1973
Bob Lindsay sighed. Being appointed as NSC liaison to a CIA task force was pretty damn impressive for a guy his age. He'd been sent to oversee the wrap up of the operation in Chile, and had expected his CIA underlings to treat him with the respect he deserved. Apparently, he was mistaken.
"What's going on here?"
"Oh, Agent Lindsay, we were just going to get you," AD Graves said.
"I bet," Lindsay snapped.
The assistant director's lips thinned as he pointed at the radio.
"Our team has made contact."
"Who am I speaking with?" Lindsay demanded.
"The guy who's doing your damn dirty work!"
Graves coughed.
"That would be Agent Brill, and his partner Agent Bristow."
"Do you realize what this crazy fuck's doing? He's shooting people! Hundreds of people, man, every day! What are we going to do about it?"
"Do about it?" Lindsay sneered. "Your orders are to wind down your activities and prepare for extraction within the week."
"Extraction?" Bristow this time, Lindsay assumed. "People are being executed in the streets! WE did this! We can't just leave these people-"
"Those are your orders!" Lindsay barked.
"Tom, Jack, I'm sorry, but he's right," Graves interjected. "We're pulling out."
"If you won't do something about this, then we will!" Brill said.
The very distinct sound of a bullet loading into the chamber of an AK-47 assault rifle came through the radio.
"What the hell are you doing?" Lindsay yelled. "My orders, YOUR orders are clear! You either get to your extraction point on Friday, or you're not coming home, you hear me?"
"Then I guess we'll see you when we see you," Bristow said right before the communication cut out.
"Son of a bitch!" Lindsay cursed. His director was going to have his ass for this.
1978
"Lindsay!"
"Yes, sir?"
"What the hell is this?" Director Jones growled, jabbing his finger at a stack of documents.
Lindsay eyed the stack with growing consternation.
"I don't…uh…"
"What did I tell you?"
"Uh…I don't…"
"I told you to keep those goddamn CIA cowboys in line, did I not? I specifically remember having this conversation! Is there something wrong with your listening comprehension skills?"
"No, sir…"
"Then you had better get your ass in gear and clean up this goddamn mess!" he snarled as he dumped the stack in Lindsay's arms.
On the way back to his desk Lindsay, glanced down at the top piece of paper. A single name seemed to leap from the page. Agent Jack Bristow. Of course.
1981
Lindsay grinned at the breathtaking woman who he'd finally had the courage to approach. He'd had his eye on her all night as she flitted about the party, chatting and laughing with all the guests. She was radiant, and alone, he noted.
"H-hi, I'm Bob Lindsay."
"Laura." Her gaze shifted over his shoulder for a second, and then she smiled. "There's my husband now! He's such a workaholic!" she said as she waved him over.
"Oh, hey," her husband said. He was a big man, and Lindsay couldn't help but feel a bit intimidated. "I don't think we've met. I'm Jack Bristow."
"Of course you are," Lindsay snapped before he turned and stalked away.