Truth in Hiding

by Matthew Frick

  “Right. So you could leave a voice message,” Casey said. “They’d be sure to call you back right away.”

  “Jackass.”

  Casey laughed, but only for a second. He leaned forward and touched the top of the screen when Andie went back to the “Home” page. “That,” he said. “That’s why I knew the name.”

  Andie saw that Casey was referring to the company’s logo. An outline drawing of an eye with a curled line slanting right below the eye’s pupil. Now that she looked at it closely, it looked vaguely familiar, though she didn’t know where from. “What is it?”

  “It’s Egyptian,” Casey said. “Kind of an ‘all-seeing eye’ like the Eye of Providence on the one-dollar bill.”

  “Like the Masons use.”

  “Yeah. Except this eye, the Eye of Horus, was around a long time before the Masons showed up.”

  “Are you like a closet Egyptologist, or something?” Andie asked. “Or just a general purpose nerd?”

  “The latter. I’m a devout follower of all things Indiana Jones. I even wanted to be an archaeologist when I was younger, after watching Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “No money,” Casey said. “I don’t mean I got turned off the idea because archaeologists don’t make any money, I just didn’t have money to stay in school for ten years to get a Ph.D.”

  “So you filled vending machines.”

  “No, I joined the Navy. Vending machines came after that.”

  “That’s right,” Andie said. “I forgot about that.” She turned back to the computer screen. “So what does this Egyptian eye have to do with a security company? Does it mean they ‘see everything,’ like future problems, as they claim?”

  Casey thought about that. “Could be. But the reason I know about the Eye of Horus—I mean, besides my Indy fetish—is because of the Illuminati.”

  “The Illuminati.”

  “They were a secret society in the late 18th century that had people in the Bavarian government and other organizations. Their credo was something about stopping injustice by controlling the actions of the government through manipulation rather than straight-up domination. They were exposed and outlawed, but lots of folks thought they just went underground and actually spread to the point that they were responsible for the French Revolution in the early 1800s. Some people think they made their way to America and that they still exist, counting several past presidents among their members even,” Casey said. “People say the same thing about the Masons.”

  “Do you actually believe that crap?” Andie asked.

  “Not really, but I’m starting to rethink all that stuff after finding out about The Council. Not that they’re the same, or anything—or even related—but if one group exists, who’s to say the other ones don’t. I mean, the Masons are real. It’s only a question of how much influence these groups really have and how much is just myth and conspiracy theory.”

  “And this Egyptian eye is the symbol of the Illuminati?”

  “I don’t think it’s the symbol, but it was one of them,” Casey said. “And conspiracy nuts try to associate anything that even looks like it to the Illuminati—like it’s proof of their infiltration into today’s governments.”

  “Conspiracy nuts like you?”

  “I’m not a conspiracy nut,” Casey said. He saw Andie’s smile and knew she was trying to get a rise out of him. “Okay,” he said, returning the smile. “Maybe I like reading about conspiracies. That doesn’t mean I believe all of them. I just think they’re interesting. And the ones that stick around for a long time usually have at least some bit of truth to them.”

  “So is there anything to this security company using the Eye of Horus as their logo?” Andie asked, getting them back on track.

  “Maybe they chose that because the founder’s name is Horus. If my name was Horus, I’d have a big tattoo of that eye on my chest,” Casey said. “You gotta admit, it looks pretty cool.”

  “What if it’s not anyone’s first name?”

  “Horus Rhind? Sounds like a name to me,” Casey said.

  “Yeah, but this site came up on the fourth page of the search,” Andie said. “Look here. All the links before this one hit on something called the Rhind Mathematical Papyrus.” Casey looked closer at the computer screen. “I only searched on ‘Horus Rhind,’ though, without the ‘Security Solutions’ part,” Andie added. “Otherwise the company would have probably come up first.”

  “But no actual person named Horus Rhind?”

  “Doesn’t look like it,” Andie said. “If there were, you’d think there would probably be a LinkedIn profile, or something. Especially if he was associated with a company named after him.”

  “What about that ‘Rhind’ thing?”

  Andie went back to the first page of the search. “Rhind Mathematical Papyrus,” she said. She scrolled down and quickly read through the article. “Look at that.” She pointed to an image on the screen. “This papyrus they found breaks down that eye symbol into some kind of mathematical formula. Hence the name, I guess.”

  Casey studied the picture, and after a moment leaned back into the couch. He wrestled with how to articulate what he was thinking. He finally decided there was no way to say it without looking dumb, or without giving evidence to Andie’s “conspiracy nut” accusation. “What if Horus Rhind isn’t really a security consulting company, but it’s actually a front used by The Council?”

  “Front for what?” Andie asked.

  Casey was relieved that Andie chose not to criticize him. Instead, she was apparently helping him work out the problem. “After the bombings in New York, Paul Giordano ran into a speed bump when he was looking into the identity of the guy who hit Soren’s Deli. Turns out a Maryland law firm named Penrose-Klein represented the bomber’s family or something like that, and when Giordano talked to one of the partners there named Escher, the conversation went south real quick. Giordano tried to call back, but the number was no longer in service.”

  “And they were a front for The Council?”

  “That’s what we found out later,” Casey said. “But in that case, they seemed like they had a specific purpose—handling legal problems. The question is: what purpose does Horus Rhind serve?”

  Andie watched in silence as the wheels in Casey’s head turned. After a minute she asked, “You sure you aren’t just trying to find something that’s not really there?”

  “The opposite,” he said. “The more I think about it, the more it fits.”

  “How?”

  “Penrose refers to the Penrose Triangle. The ‘impossible triangle’ that’s just an optical illusion. You can draw it on paper, but it can’t exist in real life. Even the man’s name that Giordano talked to was a ruse—Escher, as in M.C. Escher, the artist.”

  “And Horus Rhind?”

  “Another ruse,” Casey said. “The Eye of Horus and the Rhind papyrus.”

  “Okay. Maybe it’s just a clever name. But go back to your other question. What does Horus Rhind actually do?”

  “Maybe that part’s not a ruse.”

  Andie stood up, finally took her suit jacket off, and fell back in the couch with an audible sigh. “Now you lost me.”

  Casey pivoted on the couch to face Andie. “Let’s say Horus Rhind actually does provide security solutions. Not for companies, necessarily, but for governments—the U.S. government, specifically. But in this case, the government is an unwitting client.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “You know better than I do how our government can’t come together to make a decision that everyone is behind. That’s the nature of the system—three branches, two major political parties, elections every two to six years. Add the military folks who rotate regularly, and it’s easy to see why we can’t agree on any long-term national security policies. But think about this: what if The Council isn’t plagued by partisanship and turnover like the rest of Washington? That kind of stability by itself would make it pre
tty powerful.”

  “If people listen to them,” Andie said.

  “So they stack the deck in their favor.”

  “By having powerful people from both sides of the aisle,” Andie added.

  “Exactly.”

  “But who?”

  Casey didn’t have an answer for Andie’s question. The only people he had actually come into contact with who were associated with The Council were just utility men—people who did the grunt work—at least that was his impression. Andie’s question agitated him, whether that was her intention or not. He was once again forced to accept that almost everything he knew about The Council’s history, it’s activities, and even its membership, was based on what Davood Raad told him. The same Raad that Cohen revealed was, and had been for decades, an Iranian spy. “I don’t know.”

  “No ideas?”

  Casey shook his head. “We know Keith Swanson, Senator Cogburn’s guy, was somehow involved, but that doesn’t mean Cogburn himself is a member of The Council. You would think the big brains in the group would have to be people at least on Cogburn’s level though, wouldn’t you?”

  “I see what you mean,” Andie said. She went to the kitchen and pulled two bottles of water from the fridge, handing one to Casey as she resumed her spot on the couch.

  “Thanks.”

  “Did you see anybody today when you were in Rosslyn that maybe you recognized, or someone going into the building that was headed for Horus Rhind?” Andie asked.

  “No, nobody…wait.” Casey took his cell phone from his jacket and handed it to Andie. “I saw this guy going berserker on the phone with somebody as he was walking from the parking lot.” He watched Andie resize to picture to get a closer look. “I only took the picture ‘cause I thought it was funny. Like one of those phone tough guys who probably got his ass kicked in high school and takes it out on folks now that he’s a D.C. big-shot,” Casey added. “I’m just guessing, though. I don’t know who he is.”

  “I do.”

  “What? For real?” Casey moved closer to reexamine the photo, as if Andie’s identification would magically trigger his own recognition of a face he’d never seen before.

  “That’s Scott Parker,” Andie said. “I met him last year when I was working on the White House’s response to the Russian annexation of Crimea.”

  “He works at the White House?”

  “Sort of. He’s the deputy national security advisor now. Back when I met him, he was just an NSC staffer.”

  “No shit,” Casey said. “He looks kinda young for that job.”

  “Lots of people have said the same thing, but he knows his way around Washington well enough,” Andie said. “Plus it helps when the president picks you by name for a job.”

  “So he’s got the president’s ear?”

  Andie handed the phone back to Casey. “I think the president wants to be challenged, and Parker’s not afraid to speak his mind—unlike most of the political ‘yes men’ that roam the halls of that place.”

  Casey stared at the picture, and an idea began to take shape in the back room of his mind, looking for light. He glanced at the clock on Andie’s wall. Three forty-seven. “If Horus Rhind is connected to The Council, maybe Mr. Parker is connected to them. I would think a deputy national security advisor would be a good candidate for part of the brain trust we were talking about.”

  “That’s assuming he was going up to Horus Rhind in the first place, and that only works if Horus Rhind is The Council.”

  Casey saw her point. “I’m willing to make that leap,” he said. “At least we have a potential lead.”

  “A lead to The Council, maybe, but didn’t your friend ask you to go there to find out what Raad was doing there?” Andie asked.

  “Yeah, but Raad already told me he was working with NCRI, who happens to be in that building,” Casey said. “Maybe he had other business over there, too.”

  “So what do you plan on doing?” Andie asked. “Don’t give me that look. I can tell you’ve got something brewing in that head of yours.”

  “I need to meet Parker,” Casey said. “If I can confirm he was going to Horus Rhind on business for The Council, maybe we could find out who is giving Raad his information—if it isn’t Parker himself.”

  “You want to meet Parker.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And what exactly would you say to him when you meet him?”

  “I haven’t worked that part out yet,” Casey admitted. “But if I could get him to tell me what he was doing at the building, maybe I could get him to slip something about The Council. Maybe I’ll ask him if he knows Raad.”

  Andie shook her head. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “I heard he’s got a bad temper,” Andie said. “You probably don’t want to say anything that would piss him off.”

  Casey thought about the overheard phone call that prompted him to take the man’s photo in the first place. “Okay, maybe I don’t ask him about The Council, or even what he was doing at the office building in Rosslyn. Asking if he knows a famous Iranian scholar won’t hurt, though. Anyway, it’s more of his reaction than his words that I’d be looking for. Didn’t you say that’s how you get at the truth faster?”

  Andie nodded reluctantly. “That works for reporters, but you’re just some white guy off the street as far as he’s concerned. Plus, what if he is Raad’s source? You mention ‘Raad’ to him and your night—or your life—could end a lot sooner than you want it to. Why don’t we just pass this information to Cohen and let him take care of it?”

  “Cohen’s checking out another place Raad had been going to regularly,” Casey said. “He said he’s on a clock, so if I could either confirm or eliminate Parker as someone of interest, that’ll save him some time.”

  “Maybe,” Andie said. “But you don’t even know how you’re going to find Parker, do you? Or were you going to just head back to that office building and hope he’s still there?”

  “I was thinking I might find a local reporter with connections who might track him down for me.”

  Andie sighed. “Aren’t you supposed to be going back to New York tonight?” she asked as she got up and retrieved her own cell phone from the kitchen counter.

  “I am. After Cohen comes over, though.”

  “Over here?”

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Cohen’s gonna meet us here at eleven thirty tonight,” Casey said. “I mean, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Do I have a choice?” Andie didn’t wait for an answer as she turned her attention to the person on the other end of the call. “Hey, it’s Andie…Good, good. Look, I need a favor….”

  Casey watched the screensaver on Andie’s computer roll through a series of pictures, trying not to look like he was eavesdropping on her conversation—which he was. Atlanta Falcons logo, a dogwood, pictures of people Casey assumed were family members. Smiles, mostly. He knew a little about her background, like she was also from Georgia, a reporter, taller than Casey, and one of the most stunning women he had ever seen. Beyond that, though, he didn’t know much. That’s too bad, he thought.

  “Jerry will call back in an hour,” Andie said.

  “Who? Oh, the guy you just called,” Casey said. “PI?”

  “Yeah. Well, part-time. He’s got a regular day job, but he does some private investigating on the side to help pay alimony on two failed marriages.”

  “You think he’ll find out anything we can use in just an hour?”

  “Jerry might be an amateur, but he gets results.” Andie smiled. “And for what you’re paying, I wouldn’t be surprised if he calls back in half that time.”

  “What I’m paying him?”

  “My southern hospitality requires that I help a friend in need, but it doesn’t mean I’m bankrolling your little adventure,” Andie said. “If you want, you can pass the bill to that Israeli assassin you’re working for. I’m sure he’d be happy to pay.”

 
Chapter 24

  “There he is,” Jerry Blocksidge said.

  Casey looked through the windshield of the part-time private investigator’s thirty-plus-year-old Buick sedan. He watched Scott Parker leaving a low-key Thai restaurant located in one of the countless strip mall-type business set ups invariably anchored by a Safeway or Food Lion grocery store that were found throughout the Virginia and Maryland suburbs of D.C. “Who’s that with him?” Casey asked, referring to a dark-haired man in a gray business suit and black overcoat who accompanied the deputy national security advisor.

  Blocksidge kept his eyes on the target and said, “Hey pal, I’m doing this as a favor for Andie. She wanted me to track down Parker…there his is.”

  Casey left it at that. Despite his curt manner, Blocksidge did get results. Andie had asked him to find Parker quick enough to allow Casey to intercept him and ask the man some questions, and in twenty minutes, he found out that Parker was meeting a friend for dinner—including the time and location. When Casey met Blocksidge in the parking lot at half-past seven, he asked the PI how he was able to find that information so quickly, let alone finding out anything at all. “If I told you that, you wouldn’t need me, would you?” was his response.

  Casey was still impressed, despite the man’s superiority complex. When he asked if he could send Blocksidge payment for his service after he returned to New York the next day, Blocksidge laughed. “I told Andie this was a freebie. No charge for something this easy.” When he saw the confused look on Casey’s face, he understood. “She was busting your balls, wasn’t she?”

  It was a little after eight when Parker and his friend exited the restaurant and headed toward the parking lot. Casey knew he couldn’t afford to blow the opportunity even with the added unknown of the extra man. He thanked Blocksidge for his help and had just shut the passenger side door when the car sped away.

  The lights in the parking lot illuminated every third car, and the others remained in relative darkness. Three rows away, yellow lights blinked, and a distinct click told Casey which car the men were headed toward. He picked up his pace and trotted to intercept Parker and his companion.