertrand over at the ATF. I would very much like to have a moment of Mr. Thornton’s time.”

  “What is this about?”

  “I’m just doing a ‘close out’ on a Blue Lantern check. It’s all formality, we just need his approval.”

  “Ok. How about tomorrow morning at 9:15 here at his office?”

  “Any chance we can do it this afternoon?”

  She found an opening. “Ok, let’s try 3:30 this afternoon.”

  “Thanks, much appreciated.”

  As he hung up the phone his inbox pinged. Wilson had sent an email titled “FYI.” Cal opened it.

  Department of Justice

  Office of Public Affairs

  FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

  CEO and COO of Kentucky Company Arrested on Conspiracy to Violate Arms Export Control Act and Related Offenses in International Arms Trafficking

  Lexington, KY – The CEO and the COO of Scimitar Defense, a manufacturer of firearms and weapon systems to the United States military, state and local law enforcement, and worldwide commercial markets, have been taken into custody by the FBI at their Lexington headquarters as part of an ongoing investigation into potential criminal misuse of certain firearms.

  The Task Force was moving ahead quickly under the direction of the Department of Justice. Cal was surprised by his reaction - he was pleased. He should have felt left out, annoyed.

  But the Malhotra cover-up mystery was too compelling.

  Foggy Bottom, DC

  At exactly 3:25 p.m., Cal was escorted into the US State Department’s Deputy Secretary General’s office in the State Department Building on C Street. It was a large office with two utilitarian couches centered around a coffee table, a ten-person conference table, and a bank of bright windows.

  Edward Thornton, a slight, short man with thinning red hair, stepped around his desk with an outstretched hand. He gave Cal a genuine smile. His bearing was open, friendly.

  Cal shook his hand. “Cal Bertrand. Thanks for seeing me, Sir.”

  “Sure, sure, have a seat. Please call me, Ed. What can I do for you?”

  They sat facing each other.

  Cal began, “Ed, I’m going to make a calculated assumption that you and I are on the same side of a certain issue.”

  Thornton was curious. “Please.”

  “I recently watched your briefing to the Senate Intelligence Committee and Senator Scott on the Blue Lantern programs. I was particularly interested in your request for additional resources.”

  Thornton nodded slowly.

  “And I was curious, off the record, and I’m going to be very frank here, why you think the Senator was so against the idea? Why hasn’t the Committee approved a higher budget to a blatantly underfunded program critical to our nation’s safety?”

  “You said you’re with the ATF, Cal?”

  Cal nodded.

  “Do you mind if I see your badge?”

  Cal handed him his wallet, badge side out.

  Thornton handed it back, stood, and called out to his secretary. “We’re going to go get a coffee downstairs.”

  They exited into the long hallway.

  Thornton asked, “So, tell me again, more specifically, what it is you’re looking for?”

  “I was curious watching your presentation to the Committee why a certain Senator would be interested in limiting the Blue Lantern budget?”

  The florescent ceiling lights in the hallway cast a yellow tint to their skin.

  Thornton’s steps were slow and deliberate, matching his tone. “I think you may be the first ATF agent to ask me that question, Cal. Which I’ve always found odd. I’ve been in my position here for six years. I’ve been with State my entire career. I’ve been involved in Blue Lantern for years. And no one from ATF - or the FBI for that matter - has ever asked me about the resistance of the Vice Chairman on the Intelligence Committee to Blue Lantern funding. I’ve always found that incredibly interesting.”

  “Yes, that is surprising. Has he consistently voiced his opposition to increased budgets for the Blue Lantern program?”

  “Yes, at least while I’ve been in this position.” Thornton walked on. “I recently read US arms sales have reached $66 billion. I believe I also read that the US controls nearly 80% of the global arms market.”

  “That’s a huge number.”

  “A lot of money involved in the industry, Cal. Can you guess how many licenses we denied last year?”

  “I’ve got no idea.”

  “And this is public information so I’m not telling you any state secrets.”

  “Trust me when I say I have absolutely no interest in repeating anything you tell me.”

  They turn a corner. Ahead of them is another long, yellow-lit hallway.

  Thornton shook his head. “1%”

  Cal glanced at him, shocked and silent.

  Thornton repeated, “1%. We turned down 1% of arms export license requests last year.”

  “Why is that?”

  “We’re a hand brake on a huge industry. Nobody likes a hand brake.”

  “Wait. Are you suggesting the arms industry wants you underfunded?”

  Thornton raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t they? Fewer limitations equal a freer, more lucrative market.”

  “Wow.”

  Thornton stared ahead and lowered his voice. “And arms manufacturers give a lot in campaign contributions.”

  “So Scott is simply kowtowing to the arms manufacturers?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, you didn’t. I did.”

  “I will say this, Cal. It has not passed me by that the Vice Chairman of the Intelligence Committee not only gets enormous campaign contributions from the defense industry but he is also from a key red state that is very friendly with arms manufacturers.”

  Cal slowed as they reached yet another turn in the hallway. “Let me ask you one more question and I’ll save you the walk to the cafeteria. Has there ever been a Blue Lantern investigation, that you know of, that went…intentionally unresolved? Let’s say, guns went missing and no one followed up on it?”

  Thornton turned to him with a pained expression. “Cal, I’m hoping that you’re investigating a certain situation that has caused me no end of personal grief, so I’ll do you one better. I’ve seen the Vice Chairman bury a Blue Lantern report that identified a lapse in controls that led to very tragic consequences.”

  There it was. The cover up. Cal’s heart raced. He asked, “Can he do that?”

  The agony in Thornton’s eyes was real. “He can do lots of things in the name of National Security.” Thornton held out his hand. “Good luck, Agent Bertrand.”

  In his Jeep, Cal jammed his foot to the floor and shot up 20th Street toward Dupont Circle. A single question circled his mind at warp speed: what would make Senator Blake Scott bury the cable that proved Neha Malhotra was killed by a Scimitar M4?

  By the time he reached Dupont Circle and squealed into the traffic roundin
g the park, he had a pretty good guess. The number one motive for any crime is greed.

  He found a parking space right in front of his building, slammed into reverse, and revved into the spot.

  There really was only one conclusion. Scimitar paid Senator Blake Scott to bury the Blue Lantern investigation that proved Neha Malhotra was killed by one of their guns.

  And he most likely had evidence to prove it. All of Scimitar’s accounting records were sitting on an Excel spreadsheet on the tech team’s USB stick. Upstairs.

  He raced up the stairs to his apartment, fumbling with his key ring and the lock. The key jammed.

  He cursed, “Damn it.” He calmed himself and turned the key slowly, clicking open the lock.

  He raced to his desk and pulled up the Top Secret cable to check the date. Malhotra was killed on July 6. The Top Secret cable was dated three weeks later, July 25.

  Cal yanked out the desk drawer, grabbed the USB stick, and jammed it into his laptop. He whipped his fingertips across the touchpad, scrolled through the directory, and double tapped the file Scimitar 3rd Quarter Expenses.

  On the screen, the spreadsheet opened up. He clicked quickly through to July.

  His eyes slowed. He read every entry in July.

  Nothing.

  He moved on to August.