Favors and Lies (21 page)

“So how did you meet Alex?”

“He walked through that door, just like you.”

“And?”

“He asked some questions about one of my clients who had just left. I assume he had been following him.”

“Did you know the customer?”

“I knew him from Langley. His face anyway. People at work don't tell me their names. They don't tell each other their names. These employees, they have multiple cover identities. They have their real name, their main work name, another name if they are using government credit cards, another name if they are working overseas. Another name if they are signing contracts. They have so many fucking names they don't know who they are working for. Add compartmentalization to that, and you get the idea. You could work with someone for a decade and never know you are working with them. Hell, I imagine there are cases of people reporting to themselves.”

“So Alex came in and asked you about a customer of yours.”

“I told him I couldn't help him.”

“And then came the money?”

“He showed up a week later. Started spewing what he knew about me. He knew where I worked. Wanted to establish a business relationship, as he put it. Handed me a brown bag full of unmarked hundreds and fifties. I figured, what the hell, I don't know anything. I'm not in intelligence. Figured I would get paid for telling him nothing.”

“And . . .”

“Once a month he would come to this shop around closing. He usually had a bunch of photos with him. He would ask me questions like ‘Do you recognize this person?' ‘Have you ever cut this guy's hair?' ‘When was the last time you saw this person.' ‘Has this person ever placed a bet with you?' Sometimes he would have multiple photos. He would ask if I ever saw certain people together.”

“Anything else?”

“Most of the photos were from people in their cars. Face shots.”

“Did he tell you what he was doing?”

“No, but it was pretty obvious. He was trying to figure out who was who. Data collection for identification purposes.”

“And he wanted the gamblers because those were the people susceptible to blackmail.”

“Not just the gamblers, though he did find particular interest in them.”

“How many people did he ask about?”

“Thousands.”

“Jesus.”

“He was quite proficient.”

“So it seems. Did you get paid the same amount every month?”

“Usually. On rare occasions he would bring extra. Tell me some of the information was particularly helpful.”

“Can you help me find someone at the CIA?”

“Depends. Who are you looking for?”

Dan pulled out the sketch of Clyde Parkson. “Do you recognize him?”

“Not off hand.”

“Look again. Imagine him without the glasses. Without the goatee. With crooked teeth. With no teeth.”

Benny looked harder at the photo. “Not really. I don't know everyone. I mean, there are tens of thousands of people who work at Langley. Just count the parking spaces.”

Dan looked at Benny and tried to assess whether or not the barber was lying. His human attempt at polygraph was no better than the electronic version being used at Langley. Benny the barber was stoic. His face unchanged. Dan noted perspiration beginning to soak the fabric near the barber's armpits.

“You have to consider that maybe Alex knows something I don't. Russians love to play games.”

“Alex also used the word ‘game.'”

“It's all a game. It's very real, don't get me wrong, but to the people playing, it is a game.”

“Alex told me to ask you about your skydiving adventure.”

“I see.”

“Says you went with your son.”

“I did.”

“Where?”

“Manassas Regional Airport. It was one of those day courses. Spend a few hours in the classroom then they fly you up to thirteen thousand feet and you jump out of the plane in tandem with an instructor.”

“And?”

“I almost shit myself. Tried to scream but nothing came out. Twisted my ankle on the landing. Never again. Told my son I would do it on my sixty-fifth birthday, if I lived that long. I did and I did. There is nothing else on my bucket list.”

“When was this?”

“May the fifth. My sixty-fifth birthday.”

“Cinco de Mayo. A good birthday. But I don't understand why that story is relevant to Alex.”

“It was what occurred after the jump. The skydiving hangar is next to one of the private jet hangars. Quite by chance, on the day I celebrated my birth by risking death, I saw several Langley employees disembark from a private jet in front of one of these private jet terminals. I memorized the tail number of the jet, and that information Alex found very interesting.”

“I bet he did. What kind of airplane?”

“A small jet. Nothing too big flies out of Manassas. It probably was a twelve-seater. Not much bigger for sure. Twin jets. Beige stripe on the plane.”

“Anything else?”

“I got caught gawking a little.”

“How is that?”

“Saw some of the people leaving on the other side of the terminal as we left. Two of the people who got off the plane locked eyes with me in a way that gave me goose bumps. I wasn't breaking any law or anything, so I wasn't too worried, but the glance was noted and uncomfortable. I kept my feet moving. Walked to my son's car. Got the hell out of there.”

“Was the guy in the sketch one of the people on the plane?”

“No.”

“You sure.”

“Pretty sure. Nothing wrong with my vision.”

“Do you remember the tail number on that plane?”

“Yes, I memorized it. And if you bring me ten thousand dollars I will give it to you.”

—

In the government-issue sedan parked in the Sears parking lot, Reed Temple lowered the small pair of binoculars. He turned to Major in the passenger seat. “Remind me again, why is this guy not in jail?”

“We can't answer that,” Major replied, glancing at Ridge in the rear seat on the driver's side. “We pinned evidence of two murders on him and he walked out of the DC correctional facility in a little over an hour.”

“He knows someone,” Temple said flatly.

“Who?”

“I'm looking into it. This is a person with virtually no background and the ability to extricate himself from custody in less time than it takes me to have a proper lunch. If I didn't know any better, I would say he is in the intelligence field.”

“Suggestions?”

“Terminate him.”

“What about your superiors?” Major asked.

“I was considering a change of employer. Maybe joining the private sector. Do some consulting. I hear the money is good.”

“The money is very good,” Major agreed.

“Get it done. Set it up clean, run it clean.”

“Yes, sir. Any preferences on method?”

“No.”

“Freedom is good. Keeps the alternatives open.”

“How long will it take you?”

“We should be able to devise and execute an appropriate headcount reduction alternative in twenty-four hours. Thirty-six at the most. It is our specialty, after all.”

Reed Temple stroked his chin. “I think we could all use a haircut.”

—

Benny the barber swept the floor a final time, his nerves rattled from Dan's visit. He finagled the large pile of hair into the dustpan with the bristles of the broom and emptied the contents into an open-top rubber trashcan.

Major knocked on the locked door and Benny replied, “Closed for the night,” through the unopened blinds in the trailer window. Benny turned his attention to the till and opened the cash register drawer to count the take for the evening. The thick stack of twenties was welcomed. He counted the pile twice, removed a few off the top and put them in his wallet. He placed his wallet on the old table top next to the register and did a quick calculation in his head. He nodded several times and smiled with the realization that this evening's work was enough to cover a quarter of the monthly rent.
 
The electric bill was an additional modest sum, covered mostly by tips. He would claim forty dollars on his income taxes. Cash only services had their advantage.

With more concentration, Benny ran his fingers across the tick marks on his small bookie notepad, each tick representing the wagers placed by customers. He tried to commit most of the bets to memory, translating his shorthand into meaningful information in his head. It was an exercise in prudence—keeping track of bets without recording explicit details that could lead to incarceration.

Engrossed by his favorite moment of the workday, Benny didn't notice the door lock being expertly picked until Ridge's shoulders cleared the door frame on his way into the trailer. Major pocketed his lock picking set as he followed Ridge across the threshold. Reed Temple brought up the rear, closing the door behind him with an authoritative thud and reconfirming the sealed exit with an additional tug on the knob.

Benny looked down at the doorknob, unsure of what had just occurred. He looked up at Ridge and over at Major as the ex-military professionals moved to opposite sides of the barber. Reed Temple stood in front of the closed door, his eyes meeting Benny's.

“Sorry gentlemen, I am closed. You can come back tomorrow evening.”

“We are not here for haircuts,” Major replied.

“What can I help you with?”

Reed Temple commandeered the conversation. “Have a seat,” he replied, motioning for the barber to once again sit in his own chair. Benny complied, lowering himself slowly onto the old leather seat. “We want to know about the last customer who was here. The gentleman with the fresh wound above the left eyebrow.”

“He was a walk-in. I have never seen him before. I don't know anything about him.”

“How did he like it cut?”

“He asked for a little off the edges.”

“You took your time for just a trim.”

Benny the barber tried to wish away the sweat beads forming on his forehead. The moisture in his pits from the conversation with Dan had already started to spread, soaking a larger area of his shirt. He was feeling guilty and he understood where that emotion would lead if he couldn't rein it in.

“I gave him a trim. He was a talker. It may have taken longer than usual, but he was the last cut of the night and a potential new client. I didn't want to be rude. My livelihood depends on repeat customers.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Nothing. Small talk. The history of the barber pole.”

“You said he was a talker, and yet you talked about nothing . . .”

“Nothing important.” Benny could feel the perspiration on his neck, dripping down the small of his back. Ridge and Major moved to the rear of the barber chair, pawing through the barber's tools of the trade that littered the counter area near the sink.

“Do I know you?” Reed Temple asked, squinting at the barber.

“I don't think so.”

“You look nervous. We don't mean to make you nervous.”

“Three guys coming through a closed door when you are counting the day's cash would make anyone nervous.”

Reed Temple nodded. “The hours of operation on the door claim you are here in the evening and weekends. You don't work during the week?”

Reed Temple casually picked up Benny's wallet off the table next to the register and started flipping through his credit cards and IDs.

Benny's perspiration broke its remaining containment and a deluge of sweat poured out. The barber wiped at his forehead with his open palm and dried his hand on the leg of his pants. “I work at another location. It's common for barbers to work at multiple shops.”

Reed Temple held up an ID card identifying Benny the barber as a contract civilian employee for a well-known building in Langley. He flipped the card between his fingers like a magician and stopped with the ID photo facing Benny, the barber's own picture reflecting in his pupils. Benny's face turned ashen, adding to the sheen of sweat to combine for an unhealthy complexion.

“Ben Stenger.”

“My friends call me Benny.”

“Well, Benny. I'm going to give you one more opportunity to tell me about your last customer.”

Benny the barber stammered, regained composure, and then spoke, spittle gathering in the corner of his mouth, his throat becoming dry.

“He was interested in wagering on football games.”

“Are you a bookie, Benny?”

“I facilitate bets and get a cut.”

“What else did he want?”

“That was it.”

Reed Temple stepped forward and grabbed Benny's wrist. Benny tried to stand and Ridge's large hands came down on his shoulders with crushing strength, holding Benny firmly in his chair. Reed Temple closed his eyes and counted to ten.

“Your pulse is racing.”

“Wouldn't yours?” Benny replied, glancing at the large paws digging into the flesh on his shoulders.

“Last chance, Benny. Last chance before something bad happens.”

Tears welled in Benny's eyes. “OK. OK. He was looking for information on an airplane. An airplane at Manassas Airport. I told him to come back with ten thousand dollars and I would give him the tail number.”

Reed Temple stared into Benny's eyes. The barber's wet shirt was glued to his chest, sweat permeating every thread of the fabric.

“Don't you feel better?” Reed Temple asked. “The relief of getting that off your chest.”

Benny didn't respond.

Reed Temple nodded at Major, who was at the small sink to the rear of the barber's chair. Major pulled the plunger to the closed position and slowly turned on an equal amount of warm and cold water. The water pooled in the bottom of the sink and began its slow rise upward.

“Benny, I can understand how three strange men entering your shop at closing time would cause you angst. To alleviate your anxiety, I am going to step out and leave you with my associates.”