COVERT WRITERS TAKEDOWN, Joe Bergeron [epub e ink reader .txt] 📗

from Dan Bellcamp’s
tawdry trellis before Bishop finished rescuing Cardinal.
‘Belize - Catalina - Belcamp - ah’d best get
back to Mick.’
145
Sunday, May 21, 1:46 p.m.
Eddie Dalger’s wife, Ellen, had just finished
mixing a fresh bowl of lemonade when the phone rang.
Picking up the wall-mounted device close to
her, she held it in her left hand and continued to stir
the tart concoction.
“Hello?”
The voice she heard was familiar, and although
apologetic, it contained an executive appeal. The caller
had also recognized her voice.
“Hello, Ellen, this is Kathleen McKenzie
calling. I’m sorry to bother you during your picnic, but
may I please speak with Eddie.”
Ellen Dalger had the intuitive instinct of a
woman.. This call was urgent.
“Hello, Kathleen, it’s good to hear your voice.
Hang on honey, he’s out back with a hot dog in his
mouth. I’ll make him chew fast.”
Leaving the silver ladle in the crystal, she
moved to the screened kitchen door facing the back yard
scanning their lawn’s assemblage of family and friends.
Her husband was talking to two of his quality
control engineers.
His side vision, catching sight of the door
opening, but not closing, caused him to turn in its
direction noticing his wife indicating by pantomime a
telephone held to her ear.
“Excuse me, Al, Jim, I have a phone call.
She pushed the door full open when he was
approximately ten feet from its frame.
Watching his wife’s lips form a whispered
name, he passed into his kitchen picking up the
receiver.
“Kathleen?”
“Hi, Eddie - Michael needs to speak to you.
Can you hold for a minute?”
“Sure.”
146
She placed the Marriott’s phone on the bed.
In the suite’s parlor Courtney was reviewing
the tape’s magnetic contents for the fifteenth time when
Kay addressed him.
“Michael, I have Eddie on the phone.”
He flipped the Wollensak’s stop lever.
Reaching the phone on the bed, he began.
“Eddie, we’ve had a caller to JGM. No one
answered because no one was here, or there, and there’s
little identifiable audio on the tape.”
Dalger new his equipment.
“Maybe not to us, but the machine got it. How
much tape?”
The image of the counter came to the analyst’s
mind.
“Zero one eight - about fifty seconds.”
“Fifty-four, Michael. Pull the whole reel. I left
you an extra one you can use. Send it up overnight,
FedEx. I’ll have it in the lab before eleven tomorrow
morning.”
Courtney appreciated the engineer’s sense of
urgency.
“OK, sorry to bust in on your picnic.”
Dalger displayed his corporate loyalty without
thinking.
“You guys call anytime, Michael.”
Courtney replaced the receiver.
A small victory was at hand.
Sunday, May 21, 11:58 p.m.
Approaching them, United States President
Randall Taylor Benson silently reviewed the two Secret
Service agents standing beside the interior north door
of the oval office.
The senior of the two ritually acknowledged the
Commander in Chief.
“Good evening, Mister President.”
147
His strong, sixty-eight year old eyes exchanged
glances with each of his protectors while he nodded
awareness of the greeting.
Although the topic of his thoughts was
unknown to either of the agents, its burden was clearly
evident to both.
Within the confines of the world’s most
powerful room, the top of his walnut desk displayed
only two items; a King James Bible, and a red CIA
secure document stamped ‘VISION 1 ONLY.’
The Bible, his mother’s, had been a gift to him
from the spry ninety year old who was affectionately
call the ‘First Mother’ by the staff at her exclusive
retirement home in Greenwich, Connecticut.
Mrs. Anna Benson had bookmarked The Book
of Wisdom, Chapter 6, verses 1-4.
Randall Benson opened The Scriptures and
began reading.
Wisdom is better than strength: and a wise
man is better than a strong man.
Hear therefore, ye kings, and understand:
learn, ye that are judges of the ends of the earth.
Give ear, you that rule the people, and that
please yourselves in multitudes of nations:
For power is given you by the Lord, and
strength by the most High, who will examine your
works, and search out your thoughts.
Gently closing his mother’s benefaction, he
allowed his hands to rest on its well-worn fabric cover.
A side desk drawer was opened, provisionally
becoming home for his legacy.
His immediate past thoughts were
incorporated with his present ones as he opened the
‘VISION 1 ONLY’ portfolio.
He reviewed the date: April 15, 1942.
Two pages were turned revealing a
topographical map with intersecting lines of longitude
and latitude.
148
North Longitude 20 22.29 East Latitude 121
56.15 The Batan Island, Ivana, Phillippines.
Three pages later, a biographical sketch of
another Commander lay before his eyes. As he read the
document, a cold, shivering sensation bleached his
spine.
Two more pages flipped - the aged photograph.
This time there were no tears, not that the
searing heat of the emotional pain was gone, but that
both time and resolve had strengthened him,
temporarily creating an asbestos-like cover on his
emotional content.
Turning to his credenza, he un-cradled the red
phone and speed-dialed two digits.
A satellite link, instantly picking up the
transmission, now forwarded the same to a very secure
aircraft flying over the North Pacific Ocean headed due
west.
The transmission found its way to the middle
phone of a bank of five phones mounted on the wall in
the only office on the plane.
The Director of The Central Intelligence
Agency, now at thirty-five thousand feet over the largest
ocean in the world, was professionally calm as he
retrieved the receiver.
He knew who would call.
He also knew the conversation would be brief.
“Scott Orefice.”
“Scotty, I’m prepared on this end.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll contact you immediately following
the meeting.”
“Is Pat McKenzie safe?”
“We believe so.”
“Where do they have him?”
“We’re quite sure he’s in Belize’s villa.”
“Do you think Courtney and St. Croix will be
able to figure that out?”
149
“I’m almost certain of it, but I can’t give you a
time frame, Sir.”
“Scotty, we need Pat McKenzie. I don’t want
him hurt.”
“If Courtney can’t get to him soon, our
intention is to pull him out. Will we have President
Santiago’s cooperation if necessary?”
“Yes, he’s agreed to help.”
“Then I think we should continue with our plan
as laid out. Let’s give Courtney and St. Croix an
opportunity. We need to finish up the business at
hand.”
“I agree, but I don’t want to give them too much
leverage.”
“Yes, Sir. I understand.”
“I’ll speak with you later, Scotty.”
“Good night, Sir.”
Phones were returned to appropriate cradles.
The President rose and exited the same door
he’d previously entered addressing the two agents still
at their posts.
“Good night, gentlemen. Thank you for being
here.
Both men noticed the resolution in both his
eyes and his demeanor.
Some men carry burdens better than others.
150
Chapter 6
Under Duress
Monday, May 22, 10:02 a.m.
His scanner, set to receive conversations from
Courtney’s Jeep was set to channel 6.
It was also connected to a voice-activated tape
recorder.
He’d overheard so many private conversations
before in his job at the NSA, that the concept of privacy
itself had almost become nonexistent to him. As a
result of this mental numbness, he never thought to
close his office door.
Yesterday, unknown to him, that was a serious
mistake.
The counter, at zero, was ready to begin when
cued.
He pressed the play button to listen to any
taped content.
“When, when, when, when, when, when,
Michael, Michael, Michael, Michael, Michael, Michael,
…
The compact Sony received the full impact of
his right fist.
“DAMN…DAMN!”
Unlocking the side drawer, and retrieving the
message Tollman had written, he briefly reviewed the
short note before dialing.
The Secretary would be back tomorrow. He
had to get the message to them today.
The numbers he pushed reached JGM’s main
trunk line.
A very pleasant greeting followed.
“Good morning, JGM.”
His dialog sounded both commanding and
demanding. 151
“I need to speak to either Robert Wirtham or
Michael Courtney.”
Geraldine Allison, JGM’s long time receptionist
had been briefed at 8:00 a.m. about to handle incoming
calls for either or both men.
“Mister Wirtham is in a meeting at the
moment, I’ll find Mister Courtney for you. Please hold.”
Removing her headset, she walked thirty feet
to a conference room.
It’s door open, she stood just far enough inside
to make eye contact with its occupants.
Her raised finger indicated he had a call.
Courtney understood what the simple gesture
meant.
“Put it through, please, Gerry.”
She’d already anticipated what he would say.
“It’s on the secure line, Michael.”
A display light on the conference room Merlin
verified her statement.
He hit the speaker button so both he and Kay
could hear the conversation.
Every Merlin phone set in JGM’s offices had
been fitted with a McKenzie engineered device that
made a speakerphone conversation lose its normal
distortion.
It would sound like only Courtney could hear
the exchanged words.
“This is Michael Courtney.”
“Your receptionist didn’t answer correctly, she
should have said Yankee Echo.”
He exchanged a glance with Kay.
“What do you want?”
Although the statement was made under
duress, it was without apparent trepidation.
The associate began reading the note.
“We know about your organization, Mister
Courtney, and we intend to use it for a special project.
152
If you’re wise, you’ll listen to our request, and
do what we ask. I want to know how many writers you
have, and what newspapers they work for. Once I have
that information, I’ll detail the position I want these
writers to take over the next ninety days regarding the
President’s Economic Reform Package for Cuba. I want
you to break out a list for me and leave it with the
garage attendant at the Radisson Hotel on Connecticut
Avenue no later than 5:00 p.m. today. Do you
understand these instructions?”
Tollman’s note had the word ‘pause’ written it.
Courtney complied to the letter.
“Yes - I understand.”
The note had continued assuming there would
be a positive response.
“Then I’ll expect your list by the end of the day
today.”
The positive assumption was correct, but
Courtney’s next response was unexpected.
The analyst leaned directly over the phone.
“I said I understood, I didn’t say I’d comply.”
Tripping the speaker button, he disconnected
the call.
The familiar tone of the hum on the line
indicated the termination.
He knew the question was coming from Kay.
“Michael…why did you do that?”
He didn’t answer, instead remaining resolutely
purposeful, his eyes cast on the communication system.
As he expected would happen, Gerry Allison
appeared again, finger raised.
Again, he hit the speakerphone button.
“This is Michael Courtney.”
“DON’T YOU EVER HANG UP ON ME
AGAIN. WE’RE IN CHARGE HERE COURTNEY,
NOT YOU. WE’RE THE ONES WHO HAVE
MCKENZIE!”
153
The associate’s statement verified their fears.
“That’s very evident, but I still expect your
demands to be reasonable; you’re dealing with
reasonable people. There’s things we want too.”
The truth of the statement put the NSA
associate in an awkward position. He couldn’t fulfill his
mission without Courtney’s cooperation.
He felt he still had control. It wasn’t a question
of submission.
“What do you want.”
“I want Miss McKenzie to speak with her
father, then you’ll get your list, and if that happens
soon, you may still get it by your deadline.”
He’d need to check out that possibility.
“You stay close to that phone. I’ll call you
back.”
This time, the disconnection came from the
other end.
“I think you made your point, Michael.”
“Kay, I’m not trying to put your father in
jeopardy, but I can’t let them think they’ve gained too
much control.”
She didn’t have a lot of choiices.
She knew her father trusted him.
“It’s your ballgame, Michael.”
He got back to business.
“What did you find in that Cuban data?”