Webb Odyssey Pas Duex

Finding Neville

Author Claire Vincent

Chapter 2

Armed with this new lead, Clay redoubled his efforts to find more information about what had happened to his father in the last 6 months of his life. Using the Freedom of Information Act to the fullest and his new prestige at the Agency, he was able to gather several CIA classified files about the Iranian Crisis with out drawing attention. Since he now knew where to look, in a sense, he did not have to limit the requests for files using only his father's name, or the code name operations his father had worked on that were still sealed, and unavailable.

Clay had no delusions about finding his father still alive somewhere out there. Nor was there any secret hope that Clay may find a long lost sibling somewhere, like Harmon Rabb had. Clay was not that lucky, nor that idealistic.

He simply wanted some closure. He wanted to know. And he wanted to give this knowledge to his mother. She was getting older, and deserved to know what happened to the man she loved her whole life. Since Clay had married Amy, and started a family of his own, this above all had become more important.

After ordering, and waiting patiently for the wheels of government to turn and send him his requested documents, he decided to make two visits. He now knew what questions to ask, and had put off the difficult conversations long enough.

Porter Webb Residence

Great Falls, VA

1240 local time

Clay always looked forward to sharing lunch with his mother. But today was an exception. He slowly drove up the long drive to the door, and paused before getting out of the car. The questions and discussion he planned on having with his mother this afternoon may blow up in his face. The subject of what had happened to Neville was not one that he and Porter ever talked about. Clay knew it was painful for Porter to discuss, and he had never pushed it with her. But he was going to find the answers; he had to start here, with her.

He entered the house and was greeted by his Mother at the door with a kiss on the cheek.

'Hello Clayton. You're late.'

He kissed her back, smiling at her warm and stern greeting. 'Hello Mother. How are you?'

'Hungry.' She stated and turned and led the way into the dining room where lunch was already on the table. They ate and talked about everything and nothing. Porter wanted to know all the new things Claudia was doing. Amy and Porter visited at least once a week and Porter was able to visit with her granddaughter then and see for herself how she was growing, or so Clay told his mother.

Porter answered him, 'Babies change everyday Clayton. I want to know all the new things my granddaughter does when they happen.'

She suggested they take their coffee into the living room. Porter knew her son, and could tell there was something on his mind. She thought it was time to find out what had brought her son here for lunch out of the blue on a week day.

'What did you want to talk about Clayton?' she asked as they sat down facing each other on the couch.

Clay smiled, he should have known he could hide nothing from Porter. 'I wanted to talk about what may have happened to Father.' He stated simply.

Porter had not expected this, and was taken aback. 'Clayton, you know I was told very little about what happened to your Father. And what I know I told you. Why are you bringing this up now?'

'Over the years I have done a little digging, and found out a few things. I just want to try and put it all together.' Clay answered. He was not ready to share all the information he had with his mother yet. He had a good idea what her reaction would be, and did not what to begin that argument with her right now. Not until he had more information.

He was not going to get his wish however. His mother was a gracious, intelligent woman, and not much got by her, certainly not much that her son did. And, in the end, she was still a 'company' woman. She looked Clay in the eye and said, 'Clayton, let it go. We will be told everything when and if the information can not harm or implicate anyone.' Yes, a company woman to the end.

The subject was open now, he would have to talk about it. 'It has been 25 years Mother. And you don't need to repeat the company line for me, I know it well enough and have used it myself plenty of times. Who could it possibly hurt anymore? It is the Angel Shark all over again.' Clay stood up and started pacing the room. The whole situation made him madder each time he thought about it. 'No one could be hurt anymore in the agency, they just covered it up, and left it classified to cover their own mistake. I am not going to wait forty-odd years before I start demanding information. We don't have that kind of time.'

'Is that in reference to my advancing age, son?' Porter asked sarcastically? Clay turned and looked at her, but did not answer her. She was right and she knew it. 'Do you know I realized not very long ago that I have now been a widow longer than I was a wife? It was a sobering thought.'

Clay came back to the couch and took her hand. 'Don't you think, after all this time, and all the years this family has served this country, we deserve to know the truth?' Porter was starting to waver. Clay pressed on. 'This has always bothered me. And now that I am a father' he stopped here, not sure of how to go on. He looked down at their joined hands, 'I always knew he loved me, I just never appreciated how much, or what it really meant.' He looked back at Porter. 'I have always regretted that last Christmas together. I should have stayed home.'

'Clayton you were a good son, and your Father and I love you. We always have. Don't dwell on that last holiday. Neville never resented it.' With this confession, Porter saw how important it was for Clayton to find out the truth. Maybe it would allow him some peace, both of them some peace. She did not know how much they would ever know about the death of Neville, but there was a part of her that wanted to know the truth too. And she did have some truth to share with her son that she had kept back all these years.

'Clayton,' she began, 'there are a couple of things I never told you about your father's death.'

He looked at her, all attention. Porter continued, 'I was told in the usual way, two agents came to the house in February to say he was missing. They would not tell me where in the world he was missing, and this time I had no idea where he was. Sometimes he would tell me, or give me a hint of where he was going, but not this time.'

'Then you called me at Harvard and told me.' Clay remembered. Some of the pain of that day came back to him still.

'There was nothing you could do, Clayton. I do not regret encouraging you to stay at school.' Porter said. 'Standard Operating Procedure was followed again in April, when his body was found and he was pronounced dead. An agent and our minister came to the house to deliver the news.' She stopped here and looked at Clay in the eye. 'What I never told you was that the agent was Martin Armbruster, your Father's partner.' She waited for his reaction, and except for slight surprise that was in his eyes, he showed no emotion. Clay had never really liked his 'Uncle' Marty. Clay had resented him somehow, as the man who spent all the time with his Father and shared all his secrets, and Clay could never join their little club. All of Clay's anger and frustration at his Father and his job had never been directed at Neville, he was his Father whom he loved, but 'Uncle' Marty, well, he could be blamed for a lot of things.

'Martin was very helpful through it all, Clayton, and I am still to this day grateful for his support. What I never told you was that Martin told me how your Father died, and I never told you that part. I am sorry about that.' Porter said quietly.

'How did he die?' Clay asked. Not sure he really wanted to know, but had to.

'When he went missing, he had been captured and held hostage. He had been beaten, and tied up, but there were no other signs of torture, or so Marty said.' Porter took a breath here, to try and ease and choose her words carefully for the next part. 'They had executed him, Clayton, with two bullets to the head. When his body was found in a shallow grave much later, there was not much left of his face or head to identify

Clay kept his face neutral, though he was in turmoil inside. The hurt and loss were fresh again, as he watched his mother describe what he had never known.

'Marty identified him by the birth mark on his leg, and dental records that were made available and the remains were cremated and sent home, as your father had wished.' Porter looked carefully at her son, regretting having kept this information for so long, and also regretting telling him now. No one should have to know those kinds of details about the death of a loved Father.

'Clayton, please forgive me for not telling you before this. At first it was just too painful for me to talk about, and then…' she shrugged her shoulders, 'I didn't think you needed to know. Neville was dead, it really did not matter how.'

Clay was a little hurt that she had kept this secret for so long, but he understood her motives. All he could say was, 'I understand, Mother.'

'What will you do now, Clayton?' she asked.

'Find out all I can about what happened.' He answered coldly.

'Clayton, you don't have any…Your Father is dead, Clayton. I hope you don't think there was a mistake and he could be out there somewhere still?' she asked tentatively. She had no hope, and did not what to see her son chasing after ghosts.

'No, I am not that naïve, Mother.' He answered. 'I just want to know.'

'Clayton, don't do anything that could jeopardize your new position at the Agency. You have worked hard, and have a beautiful family now. Please, just let it rest. Let your Father rest.' She pleaded.

'I won't be able to rest until I know. And I am not going to do anything foolish Mother. You know me.' He said with a hint of a smile.

'Yes,' she replied. 'I do know you, that is what concerns me.'

The Road back to CIA Headquarters

Langley, VA

1500 local time

Many things passed through Clay's mind as he drove back to the office that afternoon. What the last days of his Father's life had been like. He regretted again the last days he had spent with his Father when he was alive; that last Christmas, Clay's third year at Harvard. But he dismissed it, as he always had, he could not change the past.

What did he do now? He had requested more files from archives; some should be coming in soon. It was convenient that keeping an investigation open on certain terrorist groups included any country in the Middle East, including Iran. If he could put together some names, along with places Neville and Marty may have been working on all those years ago, …maybe he will find the answers.

The next step was simple. A visit to Uncle Marty.

Martin Armbruster Residence

Northern New York

1440 local time

Clay walked up the curved stone sidewalk to the A frame wood and stone house. Uncle Marty has not done too badly for himself, he thought. Modest, but nice.

He ran the bell, and could already see Marty coming to the door to greet him.

'Clay! God it's good to see you! Come in, come in.' Marty took his hand and shook it and kept hold of it as he lead him inside. 'You look great Clay. It's good to see you.' He said again. 'I'm so glad you called.'

Clay had called the day before with the story that he would be in the area on business, and could he stop by and say hello. Clay didn't tell him the visit was specifically to see him.

'Sit down; let me get you a drink.' Marty had been talking so fast that Clay had barely a chance to say anything. 'Thanks Marty. Just some Club Soda for me, I'm driving back to the airport right after this.' Clay didn't want to get into the fact that he was not much of a drinker anymore.

Marty waved his objection away, 'Oh that's not for a while yet, I'll just fix you a light one.' Clay watched as Marty mixed his drink, with a splash of water, and then poured a larger one, neat, for himself. He came over to the couch.

"When you called you said you have some questions you wanted to ask me.' Marty said innocently. He thought this day would come some time, and had prepared for it.

Clay accepted the drink, and set it down on the table in front of him, not tasting it. He watched himself do this, avoiding Marty's eyes as he began. 'I want to talk about what happened to my father.'

Marty sat back on the couch, still holding his drink, and looked intently at Clay. 'There is not too much to tell Clay.' He said, being honest but evasive.

'Mother told me finally how he was killed, and how you identified the body.'

'Yes, I did. Then I arranged for the cremation, as your father had wished, and brought the ashes home to you and your mother.'

'What country was my father in when he was killed? Do you know?'

'Clay, you know I can't talk about that.'

'I know all the excuses, Marty. And I'm sick of them.' Clay interrupted him. 'It's been 25 years. Everyone that may have been involved is surely retired or dead by now. I want to know. I want my mother to know what happened to her husband before she dies.'

'I know Clay. It must be very hard, but it is all classified, and I don't know that much anyway. I wasn't there.' He said soothingly.

'Why weren't you there? You were his partner after all.' Clay demanded. He didn't like the accusing tone he heard in his own voice, but it was too late to try and stop that now.

Marty was getting into dangerous territory. He didn't want to start to panic. He thought quickly that he was getting too old for this. 'Clay you know how partners work. They work the same assignment from different angles in the field, then come back together and review what they each find. Don't you think I haven't wished thousands of times I could have been there for your father?' Throw it back to him, that's right, that is how to play this game, Marty thought.

Clay recognized what Marty was doing, and had no defense. He knew Marty had cared for his father, and Clay did not want to blame him, he just wanted answers. He decided to play a few of his cards.

'I have done some research over the years. I have slowly found out a few things.' He looked up at Marty for a reaction. He only got a silent stare back, so he continued. 'I know you and my father were in Tehran 6 months before he died. You were there just before the US Embassy was taken over.'

A million questions flashed through Marty's mind at this statement, but he was careful not to show any surprise or emotion on his face. How close was Clay getting? Was the first and most important question in his mind. Then, how do I find out how close, without arousing any attention?

'What makes you so sure?' Marty asked.

Clay smiled to himself, he will neither confirm nor deny, Clay thought. 'Your picture was taken outside the Embassy hours before the take over. The photo is on display right now at the Smithsonian. It's a famous picture. Published everywhere, but you and my father had been cut off in the published photos. The whole slide is on display now, after all this time.'

'You sure it is us? There are always a lot of people in those…'

'I know a picture of my father when I see one, Marty. You were there weren't you?'

'It is not hard to figure we would be there. Your father and I were a good team, and Tehran was the hot bed of activity 25 years ago.'

So Marty was still going to evade answering the questions, Clay thought. What else should he have expected really? Marty had been one of the best, his life steeped in mystery, and cover up. How could Clay expect him to be any different, even with him? Still, it was frustrating; he just, for once, wanted a straight answer.

'I also found out that my father's code name was Knife, back then.' Clay offered. This was a test. Clay had come across this code name time and time again in the files he had reviewed and he wanted to find out if it could be a reference to his father. Marty had been swallowing the last of his drink as Clay said this, and was startled and started to cough, as if the drink had gone down the wrong way. Could have been just a coincidence, but Clay didn't think so. Marty had gotten up directly after this, and poured himself another drink. 'Knife?' he said with his back to Clay. 'No. Your father had a few code names over the years, but not that one, not his style.' Then Marty came back to the couch, composure restored. Not his style, hum? Clay thought.

Clay let that go by without comment and asked 'Did you work on trying to get the hostages out.'

'There were hundreds of people trying to get the hostages out at that time. It was top priority, those students were holding the whole country, and our government hostage! It was an embarrassment!' The heat and frustration of the time still came back to him after all these years. He pulled in the emotion and continued. 'Yes, Neville and I were part of a group working out ideas to solve the situation. We considered everything, no matter how silly, or far fetched it sounded. And I have just broken about 30 rules by telling you that.' Marty said, and took a sip from his drink. Maybe if I give him a little bit, he will be satisfied and leave, he thought

'You tried working with some different countries, didn't you? You traveled back and forth from Washington to points unknown.' Clay tried to lead him into the story; hopefully he will fill in some of the blanks.

'I have told you everything I can.' Marty insisted.

'Who will it hurt if you tell me more?' Clay demanded. This man knew it all, why wouldn't he talk to me, Clay thought.

'Clay, you have no idea. Are you sure you want to find the answers to all of this? Have you considered the answers may be harder to accept than just letting it lie?' Marty asked pointedly. 'Let it go Clay. Your father died in the line of duty, trying to free innocent Americans. He is revered in the Agency, and the government. Keep picking at this and you may hurt someone, and that someone may be you.' Marty said pointedly.

'What are you trying to tell me, Marty? What is so bad?' Clay asked.

'Leave it alone Clay. I heard you have a family of your own now. That you are working in the office, staying close to home. Be the father Neville always wanted to be. Go to the soccer games, and birthday parties, and let you family know you love them and that Grandpa Neville loved them too, and loved this country too. That ought to be enough.'

'It's because I am a father, and loved mine very much, that I have to find the truth.' Clay answered simply.

Marty leaned closely to Clay, elbows on his knees. 'Just be careful what you wish for Clay.' He said solemnly. 'You may get it.'

Clay stayed only a little longer, but the subject of his father was closed. He left with wishes from Marty that he would not be such a stranger, and call for a visit any time. Clay got in his rental car and headed home; with much less information than he had hoped for, but as much as he had expected to get. He at least had a good idea what Neville's code name had been, Knife. With that information, he may be able to gain access to more files. It could bump him up in the security line also. So, it was not a completely wasted trip.

Once Clay had left, Marty sat down and poured himself another drink, slowly watching the fire in the grate. The ghosts from the past started to crowd in, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. The voice was the same as it was 25 years ago…

January 17, 1980

74th day of the Hostage crisis

Office in CIA Headquarters

Langley, VA

The office was dark, except for the lamp on the desk. It distorted the man's features, leaving most of his face in shadow. Marty knew the man behind the desk, but not very well. He was an under assistant director of something, he was young, but was moving up fast in the hierarchy of the Agency. The words that Marty had heard in reference to him was 'ruthless', and 'not to be crossed'. Marty wasn't sure why he had been asked to this meeting, and became more nervous when he saw he was the only invited guest.

'Please sit down Marty.' He said. It was a welcoming voice, but the air of an order was unmistakable.

Marty sat down in the offered chair and looked at the young man. It was his meeting; Marty would wait for him to make the first move. It didn't take long.

'Marty I represent a group of individuals who are interested in saving our country further embarrassment in Iran. It is imperative that we get our people out of there alive and unharmed. Don't you agree?'

This was the point that Marty had been working on every waking hour, and even some hours sleeping, for the past 3 months. He and Neville were working on a number of scenarios. At this point, no idea, however crazy, was a bad one.

'Yes, we need to get them out, as soon as possible.' Marty simply answered.

'But it needs to be handled correctly. Each side must feel they have come away the winners, don't you think?'

While he made his statements and asked his questions, his expression didn't change. It was reserved and direct, and gave nothing away.

'The United States has to come out the winners. I don't really care what happens to the Iranians.' Marty paused here. 'But I suppose we have to give them something to get our people out safely.' Marty answered. It felt good to boil the whole problem down to these simple statements. It seemed to make the goal clearer and easier somehow.

'Good.' He said. 'I thought you would understand. Our little group is working on a way to achieve our goals, and make a stronger and better America in the long run. But we need your help Marty. Will you help us?'

'Of course. I have been working on this for months and I want to see it through to the end. Neville and I are working closely…'

'Mr. Webb is not invited to our little group, Marty. We only need you.'

There was silence while Marty thought about this. Neville was the senior agent on this one. He had been Marty's partner for years, was his best friend. His mouth went dry and he didn't know what to say. Turns out he didn't have to say anything.

'We want you because we think you understand our situation better. We need your connections, and expertise in this, but only you, Marty. You will continue to work with Mr. Webb, and keep me up to date with your plans. But, you will also work to forward our plans in tandem. It is possible that between the two groups we will be able to solve this crisis to everyone's benefit. And your involvement with us will not go unnoticed, I assure you. Our little group is willing to pay you beyond you usual Company salary for you help. A bonus if you will.' Here, for the first time in the meeting, the young man's expression changed slightly with a smile, maybe not so much a smile as a slight turning up of one side of his mouth. Marty thought this was as close as he got to a smile.

The implication was not lost on Marty. He had been an agent long enough to understand an outside operation when he saw one. He had offers before, but had turned them down. This was different. The CIA and state department was getting no where, and each day that went by, and was faithfully counted down on the news each night seemed like a personal slap in the face to him, and he was getting tired of it. If this little group could help, why not let them in? They all wanted the same thing in the end right? The safe return of the hostages. A stronger America and a bonus for him were just icing.

'How can I help?' Marty asked.

Martin Armbruster home

Northern New York

1600 local time.

Marty downed what was left of his drink. 'How can I help?' he snorted. With that little phrase, all those years ago, he had sold his soul.