Chapter 3

Webb Odyssey Pas Deux

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CLASSIFIED

FILE # 4844058843

Case: Code Name: FLYING EAGLE

Authority code name: KNIFE

Continuing case notes on possible evacuation

Entry 1

Continued reconnaissance on student group through friendly foreign agents. Meeting sent up by our associate 'Sam' to meet with student contact: Haveet. Photo enclosed. Set to meet at local public café in…..

Entry 25

Six days later

Made contact with Haveet. He represents faction interested in negotiation a release, said he has the backing of the student leaders and intimated support of the governing council, but would not give any names. Set up next possible time to meet…..

Clayton Webb's office

CIA Headquarters

Langley, VA

1820 local time

Clay sat reading one of the files from the stack on his desk. Since talking with Marty Armbruster and finding out for sure his father's code name at the time was Knife, Clay had been able to use this name to gain clearance to obtain the next level of classified files. After days of doing his own work and looking at these old files of his father's they had all begun to look and sound alike.

Until this one. The name Haveet, where had he seen that name before? There was only the one name, and Clay did not know if it was a first or last name, or even just some code name. He would have to ask Amy about it; maybe in Farsi it isn't a name at all but translates as 'shoe' or something and therefore was a code name. Still, it sounded familiar.

Clay shuffled through the other papers from the folder, wasn't there a picture mentioned? When he found it, it was an old black and white photo, taken of a young middle-eastern man from a few steps away, obviously from a hidden camera. It was not very clear, but you could still make out the features. Nothing really remarkable about the face, just a young student. But the face and the name still nagged at him.

Clay decided he needed to stretch his legs, and clear his mind a little, and would go get a cup of coffee. He walked down the corridor on the way to the cafeteria and passed the wall of pictures of the United States most wanted Terrorists. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the picture. Same eyes, same high cheek bones, older but the same man. The name underneath read: Kavil Ali Haveet Moumdee.

Clay could not believe his luck. It had to be the same man, the age seemed right, the name and face, the face was too close to be a mistake. And even better, there was a red X through the face. This particular terrorist was caught already, and has spent the last year as a guest of the federal prison in Leavenworth, KS

Clay ran back to his office and began checking through the database of terrorists. He scanned in the old picture from Neville's case file, and compared it with the prison photo of Moumdee. They were a perfect match. Clay smiled to himself, leaning back in his desk chair staring at the two photos on his laptop screen.

The next link in the chain, he thought to himself.

An Executive Office Suite

CIA Headquarters

Langley, VA

2016 Local time

It was rather tedious to look over the lists each day of the highly classified files that were requested from archives. He had made it part of his everyday routine however. It had paid off several times to see what was going out, and to whom. He couldn't block what files were made available all the time, but he could block further requests for files of the same subject or case if the research seemed to be digging too deep. One person he was keeping a close eye on these days was Clayton Webb. And it wasn't only for what files Mr. Webb was requesting.

And here was another request for files from Webb; a new case name, and code name. The threads for Mr. Webb were starting to come together at an alarming rate. Something needed to be done.

He picked up the phone and dialed a number from memory. This was a secured line, the idea being no one could listen in from outside, but that did not include anyone inside CIA HQ. He would keep it short. The person he was calling was used to his short conversations by now. He would understand.

After the third ring, the phone was answered. 'Hello.'

'I thought you had a talk with him when he came to see you. You gave something away. He is checking out other files with a name that he should not even know exists.'

The voice on the phone immediately became apologetic. 'I'm sure I gave him no new information. I discouraged him as best I could without drawing any more attention to myself or past cases.'

'Well, he is on to something.' The Executive said, thinking. He could not let this go any further. 'We will have to use more drastic measures to make him stop his research.' He paused here, making a decision. 'Go ahead with the pictures we discussed.'

'I don't think we have to go that far….' The voice hated the thought of what this man had planned.

'We cannot let him get any closer, or find anymore answers. It would mean both our necks, and you know it.' The Executive insisted.

The man on the other end of the phone knew he was right. 'All right. I will get right on it.' He said reluctantly.

'Good.' Was all the Executive said, then he hung up the phone.

Twenty-four hours later

CIA Headquarters,

Parking ramp

Langley, VA

2024 local time

Why were parking ramps always wet? Clay wondered to himself as he stepped over anther puddle on his way to his car.

The ramp was more than half empty; it was almost 8:30 pm after all. Most sane people were home, as he should be. He just had a little more paper work he had wanted to finish, then a little more after that, and now look at the time. He had missed bath and bed time with Claudia again. He really had to stop doing that, he told himself for the hundredth time.

He got close to his car and dug out his keys from his coat pocket, pushing the automatic door opener and watching the inside lights go on. As he approached the vehicle, he saw a large brown envelope stuck on the windshield held on by the wiper.

Clay stepped beside the car, and paused, wondering about a booby trap. CIA Headquarters was the third most secure place on the planet, behind the White House, Capitol, and maybe the Pentagon. Fourth most secure place then. A light envelope like this could hardly be a trigger. But someone, someone from the inside, had placed it on his windshield. Could be some information on one of the classified files he had requested on his father. With this in mind, he opened the envelope.

His heart always skipped a beat when he was opening information about his father these days. It completely stopped, then started racing as he looked at black and white 8X10 photos of Amy and Claudia in the park. I looked like they had been taken today Clay remembered Amy was wearing that blue pull over sweater when he left this morning.

They were sitting on a park bench, with people walking on the sidewalk behind them. Amy was sitting there with a big smile on her face, and had the baby in her lap, enjoying the sunshine. As he flipped through the pictures, all from varying distances a voice came from the shadows.

'Nice family, Webb.'

Clay dropped one of the pictures at the sound, and looked around into the gloom of the parking ramp shadows.

'Hate to see anything bad happen to them.' The voice said.

He couldn't see anyone; the voice seemed to be coming from everywhere, as it bounced off the cement walls and floor.

'Where are they, what have you done?' Clay demanded. He was relieved his voice sounded stronger than he felt at the moment.

'Quit asking questions, Webb. Stop the research. The past is past, and the answers could hurt more than you think.'

This statement made Clay's blood run cold. The voice was vague, but the meaning was clear. Stop digging or else something will happen to your family. They are easy to get too; maybe we have them already.

Clay looked at the pictures again, he could almost hear Amy's voice as she talked to the baby, and Claudia's gurgled response. Then he heard a car door slam and a car screech out of the ramp. He saw some headlights on the other side of the ramp, but could not make out the make or license plate of the car.

He had to move. He picked up the photo he had dropped, and grabbed the car door. He was starting the engine and putting the vehicle in gear before he had closed the door behind him.

He raced out of the ramp, but not knowing what car to follow, he didn't know which way to go. Whoever the voice was, they were long gone now.

Clay leaned over and opened his glove compartment, and took out the loaded revolver he kept there; the just-in-case weapon. He left it on his lap, within easy reach and turned his car toward home.

Clayton Webb Residence

Alexandria, VA

2103 local time

At this hour, there was not much traffic. Clay still made it home in record time. It had been the longest drive of his life. He kept calling the house number from his car phone, and Amy's cell phone, but neither was answered. He always heard her bright voice over the earpiece, 'Sorry we can't take your call now, please leave a message.' He begged her to pick up the phones, shouting into the answering machine, but she wasn't there. No one was there.

Where could they be? The baby was usually in bed by now. Amy was very strict about bed time. He racked his brain, trying to remember if she had told him about any special plans she had for this evening, but he couldn't think straight.

'Oh, God. Please.' He kept praying. As he got closer to the house, his heart raced faster.

When he pulled into the drive, everything looked quiet. The lights that were on timers in the front room were on, the upstairs was dark. Clay took a moment in the car, to pull his agent experience around him. He couldn't go racing inside, weapon blazing. He had to find out what the situation was. They may be there, may be held hostage. May be they were gone. God, what would he do then?

He got his emotions under control; his heart slowed down by shear will, and thought about the best approach to the house. He got out of the car, and decided to circle the building, see if there was anything out of the ordinary. He completed his circle, weapon at the ready, but everything looked quiet.

He went in the front door, which is usual. Amy almost always met him at the door when he was late like this. She would be watching for him. She was nowhere in sight. The house was quiet and dark, except in the front room with the automatic lights. This time of night, she would be upstairs he thought, but walked through the hall to the kitchen, then back out to his office, and the family room. Every room was dark, and empty. His heart was picking up speed again, but he was able to keep his mind clear, concentrating on signs or noises that would be out of place.

He turned and made his way slowly up the staircase, the hall was dark. Amy left the light on in the evening, in case the baby woke up. He was usually the one to turn it off when he came to bed. Clay left it off now, didn't want to give away his presence if… but he didn't want to think about that. He pushed open the door to the master suite with the weapon pointing first. His eyes were adjusted to the dim light, and could he could see the bed was empty. It was still made up from this morning.

Clay swallowed the cold lump that had formed in his throat, and moved down the hall toward the nursery. The door was open only a crack, and he pushed it open wider, ready to shoot, and saw her.

She was sitting slumped in the big rocking chair, a blanket draped over her lap, her dressing gown wrapped around her. Her mouth was slightly open in sleep and he could hear her breathing. He glanced to the crib beside her, and there was his beautiful daughter, her lips making suckling sounds in her sleep. He brought his weapon down and let go of the breath he had been holding since entering the house.

He slumped over, sighing in relief, putting his hands on his knees until he felt the shaking subside.

'Clay!' his sigh had woke up Amy with a start. Her voice woke up Claudia, who began crying at the noise.

Clay rushed over and picked up his squirming screaming daughter. He wanted nothing more than to that to hold right now anyway. 'Shhh, it's all right.' He crooned. 'Daddy's here, it's all right now.' He held her tight against his chest, trying to comfort her, calm her. Just having her squirming in his arms was comfort for him.

Amy stood up slowly, looking a little pale in the soft light of the room. 'Clay,' she said softly. 'Give me your weapon or our daughter.' Her voice was shaking, but very serious. Clay had completely forgotten he was still holding a loaded revolver. Not a good thing to have in his hands while holding the baby. With a flick of his thumb, he put the safety on, and another twist of a couple of fingers, the clip of bullets thumbed quietly to the carpeted floor. He spun the handle around and gave it to his wife. Then he moved over to the small couch and sat down still holding Claudia, who had by now, quieted down. She was still wide eyed, and clinging to Daddy, sucking her tiny thumb for all it was worth.

Clay watched Amy take the revolver, and pick the clip off the floor and set them on the dresser. Then she turned. He could tell she was trying to calm herself down. Must have been a shock for her too, seeing her husband come in with gun drawn and loaded. She stood in front of him, and asked evenly. 'You ok?' he nodded his head. 'Why don't you give her to me, I will put her down again. I will be downstairs in a few minutes.' He interpreted this to really mean, 'Give her to me, and I will see you downstairs where I expect a full explanation for this.' Amazing how effectively married couples communicated, Clay thought as he handed Claudia back to her mother. He was being given a few minutes to collect himself before she came downstairs and let him have it. He would need the few minutes, and she would need to understand what he was doing was the best for all of them.

He left the nursery, went downstairs to the kitchen to get something to eat; and to wait for Amy. She didn't keep him waiting long. She was mad, and scared, and she was determined to get some answers.

Amy came into the kitchen and saw Clay sitting at the table, with an apple in his hand. He had not yet taken a bite out of it; he was just staring at it as it rolled back and forth between his hands. The color had returned to his face since she had first seen him, gun drawn and pointing around the nursery a few minutes ago. She moved to the fridge and pulled out the jug of milk. She grabbed a glass and poured some out as she asked, 'You ok now?'

'Yeah.' He answered, not taking his eyes off the apple.

Amy moved over to the table and sat down beside him. 'You want to tell me what that was all about upstairs?'

'No.' He still wouldn't look at, but now took a bite out of the apple.

She could tell he had pulled up the spook mask, whatever was going on, he wasn't going to tell her. Well, she wasn't ready to give up yet. She took a drink of milk, set the glass down and looked him in the face. 'I thought you were done with this kind of work.' She stated flatly.

'I am done. I don't think this is official CIA business.' He answered.

'What is it then?' she asked, and got a shrug and the noise as he bit into the apple again.

'This is about your father, isn't it?'

'Amy…' he started.

'Clay. I am trying to understand you and your search for what happened. But what was it that made you to come barreling into the nursery with your weapon drawn?'

'Amy, I can't go into it. I really don't have an answer why. I haven't had a chance to think it through yet. I'm just glad you and the baby are all right'

'If you won't give me any answers, let me give you one. You thought we were threatened, and came home as soon as you found out.' Clay didn't answer her, or look at her. He just kept staring and munching his apple. This seemed enough of an answer for her, they had indeed been threatened. 'Who would have threatened us, and why?'

'I don't know!' he shouted. Those were the exact questions that were buzzing around his head, but just didn't have any answers yet. She deserved an answer, but he just didn't know. 'I wish I had an answer, but I don't, not yet.' He said more calmly.

They sat quietly for a moment, each with their thoughts. Amy spoke first.

'Maybe it is time to put it away again for a while, Clay.' She suggested.

'I'm so close now. Closer than I thought if what happened tonight is any indication.' He said.

'You must be really close to something someone doesn't want you to find, to threaten your family.' Amy reasoned.

'He is my family too.' Clay insisted. 'If you love me you would understand that. I have to finish this.'

'I do love you Clay, don't ever doubt that.' Amy answered; it hurt a little that he would think that. 'I just don't understand how you could put your family in danger, to find out about your dead father. Finding the truth won't bring him back.' She stood up and started moving to the swinging door. His voice behind her stopped her.

'It would be a good idea if you took Claudia and visited your father in Wisconsin for a while.'

He wanted her to leave; to let him handle this alone. She didn't understand, and he wasn't going to stop until he had found out the truth. He wanted is wife and daughter safe while he finished the work. She couldn't believe it. Then she thought, yes, I do believe it. He was tenacious and stubborn and wouldn't stop, no matter the consequences. But he loved them, and did not want them in danger. At this moment, she both hated him and loved him for this. 'If that is what you want.'

'It is.' He hated to think of sending them away. He would miss them terribly, but it was the only way to keep them safe.

'I'll make arrangements tomorrow.' Then she left him alone in the kitchen.

Next day

Video Conference Room

CIA Headquarters

Langley, VA

0720 local time

The face that had caught his eye yesterday, and could not shake from his memory, was now staring him down, larger than life on the wall screen in front of him.

It had not taken much to arrange a video conference with prison officials. They were more than happy to cooperate with a senior CIA agent, researching terrorist groups in the Middle East. Clay just left out the part that he was interested in this particular prisoner's terrorist acts from 25 years ago.

'It was so long ago, and I was so young and foolish, Mr. Webb.' Moumdee was saying.

'It's a simple question. Did you try to negotiate the release of the hostages, and what did those negotiations include? Who was your contact? How far did….'

'We were not very successful, obviously.' Moumdee interjected. 'When I was working on it, it was in the first 6 months. When the student leaders found out I had begun talking to the other side, I was, shall we say, relieved of my duties.' He said with a smirk. 'I was lucky they didn't kill me.

'But I thought you were working on behalf of the student leaders, that was what was reported in the case file.' Clay said.

'Well, if that was what was reported in the case file, whoever wrote it was terribly wrong, and naïve.' Moumdee said with a sly smile.

Clay was a little hurt at the implied insult to his father, who had indeed written the case report, but he let it go.

'You said you were relieved of your duties, and were lucky to stay alive. Your life wasn't in danger from them was it? They would not have killed one of their own.'

'Mossari is not the kind of man you cross.' Moumdee answered. 'And he was in charge back then. After my little talk with him, I was all but banished.'

Clay had done it. He had gotten another name to follow, Mossari, and Clay knew this person already.

Corridor outside Video Conference Room

CIA Headquarters

Langley, VA

CIA HQ was one of the most secure buildings in Washington. But within the walls itself, business was conducted rather openly. Video conference rooms had several techs moving in and out, the screen was large and the volume was high to offer the most accurate communication.

The Executive standing outside, as if waiting for his turn to use the room, was not unusual. He was casually listening to the conversation going on inside. When the name Moussi came over the speakers, he could not suppress the anger that forced the single word, 'Damn' through compressed lips. Nor could he stop the hot flush that moved up from his collar. With a mumbled, 'That is it Webb.' He moved down the hall with a stern look on his face and a determination in his stride that was enough to for other passersby to give him a wide distance in the hall.

Herb's Deli

Washington DC

2143 local time

Clay had worked late, and stopped off at a deli for a sandwich and cup of coffee before going home. Amy and Claudia were in Wisconsin now, so there was no rush to get home. She had called to say they arrived safely. It had been a short, cold phone call. She was still angry at him for sending them away while he finished his work on finding the truth about his father.

Clay understood her anger, in his more generous moments. He thought if he could just keep them safe, and finish this, then he could bring them home, and get on with their lives. He hoped so anyway. Clay had not talked to Amy in the past couple of days. He wasn't sure if calling would only make her angrier, or if not calling would make things worse. Damned if you do, and damned if you don't situation, he thought as he finished his last bite. He had brought his research notes with him into the deli, and was reviewing them again, thinking about the next step. It was easy to look at the files here; the deli was on the way home, but off the beaten track for other CIA personnel. He could look at this information knowing on one was looking over his shoulder. The deli was different at night, than at lunch time when he usually visited it. It was not in what one would call a 'nice neighborhood' and it just seemed a little tougher at night. He wouldn't stay much longer, just wanted to jot down a couple more ideas.

Clay had not noticed the truck that was parked on the opposite side of the street from the deli, or the two men who sat in the cab, watching him through the large deli storefront window.

Looking over the notes, Clay tried to think of his next step. He didn't want to leave the country, but thought that was the only way.

Using Neville's code name, Clay had found more case files, and saw notes regarding the beginning of negotiations for the release of the American Hostages in Iran, with one of the members of the militant students that were holding them, on Kavil Ali Haveet Moumdee.

This same man, Moumdee, 25 years later, had been arrested in the country for terrorist activities, and was not serving time in the Federal prison in Leavenworth, KS. Through a video conference two days ago, Clay had talked with him and discovered that Moumdee was working on behalf of Moussi at the time, and his father had never had the chance to finish any deal for the hostages.

Moussi, if it was the same man, and clay was pretty sure it was, is also on the United States Most Wanted List in the Middle East. Clay also knew that he would never be picked up. Moussi, in some intelligence circles, was nicknamed 'the Godfather' of the insurgent underground in Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, and who knew where else. The CIA knew his general whereabouts, but let him operate, because of information he fed back to the west on arms dealers, insurgent groups in other countries, and other little tidbits of information that were useful. Moussi didn't give up too much information, only enough to keep himself free to conduct his 'business' without interference from Western powers. It was a sometimes messy, but helpful arrangement for both sides.

Moussi never met with agents face to face, Clay knew. Agents met with Moussi's tribe men, who took messages back and forth. This took time, but was worth it. And here, Moussi turns out to be a contact in the middle of terrorist actions 25 years ago. The armed take over of the US Embassy and holding of American Hostages, showed a little youthful recklessness, but was right up Moussi's alley.

Clay sat back looking at his notes. He would probably have to take a trip over to Iran, make contact with the station chef in Tehran and see what information he could get on contacting Moussi. With a 'cover' of researching insurgent groups in the area, Clay's specialty, he request to contact Moussi would not draw any unwanted attention, he hoped. Since the threat to his family, Clay had treaded more carefully, but he would not stop his search, not now when things were really opening up.

Clay gathered his notes, and put on his coat and left the deli. As he moved to his car, parked in a lot beside the building, Clay did not notice the coming up behind him. One man hit him over the head, the other caught him as he fell and dragged him behind the building, where one held him while the other continued to punch and kick him.

Clay was half conscience of what was happening, and with the first blow to his head, his reflexes were slowed and he could do nothing to defend himself. He was coherent enough to hear their threats.

'This is what happens when you try to dig up the past.'

'Stop the search. Stop sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong.'

'We know where your family and friend are, and if you continue digging you will only hurt them, or kill you.'

With one parting blow, and the question, 'You got that, Mr. Webb?' they left him in a heap on the ground.

Clay could only grunt in reply, and then everything went black.