AN: Hi everybody. Thanks for continuing to review and read this story of mine. Trust me, I read (and reread) all your reviews whenever I start another one of these episodes. I swear it's like fuel to me.
This episode really grew into something else. At first I was stumped at what to write. But as I did, it just kept growing and growing. Until it is finally the longest episode I've written yet.
Hopefully, it is still a good episode. And hopefully you'll enjoy it. :) And if you do, hope you'll let me know I'm on the right track :)
Episode 7:
Ghosts (Part 1)
MARCH 26TH
0400 ZULU
CIA HEADQUARTERS
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
The elevator whirred quietly as it rose slowly to the 4th floor. During the day, the sound wouldn't be noticeable. At night, it was all he could hear. Special Agent Clayton Webb tried not to fidget as he rode in silence. He was alone, with only his thoughts to keep him company.
Part of him was worried, as he should be. It wasn't normal for the Director of Central Intelligence to call any agent directly to his office. It was even less normal to summon one in the middle of the night.
"Fourth floor." the friendly prerecorded female voice announced the elevators arrival at its destination before the doors slid open to reveal a large darkened lobby. It wasn't entirely shrouded in darkness - a moon struggled past cloud cover to cast some of its glow through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows and in the distance, fluorescent ceiling lights cast an anemic glow.
The walk towards the DCI's office normally wouldn't have felt this long, but in the dark, distance seemed to be magnified. Soon enough though, Clay stood in front of the office of his boss, or more accurately the office of his boss' boss. He gulped, adjusted his collar and bow tie, and putting on an annoyed front, finally stepped into the antechamber.
A woman with a sharp haircut was seated behind her desk. She was the DCI's secretary, and she looked like she had never heard of the word 'fun' before.
She looked up at Webb with beady eyes that stared out over large 80s style glasses, a style way too old for her as she was obviously only in her late 30s, though she looked well on her way to being 60 if her sour expression was anything to go by.
Clay noticed the wedding band on her left hand. Obviously away from her desk, the woman was pleasant enough to have landed a mate, though Clay was also unkind enough to think that the poor man she married must either be blind as a post, or possess a severe masochistic streak.
"Director Garrison is expecting me." Clay said in his steadiest, most displeased voice.
The secretary nodded just the once, neither impressed nor concerned with Clay's presence. She entered a four-digit passcode in a keypad built under her desk and the DCI's office door unlocked with an audible click.
Clay opened the door and entered.
The office looked smaller than he expected but that might have been because there were no windows in this office. Wood paneling boxed in the room, creating a luxurious if somewhat claustrophobic feel. It also didn't help that most of the overhead lights were off or dimmed - and the source of most of the light came from the table lamp on the desk of the DCI.
Wyatt Garrison had seen and lived better days, as the years given to his country now showed their rigors on his face. Lines creased his brow, his eyes and his mouth, worry lines far outweighing laugh lines. His hair remained thick, but it was graying, something even his close crop haircut could not hide. Age wasn't being kind.
"Director Garrison, you wanted to see me?" Clay announced his presence by greeting the man seated at his desk, pouring over case files as intently as he poured himself a brandy. Garrison looked up from his endeavors as he leaned back in his chair.
"Webb." was all the acknowledgment Wyatt Garrison gave the Special Assistant to the Undersecretary of State, not ordering the man to sit, nor offering the man a seat. "How's the State Department treating you?"
Clay was nonplussed. If this was a social call then he didn't appreciate it. If this was a business call, then he appreciated it less.
"It's good. We haven't invaded any foreign countries of late, so work is pretty light."
Garrison chuckled as he sipped from his drink. He pondered for a second longer before deciding that Webb was worthy of a seat. He motioned for the younger agent to take one of the plush chairs.
"How long have you been with us, Clay? Eight years?"
"Twelve. In August."
"Twelve years. God, how old were you when you joined us?"
"Straight out of Yale."
"Ah, good ol' skulls and bones, I remember. You were a legacy weren't you?"
"You know I was, Garrison." Webb dropped all pretense of respect. If the man was here to reminisce, it wasn't as his superior.
Garrison snorted at that, "Still the sunny personality I see." he said, seeing that the years working at Langley and Washington hadn't eased the agent's prickliness.
"Director, if there's nothing else..."
"What do you know about Gayle Osborne?"
Gayle Osborne. Webb vaguely remembered him, about 55, about his height, though his muscular frame gave him a rather stocky look, former SEAL that pulled missions for the Agency in Angola, Rwanda, Gabon, Sri Lanka, Indochina - basically any slice of hell on Earth.
"Not much. But I'm familiar with his work."
"He's back."
"I wasn't aware he was away."
"We had to send him to Zaire. A little R-&-R."
R&R with the CIA tended to involve more than just cooling ones heels until you could come home. It tended to involve earning enough brownie points with the local CIA Station Chief to earn your way back.
"So Osborne did well in Africa?"
"Thanks to him Zaire is now seeking our help to become a Republic. Or something." Garrison waved dismissively. "And they're very eager to show how grateful they are."
"If Osborne was so good there, why bring him back?"
"He's a private contractor now. Have you figured out how we can keep a private American citizen from coming home yet?"
"Legally, no."
"Exactly. And I'm not about to risk illegal action for a grunt like him."
"If Osborne is a free agent, there's no telling what he'll do."
"Then keep him occupied. Find him a hobby."
"Why me?" Clay asked, with good reason.
"Because Webb, your father might have gotten you through the skulls and bones, but you don't get to ride his coattails here."
Webb kept quiet at that. He was aware that his botch up with the Declaration of Independence, stolen on his watch had severely compromised his career prospects. It wasn't about the number of times he fouled up before, which was none, but how big his foul up was, and this one was monumental.
"Unless of course, you're not interested in taking back his office one day." Garrison said, not so cryptically alluding to the position he currently held.
Clay countered calmly, "You could have ordered me to do this without the personal invite."
"I could have, but I didn't want to. No paper trail." Garrison set down his empty glass and looked the younger man in the eye, "Webb, Osborne is dangerous. Figure out a way to make him less so."
"Are you asking me to plan a retirement party for him?" Clay asked.
The standard CIA retirement gift for any ex-agent of the agency was a bullet through the brain.
"No, I'm asking you to think of a solution to a very unique problem. If I wanted him retired, I would have pulled the trigger by now."
Clay sighed wearily, "How much time do I have?"
"As much time as you need. He's already been here for a couple of weeks and he hasn't blown up anything yet."
"A couple of weeks! And we're only picking him up now?" Clay asked incredulously.
"An oversight I'm hoping you'll correct."
Clay stared at the elderly DCI, knowing the old man was keeping secrets the size of mountains from him. "Why bother keeping tabs on a former asset? He's not exactly getting any younger."
"What's more dangerous than an agent with nothing to lose?"
Webb was silent. The answer was obvious, and therefore the question was rhetorical and didn't need a reply.
"Just make sure he remains not our problem." Garrison stated firmly.
"Will that be all?" Clay asked, moving to leave.
"For now."
Webb moved to the door and was about to open it when Garrison talked to his back.
"And Clay. Next time, remember that your job generally involves foreign policy, not domestic issues. Your faux pas with the Declaration almost saw you kiss twelve years goodbye."
Clay scowled at Garrison in reply before turning the door knob to leave.
As he left the CIA Headquarters, Clay wondered about his assignment. Was it a favor to Director Garrison, or a test of his abilities? Or both?
He turned Garrison's riddle in his head. 'What's more dangerous than an agent with nothing to lose.'
The answer was, 'A former agent with nothing to lose.'
And Osborne wasn't just any type of former agent. He was a survivor and that made him automatically dangerous. Anyone who could live with the devastating toll of running black ops and CIA missions for nearly three decades had good odds of being both immortal and immoral.
Osborne was also a loose cannon and in Clay's experience, it was generally better to leave that combustible mix alone. Eventually the loose cannon would do everyone else a favor by getting themselves killed.
But he couldn't do nothing either, as much as he preferred it. He decided to order level 4 surveillance - see but don't touch. Until Osborne did something stupid or dangerous Clay wasn't about to waste any personal resources or call in any favors to babysit him.
Besides, what was the most harm an old SEAL could do?
oxoxoxo
MARCH 30TH
1100 ZULU
MCLEAN, VIRGINIA
A.J. Chegwidden ran with an ease that showed he exercised daily. Granted at the peak of his powers, he did the same 5 mile run carrying about 50 lbs of gear and weaponry. And if he had to, he could have done it with another 200 lbs of human being on his back too.
He noticed that his running partner though didn't have the privilege of such training in her youth, so A.J. stopped and turned back. Just as he saw the woman he was waiting for come round the bend, trying her best not to gasp or fall over - whichever came first.
"Are you okay?" he asked her, concerned though he wasn't very demonstrative. He wrapped an arm around her though, supporting her weight slightly. She looked up at him and gave him a bright smile.
"When I said I wanted some exercise this morning, this wasn't exactly what I meant." she said.
"We do this every Sunday morning, Laura." A.J. replied.
"That's why I was thinking we'd do something a little different."
"And what exactly did you have in mind, your honor?" A.J. asked sincerely.
"The same thing we did last weekend A.J. And the same thing we did last night." she smiled suggestively.
"That can be arranged." A.J. smiled back, catching her drift.
"Yeah, but you got to catch me first." she laughed as she took off back to the house.
A.J. started to give chase but something made him turn around. Years of Navy SEAL training and survival in combat conditions had given him a sixth sense that he learned never to downplay or dismiss. Something was wrong.
"Laura, wait." A.J. called out to her as he took off after her.
"I'm not falling for that, A.J." she shouted back, all part of the game.
"Laura!" A.J's legs pumped harder, eating up the ground and closing their distance. When he saw it, the familiar thin sliver that stretched out like a gossamer web across their path. And Laura just snapped it.
"Laura!" he lunged and hauled her down, knocking the wind out of her. She would have been mad, if not for the explosion that went off just a few feet away.
She felt A.J. cradle her, checking to see if she was hit by the blast. "Are you okay?"
She nodded dumbly, before asking... "What the hell was that, A.J?"
He saw the two-inch porcelain figure - a Buddha with a hole in its belly - and A.J. instantly recognized it for what it was. It was a warning. It was a sign.
It was a nightmare come back to life.
oxoxoxo
MARCH 31ST
1700 ZULU
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA
Lt. Cmdr. Harmon 'Harm' Rabb Jr. looked up from the photocopier just in time to see the pretty brunette walking across the bullpen to her office. Suddenly impatient, he tapped his foot as if urging the copier to be done with its final Xerox. Agonizing seconds ticked by before the machine cooperated and Harm snatched up the copy.
He walked with purpose towards the office of his JAG partner, Major Sarah 'Mac' MacKenzie. He had missed her earlier in the day as they were both in court. Before that, she had taken a few days off after their adventure in Northern Ireland to settle some family business.
His hand rapped against her door, making her look up and he was greeted with a smile.
"Hey, how was your trip?" he asked as he leaned against the door frame.
"Long." she sighed as she unloaded case files from her briefcase and stacked them on her desk.
"You know if you'd chosen to go this weekend you could have had company." he said nonchalantly, while seeing her riffle through her unique filing system. Files littered every visible surface from her desk to the cabinet tops to her chairs.
"Leavenworth isn't exactly a holiday destination, Harm." she said as she found the files she needed and started loading up her briefcase with them.
"How's Colonel O'Hara doing?"
She sighed in frustration,"About as well as anyone who's going to spend the next six to eight years in prison is going to do, Harm."
Harm was suddenly contrite, and his tone reflected that, "I'm sorry, Mac. I wish I could have done more..."
She looked up at him and shook her head. "No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be snide. I mean he was looking at twenty to life, so eight years at least gives him a shot at freedom."
She turned grateful eyes to him, sincere with her "Thank you."
"Don't mention it." he grinned.
"So I don't owe you one, sailor?" she asked with a wry smile in return.
He eyed her and his cocky grin widened, "Hmm, I guess you could."
"Just like how you owe me for saving your life?"
"And when did you save my life, Marine?"
She couldn't hide the amused twinkle in her eye, "If I recall, a certain aviator was hanging onto a helicopter skid over Red Rock Mesa about to find out if he could fly without wings."
"How about we call it even?" he was enjoying their banter.
"We'll see." her grin revealed she was too.
"How's your case?" Harm asked.
"Worse than the trip."
"So any plans for tomorrow?"
Mac stopped packing her bag and cocked an eyebrow at him. "Uh... like socially?"
"It's April Fools, Mac. Time for a little fun."
"God, you're not one of those 30-year olds who still plays pranks are you?"
"Hey, it's practically an Annapolis tradition."
"Annapolis, where boys go to remain boys." she mocked as she squeezed past him out the door. He followed her.
"Like OCS doesn't have its fair share of jokers."
"Harm, if anyone pulled a prank on a Marine, they'd wake up with their bodies buried up to their necks in sand."
"Seriously?" he asked, his tone and cocky grin showed that he seriously doubted it.
"Well, if you like I could bury you from the neck up instead." she said with a straight face.
Suddenly Harm wasn't sure she was joking after all, "Ah, so no pranks on you then."
"And they said you couldn't be taught." she laughed as she walked to the elevator. Harm found himself admiring her walk from behind for an inappropriate amount of time and forced his eyes upwards before she caught him. Just in time because she turned around when she heard her name being called.
"Major MacKenzie!"
Lieutenant j.g. Bud Roberts rushed over with files. "Here is the file on Seaman Zwicky you requested."
She nearly forgot them. "Ah, thanks Bud." Mac took the offered files just as the elevator doors opened. She stepped in and pressed a button, and gave Harm a final warning, "No funny business tomorrow, Harm. Literally and figuratively."
"Got it, Marine." Harm shot her his best smile.
The doors closed and she was gone, off to clear up the backlog of cases she created when she took the last few days off.
Bud turned to his superior, with a questioning gaze. "What did she mean, no funny business, sir?"
"Tomorrow. April first?" Harm gave by way of explanation and still the young Lieutenant didn't get it. "April Fools?" Harm finally offered and understanding finally dawned.
"Oh. So, no pranks tomorrow?"
"Not unless you want the Major to bury you up to your neck, Bud." Harm said as he walked back into the bullpen with the Lieutenant in tow.
"That actually sounds like an awesome prank sir." Bud said.
"It is... until you realize she's not going to dig you out." Harm chuckled.
"Of course, it's not quite as legendary or awesome as the ones you pulled at the Academy, sir."
"Allegedly pulled, Lieutenant." Harm ably denied confirming the fact, but the accompanying wink told Bud that he was indeed in the presence of the legend.
Harm glanced at the younger man, an Academy graduate himself. "So, did you pull any pranks during your days at Annapolis, Bud?"
Bud's chest puffed out with pride as he regaled Harm with his story , "Oh yes sir. One night, a bunch of us took the RAM from an IBM PS1 and swapped it with the busboard RAM of an Amiga 1000. Then..."
Bud started snorting with laughter, "... the processor started cycling trying to boot up, but of course it didn't recognize the RAM module..." More wheezing laughter followed "...it got stuck on loop... and the IBM..."
Bud dissolved into laughter before he could finish his story.
Harm glared at the Lieutenant j.g. unsure if even half of what he just heard was even English. "You're a regular wild man, Bud."
As he turned back to his office, Harm almost ran into a moderately attractive older woman with a visitor's badge. She was dressed in civilian attire, expensive but not extravagant.
"Excuse me, ma'am? May I help you?" Harm asked. She looked up at him grateful for any assistance.
"Yes. I'm here to see A.J... I mean, Admiral Chegwidden."
"This way ma'am." Harm led her down the hall past the bullpen.
They came to Petty Officer 2nd Class Jason Tiner, the Admiral's yeoman, who immediately stood at attention upon seeing Harm.
"Sir."
"Tiner, is the Admiral busy? Miss..." Harm drifted off to allow the woman to introduce herself, which she did.
"Judge Delaney. I'm sure he'll see me."
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I don't recall he has an appointment..." Tiner started but she cut him off.
"Tell him Laura is here for our lunch date." she said with an authority that rivaled the Admiral's. Tiner jumped to.
"Yes ma'am." Tiner buzzed the Admiral immediately.
The Admiral's gruff voice came over the intercom, "What is it Tiner?"
"Sir, a Judge Laura Delaney is here for your lunch date, sir." Tiner spoke timidly into the intercom.
Quiet seconds ticked by before the Admiral's defeated tone came on once more, "Let her in."
"Yes sir." Tiner said, even as Laura was already halfway past the door. When the door closed behind her, Harm turned to Tiner, "The Admiral's girlfriend?" he asked.
Tiner nodded in confirmation.
oxoxoxo
"Laura." A.J. greeted her but his body language wasn't very welcoming.
"Did I come at a bad time A.J?"
"Yeah. I'm afraid I'll have to cancel lunch."
"Does it have anything to do with what happened yesterday morning?"
A.J. remained quiet, inscrutable. It might work on his people but not on a circuit court judge. She knew she hit the nail on the head.
"Why won't you tell me what's going on, A.J?"
"Because there's nothing to talk about."
"A.J, I'm a judge. I've received my fair share of threats over the years to know what one looks like."
"It's probably an April Fools prank that we stumbled upon."
"Is that the line you're feeding me?"
"Laura."
"You know, I never figured out why you were alone, A.J. You're smart, handsome, successful." she glared at him, "Guess I now know why you have an ex-wife and a daughter you don't talk to."
Her words cut to the bone, but A.J. didn't let it show on his face. Laura continued, "I'll leave it alone now because I trust you, and I know you're doing what you feel is right. But A.J. if you're not going to be honest with me, the next time I leave, it won't be just your office."
She turned around and walked right out. She shut the door quietly behind her, the soft click as it closed as effective as any slam.
A.J. knew he had watched a good woman walk out his door. As much as he wanted to stop her from leaving, he knew that he couldn't subject her to what was possibly his past catching up with him.
And his past was no place for a good person. Which was why he picked up the phone to call someone from the bad old days.
oxoxoxo
2000 ZULU
CAPE CHARLES, VIRGINIA
A.J. walked up the wooden pier towards the large group of anglers standing at the end. Their lines hung out over the pier, and while it didn't seem like it was a very good day for fishing, no one seemed to care.
His Navy uniform and cover however stood out amid the casually attired and it caused some of the residents to do double takes, but no one paid him any attention after that.
A.J. could tell with one look who he was here to meet. Even if everything else about the man had changed, the years hadn't affected one thing - how the man held himself when he stood. That silhouette was ingrained in A.J's head. He approached the man.
Petty Officer (Ret.) William Hager had aged terribly since his days in the Navy, his skin was marred by sunburn and age spots and his face sagged with age and excessive steroid use. But the man's eyes still held the dead cool that betrayed he'd seen way too much, too often, too young.
"Good day for fishing." Hager said without even a glance backwards. "Hope you brought your pole."
"Not here for the fish, Hager." A.J. said, standing a little way from the man. Which seemed wise as Hager had a fishing knife out to fix his line, and the dextrous way he handled it showed that he hadn't lost any of his skills with the blade.
Hager turned to the Admiral, taking in his appearance. "A two-star. Navy has been kind to you, A.J. So what makes you call me up and ask to meet? You miss me or something?"
A.J. held out a tiny porcelain figure, the Buddha statue with a hole in the gut. Even Hager froze at the image. But just as quickly he returned to his task. "Nice souvenir."
"Is Jack Holford alive?"
Hager looked A.J. right in the eye. "You tell me. It was your bullet."
"Holford was a monster."
"Why? For enjoying his work?"
"For enjoying it too much." A.J. said grimly.
Hager put away his knife before stowing his reel and rod. He gathered his things, done with the days fishing. "Walk with me."
For the first time A.J. noticed Hager's cane and heavy limp. Hager tapped his hip and it clanged with a metallic sound. "Survived four tours in 'Nam, home six months and a civilian gets me with her car. Ironic, right?"
"Maybe it's retribution for our actions over there, Hager."
"We were grunts, A.J. We weren't paid to think. We followed orders."
"Didn't you ever wonder where the orders came from?"
"They all came from the same guy." Hager caught A.J's questioning gaze, "The President. I mean sure, the messengers might be either the Navy or the CIA, but he was the one who signed off on our orders."
"I doubt he knew what we were doing."
"I don't think we knew what we were doing either. And I don't think we ever wanted to know."
He took A.J. to his regular diner, tipping his hat when the servers and other diners greeted him amiably. He led the Admiral to his regular booth and sat down heavily with a relieved sigh.
A.J. spoke, "The Phoenix Program was a mistake."
"We accomplished more in three years with Phoenix than we did in the rest of the war. But what would you know, you joined us late."
"Is that why you allowed Holford to get away with murder for so long?"
"Is it murder when it happens in a time of war?"
"It is when the people he killed weren't soldiers." A.J. hissed, keeping his voice low. "Damn it Hager, Holford was gutting women and old men."
"They were NVA sympathizers."
"And that makes it okay?"
"You know, I never got you A.J. You had no problems staring a man in the eye as you pulled the trigger but you get queasy seeing others do the same."
"That's because I understood why I pulled the trigger."
"Tell me A.J, do you still feel guilty about killing Holford?"
A.J. was quiet at that.
Hager pressed on. "Holford is dead. Whoever sent you that is just messing with you."
"So it has to be someone who knew that this was Holford's calling card, and knew that I was there. That narrows it down." A.J. tried to remember places, names and faces of friends and enemies.
"Well, most of us are either too old or too dead to be playing games with you. If we wanted you gone, it would have happened years ago."
And A.J. knew that was the truth. He understood why he was targeted. He just didn't understand why now.
Continued in Next Chapter