Sunday

March 3, 2002

Los Angeles, California

George took the deck of cards in his hands and deftly cut and shuffled them. It was another poker night with some of the guys from District. This was their third game and he had already lost a small fortune. If things didn't pick up he'd have to start cheating -- which was admittedly pathetic. Donahue and Nevins were both more focused on the basketball game on the tv and Johnston sucked at poker -- the man practically telegraphed every move he was going to make. At this point George was really only playing against Orson. Of course, Orson also had far too much of George's money and had been wearing a self-satisfied smirk since he took the last pot.

Arrogant bastard.

On the subject of arrogant bastards, Donahue began grousing about Brad Hammond and Ryan Chappelle. The two men had been on everyone's ass about the primary and a memo sent to the heads of District had stated that one of them would be visiting on Monday for a meeting with George and District Manager Walsh. It would probably be Ryan since Hammond rarely wandered far from his spacious office at Division - thankfully. Not that seeing his old friend Ryan would be much better. It galled George to think that someone who had once been his second-in-command was now giving him orders.

Ryan was the perfect example of how too much success, too soon, could ruin a person. Chappelle had never been the easiest guy to know but his time at CTU seemed to make him more insufferable. George almost wished that the promotion Ryan was rumored to be slated for would arrive. Unfortunately, Alberta would probably get Ryan's old job and then it became a question of which was worse.

And that was life with the Agency in a nutshell -- trying decide which was the lesser of two evils. It was compromise that had started him on this path in the first place. His whole life had been more or less decided for him before he was even eighteen years old. As his senior year of high school drew to a close George had hoped to spend his summer chasing girls and maybe traveling before entering college. However, it was 1967 and Uncle Sam had other plans for him. He didn't want to go to Vietnam but he knew then that if he had fled to Canada his already fragile relationship with his father would be damaged beyond repair. His father had told him flat out that if George tried to run he would drag him back.

Despite his strident stance, it was his father who had come up with the solution of George joining the Coast Guard. It seemed counterintuitive but joining the Coast Guard made it less likely that George would ever set foot on Vietnamese soil than if he waited be drafted by the Army. Unfortunately, the Masons weren't the only ones to realize the opportunity presented by enlisting in the Coast Guard and the waiting list was long. His family was never wealthy but they weren't hurting either. His father, uncle and grandfather ran a relatively small but very lucrative lumber business and they had enough money and connections to get George shortlisted for the Coast Guard. The fact that George didn't particularly want to enlist was moot by that point. The other options he had left him branded a coward and disowned by most of his family or stuck in the jungles of Vietnam trying to not get killed. To even call it a choice would be oversimplifying matters.

Last Thanksgiving his son John had decided to drop a bombshell on him and announce that he had flunked out of college but luckily he had that promising job at Java Joe's Hut to fall back on. He was a good kid but spoiled if he thought that choosing between college or whatever it was he spent his days doing was a tough decision. George almost wished he could force John into the military to see if it could give his son some direction and discipline but then again he himself had spent a decade there and hadn't gained either.

Life with the Guard wasn't so bad, but it wasn't so great either. He didn't care much for the food, the dress code, the seemingly endless list of inane rules, the company or the general atmosphere but you could get used to anything if you try hard enough. He had attended college while with the Guard and after changing majors a few times he settled on Criminology but his first choice had been Education. He had always had a love-hate relationship with school. He loved learning but didn't care enough to try and excel at anything. He had always been happy to sort of drift along. There was probably some status to be earned in being a straight-A student but he was already known as a smart guy and a good athlete which was enough for him. Why work for an A when he didn't even need to crack open a book to get a B? He had been described time and time again by his teachers as "very intelligent but doesn't live up to his full potential."

Well, who ever does?

But other than the part where the actual work came in he enjoyed school, the general atmosphere and learning for the joy of it. When he thought about life after his time in the Coast Guard he had thought about becoming a college professor and teaching something like political science. That didn't happen though. His then girlfriend had told him she was pregnant and he realized he had more than just himself to worry about now.

George and Carol had been married three months later -- it was the right thing to do. He loved Carol and he was approaching thirty so it was as good a time as any to settle down and start a family. His father had offered him a job in the family which he could have eventually inherited along with his cousin and brother-in-law but George turned him down. Experience had taught him that his relationship with his father suffered if they had to spend more than a few hours a month in contact with each other.

A few weeks later one of his father's friends offered him a job with the CIA. Initially, George refused because he had still wanted to finish his Education degree and go on to become a college professor. Becoming a professor, however, required more than a Bachelor's degree and meant long hours and shitty pay. He would have to buy a house soon along with God knows what else for the baby. Joining the CIA meant he'd have steady income and they'd even pay for him to get a Graduate degree which would allow him to move on to a higher position with more money.

It wasn't even a choice.

Moving up in the CIA was mostly about politics. The field assignments and other work counted but in the end it was the connections that helped seal the deal. Most CIA Directors got there because of their connections, internal politics or in the case of the last clown to hold the post -- he had been with the Agency for twenty years and was the least offensive choice. The lesser evil. George had never been an exemplary CIA agent, mediocre to be honest, but he was very good at playing the game. He went to the parties, attended the right functions and for the most part his superiors and his peers liked him even though the people who worked for him generally didn't. His ability to schmooze was what got him the Deputy Director job.

Advancing in CTU was a little different, it required more work. He had done a few field assignments and operations with the CIA but he mostly avoided them. At CTU, he was doing one or two operations a year. George didn't mind the missions although being away from home that much hastened the death of his marriage and didn't help his relationship with his son any. His record on operations was unremarkable save for the "Special Commendation" he earned for "exemplary bravery" on his second mission and the two-hundred grand he pocketed on his last mission. No one but George knew about the latter.

The money was now in some offshore account in Aruba where it would likely remain for a long time. He had taken the money because he could, that was the only reason. No ailing relative or dire straits. The opportunity had presented itself and he had started grabbing as much money as he could. He was still amazed that he hadn't been caught even though in his more paranoid moments he was sure someone somewhere knew and it was only a matter of time.

George had justified taking the money a hundred ways: it was from a lowlife, drug-dealing terrorist who wasn't going to be needing the money anyway, he knew for a fact that others -- his superiors -- had done similar if not worse things, he was owed this money for all the shit he'd been put through, all the things he'd seen and the things he'd done in the name of the US government. They owed him.

He had thought about giving the money back, almost as soon as he grabbed it. That wouldn't work. He had some connections high up but not enough to get away with something like this. It wasn't like stealing candy from the local store, he couldn't just return it and get off with a warning. The best he would get is a reduced prison sentence at a medium security prison and that was being optimistic. Now he had all this money and he was too afraid to spend it.

George finished dealing the cards and then picked his cards up from the table. A sigh escaped his lips. Like so many times before, he had drawn a bad hand.