The Eyes of Others Page 5

  “No.”

  “You said these other dreams started in Germany?” Tara asks, taking some notes after finally regaining her own composure. “How long after the attack was it?”

  “A week or two later, I guess. It was weird. I was having nightmares about the attack, but these dreams were almost … normal. Only they didn’t feel right. I didn’t feel like myself. I don’t know, it’s so hard to try to explain.”

  “And you’ve had them every day since?” Tara asks, genuinely interested in what I am telling her.

  “Not every day. Sometimes it’ll be weeks between them, and other times I’ll have three or four in a row. Over the past few months they’ve gotten more frequent.”

  “You said they were almost normal. In what way? Describe them to me,” she asks, mercilessly scribbling notes on her pad.

  “It’s never the same thing. Usually it’s just hazy figures and places. I almost make them out sometimes. All of them have the same thing in common—I feel detached or not in control.”

  Tara doesn’t respond to my answer. At this point, she is just furiously writing. Her lack of engagement is making me nervous. She’s far more interested than she was when I first came here, but maybe I am misreading it. She could be writing a letter to her mother for all I know.

  “What do you think? Is this because of the IED?” I blurt out, no longer being able to tolerate the silence.

  “Dreams are generally not a medical condition, Boston.”

  “So what are they?”

  “I have no idea. We need more information about what is going on in these bizarre dreams of yours.”

  “I wish I could help with that,” I say, “but they are tough to remember.”

  “I can give you some techniques to help with that. This could be nothing, or it could be something. Until you can tell me more, there’s no way to know.”

  “So you’re going to help me?” I ask her, sounding desperate again.

  “I am. I think you’ve suffered enough.”

  .

  ~ Chapter 7 ~

  Director Colby washington

  A friend of mine asked me once what a room of bureaucrats is like. I told him it smells like careerism and incompetence. It never dawned on me until now that he probably considered me one of them.

  When the Director of the Defense Intelligence Agency calls a meeting of all the directors to his conference room at eight o’clock at night, it’s never because something good has happened. While working at the agency is not your typical nine to five job, special gatherings at this hour are the harbinger of a storm on the horizon.

  I take my seat at the long table and search the faces of those around me. Everyone in this room exemplifies what my friend was referring to. They’ve all spent their lives working for the federal government, and all of them have successfully sharked their way up to the executive ranks of their fields. Each one of them is violently protective of their reputations, their turf, and their career outlooks.

  “Any idea who the suits by the wall are?” my colleague in the chair next to me whispers among the chatter filling the room. I shift my gaze to the severe-looking man and woman standing along the wall, patiently waiting for the admiral to arrive and get this show on the road. The woman, rail thin, weathered, and permanently wearing an unpleasant scowl, looks vaguely familiar, but I’ve never seen the man with her.

  “No, I don’t, but they have the look of FBI,” I tell him.

  “Do you think they’re here because we have better coffee?”

  I don’t get the chance to answer before Vice-Admiral Troxsell strides in, causing everyone to rise out of their seats in a show of respect. He motions us to sit.

  “I apologize for the lateness of this meeting, but we are facing an extraordinary crisis that demands an extraordinary response. Most of you have heard the rumors about the possibility of there being an infiltration in one of our country’s intelligence communities. We have generally disregarded these rumors as either unsubstantiated fear mongering, the product of conspiracy theorists, or even political maneuvering against the president.”

  Some grumbling pierces the stillness that had set over the room during the admiral’s opening remarks. The interruption is uncharacteristic for this group, and he’s looking a little annoyed by the spontaneous chatter. When the chatter begins to subside he continues.

  “Unfortunately, it has come to our attention that there may be more truth behind it than we know. I’d like to introduce some of our colleagues from the FBI. Karin Weisz is the Executive Assistant Director of the National Security Branch which runs the bureau’s counterespionage efforts. Next to her is Tom Grimman, Supervisory Special Agent of the Counterespionage Section. Please give them your undivided attention. Karin?”

  “Thank you, Admiral. At the request of the Pentagon and the National Command Authority, for the past year we have been evaluating the activities of ISIS and their response to our own tactical and strategic measures. We have determined that there have been at least two dozen instances of operations being interrupted or high-level sources and contacts being exterminated because classified information was leaked to our enemies overseas. What you saw on television about the massacre in Iraq is only the latest result of these breaches.

  “For the past several months, we’ve been working to correlate who knew what information and when to try to narrow down the source. As you know, we have seventeen intelligence agencies in this country, and screening all of them for a potential mole will take too much time considering the damage that’s being done.”

  “By your presence here, are we to assume you think the leak originates from the DIA?” the colleague who whispered in my ear earlier challenges.

  “Through painstaking analysis by teams representing the DIA, FBI, and CIA, we have uncovered that the only single explainable correlation of these incidents is that the sources, analysis, or distribution was conducted by this agency,” Director Weisz responds tersely. “That information was presented to the Director of National Intelligence who directed us to commence an investigation. Supervisory Special Agent Grimman will head up the inquiry, and he’s going to start here because this is where the facts have led us.”

  The room erupts in nervous chatter. The men and women sitting at this table don’t like prying eyes into the happenings of their departments, especially from an outside agency. It would be much more preferable for this to be handled in house instead of giving a rival agency a chance to air our dirty laundry. Despite the public perceptions that the intelligence agencies set aside their petty bickering in the wake of the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon on September eleventh, nothing could be farther from the truth.

  The FBI director does little to mask the annoyance at this interruption. The obdurate posture she assumes at the end of the table reminds me of a pissed off Judge Judy. She features the same hair, frame, and piercing eyes that the television judge has. She is a woman in a man’s world, and to rise to that rank has to be tough as nails and have skin like alligator hide.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the director commands attention. “Settle down. If you are all upset at the idea of being under a microscope, I can assure you that this is just the beginning. The massacre in Iraq now has the media’s full attention. Journalists are already connecting the dots and are reaching out to their sources for confirmation of what I just told you. One of the people they have contacted for comment is the chairman of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence.”

  Senator Ludwick is practically a fixture in the national political scene. The Missourian broke into politics two decades ago by upsetting a popular incumbent in the House. After two terms there, he won his race for the Senate in a landslide and became a junior member of the Select Committee on Intelligence, among other high-profile committees. When the former chairman lost his tight battle in the last election, Ludwick’s tenure made him a shoo-in to replace him.

  “The FBI has been instructed to conduct this investigatio
n, and we will be giving them our full cooperation. So, if there are no further questions, you are all dismissed.”

  “If Senator Scaredy Cat is behind this, we all have cause for concern,” my colleague opines, as we all rise from our seats. “The man’s jumpy even when he’s meditating.”

  I laugh, but none of this is a laughing matter and he is absolutely correct. The senator is a skilled politician, but he’s also a dedicated self-preservationist incapable of making the tough decision. The general consensus is he’s out of his depth dealing with the life or death issues that arise from working with the intelligence community. If news of this mole becomes public, there’s no telling what the man will do if he feels his political career is threatened.

  As the directors all head for the door, Garrett goes running over to the two FBI agents. They are waiting their turn to talk to the admiral who is presently mired in conversation with a pair of subordinates. The pleasantries must have been short because it only took about ten seconds for them to start taking turns glancing over at me. Leave it to Garrett to never pass up an opportunity to advance his own career—usually at my expense.

  “Colby, can I have a word with you?” the admiral asks once his conversation finished. Looking around, he guides me away from the others and into the far corner of the spacious room.

  “I didn’t mention it in front of the group, but I’ve been made aware that there’s a member of your ranks who’s convinced the mole is somewhere in your directorate. Is that true?” the admiral asks, staring at me with a hint of contempt.

  Garrett. Damn that man. He must have told the director about Hollinger before this meeting even started. From the beginning, I never informed any of my superiors about his opinions on what led to the IED attack on his team in Iraq. I also omitted my warning against investigating this himself and my suspicions that he failed to heed that message. Politics runs deep here and I didn’t want to sabotage the hiring of a qualified analyst based on a fear of future behavior. I also didn’t want to admit I may have made a mistake to the head of the DIA. Now I’m boxed in, and there’s no point in denying it and making things worse by getting caught in an obvious lie.

  “Yes, sir, there is. A former army intel guy named Eugene Hollinger. He has expressed that concern for some time―”

  “Did you ever make an inquiry into his concerns?” the admiral demands.

  “No, sir, there was never any hard evidence to support his accusations.”

  “Are you telling me you trusted him enough to hire him to analyze some of this country’s most sensitive intelligence information but didn’t trust him enough to respond to his allegations?” Admiral Troxsell presses.

  “He’s an excellent analyst,” is all I can manage to blurt out. I wasn’t prepared to have to defend that decision to the head of the agency today.

  “I see. Has he taken matters into his own hands?”

  “That is a possibility, sir.” There is no doubt Garrett told him everything that happened in my office with Hollinger.

  “Colby, you have to understand that allowing an analyst under your charge to conduct his own investigation makes me … question … your decision making. Your team is responsible for providing our armed forces with intelligence products, not rooting out potential moles.”

  “Yes, sir, I understand,” I sputter out.

  “I’m not sure you do. Unfortunately, permitting this disregard of your directive and ignorance of his activities since then is only half your problem. There’s a lot of attention on this now,” the admiral relays, nodding over at the FBI agents still chatting with that bastard Garrett. “If it turns out there is a mole in your ranks, and you ignored warnings about it from one of your subordinates, it’s not going to look very good.”

  I want to rip Garrett’s throat out, but I know that’s what he wants. He plays the political game so well. I have always tried to let my actions speak for me in my desire to climb the career ladder. He does it through stunts like this. Losing my cool in front of Admiral Troxsell would be playing right into his hands.

  “I understand completely, sir.”

  “We’ll see,” is all my boss says before walking off.

  It’s getting hot now and the stakes are higher than ever. I can’t afford Boston making waves any more than he already has. He’s been a reliable employee and is a brilliant analyst, but I get the feeling I am going to rue the day I hired him. I handled this all wrong, thinking there wasn’t a basis for his accusations and no harm in letting him poke around for answers so long as it didn’t come to anyone’s attention. Until now, it was worth the trade off for the astute analysis he provides on a daily basis. It’s apparent I should have managed the situation a long time ago, but that cannot be undone. Now I have to do damage control. Firing him now would be tricky, but one way or another, his extracurricular investigation must come to an end.

  .

  ~ chapter 8 ~

  gina AtTISON

  “Geez … Could you be any tenser? You have more knots than a troop of Boy Scouts.”

  It’s been a long day for both of us, but when I offered him a shoulder massage I didn’t realize I’d be giving my hands a gym workout. Chalk another one up for the Law of Good Intentions. Now I find myself kneeling on the bed trying to muscle out an endless supply of knots with cramping hands.

  “Let’s see, Colby and Garrett want to hang my ass, my best friend thinks I’m throwing away my career, and this dream therapist thinks I’m a nut job. So, yeah, I’m a little tense.” He forgot my concerns about what he’s doing. Again.

  “I’m sure she doesn’t think you’re crazy, honey. And Garrett has had it in for you since the day you were hired, so you shouldn’t be shocked that he reacted like he did when he heard about your investigation. I warned you that would happen at some point. As for Maryland, well, he’s Maryland. You know he doesn’t respond well to stressful situations and never has. He’ll come around eventually.”

  “I guess,” he agrees with the same unconvincing tone he uses when I ask him if he liked the latest chick flick I dragged him to at the local cinema. I shift my position on the bed and turn his face with my hands so he can look me directly in the eyes. Here goes nothing.

  “Honey, you know I support you, but maybe Maryland is right this time. Maybe you should stop digging right now.”

  “How can you ask me that?” Now it is his turn to get upset. If I’m not careful, he’ll fly off the handle like he did when I suggested that a few months ago after feeling neglected.

  “I’m not saying you should give it up forever, honey, but you already have a lot on your plate dealing with these crazy dreams of yours,” I clarify.

  “Then for how long? A week? A month? A year? How many more have to die over there because I stopped searching because it was inconvenient?”

  “Boston, you’re not in this alone anymore. Senator Ludwick already told me he asked the Director of National Intelligence to conduct an investigation into the possible leaks. Maybe they will find―”

  “You think I should just up and stop searching for answers after all this time?” Boston practically shouts.

  “No, but I think you should consider putting it on the back burner for a while,” I tell him gently.

  “Why the hell should I?”

  “You could lose your career over this.”

  “I don’t care!”

  “I do! Think about it for once, will you? You lose your clearance and you’ll have no chance finding out what really happened to your team in Iraq. More importantly, you could end up at the center of this whole thing. I don’t want to see you go through that.”

  “I’m not the mole, Gina. I have nothing to fear from them,” Boston retorts.

  “You have everything to fear from them. They are careerists, Boston, and I see plenty of men just like them every day. You know what they have in common? Each one of them would sell their own mother out to keep their job.”

  Between working for a Senate committee and being assigned t
o special projects on the staff of a prominent senator, I have to deal with the bureaucracy every single day. In four years, I will need to help the senator navigate the murky waters that is election year politics in America. I would take that challenge every day over having to spend an hour with any Washington bureaucrat. I despise them that much.

  “Colby and Garrett may be bureaucrats, but firing me will look bad for both of them. They won’t take it that far, especially now. Besides, I have you to protect my job.”

  “My boss is a senator, Boston, not God. He wields significant influence and can provide you with some cover if I ask him to, but when push comes to shove, you’ll be on your own. He doesn’t want even the appearance of a scandal showing up on his desk.”

  “So much for having friends in high places,” he laments. “So you think I should give up on this? Find a career as a security guard at a mall or something?”

  I know how he is when he gets like this. Finding this mole has become his sole purpose in life. Too often I even think it trumps his relationship with me. As much as that stings, it is a part of who he is, and I have struggled to accept that.

  “Yes, but I know you won’t. And since you won’t, I need you to know what you’re up against. The media is going to run with the story, and when they do, politicians will start squawking. Agencies will start looking for scapegoats, and I don’t want the one they settle on to be you.”

  “What makes you think it will be me?”

  “I’ve been doing this for a while now, honey. I know how the intelligence community works and I know how politicians work. Someone will go down once this goes public.”

  “What do you want from me, Gina?”

  I hold his face in my hands and look into his eyes. There’s so much pain in them, it’s almost too much for me to bear. Losing the chance to look into them would be even worse.

  “I want you to be careful.”

  “Okay, I’ll be careful.”