Perspectives, An Intriguing Tale of an American Born Terrorist (7 page)

Jonathan paused when he came to the pictures of his children and was reminded of his emotional pain when he saw a picture of Matthew, sitting in an airplane shaped walker bought for him by Bob. He snatched the picture from the wall and held it close to his heart and then put it away in a desk drawer, because he couldn’t bear to look at it. There were also a few pictures of Carly, his special treasure. He was so thankful for her life and the joy that she brought him. He only hoped that he could help her through this trauma which he had brought upon her.

On the walls and shelves were awards and trophies of achievements inside the agency and competitions that he had won apart from the agency, a trophy for winning the
toughest man
competition when he was 19, a plaque from the State of Virginia for winning the math and science fair when he was 17, diplomas from Wharton and Harvard for leadership and negotiation classes and on and on. It was a collection of who he was and all that he had accomplished, but it meant little in light of his loss.

He sat down at his Hewlett Packard engineering computer and tried to re-initiate his reviews of suspicious emails, but found that the agency had removed his authentication credentials so that he could no longer access the servers and databases that would provide him with his answers. He was surprised that the agency had not forewarned him about the changes in clearances and had gone silent, because usually they were respectful with their communication. “They must just want to leave me alone,” he thought. “Get used to it….It’s just part of the transition to being a full time bureaucrat.”

He stayed in his little refuge to avoid Mary because his presence seemed to aggravate rather than soothe her wounded spirit. He logged on to his personal Earthlink email account and saw the usual listing of junk mail, an email from his parents wishing him well and one from his brother. As he was scanning the listing, he saw an unusual phrase in one of the subject lines, You have fought for your country….. He opened the email and found the remaining message to read but your country will not fight for you. There was an attached JPEG file. He scanned it for viruses and then opened it. He was shocked when he saw a picture of himself in faded green army fatigues. He didn’t remember the picture but surmised that it must have been taken several years ago after one of his field assignments in the Middle East. In the picture he was standing next to a MD530E “Little Bird” helicopter. He was alone and he wasn’t smiling. The email was from a user named M’OReilly, someone he didn’t know or had never received an email from before. He knew it wasn’t just a random and weird message from some kook; perhaps it was from the invisible enemy, the people who had beaten him and his unit and were not done, trying to intimidate him and get into his head. He wished that he had the access to trace it, and learn more, and was tempted to hack into the agency mainframe, but decided against it. “That would have to be done by somebody else,” he thought. He scanned the remaining emails and saw nothing unusual, so he shut down the computer and saw that it was 3:20 p.m. and knew that Carly would be home from school. He went into the living room and saw Mary sitting on the sofa reading
The Journal of American Medicine
and Carly sitting across the room kneeling by one of her small play tables, reading her favorite book,
The Velveteen Rabbit
. Carly lit up the minute he entered the room and ran over to greet him. He reached down and pulled her into his arms and carried her over to the couch where he placed her on his lap as he sat next to Mary. Carly crawled up his chest and hugged his neck as if he had just come home from a prolonged trip. They had been sitting next to Mary for several minutes and he noticed that she hadn’t turned the page. He thought to say something or put his arm around her, but was afraid of the reaction, knowing that for there to be any hope of rebuilding their relationship, the initiative would have to come from her and every action would have to be on her terms. Instead he talked to Carly.

“What are you doing right now, pudding pie?” he asked.

She shrugged her shoulders.

“Do you want to go out for a date with me?”

“She nodded her head up and down,” she answered playing their usual game.

“I was thinking that maybe we’d go to Del Frisco and have a steak this thick,” he held up his hand and separated his fingers a couple of inches.

“She shook her head back and forth.”

“Hey, I have an idea, let’s go to McDonalds for an ice cream.”

Carly smiled.

“McDonalds, you’d rather have ice cream than a Filet Mignon?”

She gave him a big hug and whispered in his ear, “I like McDonalds.”

Jonathan looked over at Mary and said, “Can you believe it, I want to take my date out for a $100 meal and all she wants is a 50 cent soft serve.”

Mary gave him a disapproving glare and said, “It’s the third time this week. That food isn’t good for her.”

“And neither is staying around here.”

.”I’m going back to work next week and I’m afraid that you two are going to blow up like a couple of zeppelins.”

Carly looked at her father and asked, “What’s a zeppelin?”

“It’s a big balloon, your Mommy’s saying that we’re going to get fat.”

“Will we float away?” asked Carly.

“Ask your mother,” returned Jonathan. “Why are you going back to work so soon?”

“Soon? I’ve been out for 6 weeks and I’m all out of leave, besides don’t you think it would be good to try to get our lives back on track.”

Jonathan nodded. He knew that Mary was very unhappy and needed to re-engage, and was hopeful that she would snap out her depressed funk, forgive him and bring things back to the way they had been. It certainly wasn’t happening with her at home all the time.

All intimacy had left their relationship and he could tell that she was using all her energy struggling through the pieces, determining if there was anything left that could be rebuilt. Carly didn’t make matters any better and seemed to harbor some deep seated resentment toward her that neither Jonathan nor her therapist could figure out. The agency had recommended professional marriage counselors who would work with them in the privacy of their home, but Mary felt that it was too soon to talk and time was needed to first stop the bleeding. Jonathan had no choice but to comply with her wishes.

It was 4 months before Jonathan returned to work at the CIA and he was happy to be out of the house and away from the doldrums of despair that made him as listless as a sailboat with no wind. Mostly he was frustrated! His mind raced continually, but he was completely constrained by the rules of the CIA and his inability to use any of the tools he needed to move away from his misery. He beat his body with physical exercise to overcome the depression and self pity threatening to engulf him over the loss of his son and his failing marriage. Every hour turned into a bitter rage. He obsessed on the people who had brought this suffering to his life and he woke every night, tormented by violent thoughts of revenge. He had become addicted to a couple of soap operas, and he watched his mind atrophy to the point where he wondered if he was still capable of the highly technical work he had once done. Apart from news reports that claimed the arrest of 6 operatives, he was clueless about the investigation into the July 15th attack. Mary had been back to work at her laboratory for over 2 months and she remained silent on her daily activity, leaving him only Carly and their after-school nanny Gretchen to talk with. Carly was getting better, speaking mostly to Jonathan, but she would occasionally shock him with gruesome questions about death.

Jonathan visited a psychiatrist once a week and a physical therapist three times a week and finally, he was cleared to return to work. A week later, the long awaited call from PD McVay came.

PD spoke with the warm voice of a friend, “Jonathan, this is PD.”

“It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Yours too, are you ready to come back?”

“I’ve been ready for a couple of months. Been going a little stir crazy, if you know what I mean?”

“Well we have a cure for that. I guess the Director told you that your new job would be a little different and why.”

“Yes sir I’ve been around long enough to know the process.”

“I’m detecting a little cynicism in your voice.”

“Sorry, but it’s been a tough couple of months and I sorta know what’s coming and it’s not exactly my choice.”

“You need to have a little more confidence in us than that. We’ve created a new position, Director of Special Operation Programs for you and I think it’s something that you’re going to like. It’s a promotion with nearly a $10,000 a year raise and your new pay will be $134,856.”

“Thank you sir.”

There was a slight hesitation. “Jonathan, the only issue is that the job is at Langley, so you are either going to have to re-locate or commute for the work week and be home on the weekends. We’ll support you either way. Of course if you decide to move, we’ll give you a nice relocation package, so there’ll be no hardship for your family. In the interim we’ll get you a government apartment and car so that you can commute home on the weekends.”

“That’s very generous, thank you sir.”

“No Jonathan, thank you! I’m not giving you anything that you haven’t earned many times over. Is Monday too soon to start?”

“I’m ready this afternoon.”

PD chuckled, “I’m glad you still have your sense of humor. I think you’re going to like what we have for you.”

Jonathan hung up the phone and smiled.

Mary seemed indifferent to the news that Jonathan was going back to work and that they might be separated for a while. Carly absorbed the situation and was noticeably saddened. In his excitement Jonathan hadn’t realized the sensitivity of his little girl until her tears began to flow and she quietly disappeared to her room. He caught up with her in her bedroom and sat next to her as she lay face down on the bed with a “death grip” on Bruiser” and her head buried in her pillow. He sat and started rubbing her back. She twitched and moved away.

“Are you okay sweetie?”

She started to sob.

“Daddy has to go back to work. I’ll be home every Friday night and we’ll spend the weekend together.”

She lay quiet and listened and then convulsed every few seconds, just to make sure he understood that she was upset.

He tried a different angle, “And you can come see me.”

She turned her head sideways so that he could see only half of her face. Her eyes were red from crying as she answered, “Bruiser and I want to come with you.”

“Sweetie, you can’t. You have to go to school. Besides, then you’ll miss Mommy and Gretchen.

“I won’t miss mommy.”

Jonathan was stunned at her bluntness.

“Sweetie, your mommy loves you very much. You will be able to spend more time with her when I’m gone.

“She’s different.”

Jonathan ran his hand through her red hair, “She just misses Matthew like you and me.”

She sat up and threw her arms around him. “I’m afraid daddy, I don’t want you to go. You promised that you would stay close.”

“Your mommy will be close and will keep you safe.”

“Please daddy, can I come?”

“No, there wouldn’t be anyone to watch you during the day and Mommy and Gretchen would miss you.”

“How about if we all move?” asked Carly.

“I don’t know, maybe. Mommy works close to here so we would have to work something out.”

“She won’t miss me if I go with you.”

“Will you give it a try? And I promise if it doesn’t work, I’ll bring you and Mommy with me.”

She turned her head face down into the pillow not liking his answer.

“I’m going to tickle you,” he said as he grabbed at her ribs.

“Stop it,” she screamed.

“Do you want to go to McDonalds?”

“No.”

Jonathan was shocked, Carly always wanted McDonalds. He sat there for a minute, waiting for her to speak.

“Daddy, could you stay in here and play with Bruiser and me?”

“Sure sweetheart.”

*****

As he suspected, his new position was a technical job, far from the public eye and deep within the bowels of corporate headquarters. Jonathan’s body was mostly healed from the explosion, but he would always have as a reminder the scars of surgery on his left arm and the 2 pins and 1 surgical screw in his elbow. The cast had been off for 6 weeks and he had worked hard in therapy to rebuild the strength in his left arm, but he still had a lot of work to do, and he knew that one of his first priorities was to find a new gym and continue his rehabilitation.

The first day back to work was very awkward, because he was never comfortable with praise and everyone treated him as a hero. When PD introduced him to his new group, they all applauded, making him feel terribly uncomfortable. He was assigned to a group of 16 highly technical programmers who managed the databases containing all information on the “field training” programs. He was amazed at how far the agency had come in 3 dimensional virtual reality. He was impressed by one program in particular that used computer simulations written in CBL1, a program specifically developed and written for the CIA. He learned that the CIA technical staff was the co-developer of this programming language, together with MIT, working under a grant from the US Government. The program allowed the creation of 3 dimensional holograms that simulated people, vehicles, buildings, even entire cities. The holograms projected a high density laser from a moving pedestal less than a centimeter square and capable of moving across the ground with a natural fluidity on a cushion of a self-generated electromagnetic force. He watched in awe as a group of agents tried to stop simulated terrorists who were attempting to hijack a Delta 767 on a routine Gatwick to JFK flight. The beauty of the programming was that the programmers could create scenarios which included bombs, nerve gas, automatic weapons, multiple hijackers, the pilot being part of the conspiracy….etc. The holograms were so life like that he could not distinguish illusion from reality. As he watched he saw that the terrorists were both intelligent and brutal. It was funny, because he saw that the training had turned into a competition between the programmers and agents. In the competition he was watching, the terrorists were winning most of the time. He asked if he could be the agent in a simulation and the programmers laughed, but grew painfully quiet when he single handedly killed the hi-jackers without losing a passenger.