Authors: Leslie Wolfe
“Or that can work too,” Jeremy said, almost laughing. “OK, what else do we know about him, Mason? What makes Bob McLeod tick?”
“It’s really hard to say, Agent Weber. As I was saying, we have thousands of employees; I don’t have this kind of information readily available for any of them. But I will talk to human resources, see what they have.”
“Please do. Move on, then?”
“Yes,” Alex replied.
“Quentin Hadden, forty-seven, weapons systems engineer. Masters of science in electrical engineering, cum laude. Nothing much else in here. Single. Been with the company for twelve years.
Alex snapped another picture, then gestured for Jeremy to move on to the next suspect.
“Sylvia Copperwaite, thirty-three. She’s the youngest of this elite crowd. She’s an electromechanical engineer and holds a PhD in computational modeling for mobile platform installations and use of remote-sensing technologies—wow, that was a mouthful. At that age, very impressive, I’d say. Single, attractive.”
Alex snapped another picture, then said, “It’s amazing how you didn’t mention the attractiveness factor about the two men.”
Sam chuckled.
“Touché,” Jeremy responded. “OK, next one is . . . Faisal Kundi.”
“Whoa . . .” Sam interjected. “They have a Middle Eastern on the team? Where from?”
“I can assure you all Walcott employees undergo thorough background checks in addition to the clearance investigation they have to pass,” Mason offered, sounding almost defensive.
“OK, so . . . Faisal Kundi, twenty-nine,” Jeremy continued, “he’s an embedded software engineer, whatever that means.”
“I can explain,” Alex offered.
“Umm . . . maybe later,” Jeremy replied. “Faisal is a Muslim. He was born in Pakistan, and emigrated at age three with his family. Married, two children. American citizen, of course, otherwise he wouldn’t have had any clearance.”
Jeremy stopped talking, waiting for any comments. No one said anything.
Could it be that easy?
Alex thought. It could, but that shouldn’t cloud their judgment. Shouldn’t cloud hers, anyway. She needed to remain cool-headed and not jump to any conclusions. She suddenly realized she felt sorry for how hard life must be for Faisal Kundi, if people instantly suspected him of treason by just hearing his name.
She snapped her picture, then said, “Next!”
“The last one is Vernon Blackburn, forty-four. Married, no children. He’s a . . . here comes another mouthful, a laser electro-optics engineer, with a PhD in laser applications.”
Alex took her last picture, then asked, “Is this it? Is this all we have?”
“Afraid so,” Jeremy replied.
“Let me see what I can get from human resources,” Mason offered.
“What are you planning to do, kiddo?” Sam asked.
“Well, tomorrow I have the f—” she stopped abruptly, refraining from dropping an f-bomb in front of the composed and ultra-professional Mason Armstrong. “I have the polygraph test,” she continued, “without which I can’t enter the premises beyond this point, or board the vessels, right?”
“That is correct,” Mason confirmed.
“Any exceptions we could pull off?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” Mason replied.
“OK, just thought I’d ask. We’ll work on my cover story and run that by you, Mason. Then, assuming everything goes well and I pass, Friday I can deploy with this team.”
“Sounds good,” Sam said. “You’ll pass the test, don’t worry. We’ll work on that later today.”
Mason’s surprised gaze moved from Sam to Alex and back. Neither of them flinched.
“Until then, Jeremy, I’ll need as much background info as you can get me for all five suspects. I can’t go in like this, with nothing but their names, and expect to pull it off.”
“Understood. What will you do in the meantime?”
“Who, me? I need to prepare, to be able to sustain a conversation with these people. I guess I’ll have to learn a little about . . . what was it?” Alex consulted her notes briefly. “Yeah, electro-optics, laser technologies, embedded software, remote sensing, and all that kind of fun stuff. I have forty-eight hours. Wish me luck!”
Alex lounged on Sam’s deck furniture, engulfed in how beautiful the rural Virginia landscape could be on a May evening. The sun was getting ready to set, a pleasant heat still lingered in the air, carrying the smells of spring blooms. Cottonwood, insects, and birds randomly passed through the sweet sunset light, occasionally disrupting the perfect stillness of sound and air. Sam’s deck and yard backed toward a farm’s countless acres, spread on mild sloping hills and green pastures. It was a peaceful, scented paradise.
“Sam,” she called, “your view here is worth more than your house!”
“I agree,” he said with a chuckle. His voice sounded distant coming from the kitchen, where he was fixing them both some coffee. “Be right with you.”
He came through the screen door carrying steaming cups of cappuccino.
“Yum,” Alex said, grabbing one of the cups with both her hands and inhaling the aroma.
“Glad you like it,” Sam said. “On the rare occasion when I have guests here I like to show off my new cappuccino maker.”
“Sam, you are the king of caffeinated delights,” Alex remarked after tasting her brew.
She sensed she wore a milk-foam mustache, which made her look childish, and licked it quickly. That brought back memories that had been locked away for years, memories of a time when she had been a happy, worry-free little girl growing up with hot-cocoa whiskers and laughter on her face.
Life changes fast on you
, she thought.
It can take you by surprise and throw you on a different continent
. How those times have gone!
“What’s on your mind, kiddo?” Sam asked. “You’re frowning at the cappuccino and that can’t be good.”
“Ah . . . it’s just the polygraph, Sam. Scares me to death.”
“All right, let’s attack that beast,” he said, fidgeting a little to find a more comfortable position on the wicker armchair. “First of all, remember, you have nothing to lose.”
“But, if I fail the test, I won’t be able to work this case,” she protested. “I do have access to the case documents now, but I won’t be able to roam the building freely, or board the damn ship.”
“True, but in the grand scheme of things that doesn’t mean much. You just go home, and work on another case, that’s all. Don’t work yourself up for nothing.”
“Huh . . .” she replied thoughtfully. “But maybe it’s not nothing, you know. Maybe the cases are related somehow.”
“Which cases? This one and the elections case?”
“Yup. That’s what I’m hoping. I’m hoping for another lead. I’m hoping somehow this time we’ll be able to find who V is.”
“Fair enough; that thought has crossed my mind. But it’s way too early for that. How do you even know it’s the Russians behind this, not the Chinese?”
Alex thought for a second and grunted angrily at herself. She’d jumped to conclusions again. Somehow, despite that logic, the idea felt right.
“Just my gut, I guess.”
“OK, then, let’s prep you for tomorrow,” Sam said, putting his empty cappuccino cup on the side table. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” Alex replied smiling, to hide the tight knot she felt in her stomach. “What should I expect?”
“You’ll be taken in a small room with no windows, a couple of chairs, and a table on which the polygraph is installed. Some rooms might have the old-style one-way mirror, but all rooms have video cameras installed to record the interview.”
“What kind of sensors will they use?”
“They normally measure heart rate, blood pressure, breathing, and perspiration. Perspiration is measured through sensors attached to your fingers. Breathing is measured with two sensor bands fitted around your chest, and blood pressure and heart rate with a blood pressure cuff on your arm.”
“Fantastic,” she commented gloomily. “What kind of questions will they ask?”
“To start, they’ll ask baseline questions, such as your name and place of birth, and then they usually ask if you’re planning to lie during the test.”
“Huh,” she snorted, “that depends on the questions they’re gonna ask, right?”
“Wrong, kiddo. Plan to tell the truth. They’ll ask trick questions, like if you’ve ever smoked pot, or other self-incriminating crap like that. Just admit it. Even if you did and cop to it, it’s not a disqualifier. They wanna see you’re willing to tell the truth.”
She stared at him with eyes opened wide in disbelief.
“What if they ask . . . well, things no one should know about?” She involuntarily crossed her arms and immediately uncrossed them, painfully aware of the body language clues she was giving out. How the hell was she gonna pass the stupid polygraph if she couldn’t control her body language here, in the safety of Sam’s backyard?
“Like what?”
“Like . . . if I’ve ever killed someone?”
“Just say yes.”
They fell silent for a minute. Sam allowed her to process that information before moving on, and she was grateful for that minute of reprieve. She suddenly felt a wave of panic taking over her rational brain.
Oh God . . . this could go wrong in so many ways,
she thought.
“Sam,” she whispered, “I don’t know if I can pull this off. I’m . . . I’m afraid.”
“Everyone is, kiddo,” he replied in a soft, parental voice. “I’ve been doing this all my life, and I’ve yet to meet someone who’s not afraid to take the poly. But you just deal away with the fear, that’s all.”
Her shoulders hunched, and she clasped and unclasped her hands nervously. “How?”
Sam laughed. “You’re asking
me
how? After everything I’ve seen you handle? Oh, no, kiddo, ask yourself that, ’cause you’ve got all it takes to pull this off like an ace. I’m just a retired old spy, that’s who I am. I’m yesterday’s news, kiddo. You’re tomorrow’s.”
She couldn’t refrain from smiling. She loved how Sam cheered her up and instilled self-confidence in her every time she was in a bind. She suddenly wished they had enough time to share some of his war stories; he must have a few worth telling.
She’d met Sam just over a year before, when he had brought The Agency a new and troublesome case. He was a wartime friend of Tom’s; they went way back. Now sixty-one, Sam was a retired CIA agent, enjoying his free time fishing in the waters of his backyard lake and grilling catfish whenever he’d get lucky. That’s what Sam wanted everyone to believe his current life was all about. However, soon after they met, the two of them had become comrades in arms, chasing terrorists together in exotic destinations. It was a case they should have never worked on, but did anyway.
Sam had identified in her the passion for covert work going beyond the corporate realm. He’d told her many times she was secret-agent material and offered to open the CIA doors for her. Yet she’d stayed true to Tom Isaac and his Agency, jokingly saying that Tom paid way better than the government, but secretly enjoying the family she’d found in Tom and his crew. With Tom, she felt she belonged. She didn’t want to trade that and turn into some faceless, bar-coded agent who no one gave a crap about in an agency as massive as the CIA was. And she did like the bigger paycheck too; it had considerable appeal. There was nothing wrong with having a little wealth and security for a change. She enjoyed the sense of safety that having money brought to her life.
Yet there was something about spies and secret-agent work that lit her imagination and injected her with a deeper sense of purpose. She couldn’t name what that was, and rarely spent any time thinking about it. She just reacted, like she’d done just a few days before, dropping everything else and rushing to the East Coast to catch a spy.
She smiled crookedly, secretly entertained by thoughts about how her career had evolved.
“What?” Sam asked, crinkling his nose, amused.
“Bond. Alex Bond,” she mock introduced herself, and then burst into laughter.
“What? You married James Bond?” Sam laughed with her.
“No, that’s not what I meant,” she said feigning offense and throwing a pillow at him.
“Then your real name should suffice, kiddo. You’re it. You just need to trust yourself a little, that’s all.”
She stopped laughing abruptly, her face turned suddenly serious, almost grim. “All right, let’s work this. How else do I prepare?”
Sam handed her a red, stick deodorant, Old Spice, with a strong minty flavor.
She looked at him, eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Of course I shower and use deodorant. Sam, what are you trying to tell me?”
“Relax, kiddo, you don’t stink,” he said and winked, reading her mind. “You’ll apply this on your hands before leaving the house to go to the test. This one, not any other brand, because this one is a perspiration inhibitor.”
She was confused . . . How was that going to help with the test?
“They’ll attach sensors to your fingers to measure perspiration. Even if they wipe your fingers with alcohol before starting the test, if you apply this deodorant before leaving the house, it will have time to enter your pores and partially inhibit perspiration for a few hours.”
“Huh . . . interesting, got it. What else?”
“What’s your stress food? What do you eat when you’re sad, worried, or PMS-ing?”
She blushed slightly. “Chocolate chip ice cream, with whip cream and chocolate syrup on top.”
“Eat that before leaving for the test. It will release serotonin and calm you down. You’ll mellow out and be less likely to spike your heart rate and blood pressure under stress.”
“I see. That’s easy,” she replied with a nervous smile. “What else?”
“No coffee tomorrow, none, understood?”
“Yes, no coffee.”
He thought for a little while, then added, “Maybe you can take a beta blocker in the morning, to relieve anxiety.”
“Where would I find that?”
“I’ll share mine. How’s your blood pressure, normally?”
“Perfect, about 130 or so.”
“OK, you can take one beta blocker, not more. And drink chamomile tea tonight.”
“Ugh . . . Got it. What else?”
“Can you dissociate easily?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s like daydreaming. You just did it minutes ago, when you were miles away thinking of something.”
“Oh, that . . . yes, I guess I can,” she replied.
“That’s the biggest secret of passing the poly; focus on something else, miles away, so intensely that you can barely hear the questions and you reply to them like in a dream. You think you can do that?”
“I–I hope so,” she said hesitantly. “What else?”
“That’s it, that’s all I have. Sleep well tonight, then go in there tomorrow and knock it out of the park, kiddo.”
“I’ll try. Tea, no coffee, ice cream, beta blocker, deodorant, dissociate, I think I’ve got it. Thanks, Sam, thanks much!”
She gave Sam a hug, said goodnight, and went out to climb behind the wheel of her rental car. Easier said than done, the entire polygraph thing. Regardless of all the advice and paraphernalia, she could still screw this up royally, and lose her only shot at a lead to catch her Russian ghost.