The Everman Journal

by Clark E Tanner

  Gilson uncrossed his legs and re-crossed them the other way. “Thurston Treen was a deep undercover plant at the MPPRS. The company was a civilian contractor that had ties to the military and national defense agencies as a supplier, but someone in the company was using their resources to access classified information and sell it to terrorist sympathizers in the Middle East. Treen was there to figure out who it was and gather documentation that would take down their operation and put them away. He also was not alone. The NSA had two other people in other departments doing the same thing he was.

  “Treen was onto at least two people in the building and was compiling evidence against them. The shredding job he was doing was something all department heads did, but he always did his shredding at night because some of the information he was collecting was outside of his job parameters and he didn’t want to be caught with his eyes on stuff he wasn’t supposed to see. His accident came at a very unfortunate time and set the operation back almost a year. But since some folks at the agency don’t believe in coincidence, they didn’t want to take chances that the entire operation had been blown, so the other two agents in the building were pulled with what information they had already gathered, and everything had to go dark until we could get more eyes inside the building.”

  Daniels took Gilson’s last point as his cue. “Since, as the Investigator says, there was even the slightest possibility that Treen had been burned and killed for it, we had to get the family to safety and into the program.”

  “Is the family still in the witness protection program after all these years?” Monica directed her question at Daniels.

  “Not as such. I mean, they assumed new names and so on, and were moved to a different state to begin a new life, and they were watched over for years by the Marshal Service. But the wife died of cancer in 1997. By now, the youngest of the children is in the mid-forties and they all have children of their own who have never known a different name than the one given to them. So officially they are in the system, but only in computer programs. They haven’t needed physical monitoring for more than a decade.

  “In fact, with this new information coming to light, it is reasonable to infer that they were never truly in danger. If the murderer had his own reasons for killing Treen with no knowledge of Treen’s true identity, then the undercover operation was probably not in any danger at all.”

  “So it couldn’t hurt for us to contact the family” Monica began

  “But think it through, Agent Sterling”, Daniels said, holding up an index finger pointed toward the ceiling, “The children, of whom there were three, are the only people left who even remember those days. They think their dad died in an accident at work, but they were eventually told by their mother that he had been a brave man, working undercover for his government to catch some bad guys and he was a hero. And, as you might expect, once the kids knew that much, the natural assumption was that he had been discovered and killed by enemies of the United States. That is the history they are now living with. It’s been over for many years. So would it serve anyone to have them find out at this late date, that their dad was a victim of cold-blooded murder by some whacko who just picked him at random to feed a shredder with?”

  There was silence in the room for a minute as they all contemplated what Daniels had said.

  Sam was the next to speak. “There is something about this account that confuses me. According to Everman’s report, and I have no reason to doubt it at this point, when he was called back to work that day there were several law enforcement agencies swarming all over the place and they even questioned him briefly to get his story, then let him go.”

  “That’s what the report we have says”, Gilson confirmed

  “Well, I realize the passing of time and circumstances renders it a moot issue,” Sam continued, “but I can’t help wondering why, when it was obvious that the only two living souls in a locked building were the victim and one security guard, and the investigators on scene all knew that the victim was deep undercover gathering information that could take down a ring of terrorists, or at least shut down their operations, why didn’t anyone look deeper into Everman? Why didn’t they question him further? Why didn’t they go over his life with a fine-toothed comb and make sure they had covered all the bases?”

  Gilson sat forward now, elbows on his knees. “What’s your problem, Agent Runyan? It’s a thirty year old case and the players are mostly dead and the operation is nothing but a file. Why get worked up now?”

  Sam’s eyes turned dark and he faced Gilson squarely from his chair. “Well, Duane,” Monica knew at this point that she wasn’t the only one detecting the strain “what works me up, thirty years later, is that if some crack NSA investigator thirty years ago had taken the time to do his job, maybe someone going back over Everman’s life might have stumbled on some strange happenings on his back trail. Maybe with some intense interrogation they could have gotten him to crack. Maybe some still-warm cases would’ve been solved, the operation Treen was working could have continued with positive results, and a lot of the family members of Everman’s victims could have had closure before they turned 60 or died of cancer, and maybe Everman’s killing spree would have been stopped there!”

  Gilson jumped to his feet, face turning red, but Daniels was just as quick to come out from behind his desk. “Ok, gents,” he said, “let’s all calm down.” He stared at Gilson until the NSA man turned to face him and then finally backed up and sat on the couch.

  Daniels sat back on the corner of his desk and let out a sigh. “Well, Agent Runyan and Agent Sterling, I am sure you realize that the real folks at fault, if there is fault to be found,” he added quickly as he saw Gilson begin to stiffen up again, “are people that by now are either dead or retired, and there’s nothing about this that can be changed at this point. If it would benefit the family in any way for them to know what really happened, I would seek permission to release their contact information to you. But I hope you’ll agree that it would not serve to benefit anyone involved.”

  Mon nodded her head in agreement and Sam in a calmer tone now, said “No, I agree with you, it would not. And whether his death was as a result of being burned or just some ‘whacko’, as you worded it earlier, their dad and granddad was a hero who died in the service of his country; that’s all they need to know.”

  “So what’s your next step?” asked the Deputy Marshal

  Sam and Monica glanced at one another. “Well,” Sam shrugged, “I guess we continue to follow what Agent Sterling has dubbed the ‘dark trail’ of Cole Everman until we get to the end. There are others out there who have wanted to know what ever happened to their loved ones. For that reason alone this trip is worth the effort.”

  They thanked Daniels, and nodded in the direction of Gilson, who only nodded back without rising from the couch. Daniels escorted them back to the lobby and said his goodbye there. As Sam held the lobby door Monica squeezed by him and out the corner of her mouth, in a low tone, said, “…don’t think you made any friends in the NSA today, Sammy”

  The door closed behind them and as Sam strode out toward the parking lot he said, “I’ve got enough friends.”

  They got adjoining rooms at the Hyatt Place. It was getting too late in the day to try catching a plane, and they needed to look back into the file to regroup and make a plan anyway. So they agreed that after showers and a change of clothing to get out of their business attire, they’d sit down in Sam’s room to talk.

  It was 7:00pm when Monica knocked on Sam’s door. He opened it to let her in and saw she was wearing jeans with a blue and white pullover turtleneck sweater. Her feet were in slippers with no socks.

  “You look comfy” he observed “figure on eating dinner in your room?”

  “No,” she responded nonchalantly as she settled onto the sofa in the sitting area of the spacious room. “We can go down to the dining room when you’re ready. I don’t think they’ll mind my slippers. My feet need a break. Hey. You’re not
embarrassed to show up in the hotel diner with a girl in slippers are you?”

  “Not at all” Sam smiled. “I’d join you but I didn’t pack slippers.”

  “You own slippers?” she asked

  “No. Besides, there’s no dining room here. They only have cold sandwiches, salads, baked goods and soft drinks to be ordered from a touch screen kiosk.” Monica frowned with disappointment as he concluded, “I don’t think there will be a person standing by to care about your footwear.” He reached over and handed her the Everman file. “I’ve been doing some reading while waiting for you. Unless you see something here that I did not, we may as well book our flight and head back home tomorrow.”

  “Oh?” she said as she took the file from his hand

  “There doesn’t appear to be anything in there that would require our presence in Virginia, which is where the next portion of his journal takes place.” Sam held up a hotel plastic cup as he stood near the ice bucket, indicating he was offering Mon some ice water. She declined with a shake of her head.

  “That’s the last of the Everman papers forwarded to us by Bossier City PD” he continued, “and from the content it appears we can conduct the rest of our investigation from the comfort of our office; although I do expect you’re going to find that his practices in recent years took a very dramatic turn.”

  Monica slouched in her seat, put her feet up on a hassock in front of the sofa and began to read. Sam opened the door to the hallway and looked back. “Do you want me to come back with a list of sandwiches on the menu?”

  Without looking up from her reading she said “Surprise me”.

  The Memoirs of Cole Everman, 2006 – 2011, Alexandria, VA

  I will acknowledge here what I presume you, my readers, have already made mental note of and probably discussed among yourselves. In all that I have provided for you, wide gaps of time and information have been leapt over, leaving you with many unanswered questions.

  By way of explanation, if not apology, let me just say that I have endeavored to provide you with that which will best inform you as to who I am and what I have accomplished in my chosen life.

  It is a sad commentary on our modern world, that so many people go through life laboring at a pointless, goalless career in order to put food on their table, provide a place to exist, and hopefully stash a little bit away for old age, and in the end that is what defines them.

  They die, and for a brief while they are remembered as ‘George the architect’ or ‘Louise the interior decorator’; ‘Stan the grocery store manager or ‘Betty the school secretary’. Yet, these same people, who will in such a short time be forgotten altogether, were never known for what they truly loved. In fact, the ball and chain that was their profession in society may have been the very thing that gobbled their time and energy and prevented them pursuing that which should have defined them in the end.

  George, allowed to follow his dream, may have been a sculptor. Louise might have been an artist in oil and canvas. Stan could have been remembered as a great writer and Betty as a virtuoso on the violin or piano.

  I never allowed myself to be taken prisoner by the mindless pursuit of some hole into which society would be delighted to plug me. Once you begin down that road of chasing a master’s degree or burying yourself under a weight of student loans that threatens to crush you, you have given hostage to greatness – to paraphrase Francis Bacon – and before you know it, you have met an early end or you are too old to remember the dream that escaped you so long ago.

  I learned early in life what was most important. At least, that is when I began to learn. For years I thought it important to defend the weak, to foil the bully, to avenge the wronged. In more recent years however, I have realized that what is truly important, that which will live on after me, is the pursuit of justice for its own sake.

  I can’t help everyone. Have you ever read the classic stories of the heroes of fiction? If so, has it ever occurred to you that since they are only one person and can only be in one place at a time, they can only help one person or one small group of people at a time? This begs the question, ‘Who is saving all the other people out there who need help?’ Do you see where I’m going? There will always be people who are oppressed, victimized, enslaved, cheated; one person cannot help them all. Even Jesus said “The poor you have with you always”.

  But justice as a concept! Ah! If one person burns like a fire for the defense of justice and that which is just, then in the end he has set an example for all to see. He is not one person, but a symbol; champion of an ideal; someone to emulate; someone to remember with admiration.

  If you were to search out my life year by year and follow every step that modern technology and official documentation will reveal to you, you will not find evidence that I have at any point, in any decade of my existence, sought to conform to society’s expectations of worldly pursuit. You may conclude that I have remained content to be a blue collar worker, a minimum wage earner, with not one goal of high ambition.

  I sincerely hope your final conclusion though, would be that I have kept myself free for higher and nobler causes. I have left behind a trail of good deeds. I have bequeathed to my posterity a legacy of justice.

  Whatever you may think of me and no matter your opinion of my career of choice, it is important to me for you to know me as a patriot. As you know, I served in Viet Nam during that conflict, and I was honorably discharged from military service in 1974. You also know that I held a security position for a time in Colorado Springs, in a facility that housed civilian contractors working with highly confidential materials relating to national security.

  Over the years I have had jobs that required my ability to keep and safeguard many secrets of that nature, not the least of which was the position I accepted in Alexandria Virginia. Being a true patriot and having sworn to secrecy, not only for a time but for life, I cannot reveal here the full nature of the work that I did there.

  My job was in a facility on the outskirts of the community and the company was based there but had and still has satellite offices in other countries. The building housed classified U.S. Air Force defense operations in the 1960s and 1970s but is now run by the Department of the Army in close cooperation with Homeland Security.

  That is really all I can tell you. I haven’t been there for over a year at the time of this writing, but what I record for you now is an accounting of my movements, not in the course of my duties, although I will be sharing just a little bit about that place, but as a defender of justice in the pursuit of my true calling.

  Monica looked up from the file as Sam reentered the room with an armful of sandwiches and fruit juice drinks. “Pastrami for both,” he was saying, when he met her gaze and read the look of incredulity on her face. “I’ll bet I know where you are right now” he said with a grin.

  “Yeah”, she said, “and it would be humorous if not for what we already know of Everman.”

  “And what comes next” Sam said as he pulled a handful of plastic tubes of condiments out of his pocket. “Keep reading. Do you want mustard, mayo or both?”

  “You said, pastrami, right? Just a little mayo and lots of mustard. Thanks. My goodness, but this guy was full of himself!” She went back to reading while Sam busied himself with the food.

  Alexandria is a beautiful town with a rich history. It was George Washington’s hometown and also a vital seaport during colonial times. It was an important base of operations for the protection of Washington D.C. during the Civil War; that is, once the union took control of it.

  Interestingly, even though several historical names are connected with Alexandria as champions against the slave trade, still, there is a monument right in the middle of the intersection of Washington and Prince Streets in memory of the Confederate dead from Alexandria.

  It is indicative of the paradox that continues to exist in the very framework and essence of the community. The old next to the new, the old way of thinking standing shoulder to shoulder with modern
enlightened thought, the indelible memories of past wrongs living in tandem with hopes of a brighter future.

  Like I said, it’s a pretty town, but even pretty towns have their dark side; their dark alleys; their dark corners.

  Let me back up and tell you how I got settled there, and then how it was that I was awakened to the need that I eventually attended to in my own way.

  I took my job at the installation previously mentioned, in the fall of 2006. We will call it Defense Monitoring Cooperative for the sake of this record. DMC hired me based upon my past experience, both in the military and with security agencies I had worked for which were contracted to protect sensitive assets.

  It was nice work for a man entering his mid-fifties. The place is so tightly locked down, they don’t need security personnel during night hours. It is during business hours only that they require entry control, property patrol and visitor assistance. By using the term ‘visitor’ I do not mean they allow just anyone to come in and get a tour. Visitors are there on business from government agencies, some of them investigative, some administrative, some production agencies and so forth. But there in an official capacity or not, they must have an appointment, they must sign in and wear a bright red visitor’s badge in plain sight throughout their stay, and they must be escorted by facility security everywhere they go. That was my job. I worked a twelve hour shift, 6am to 6pm, Monday through Thursday, and had every Friday through Sunday off as well as holidays. It was the cushiest job I had ever had. More importantly, it allowed me a great deal of free time during the days and hours that made it best to pursue my main purpose, to which I have already alluded and will explain further.

  My immediate supervisor was David J. Sommerville. I will be telling you more about David, because he and I developed an interesting alliance while I was at DMC. But let me come back to him.