One of the firemen told Jake they didn’t know he was in the basement until Senator Richard Boden sent them back down with instructions not to come back up until they’d found him. Seems Boden might have had a change of heart since the funeral.
Smacking his gum, Boden greeted Jake on the loading dock while armies of reporters from the media waited outside for them to appear.
“I’m not going to do it.” Jake wiped the dirt from around his face. “I work in the Clandestine Service. The last thing Director Bentley needs is for you to make a public spectacle and expose the identity of one of his operatives.”
Boden frowned. “Mr. Pendleton, you’re not even supposed to be in this country. As a matter of fact, this wasn’t even CIA jurisdiction. So you have a choice to make. One, you can walk outside with me and become a real American hero—”
“Or what, you’ll have your goons haul me off?”
“Or two, you can kiss your CIA job goodbye. As a matter of fact, I’ll make it my personal business to make sure you never work in this country again.”
Jake saw through the senator’s ulterior motive. He didn’t have a change of heart, it was election year and the voters were only days away from going to the polls. A feather in his cap at this eleventh hour would cinch his reelection.
“Senator? You know, the way I see it is like this. I’m going to walk out of here and you’re not going to do a damn thing about it. Because if you so much as think about it, I will go to the press and explain how if you had had your way, I would be in jail and the museum would be in total ruin, thousands of innocent children and one dumbass senator would be dead. Now get the hell out of my way or you can kiss your reelection goodbye.”
CHAPTER 73
The Greenbrier Hotel
White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia
J
AKE STUDIED THE historic landmark as the limousine approached the north entrance. Bentley had casually mentioned he and Wiley would be here for a meeting, which was good, Jake wanted to talk to both men.
This was his first visit to The Greenbrier, but he was familiar with the resort’s history, as were all Annapolis graduates. Beneath the resort was a massive underground bunker that, during the Cold War, was meant to serve as an emergency shelter for the United States Congress. Although never used for that purpose, the bunker was readied, maintained, and staffed for more than thirty years for the government in the event of a national or international crisis. If that had occurred, the property would have been conveyed to government use and would’ve become the emergency location for the legislative branch thus allowing the United States government to continue uninterrupted operation.
After the explosion at the American Museum of Natural History in New York and his subsequent fallout with Senator Boden, Jake refused to be treated. He had taken a taxi back to the airport where, once onboard Wiley’s Citation, he cleaned up and changed clothes while the flight crew flew him on the one-hour hop from New York to the Greenbrier Valley Airport in Lewisburg, West Virginia.
When the Citation decelerated on the seven thousand foot runway, Jake noticed a ramp overcrowded with business jets of all types. Falcons. Challengers. Sabreliners. Citations. Bentley’s Challenger jet and Wiley’s personal Citation 750 were among the more than two dozen stylish business jets. The flight crew parked the Citation next to Wiley’s other jet. Jake planned to arrange transportation to The Greenbrier, but the chief pilot for Wiley’s personal aircraft yelled out to Jake. “Mr. Wiley sent a limo to pick you up and take you to The Greenbrier. You’re to go to the north entrance and he’ll meet you there in thirty minutes.”
“He thinks of everything.”
How the hell did the old man know I was coming?
Twenty-five minutes later the black limousine pulled up to the north entrance of The Greenbrier. Nestled in a valley in the Allegheny Mountains, the Greenbrier was a lavish resort. Jake couldn’t help but notice a similarity in architectural style between the White House in Washington, DC and The Greenbrier Hotel except the Greenbrier was several times larger. As the limo pulled under the portico, Jake scanned the manicured lawn, the groomed hedges, and blooming flowers. Even in early November they were meticulously nurtured.
Jake crawled out of the limo and was greeted by the hotel staff. “Are you Mr. Pendleton?” The man asked.
“I am.”
“Right this way, please. Misters Wiley and Bentley are waiting for you in the lobby.”
For the last two hours, Jake had thought about what he wanted to say to both men but was still unsure how to broach the topics certain to be considered classified. But he had to know the truth and the only way to find out was to ask. Point blank.
“I’ll follow you.” Jake said to the man.
He followed the man through an open room and into a large lobby.
The man pointed to the far wall. “There they are, sir.”
“Thank you.”
Bentley and Wiley stood side-by-side underneath an oversized archway embellished in green and white striped wallpaper. The furnishings were bathed in vivid colors; coral, green, pink, turquoise, and lavender with textures ranging from velvet to leather. Jake walked across the black and white marble checkerboard floor until he reached the men.
Wiley smiled while Bentley showed no emotion. Each man wore a jacket and tie; Bentley had his signature leather portfolio briefcase tucked under his arm and Wiley a black nylon briefcase draped over his shoulder. Jake could tell neither welcomed his arrival at The Greenbrier.
Uninvited.
Wiley stuck out his hand. “Congratulations, Jake. A job well done. You stopped the attack and killed Khan. You saved a lot of lives today.”
“I didn’t kill Khan, he blew himself up.” Jake expected a response from Bentley, but got nothing.
Wiley continued. “I’m a little surprised to see you here. How did you know where to find me?”
Jake focused his gaze on Bentley. “Yesterday the Director mentioned he had a meeting with you here. I have a question that needs answering and it is important both of you are together to hear it.”
Wiley looked at Bentley. “Okay, Jake. What is it?”
Jake fished around in his back pocket and pulled out the newspaper clippings Bentley had given him. “I have some questions about these.” He handed them to Wiley.
“This is not the place.” Bentley said.
“The three of us need to take a walk." Wiley signaled for the two men to follow him. "Now.”
Jake saw the look on Bentley’s face turn to apprehension. He followed Wiley and Bentley who were walking shoulder-to-shoulder whispering. Whispering and arguing. They walked through the lobby and out a rear door into the gardens and onto a red-bricked path. Wiley asked Jake to fall back. Wiley passed the news clipping to Bentley, who held them for a few seconds then passed them back to Wiley. Bentley shook his head. They whispered some more. Jake strained to hear but the men kept their voices too low.
He followed them to a small pavilion called The Spring House, nestled on the rear lawn. The twelve-column white structure held a copper dome covered in patina. Red, white, and blue swag banners drooped between each post. Under the dome, a spiral brick floor with a black rail fence surrounding a sulphur spring.
As he watched the two older men with the manicured lawn in the background, he noticed something familiar. Déjà vu. Bentley and the old man, face-to-face, in hushed conversation. He’d seen this before and now he knew when. And where.
Wiley motioned for Jake to join them.
The three men stood silent around the rail. Jake could tell they were pondering what to say to him. He’d asked a question they didn’t expect and weren’t in agreement on how to proceed.
Wiley spoke first. “Jake, you remember the day we met in Texas? When Bentley brought you to me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you recall asking me about my emissaries, I told you that soon you would see it was a lot more?”
Jake nodded.
“Maybe that time has come? But Scott has a couple of things he wants to ask you first.”
Jake looked at Bentley.
Bentley’s piercing look didn’t faze Jake. He stood resolute. This time he wouldn’t back down.
“Jake, I only want to know two things. Why didn’t you call me sooner? And did you really call Senator Boden a dumbass?”
Jake looked at Bentley then glanced at Wiley. Wiley gave a slight nod.
“Do you remember the last thing you said to me before you left me in El Paso?” Jake looked at Bentley.
“Refresh my memory.” Bentley said.
“You said until you tell me otherwise, I take orders from Mr. Wiley. You never said otherwise, so I tailed Khan and followed him into the museum. If I’d called for reinforcements sooner, Khan might have been tipped off before I had a chance to defuse the bombs. So, while Khan was underground and had no clue what was going on above him, I felt it was in our collective best interests to handle the situation on my own. If your storm troopers would have invaded the place too soon—”
Bentley cut him off. “And Boden?”
“The idiot wanted a three-ring media circus and I refused. How many times have you told me that clandestine means executed in secrecy? Then he threatened to have me fired, picked up by the FBI, so I explained it to him the only way he could understand. Then I left.”
Jake took a deep breath and continued.
“I want to know about Beth. I want to know about my parents.” Jake took the article from Wiley’s hands. He turned to Bentley. “And I want to know about Ian Collins.”
Bentley raised his hand. “Easy Jake. You’re a very smart man with uncanny intuition. There is much more involved than what you see on the surface. And that’s one reason I put you with E. W. Your potential would be better served outside the constraints of the federal government. The Clandestine Service is not the place for your talents, which is why Mr. Wiley has been training you. Testing you on many levels, cognitive skills beyond any tradecraft skill you could learn with us. He’s been grooming you to work for him, seeing if you have what it takes to become one of his emissaries.”
“What the hell is this with this emissary thing?” Jake could feel the tone of the conversation changing. “Why me? What about Gregg? Or Isabella?”
Bentley glanced away. “Ms Hunt is no longer with the Agency.”
“What?”
“She resigned yesterday, but I tore up her resignation letter. Told her she could take a leave of absence for now in case she changes her mind. She’s a good agent and I don’t want to lose her.”
“Why did she leave?”
“Jake, you know I’m not at liberty to discuss her personal details.”
“Does Gregg know?” Jake asked.
Bentley said nothing.
“Does Gregg know?” Jake repeated.
“I don’t know. I haven’t said anything to him. Nor will I.”
“As far as Mr. Kaplan is concerned.” Wiley spoke up. “He’s very good at what he does, but he’s a military man to the core. He’s by the book and in my world his cover would be blown in an instant. Then he’d be dead. I’m looking for people who don’t look like what they are, who are quick on their feet, and can think outside the box. They have to bend the rules, possibly break them, in order to succeed in their missions. You proved that in Paris, in Spain, and then again in New York…even if you did piss off a senator...and the director.”
Jake’s head was in a whirlwind. Had he heard Bentley right? Did the director just say he wasn’t right for the Clandestine Service? And Isabella? “Director, what are you telling me?”
“I’m telling you I think you should consider working for Mr. Wiley and the Fellowship.” Bentley said.
“Fellowship?”
“Jake.” Bentley again. “The CIA has become just like every other federal agency, too politically correct. We are rapidly being neutered by those in Washington like Senator Boden and our current administration. But the last decade has seen the demise of our power. My budget keeps getting sliced off in chunks and my funding for covert ops nearly eliminated. So a long time ago, those of us who could see the path this country was taking established ways of getting around the bureaucracy. The Fellowship was born.”
Wiley did his familiar hair swipe and stepped closer to Jake. “Myself and a few others started the Greenbrier Fellowship back when President Jimmy Carter outlawed political assassinations. The new path this country was taking would eventually lead us to where we are now, and several of us foresaw the future. Our country began to believe we can have freedom without a price and that’s where the Fellowship comes in.”
Jake looked at Bentley.
Bentley nodded. “You should consider Mr. Wiley’s offer.”
“I’m sure it’s a great offer but I’ve known you for a long time…and you’ve known me for a long time.”
“You should reconsider.”
“What if I still want to work for you?” Jake asked.
“You can’t.”
“What are you saying, Admiral?”
Bentley said nothing.
He looked at Wiley and saw no expression. He looked back at Bentley. “Admiral?”
“I’m letting you go, Jake.” Bentley said. “Effective immediately, you’re fired.”
Words he’d never expected to hear, especially from Bentley, but for some strange reason they didn’t bother him. All the years he’d worked for Bentley as a Naval Intelligence officer—both on the USS Mount Whitney and in the Pentagon when Bentley was Chairman of the Joint Chiefs—then again as a covert agent with the Clandestine Service after his former career as an aircraft accident investigator came to a rapid end on St. Patrick’s Day in Savannah, Georgia. Just over seven months ago he felt like his world was falling down around him. And now, it didn’t seem to matter.
Something still bothered him. The two old men never answered his questions. Jake stared at Wiley. “Why were you at Beth’s funeral?
The older men looked at each other. Wiley spoke first. “What makes you think that?”
“It took me a while to figure out where I'd seen you before and now I know. You were there.” Jake stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at Bentley. “When you walked away from me, you walked across the lawn to Mr. Wiley. So my question is,” Jake looked back to Wiley. “Why were you there?”