Matthais – Cast Lots for My Inclusion
"Derry, you just can't accuse someone like that, especially an operative's family member." The section director leaned forward over his desk, ignoring the papers Derry Cranston had set there.
"But Boss, Vaughn was looking into her background too before he was killed." Derry's arms waved erratically as if they would make a better point than he was at the moment. "If you look at the photograph recovered from the Boston mission and the picture in Bristow's office, you'd see the resemblance. Vaughn saw it. I can't believe he didn't share that with you."
"I'm sorry, Derry. But without more substantial evidence, we just can't pursue this."
"Then I'll get the evidence. I can do it, just let me have a try," Derry stated with more conviction than he had in years.
The phone buzzed "Director?" Derry sat back in the leather chair, trying not to eavesdrop on the conversation.
"Yes?" The Director looked mildly annoyed with the interruption.
"FBI Director Marshall for you." The Director sat up slightly as his eyebrows crept up his forehead. His mouth opened slightly and he paused a moment before answering.
"Thank you." His hand rested on the receiver of the phone and his other hand grabbed a pen.
With a nod of the head, Derry knew he was dismissed, but in truth he had already left the room. His mind was busy searching for ways to prove to his boss that his theory was a sound one. He decided that a little surveillance might be the best way to start.
After stopping home for a thermos full of coffee and some sandwiches, Derry spent the rest of the day and night watching the Bristow house. All outward appearances showed a happy and normal household. Derry concluded that if he didn't already know that Jack was an intelligence operative, his surveillance wouldn't have detected any clue. He caught himself dozing off a few times during the night and remembered the time when he was a new agent and how he looked forward to these all night stakeouts.
Derry took photograph after mundane photograph of the house, the passersby, and the neighbor's houses hoping that the film would pick up some subtle clue that his eyes were missing. In the morning, he watched as Jack kissed his wife and daughter goodbye and left for work. Hyped up on caffeine, Derry dropped the film off for 1-hour developing at a local drug store on his way to headquarters, not wanting to place the film into the hands of the CIA until he had a chance to thoroughly review them.
As soon as Derry walked onto his floor he realized that he should have stopped at home for a shower and a new pair of clothes. The looks he was receiving from his co-workers were almost as bad as when he showed up hung over or even a bit tipsy. He tried to smooth out the wrinkles in his suit coat with one hand and combed his other hand through his hair trying to tame it. He made his way to his desk to type up his observations from the night before.
"Derry."
Derry's head swung around to see the Director standing behind him, radiating annoyance.
"Go home Derry. Take a nap and a shower and be back by 2:00. There will be a briefing at 2:00 sharp to discuss ideas on the Russian operative that has been thinning our ranks. Don't be late." Derry started to protest and the director just glowered.
"Go home, that's an order."
"Yes sir. I'll be back by 2:00."
The Director walked off and Derry quickly gathered his briefcase and suit jacket. He practiced his argument for investigating Laura Bristow, realizing he had traveled most of the way home on autopilot. Distracted as he was thinking about his input into the afternoon's meeting, Derry never noticed the car following him.
The dog sleeping on the couch lifted its head as the key turned in the lock and met his owner at the door. Derry reached down, dropping his briefcase and scratched the dog behind the ear.
"Heya Buster. Did I interrupt your nap? Well, I got sent home to have one too. Let's go set an alarm." Buster followed Derry up the stairs and jumped on the bed watching while the alarm was set. The dog circled three times, plopping down on the right side and only lifted his head once when Derry lay down.
The alarm started them both and Buster stayed in his warm spot as Derry stumbled to the bathroom and turned on the shower. A quick shower, a new suit and Derry was back to the office even before the 2 o'clock meeting. Derry gathered his surveillance notes and the photographs he picked up on his way back to the office and settled into the conference room.
At a few minutes before 2 other agents filtered in, followed by Director Anselm and two gentlemen who Derry did not recognize. Everyone sat around the table and waited for the Director to begin the meeting.
"Before we get started, I'd like to introduce Agents Calder and Shapiro from the LA Branch of the FBI. They will be joining us on this task force to discover and prosecute whoever has killed eleven of our agents. Gentlemen, we have a Russian mole in our midst and we will find them out."
A secretary bustled in and placed manila folders in front of all of those present. Derry flipped his open to view pictures of the slain CIA agents. His hand trembled as he reached for the pitcher of water to fill his glass.
The slide projector hummed like a thousand locusts and clicked, shattering the lull.
Director Anselm began, "David Farrington was killed by a gunshot to the chest in the CIA parking deck and there were no significant clues found at the scene. Video surveillance was blocked for approximately 10 minutes on that section of deck 4." Another click.
"Carl Hemphell was killed by bullet to the temple in a motel room in Richmond, VA. He had just returned from a long-term undercover mission in Russia. Evidence showed that he was with a woman when killed. Several hair samples were collected; however, upon analysis it was determined that the hair was from a wig."
The fan on the slide projector came on abruptly disturbing the monologue.
"Oscar Boudreaux and Philip Johnson were killed by a sniper during a mission outside of D.C. Eleanor Mercalli was killed on a boat along with her boyfriend Sergi Bakul, a Russian diplomat. Paul Browning was killed during a botched mission in Angola from a close range gunshot wound to the chest. Sal Garcia was killed during a mission in Granada, Spain. His throat was slit and woman's gloves were found at the scene. No fingerprints could be recovered from the gun or the knife."
The slides clicked again and the FBI agent took over the exposition, "Section Chief Max Tidwell was strangled outside where his daughter took dance classes. There were no witnesses, but hairs found on his body suggested a woman other than his wife.
Darwin Langston was killed in a shoot-out during a surveillance mission in Boston. Photographs recovered showed that the Russian agent under surveillance was a woman. William Vaughn was killed during a mission to meet this same agent in Albania. His body was burned in a warehouse explosion, but further forensic investigation showed that he had been wounded by gunshot."
The Director took over again, "George Nelson was killed when his house exploded. It was also determined that he had been shot before the house caught fire."
He clicked for the next slide and continued, "Finally, I am also adding Walter Bash. He died of a heart attack; however he had been under investigation for treason and therefore was included in the list because he may have had ties to the killer. We are going to be delving deeper into each of these deaths, reviewing all of the evidence, and scrutinizing their lives. We need to find out if there are one or more killers and we need to identify them and bring them to justice.
People, I want to know why our agents are dying."
Several agents asked questions about the evidence or scenes of the crimes. Most sat in silence, pinned under the weight and magnification of the faces that haunted the screen. There seemed to be no single piece of information that tied these agents together, other than their employer. Some were killed with a gun, one was strangled, and one was stabbed. Some deaths occurred during missions, some occurred during every day, mundane type of activities. Some evidence pointed toward a woman operative, but not all. Silence settled over the room like a fog.
"Agent Cranston, I believe you have a theory to present to the group?"
Derry gulped down the glass of water and stood to begin.
***
"And who else is the task force investigating, Igor?" Calder raised an eyebrow in surprise; it had been a very long time since anyone had called him by his Russian name. He had ceased to think of himself as Igor Valenko years ago. He prowled the table full of carryout Chinese, grabbing a plate and filling it until it bent with the weight of the food.
"No one specifically. They are looking at possible female operatives, but Jack Bristow's name was brought up. His wife was also mentioned as a potential suspect," he explained between forkfuls of Lo Mein and Hunan chicken. "I was able to put him under suspicion by corresponding a few of his missions near where some of the killings occurred. I also used information gleaned from the Project Christmas information Irina's been gathering and explained that the Russians now had some of this information. Since Jack is one of the principle developers of this project this makes his loyalty come under question. Fortunately for you, an Agent Sloane backed up some of my theories."
"Interesting. Sloane is one of my husband's friends and confidants; maybe he has another agenda? No matter. They are investigating Jack, and I am under suspicion too." Irina stirred her cup of tea absently. She glanced around the hotel suite, surprised that Alex spent the money for the luxurious room; it was very out of character. She already knew that she was a suspect if the surveillance the past couple of nights was any indication.
"Yes, your name was brought up specifically as a suspect by Agent Cranston." Khasinau watched the contrast of the two agents before him; Igor showed no emotion and clearly his mind was elsewhere, whereas Irina's emotions flitted briefly across her face and she was clearly involved in the discussion. She was already figuring out scenarios down the road.
"Agent Cranston?" Irina smiled. "And did anyone take him seriously?"
"Not after I manipulated the information so that Jack looked guiltier than you by the moment." Calder smiled as he remembered. He chuckled at the vision of Cranston squirming when his theories were torn to shreds.
Khasinau coughed and lit another cigarette. "Perhaps now it is time to think about sending you back to Russia."
He studied the faces of his two companions trying to gauge their reactions. It appeared that neither of them was that surprised with his proclamation. Irina looked as though she was about to protest, as her nature.
"We have yet to recover all of the data for Project Christmas, Alex. Are we to so easily give up? Surely a little misdirection and planted evidence can buy us some time." Irina stood up and began to pace.
"Irina, be practical." She stopped, turned and glared at Khasinau. She heard Igor snicker and shot him a look full of poisonous darts.
"Have you an idea concerning the extraction?" Calder's voice dropped in volume and became serious.
Khasinau snubbed out his cigarette and looked and the two of them. "Cuvee and I are developing a plan. Right now we are going to extract both of you at the same time. We will contact you both in one week to go over the details." He paused and studied Irina and Igor.
"I suggest that you, Irina and Igor, start saying your goodbyes to your families. You won't be with them much longer."
***
The stacks of paper on Derry's temporary desk rivaled Mt. McKinley in its massiveness. To the right was a stack of Jack Bristow's telephone records for 1975 and to his left were the credit card receipts for the same year. Derry finished highlighting the last statement in front of him from 1974 and watched it flutter to the stack on the floor. He took a sip from his coffee cup and had to resist spitting out the cold, congealing fluid.
He wandered around a bit, trying to get the feeling back in his legs and to get more familiar with the new facility. A Joint Task Force between the CIA and the FBI had been formed to find the mole within the CIA and the person murdering agents and everyone involved had been moved to this new location a week ago. Since they were investigating their fellow agents, the Director felt that secrecy was of utmost import. The only thing Derry had come to like about the new facility was that it was 10 minutes closer to his condominium than the other office had been.
He passed Parker's desk on the way to the kitchen and noticed that his desk was cluttered with papers too.
"How's it going John?"
"I'm up a shit creek with out a paddle, Derry. There is nothing in Paul Browning's case. Not a stitch of evidence that gives us any definitive information. Not that the Angolan officials were or are that cooperative. How's your investigation going?
"Smoke and mirrors are all I'm finding. I guess that's what makes Bristow such a legendary agent. But his wife is just as illusive and enigmatic as he is. So far the only concrete evidence I have is that they have a child together. That much has been proved without much doubt."
"Well, that is good to know," Parker chuckled.
"Off for another java jolt. You need one?"
"No, I'm good for now. Thanks."
"Okay." Derry headed to the kitchen. After getting a new cup of coffee he headed back to the waiting piles.
Another five hours later Derry walked out the door, yawning and stretching. At 10:00 at night there weren't many cars on the road, not that Derry noticed. He kept opening his eyes extra wide and turning up the radio to keep him awake. Twelve hours of staring at paper work, six days a week were wearing at Derry's concentration. He was glad that tomorrow was Sunday because he was planning on sleeping until noon and then spending quality time on the couch with Buster watching the ball game.
Buster greeted Derry at the door, jumping and nosing at his hand. Derry filled the food and water bowls and went to change out of his suit, the rhythmic lapping at the water bowl followed him into the bedroom. Clad in jeans and a sweatshirt, he went back to the living room to put on his tennis shoes. Buster sat by the front door, his tail wagging as fast as a hummingbird's heartbeat. Soon the two guys were strolling the sleepy neighborhood; Derry took the time to unwind and Buster took the time to find a friendly piece of grass. Between the long workday, a late night stroll and a couple of beers, Derry slept solidly through the night and late the next morning oblivious to the surveillance he was under.
Sunday proved relaxing especially with a Raiders win, but something was nagging Derry all day. Dinnertime saw him driving to St. Katherine's, the CIA hospital, to see Mike Solkowski. Mike had been in Albania with William Vaughn and had survived the explosion. At the information desk Derry flashed his badge and was given a visitor's badge to go to the fourth floor. Passing through a metal detector, the security guard checked his weapon and sent him to the main nurse's desk.
"I'm here to see Michael Solkowski. How's he been doing?"
"Can I see your credentials?" Derry handed over his badge and his driver's license to the Head Nurse for verification. She checked the approved visitor list and found his name on the third page. He took back his billfold and followed the nurse down the hall.
"Mr. Solkowski's condition has not changed since he was admitted, nor is it likely to change. Many of his burns have healed to a degree, but many of the skin grafts have been less than successful."
"Has there been no change at all as far as the coma is concerned?"
"We routinely conduct stimuli testing and sporadically he will react to pain and light. However, they are only random reactions. Without any sort of trend in his responses we are not encouraged that there has been any improvement.
"You sound like you've given up hope that he will ever get any better."
"Agent Cranston, we will continue to give Mr. Solkowski the best care available, but I have to be honest, he will probably never get any better than he is today."
"Has his wife been here today?"
"Yes, she left about and hour ago."
Derry held the door open for the nurse and followed her into the hospital room. She checked Mike's vitals and all the blipping machinery. She raised the head of the bed slightly and fluffed a pillow, replacing it behind Mike's head and then left the room. Derry stood and looked at the bandaged, scarred shell of a man lying motionless on the bed; the only sound in the room was the whooshing of the ventilator and occasional beep of the monitors. He stood there remembering the days at work, the parties, the missions with Mike and he felt horrible about standing there as a whole person.
Eventually he sat in the chair next to the bed and began to talk.
"Hey Mike. How are things going? Guess what? I got assigned to the task force. You know the one trying to ferret out the mole. Yeah, it's kind of exciting, and I really feel like I'm contributing more than I have in quite a long time." He paused, looking over the cocoon of gauze and wires and began to get choked up.
"Damn. I'm really sorry that you're here, in this way, man. It's a f----- g horrible thing and I'm sorry for you and your family. I can't image what Trish and the kids are going through and I'll do whatever I can to help them out. I promise. Your kids will know what a great patriot you are and were, how you routinely put you life on the line for the United States. They'll know that you kissed their picture before every mission and made a promise to yourself that you'd return to them. Shit. Well you came home, but still you didn't, did you? God damn, this just isn't fair. You should not be like this, if there is any fairness in the world. You're one of the good guys, one of the ones who never gave up on me.
Dammit, I wish you would just sit up and talk with me. I need your help Mike; you're the only one who could prove my theory. You're the only one who could prove what William thought, because you were there. You saw who was there or at least you heard who was there. The surveillance equipment was all completely destroyed in the explosion. We haven't been able to apprehend Mossad Arif or any of his associates. I wish you could just sit up and tell me that it was Laura Bristow in that warehouse in Albania. It was her, wasn't it? Did William confront her? Did she admit to being a Red? Did she kill William? Did she?" he pleaded.
Derry paused and looked out the window, unknowingly wiping at a tear forming in the corner of his eye.
"Sorry man, I didn't mean to get all emotional on you. I really should go; I've got to nail a Russian bitch. Look, get better soon. Get your ass up and help me, okay?"
Derry sniffed and walked out the door and out of the hospital. Instead of going home he headed to the task force office eager to work more on the case against Laura Bristow. He was going to find the evidence to charge her with treason; he was going to do it for Mike, William and all of her other victims. He spent several hours working through more phone and credit card receipts. Additional background checks for Laura Bristow, nee Laura Anderson, were submitted, including birth certificate, grade school records, high school yearbooks and college transcripts. He had never felt so determined in his life. It was midnight when Derry returned home to a frantic dog. He immediately took Buster for a walk and filled his bowl before falling into a deep sleep.
Calder spent the night watching Derry's condo. He walked around the building about 3 in the morning and was surprised that the dog sensed he was around and began barking. Calder knew that the dog would be a future problem and would suggest that any action against Derry should occur elsewhere, thus avoiding detection by the dog.
***
Irina didn't even bother to expose the orders inside "Les Miserable"; she knew that the next target was Derry Cranston. Both she and Igor had been conducting surveillance on him for weeks and Derry, in turn, had been looking into her background. She already had an idea on the mode of the hit for it should be fairly easy. Cranston, from all appearances, was a predictable sort with work, home and walking the dog. His trips on his days off were reserved for running errands to the grocery store, the post office and having maintenance performed on his car. Still, it was another life that she would be responsible for ending and she was getting quite tired of it all.
She finished folding the laundry and carried an armful of clothes to Sydney's bedroom. Hanging up the little outfits, she smoothed out the imaginary wrinkles and put the socks and underwear away in their respective drawers. She knew that one day soon she would be relieved of these little mundane tasks, these little outward signs of motherhood. She wasn't quite ready for that day yet.
The next day she wandered through the university library, searching for references for an upcoming class. Movement at the end of the stacks caught her eye and she followed in interest. The trenched figure wandered through the floor and down the stairs to the archives in the basement. Turning a corner she found herself in an old office full of microfiche where Khasinau and Calder were waiting.
"I trust you received your orders?"
"Of course, I knew that he would be next. It is only logical."
"I will leave it to you to complete the task by this weekend. However, this is not the only reason I called you here. I wager that you, Igor, were wondering why you were called?
"I anticipated that we would be receiving details of our extraction very soon." Irina sat in the chair, dreading what she was about to hear.
"Yes. Well, it is quite rare that anyone would know the date of their death, but I am here to tell you that your deaths will occur on November 12, which is two weeks away."
In her mind Irina screamed at the injustice of it being so soon and yet she also knew that this day should have taken place years ago.
"You both are silent, though I think for different reasons. Laura Bristow and FBI Agent Steven Calder will die in an automobile accident at Canyon Creek Bridge and Irina and Igor will return to Mother Russia. The details of which are enclosed; standard encryption protocol." He handed both of them copies of "Don Quixote" and they began thumbing through the books as Alex continued.
"Review the specifications and we will go through everything in detail in one week. I will contact you both with a meeting time and place."
***
Irina stood on the bridge looking down at her fate. Ever since Alex had told her of Laura's ending, she had been fixated with this spot. Between teaching classes, watching Derry Cranston and visiting this spot, she was tired. Tired of the lies and the duplicity and the waiting, every time she looked at Jack or Sydney she couldn't decide whether to hug them or to scream in protest. Jack had even noticed that she hadn't been sleeping well and asked several times if she was getting sick. Sydney, in her 6- year-old sense of sympathy, had drawn Laura happy pictures to cheer her up, which made her heart ache more deeply that she ever would have imagined.
She let out a deep, heart-shredding sigh and got back into her car to head home. Sydney would be returning from school soon and she wanted to be there.
***
Everyone was whispering about him; they had never seen him this involved in his work before. They were impressed and a little annoyed that he was outshining the rest of the task force. Derry didn't notice and wouldn't have cared if he did; he was like a bloodhound hot on a scent. Laura Bristow was not all she appeared to be. Even at this point it was more of a feeling than a fact, but inconsistencies were creeping into his research and he latched onto them and followed every thread, no matter how seemingly insignificant.
He was putting in extremely long hours at work and after having to deal with a few odorous protests by Buster, had hired the neighbor's teenage son to walk Buster every day when he got home from school. It was a good arrangement so far, the boy got spending money and Derry's house lost that stinging, bitter smell of dog urine.
It was 11:30 and the parking deck was black and deserted except for Derry's car. Alone on the fourth level, the car sat in a relative blind spot of the security camera, for which Irina was thankful. She still took the time to manually adjust the camera angle so that the car was not visible at all. Through his involvement in the Task Force, Calder was able to get the schedule of the security guards and to monitor their rounds, determining the window of opportunity for the hit.
Irina picked the lock of the 1978 Impala and climbed into the back seat, snuggling close to the floor. Her dark clothing blended in with the upholstery and the black knit cap covered her hair. She waited patiently until she heard the key in the lock; her body tensed up in preparation of her next move.
She felt the car sink slightly with Derry's weight and the front seat eased backward slightly. She moved, adjusting her position as he adjusted to mask her presence and when the car started she rose to position herself right behind her target.
With a flash of steel and strong arm around the neck, the air in the car smelled of warm metal. The knife found its mark and Derry's white cotton shirt absorbed the rivers of blood pouring down his body. Speckles of blood created an abstract design on the inside of the windshield. Irina held Derry's body as it slumped sideways in the front seat. Slipping out of the car, Irina faded into the shadows and silence.
Inside the Joint Task Force headquarters, a lone figure sat at Derry's desk and collected the all of the evidence gathered against Laura Bristow. Arvin Sloane sifted through the paperwork and filled his briefcase with the most incriminating evidence against Laura. He spirited the information away into the night.
"Derry, you just can't accuse someone like that, especially an operative's family member." The section director leaned forward over his desk, ignoring the papers Derry Cranston had set there.
"But Boss, Vaughn was looking into her background too before he was killed." Derry's arms waved erratically as if they would make a better point than he was at the moment. "If you look at the photograph recovered from the Boston mission and the picture in Bristow's office, you'd see the resemblance. Vaughn saw it. I can't believe he didn't share that with you."
"I'm sorry, Derry. But without more substantial evidence, we just can't pursue this."
"Then I'll get the evidence. I can do it, just let me have a try," Derry stated with more conviction than he had in years.
The phone buzzed "Director?" Derry sat back in the leather chair, trying not to eavesdrop on the conversation.
"Yes?" The Director looked mildly annoyed with the interruption.
"FBI Director Marshall for you." The Director sat up slightly as his eyebrows crept up his forehead. His mouth opened slightly and he paused a moment before answering.
"Thank you." His hand rested on the receiver of the phone and his other hand grabbed a pen.
With a nod of the head, Derry knew he was dismissed, but in truth he had already left the room. His mind was busy searching for ways to prove to his boss that his theory was a sound one. He decided that a little surveillance might be the best way to start.
After stopping home for a thermos full of coffee and some sandwiches, Derry spent the rest of the day and night watching the Bristow house. All outward appearances showed a happy and normal household. Derry concluded that if he didn't already know that Jack was an intelligence operative, his surveillance wouldn't have detected any clue. He caught himself dozing off a few times during the night and remembered the time when he was a new agent and how he looked forward to these all night stakeouts.
Derry took photograph after mundane photograph of the house, the passersby, and the neighbor's houses hoping that the film would pick up some subtle clue that his eyes were missing. In the morning, he watched as Jack kissed his wife and daughter goodbye and left for work. Hyped up on caffeine, Derry dropped the film off for 1-hour developing at a local drug store on his way to headquarters, not wanting to place the film into the hands of the CIA until he had a chance to thoroughly review them.
As soon as Derry walked onto his floor he realized that he should have stopped at home for a shower and a new pair of clothes. The looks he was receiving from his co-workers were almost as bad as when he showed up hung over or even a bit tipsy. He tried to smooth out the wrinkles in his suit coat with one hand and combed his other hand through his hair trying to tame it. He made his way to his desk to type up his observations from the night before.
"Derry."
Derry's head swung around to see the Director standing behind him, radiating annoyance.
"Go home Derry. Take a nap and a shower and be back by 2:00. There will be a briefing at 2:00 sharp to discuss ideas on the Russian operative that has been thinning our ranks. Don't be late." Derry started to protest and the director just glowered.
"Go home, that's an order."
"Yes sir. I'll be back by 2:00."
The Director walked off and Derry quickly gathered his briefcase and suit jacket. He practiced his argument for investigating Laura Bristow, realizing he had traveled most of the way home on autopilot. Distracted as he was thinking about his input into the afternoon's meeting, Derry never noticed the car following him.
The dog sleeping on the couch lifted its head as the key turned in the lock and met his owner at the door. Derry reached down, dropping his briefcase and scratched the dog behind the ear.
"Heya Buster. Did I interrupt your nap? Well, I got sent home to have one too. Let's go set an alarm." Buster followed Derry up the stairs and jumped on the bed watching while the alarm was set. The dog circled three times, plopping down on the right side and only lifted his head once when Derry lay down.
The alarm started them both and Buster stayed in his warm spot as Derry stumbled to the bathroom and turned on the shower. A quick shower, a new suit and Derry was back to the office even before the 2 o'clock meeting. Derry gathered his surveillance notes and the photographs he picked up on his way back to the office and settled into the conference room.
At a few minutes before 2 other agents filtered in, followed by Director Anselm and two gentlemen who Derry did not recognize. Everyone sat around the table and waited for the Director to begin the meeting.
"Before we get started, I'd like to introduce Agents Calder and Shapiro from the LA Branch of the FBI. They will be joining us on this task force to discover and prosecute whoever has killed eleven of our agents. Gentlemen, we have a Russian mole in our midst and we will find them out."
A secretary bustled in and placed manila folders in front of all of those present. Derry flipped his open to view pictures of the slain CIA agents. His hand trembled as he reached for the pitcher of water to fill his glass.
The slide projector hummed like a thousand locusts and clicked, shattering the lull.
Director Anselm began, "David Farrington was killed by a gunshot to the chest in the CIA parking deck and there were no significant clues found at the scene. Video surveillance was blocked for approximately 10 minutes on that section of deck 4." Another click.
"Carl Hemphell was killed by bullet to the temple in a motel room in Richmond, VA. He had just returned from a long-term undercover mission in Russia. Evidence showed that he was with a woman when killed. Several hair samples were collected; however, upon analysis it was determined that the hair was from a wig."
The fan on the slide projector came on abruptly disturbing the monologue.
"Oscar Boudreaux and Philip Johnson were killed by a sniper during a mission outside of D.C. Eleanor Mercalli was killed on a boat along with her boyfriend Sergi Bakul, a Russian diplomat. Paul Browning was killed during a botched mission in Angola from a close range gunshot wound to the chest. Sal Garcia was killed during a mission in Granada, Spain. His throat was slit and woman's gloves were found at the scene. No fingerprints could be recovered from the gun or the knife."
The slides clicked again and the FBI agent took over the exposition, "Section Chief Max Tidwell was strangled outside where his daughter took dance classes. There were no witnesses, but hairs found on his body suggested a woman other than his wife.
Darwin Langston was killed in a shoot-out during a surveillance mission in Boston. Photographs recovered showed that the Russian agent under surveillance was a woman. William Vaughn was killed during a mission to meet this same agent in Albania. His body was burned in a warehouse explosion, but further forensic investigation showed that he had been wounded by gunshot."
The Director took over again, "George Nelson was killed when his house exploded. It was also determined that he had been shot before the house caught fire."
He clicked for the next slide and continued, "Finally, I am also adding Walter Bash. He died of a heart attack; however he had been under investigation for treason and therefore was included in the list because he may have had ties to the killer. We are going to be delving deeper into each of these deaths, reviewing all of the evidence, and scrutinizing their lives. We need to find out if there are one or more killers and we need to identify them and bring them to justice.
People, I want to know why our agents are dying."
Several agents asked questions about the evidence or scenes of the crimes. Most sat in silence, pinned under the weight and magnification of the faces that haunted the screen. There seemed to be no single piece of information that tied these agents together, other than their employer. Some were killed with a gun, one was strangled, and one was stabbed. Some deaths occurred during missions, some occurred during every day, mundane type of activities. Some evidence pointed toward a woman operative, but not all. Silence settled over the room like a fog.
"Agent Cranston, I believe you have a theory to present to the group?"
Derry gulped down the glass of water and stood to begin.
***
"And who else is the task force investigating, Igor?" Calder raised an eyebrow in surprise; it had been a very long time since anyone had called him by his Russian name. He had ceased to think of himself as Igor Valenko years ago. He prowled the table full of carryout Chinese, grabbing a plate and filling it until it bent with the weight of the food.
"No one specifically. They are looking at possible female operatives, but Jack Bristow's name was brought up. His wife was also mentioned as a potential suspect," he explained between forkfuls of Lo Mein and Hunan chicken. "I was able to put him under suspicion by corresponding a few of his missions near where some of the killings occurred. I also used information gleaned from the Project Christmas information Irina's been gathering and explained that the Russians now had some of this information. Since Jack is one of the principle developers of this project this makes his loyalty come under question. Fortunately for you, an Agent Sloane backed up some of my theories."
"Interesting. Sloane is one of my husband's friends and confidants; maybe he has another agenda? No matter. They are investigating Jack, and I am under suspicion too." Irina stirred her cup of tea absently. She glanced around the hotel suite, surprised that Alex spent the money for the luxurious room; it was very out of character. She already knew that she was a suspect if the surveillance the past couple of nights was any indication.
"Yes, your name was brought up specifically as a suspect by Agent Cranston." Khasinau watched the contrast of the two agents before him; Igor showed no emotion and clearly his mind was elsewhere, whereas Irina's emotions flitted briefly across her face and she was clearly involved in the discussion. She was already figuring out scenarios down the road.
"Agent Cranston?" Irina smiled. "And did anyone take him seriously?"
"Not after I manipulated the information so that Jack looked guiltier than you by the moment." Calder smiled as he remembered. He chuckled at the vision of Cranston squirming when his theories were torn to shreds.
Khasinau coughed and lit another cigarette. "Perhaps now it is time to think about sending you back to Russia."
He studied the faces of his two companions trying to gauge their reactions. It appeared that neither of them was that surprised with his proclamation. Irina looked as though she was about to protest, as her nature.
"We have yet to recover all of the data for Project Christmas, Alex. Are we to so easily give up? Surely a little misdirection and planted evidence can buy us some time." Irina stood up and began to pace.
"Irina, be practical." She stopped, turned and glared at Khasinau. She heard Igor snicker and shot him a look full of poisonous darts.
"Have you an idea concerning the extraction?" Calder's voice dropped in volume and became serious.
Khasinau snubbed out his cigarette and looked and the two of them. "Cuvee and I are developing a plan. Right now we are going to extract both of you at the same time. We will contact you both in one week to go over the details." He paused and studied Irina and Igor.
"I suggest that you, Irina and Igor, start saying your goodbyes to your families. You won't be with them much longer."
***
The stacks of paper on Derry's temporary desk rivaled Mt. McKinley in its massiveness. To the right was a stack of Jack Bristow's telephone records for 1975 and to his left were the credit card receipts for the same year. Derry finished highlighting the last statement in front of him from 1974 and watched it flutter to the stack on the floor. He took a sip from his coffee cup and had to resist spitting out the cold, congealing fluid.
He wandered around a bit, trying to get the feeling back in his legs and to get more familiar with the new facility. A Joint Task Force between the CIA and the FBI had been formed to find the mole within the CIA and the person murdering agents and everyone involved had been moved to this new location a week ago. Since they were investigating their fellow agents, the Director felt that secrecy was of utmost import. The only thing Derry had come to like about the new facility was that it was 10 minutes closer to his condominium than the other office had been.
He passed Parker's desk on the way to the kitchen and noticed that his desk was cluttered with papers too.
"How's it going John?"
"I'm up a shit creek with out a paddle, Derry. There is nothing in Paul Browning's case. Not a stitch of evidence that gives us any definitive information. Not that the Angolan officials were or are that cooperative. How's your investigation going?
"Smoke and mirrors are all I'm finding. I guess that's what makes Bristow such a legendary agent. But his wife is just as illusive and enigmatic as he is. So far the only concrete evidence I have is that they have a child together. That much has been proved without much doubt."
"Well, that is good to know," Parker chuckled.
"Off for another java jolt. You need one?"
"No, I'm good for now. Thanks."
"Okay." Derry headed to the kitchen. After getting a new cup of coffee he headed back to the waiting piles.
Another five hours later Derry walked out the door, yawning and stretching. At 10:00 at night there weren't many cars on the road, not that Derry noticed. He kept opening his eyes extra wide and turning up the radio to keep him awake. Twelve hours of staring at paper work, six days a week were wearing at Derry's concentration. He was glad that tomorrow was Sunday because he was planning on sleeping until noon and then spending quality time on the couch with Buster watching the ball game.
Buster greeted Derry at the door, jumping and nosing at his hand. Derry filled the food and water bowls and went to change out of his suit, the rhythmic lapping at the water bowl followed him into the bedroom. Clad in jeans and a sweatshirt, he went back to the living room to put on his tennis shoes. Buster sat by the front door, his tail wagging as fast as a hummingbird's heartbeat. Soon the two guys were strolling the sleepy neighborhood; Derry took the time to unwind and Buster took the time to find a friendly piece of grass. Between the long workday, a late night stroll and a couple of beers, Derry slept solidly through the night and late the next morning oblivious to the surveillance he was under.
Sunday proved relaxing especially with a Raiders win, but something was nagging Derry all day. Dinnertime saw him driving to St. Katherine's, the CIA hospital, to see Mike Solkowski. Mike had been in Albania with William Vaughn and had survived the explosion. At the information desk Derry flashed his badge and was given a visitor's badge to go to the fourth floor. Passing through a metal detector, the security guard checked his weapon and sent him to the main nurse's desk.
"I'm here to see Michael Solkowski. How's he been doing?"
"Can I see your credentials?" Derry handed over his badge and his driver's license to the Head Nurse for verification. She checked the approved visitor list and found his name on the third page. He took back his billfold and followed the nurse down the hall.
"Mr. Solkowski's condition has not changed since he was admitted, nor is it likely to change. Many of his burns have healed to a degree, but many of the skin grafts have been less than successful."
"Has there been no change at all as far as the coma is concerned?"
"We routinely conduct stimuli testing and sporadically he will react to pain and light. However, they are only random reactions. Without any sort of trend in his responses we are not encouraged that there has been any improvement.
"You sound like you've given up hope that he will ever get any better."
"Agent Cranston, we will continue to give Mr. Solkowski the best care available, but I have to be honest, he will probably never get any better than he is today."
"Has his wife been here today?"
"Yes, she left about and hour ago."
Derry held the door open for the nurse and followed her into the hospital room. She checked Mike's vitals and all the blipping machinery. She raised the head of the bed slightly and fluffed a pillow, replacing it behind Mike's head and then left the room. Derry stood and looked at the bandaged, scarred shell of a man lying motionless on the bed; the only sound in the room was the whooshing of the ventilator and occasional beep of the monitors. He stood there remembering the days at work, the parties, the missions with Mike and he felt horrible about standing there as a whole person.
Eventually he sat in the chair next to the bed and began to talk.
"Hey Mike. How are things going? Guess what? I got assigned to the task force. You know the one trying to ferret out the mole. Yeah, it's kind of exciting, and I really feel like I'm contributing more than I have in quite a long time." He paused, looking over the cocoon of gauze and wires and began to get choked up.
"Damn. I'm really sorry that you're here, in this way, man. It's a f----- g horrible thing and I'm sorry for you and your family. I can't image what Trish and the kids are going through and I'll do whatever I can to help them out. I promise. Your kids will know what a great patriot you are and were, how you routinely put you life on the line for the United States. They'll know that you kissed their picture before every mission and made a promise to yourself that you'd return to them. Shit. Well you came home, but still you didn't, did you? God damn, this just isn't fair. You should not be like this, if there is any fairness in the world. You're one of the good guys, one of the ones who never gave up on me.
Dammit, I wish you would just sit up and talk with me. I need your help Mike; you're the only one who could prove my theory. You're the only one who could prove what William thought, because you were there. You saw who was there or at least you heard who was there. The surveillance equipment was all completely destroyed in the explosion. We haven't been able to apprehend Mossad Arif or any of his associates. I wish you could just sit up and tell me that it was Laura Bristow in that warehouse in Albania. It was her, wasn't it? Did William confront her? Did she admit to being a Red? Did she kill William? Did she?" he pleaded.
Derry paused and looked out the window, unknowingly wiping at a tear forming in the corner of his eye.
"Sorry man, I didn't mean to get all emotional on you. I really should go; I've got to nail a Russian bitch. Look, get better soon. Get your ass up and help me, okay?"
Derry sniffed and walked out the door and out of the hospital. Instead of going home he headed to the task force office eager to work more on the case against Laura Bristow. He was going to find the evidence to charge her with treason; he was going to do it for Mike, William and all of her other victims. He spent several hours working through more phone and credit card receipts. Additional background checks for Laura Bristow, nee Laura Anderson, were submitted, including birth certificate, grade school records, high school yearbooks and college transcripts. He had never felt so determined in his life. It was midnight when Derry returned home to a frantic dog. He immediately took Buster for a walk and filled his bowl before falling into a deep sleep.
Calder spent the night watching Derry's condo. He walked around the building about 3 in the morning and was surprised that the dog sensed he was around and began barking. Calder knew that the dog would be a future problem and would suggest that any action against Derry should occur elsewhere, thus avoiding detection by the dog.
***
Irina didn't even bother to expose the orders inside "Les Miserable"; she knew that the next target was Derry Cranston. Both she and Igor had been conducting surveillance on him for weeks and Derry, in turn, had been looking into her background. She already had an idea on the mode of the hit for it should be fairly easy. Cranston, from all appearances, was a predictable sort with work, home and walking the dog. His trips on his days off were reserved for running errands to the grocery store, the post office and having maintenance performed on his car. Still, it was another life that she would be responsible for ending and she was getting quite tired of it all.
She finished folding the laundry and carried an armful of clothes to Sydney's bedroom. Hanging up the little outfits, she smoothed out the imaginary wrinkles and put the socks and underwear away in their respective drawers. She knew that one day soon she would be relieved of these little mundane tasks, these little outward signs of motherhood. She wasn't quite ready for that day yet.
The next day she wandered through the university library, searching for references for an upcoming class. Movement at the end of the stacks caught her eye and she followed in interest. The trenched figure wandered through the floor and down the stairs to the archives in the basement. Turning a corner she found herself in an old office full of microfiche where Khasinau and Calder were waiting.
"I trust you received your orders?"
"Of course, I knew that he would be next. It is only logical."
"I will leave it to you to complete the task by this weekend. However, this is not the only reason I called you here. I wager that you, Igor, were wondering why you were called?
"I anticipated that we would be receiving details of our extraction very soon." Irina sat in the chair, dreading what she was about to hear.
"Yes. Well, it is quite rare that anyone would know the date of their death, but I am here to tell you that your deaths will occur on November 12, which is two weeks away."
In her mind Irina screamed at the injustice of it being so soon and yet she also knew that this day should have taken place years ago.
"You both are silent, though I think for different reasons. Laura Bristow and FBI Agent Steven Calder will die in an automobile accident at Canyon Creek Bridge and Irina and Igor will return to Mother Russia. The details of which are enclosed; standard encryption protocol." He handed both of them copies of "Don Quixote" and they began thumbing through the books as Alex continued.
"Review the specifications and we will go through everything in detail in one week. I will contact you both with a meeting time and place."
***
Irina stood on the bridge looking down at her fate. Ever since Alex had told her of Laura's ending, she had been fixated with this spot. Between teaching classes, watching Derry Cranston and visiting this spot, she was tired. Tired of the lies and the duplicity and the waiting, every time she looked at Jack or Sydney she couldn't decide whether to hug them or to scream in protest. Jack had even noticed that she hadn't been sleeping well and asked several times if she was getting sick. Sydney, in her 6- year-old sense of sympathy, had drawn Laura happy pictures to cheer her up, which made her heart ache more deeply that she ever would have imagined.
She let out a deep, heart-shredding sigh and got back into her car to head home. Sydney would be returning from school soon and she wanted to be there.
***
Everyone was whispering about him; they had never seen him this involved in his work before. They were impressed and a little annoyed that he was outshining the rest of the task force. Derry didn't notice and wouldn't have cared if he did; he was like a bloodhound hot on a scent. Laura Bristow was not all she appeared to be. Even at this point it was more of a feeling than a fact, but inconsistencies were creeping into his research and he latched onto them and followed every thread, no matter how seemingly insignificant.
He was putting in extremely long hours at work and after having to deal with a few odorous protests by Buster, had hired the neighbor's teenage son to walk Buster every day when he got home from school. It was a good arrangement so far, the boy got spending money and Derry's house lost that stinging, bitter smell of dog urine.
It was 11:30 and the parking deck was black and deserted except for Derry's car. Alone on the fourth level, the car sat in a relative blind spot of the security camera, for which Irina was thankful. She still took the time to manually adjust the camera angle so that the car was not visible at all. Through his involvement in the Task Force, Calder was able to get the schedule of the security guards and to monitor their rounds, determining the window of opportunity for the hit.
Irina picked the lock of the 1978 Impala and climbed into the back seat, snuggling close to the floor. Her dark clothing blended in with the upholstery and the black knit cap covered her hair. She waited patiently until she heard the key in the lock; her body tensed up in preparation of her next move.
She felt the car sink slightly with Derry's weight and the front seat eased backward slightly. She moved, adjusting her position as he adjusted to mask her presence and when the car started she rose to position herself right behind her target.
With a flash of steel and strong arm around the neck, the air in the car smelled of warm metal. The knife found its mark and Derry's white cotton shirt absorbed the rivers of blood pouring down his body. Speckles of blood created an abstract design on the inside of the windshield. Irina held Derry's body as it slumped sideways in the front seat. Slipping out of the car, Irina faded into the shadows and silence.
Inside the Joint Task Force headquarters, a lone figure sat at Derry's desk and collected the all of the evidence gathered against Laura Bristow. Arvin Sloane sifted through the paperwork and filled his briefcase with the most incriminating evidence against Laura. He spirited the information away into the night.