*For disclaimers, see part one *

Treason and Old Lace-Part One

6211 Hidden Canyon Rd, Centreville, VA

Tuesday, January 18, 2005

11:45 AM

"Come in, Robert," Major Mark Sterns opened the door. "This is certainly a surprise. It's been what, about five years or so?"

"About that, yeah," The colonel replied as he stepped into the foyer. "But I live just over in Rockville, so I thought I'd drop on by, see how you were doing." He kept his tone casual; the general had stressed that this was in no way a formal visit.

"Right this way," Mark led the colonel through the hallway into a spacious den. "Excuse the boxes—I only moved in last week."

"Believe me, I know all about boxes." The colonel lowered himself down onto the brown leather sofa which sat in front of a large flat screen TV. He'd thought about getting one of those for himself—he didn't watch a lot of television but that would be a nice set to kick back and watch sports on. A large basket of flowers sat on an end table beside the sofa—yellow daffodils.

"Secret admirer?" the colonel asked, pointing.

"What?" Mark stared at him in confusion for a moment. "Oh the flowers—no, that's just a welcome basket from a good friend."

"I see," the colonel said. "Have to say, the place looks pretty good."

"Well I've had help, believe me—I couldn't have gotten this far alone." Mark said.

Help—from the friend? The colonel thought of asking more about it, but he didn't want to pry—Mark's wife Donna had passed away three years ago after a long battle with pancreatic cancer—if the man wanted some female company he certainly didn't begrudge him.

Didn't he come to pry, though? Wasn't that why he was here—to figure out where these leaks might be coming from?

"Can I get you anything?" Mark asked. "Beer—Coffee?"

"Coffee would be good—two sugars, no cream."

The major nodded. "Be right back."

How should he approach this? The colonel wondered. He could go ahead and ask him straight out—though he wasn't sure how Mark might react to that. And part of him still didn't believe it—in spite of the evidence that Morrison had shown him. The Major Sterns he remembered was a good man—a patriotic man.

He had thought the same thing about Lieutenant Mauntel back in '85—a voice reminded him. And Mauntel had turned out to be a traitor after all.

Could it be the same thing?

'No', he thought, pushing those doubts into the back of his mind. 'I won't believe it—at least not just yet.'

At that moment his eyes fell on the daffodils—the basket from a very good friend, that's what the major had said. Flowers—on a sudden impulse he rose from the sofa and walked over to the table to study the flowers more closely. There it was, nestled in the middle of the flowers. The colonel picked up the small card and opened it, reading the words inside:

'A Housewarming Gift from The Soldiers' Relief Fund.' He held the card tightly—the words sent a chill through him.

Secrets getting out—like they had before. Was it all just coincidence?

Maybe he was assuming way too much.

"Beautiful aren't they?" Mark's voice sounded behind him. Putting the card back where he'd found it, the colonel turned to face his friend, who handed him a coffee.

"I've never had much of a green thumb," Mark continued. "But I have to admit they do brighten up the place a bit. So—how's retirement suiting you?"

"Pretty good," the colonel replied. "Though I have to say that it took a while to get used to. But it's good to be close to my family."

"I can understand that," Mark said. "I think that's why I bought this place instead of renting it—to have someplace to settle down when I retire. Though I'm not quite ready yet."

"Must be quite a commute to Andrews, though."

Mark shrugged. "About an hour each way," he said. "But really, I don't mind. And Estelle has offered to keep up the place if I go abroad."

"Estelle?" the colonel repeated.

Another nod. "She does part-time housekeeping for me—I was lucky to discover her."

Deep in the colonel's gut an uneasy feeling began to stir. "How exactly did you discover her?"

"Exactly—she was the one who brought me those flowers," Mark smiled at the memory. "Showed up at my door one morning—she belongs to this group that helps soldiers. We're about the same age, give or take a few—I guess you could say we hit it off."

This was starting to sound eerily familiar—the feeling in his gut intensified. "What exactly does this group do?"

"As far as I know, they basically help soldiers out with whatever needs to be done."

The same thing that Mrs. Murphy had told him that day he'd answered the door. "And Estelle helps you with the housework from time to time?"

"That's what I said, yes," Mark told him. "I've tried to pay her but she won't take anything—she says it's all—"

"—a part of her job." The colonel finished the sentence automatically. "And does she ask you a lot of questions?"

"We talk, if that's what you mean—like I said before, we've become pretty close."

"And are any of these questions about military matters?"

Mark stared. "I think you better tell me what this is about." He spoke quietly. "Tell me why you came here."

He'd already gone this far—he might as well go all the way. "I spoke to General Morrison," the colonel began. "In the past few weeks certain secrets have been leaked."

"And they think it's me?" Mark asked. "Is that it?"

"Some of the secrets are known only to you and General Morrison." The colonel told him. "And there's been money deposited in your account recently—quite a lot of money."

Mark shook his head—his fist clenched and unclenched. "I don't fucking believe this," he said. "You're actually accusing me of being a traitor? We've known each other for what—fifteen years? You really think I'd do that?"

"It's possible that you're not doing it—at least not willingly."

"Just what the hell are you trying to say?"

The colonel drew in a deep breath and let it out. "I'm trying to say that it's possible you're being compromised."

"Compromised—I'm compromised?" The major stared at the colonel as comprehension began to dawn. "You think it's Estelle, don't you? That's why you're asking me all these questions about her."

This really wasn't going well, the colonel thought—then again maybe there was no good way to approach this. He could hear the defensiveness in Mark's voice—the same defensiveness he'd felt when he'd been under Mrs. Murphy's influence. "That could be the case," he replied cautiously.

"I don't believe this," Mark said again, his voice rising slightly. "You think that I just go around spilling military secrets to just anybody?"

"You may not have a choice—if you'll just let me explain—"

"No—I don't want to hear anymore," Mark said. "And unless this is an official visit, I think you need to leave."

SMK SMK SMK SMK

4247 Maplewood Dr

5:10 PM

"So you think that Major Sterns might be in the same situation that you were in with Mrs. Murphy?" Lee asked his uncle. He, Amanda and the colonel sat together at the dining room table. Outside the sky was already beginning to darken, thick flakes falling fast. The weatherman had promised at least three inches tonight, with more to come later in the week.

"That's what I'm thinking," the colonel replied. "I mean when I saw those flowers from the Soldier's Relief Fund—and the way he talked about Estelle—after that the whole thing just kind of clicked. I mean, it is a possibility, isn't it?"

Lee and Amanda exchanged glances. "It is a possibility," Amanda admitted. "We haven't had any leads on Karbala or the whereabouts of Mrs. Murphy in months—" At that moment the phone rang.

"I'll get it." Lee rose from the table and grabbed the nearby extension. "Hello?" He paused. "Yeah, she's here, Chris—just one moment." Cupping his hand over the receiver he called out. "Jenna!"

No reply. Lee raised his voice slightly. "Munchkin!"

"Dad—" Jenna's voice floated down the stairs. "Can it wait? I'm on the phone."

"Well you're on the phone down here, too," Lee told her. "And it's Chris."

"Oh." A brief silence followed. "Can you tell him I'll call him back?"

Lee let out a sigh, scraping his hand back through his hair—he took his hand off the receiver. "Chris, she's on the other line. She'll call you right back, I promise. Goodbye." With another sigh he hung up the cordless—going back over to the table he flopped back down onto chair. "It's like Grand Central Station these days."

"That's pretty typical," Amanda patted her husband's hand briefly. "I remember the boys at her age—especially Phillip. They're probably just discussing birthday stuff."

"Speaking of Jenna's birthday, what are the plans?" The colonel wanted to know.

"Dinner and a sleepover, I think." Lee said. "We'll let you know the details about the dinner later on." He didn't mention anything about Jenna getting her license; part of him still thought that she needed a little more work, but Amanda said they'd cross that bridge when they came to it. Part of him knew his wife was right, but still—the thought of his daughter out there on the road still caused a knot to form in his stomach. "But getting back to what Amanda said about Major Sterns, there is another possibility."

"That the major's a traitor?" The colonel shook his head. "No way—I can't accept that. I've known him for years. Sure, he's been through some rough times, but I can't believe that he'd ever do this."

"And the money in his account?" Amanda asked.

"It could've been planted," the colonel said. "It's happened before."

"That's true." Amanda recalled what had happened to her during the Spiderweb incident when Margaret Brock had tried to frame her as a double agent. All it took was someone with computer access and an account number to turn your life upside down; and in today's world both were surprisingly easy to come by. Karbala had never tried this tactic before, but if Mrs. Murphy was in charge Amanda wouldn't put anything past that woman—anything at all. A slight shiver ran through her body.

"You okay?" Lee spoke quietly, looking at her, his hazel eyes filled with concern.

"I'm fine," she told him. "Really, I am." Amanda turned back towards the colonel. "Did you see any pictures of Estelle? Did he describe her?"

The colonel shook his head. "Afraid not—he kicked me out before I could even get that far—I guess I didn't handle it as well I could have."

"It does fit Mrs. Murphy's MO," Amanda said.

"Yeah, either her or someone who works for her," Lee replied. "She's certainly had time to build up a network. We'll talk to General Morrison and check up on the Soldier's Relief Fund—see where we can go from there."

"Let me know how it goes," the colonel said. "The major's a friend of mine—I don't want him to go down for something he didn't do."

"We'll let you know," Amanda assured him.

SMK SMK SMK SMK

6211 Hidden Canyon Rd, Centreville, VA

5:30 PM

'This is ridiculous,' Mark thought.

He sat at his desk in the front room, cordless in hand, staring down at the numbers in his bank book. His account number, pin number—all in Donna's neat handwriting. He could still remember her sitting here at the desk at their old house, pen in hand as she'd written everything down.

"Just in case you forget," she'd told him, smiling her slightly crooked smile. "You need to be able to look after yourself."

To look after himself when she was gone—that's what she'd meant. At the time he hadn't been willing or able to accept that fact. He was hopeless with numbers; it was Donna who had handled the financial end of things. His paychecks were directly deposited in the bank and most things were automatically debited from the account. That was all Mark knew—all he needed to know.

Until now. His hand tightened around the cordless, so tightly that his knuckles were white. In his head he could still hear Colonel Clayton, telling him that money had been deposited into his account.

It was ridiculous, absolutely preposterous; the colonel must have gotten it wrong.

'So why not prove him wrong?' the nagging voice inside his head whispered. 'Call the number and see for yourself?'

Mark dialed the toll-free number—his fingers shaking as he entered the account number, followed by his pin and the last four digits of his social. The amount in his checking, minus bills, should come out to around $1500—he was pretty sure that was the correct amount. Holding his breath he waited for the automated voice to tell him the same thing.

"The amount in your checking account, is three thousand dollars and zero cents."

That couldn't be right. Mark pressed the button and the message repeated. The same amount—three thousand dollars.

"No," he whispered. The voice told him to press pound for more options—Mark did that and selected number nine to hear the most recent transactions on his account and there it was—an EFT Transaction for 500 dollars—every Monday going back a month.

Maybe he should call the bank—see if they knew the source. Except that the bank was closed right now; he'd have to wait until tomorrow to find out what this was all about.

Certain secrets—been compromised—the words seemed to swirl around in his head.

"Mark?"

The woman's voice startled him—Estelle stood in the doorway, keys in hand.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you," she said. "I knocked and no one answered and I had a key so I just let myself in. I hope you don't mind."

Mark thought briefly about confronting her—asking her directly if she knew what was going on—then he stared at her face—short grey hair, her warm blue eyes and bright smile.

Of course she didn't know anything—mentally he chastised himself for even thinking such a thing. She was Estelle and she was his friend—he didn't give a damn what the colonel had thought. He stood, putting the phone down, and walked towards her. "I don't mind at all," he told her. "Sorry if I didn't answer—I was in the middle of something and I guess I didn't hear."

"Oh dear, I hope I didn't interrupt," Estelle replied.

"You didn't—trust me," Mark said. "In fact, I'm very glad to see you here."

She smiled. "Let's go into the kitchen, then. I'll make us both a cup of tea and see what I can whip up for dinner."

He returned her smile. "Sounds good."

SMK SMK SMK SMK

7:00 PM

"So there are security weaknesses at Andrews?" Estelle Coulton asked.

Notebook and pen in hand, she sat at the kitchen table across from Major Mark Sterns. The same place she'd sat while they'd had their dinner. The soft classical music that he'd put on the stereo continued to play in the background, mingled with the hum and swish of the dishwasher. Keep the surroundings as normal as possible—that's what Mrs. Murphy had told her during training. If the victim retained any shard of memory, what they recalled was likely to be innocuous.

"Yes," the major's voice sounded like a tape being played in slow motion. "A few—nothing big, you see, but like I was explaining to the CO, these things add up."

"I see—" Estelle made a note on the pad. "And what kinds of things, exactly?"

"There were laptops left unsecured, computers not being shut down properly when people left their workstations—things like that. Little but important."

"Those are important, yes." She wasn't quite sure how that information could be used, but that wasn't her job—her job was simply to report what she discovered. "Is there anything else?"

"Yeah—the papers—we caught some of the secretaries not shredding secret documents—had to reprimand them."

"Any breaches that deal with people getting on and off base?" Silence followed that—for a moment Estelle was afraid that she might have overplayed her hand. Finally he spoke.

"Security guards," he murmured. "Breaks between shifts—not always as coordinated as they could be—'specially at the front gate between the night—the graveyard shift an' the morning shift."

He was starting to slur his words together—eyes fluttering—she knew they didn't have too much time left. "Meaning that someone unauthorized could get in during that time?"

"Possible, yeah." From the expression on his face it was obvious that the idea distressed him—his hands gripped the edge of the table tightly. "We need to—need to fix that."

"Yes, we'll definitely fix that—don't worry." Estelle waited until he calmed a bit before she asked the next question. "What time do the shifts change, exactly?"

" 'Sposed to be eight o'clock, but lax on that—sometimes not until five after."

Five minutes—she didn't have to be an expert on military matters to know that was quite a sizeable breach—hurriedly she scribbled that down in the notebook. His eyes began to close. Not much time now—but maybe she had time to get at least one more question in. "Is the front gate entrance the only entrance? Mark?"

The major nodded. "Only entrance, yes—changed that after 9-11." His head drooped forward; a slight snore issued from his open mouth. Grabbing her purse and pocketing her notebook Estelle rose from the table. Standing over the man she carefully arranged his head so that it rested more comfortably on top of his arms.

"Thank you very much Major," Estelle told him.

TBC