Color of Blood(111)
“Absolutely go to him. You’re more than smitten by him. I’ve never seen you so glum. You’re man-struck. Go.”
“No, Sarah. He doesn’t like surprises. And for all I know he’s in some forced labor camp for wayward CIA employees.”
“Do they have forced labor camps like that?”
“That was a joke.”
***
The radio frequency bug detector was easy to purchase, and Dennis had used it several times throughout his house looking for any surveillance devices that were sending signals. He never found a signal and decided that they were simply listening to him through his landline, a well-established trick in which an individual’s telephone can be turned into a listening device remotely. To avoid being listened to in this fashion, he covered the two telephone mouthpieces with Saran Wrap, and then a coating of aluminum foil held in place with rubber bands. During the evenings at home he covered his mobile phone in aluminum foil to prevent it from being turned on remotely, put it in a plastic Ziploc bag, and put the bag in an empty shoebox in his closet after turning it off. Even the most junior agent knew that mobile phones could be remotely turned on and converted into listening devices.
As the days went on, he did not think they were actively eavesdropping at all. He concluded they were handling him like any other awkward and embarrassing employee. Since Dennis was no longer overseas doing bad things, he was no longer a problem. It was easier for the Agency simply to park a problem than deal with it.
Dealing with a problem required paperwork, depositions, interviews, assessments, and adjudications. All of this left an analog and digital paper trail that Dennis guessed was not in the Agency’s best interests. At least on this case.
If the Agency had to divulge every circumstance in which an employee went a little bonkers, well, the Agency would be depopulated of 50 percent of its field agents.
Only three things warranted disclosure up the chain of command, and eventually to the congressional committees: (1) the killing of an Agency employee (contractors don’t count), (2) the defection of an employee to an adversarial intelligence service, (3) and the worst infraction of all—the unauthorized disclosure to the press about a clandestine activity.
Dennis had done none of these things, and he guessed they knew nothing of his efforts to track the movement of the shipping container. He was still a problem child but not one that they needed to admonish. If the existence of the mining operation in the outback was so sensitive, then it was better not to draw attention to it by disciplining Dennis.
Still, Dennis understood at least some pro forma surveillance of him was taking place, and it was comforting in an odd way. Twice he had seen a young woman following him at Tyson Corners Mall. If it were a serious effort, they would have several teams, but just one person probably signified a training exercise. He was certain they were listening to every phone call and capturing every keystroke on his computers.
Once Dennis realized what they were doing, he began to relax and adopt his old habits. He caught up with his intelligence friends at the local watering holes and began working on several new cases in the IG’s office.
He had long phone calls with his daughter, Beth, and he was surprised at how much he enjoyed talking to her. He even found himself offering her advice on office politics, since she was having trouble with her manager.
How fatherly, he thought. Why had he never done this before?
Marty kept his distance, and Dennis fretted over the biggest piece of the puzzle still missing. At first it seemed simple enough, but the more he considered the where, the more paranoid he became.
Dennis had shared his quandary with his Bureau friend, Parker, and asked for some advice.
“I need to get access to the Internet to check a website,” Dennis said. “But I can’t do it at work, or at home, or on my phone, because they’ll know what I’m doing, and I think they’re having me tailed. It’ll be such a pain to go through the trouble to slip a tail and find a computer and all that crap. It seems so simple, but it’s not. I feel like they know everything I do.”
“You just need someone to go on the Internet and look something up?” Parker said.
“More or less.”
“Surrogate. Find a kid or someone totally random. Pay them a few bucks. Have them slip the info to you on a piece of paper. Simple. Use an intermediary.”
“Shit, you’re right,” Dennis said. “Duh.”
“And how do you know I’m not being asked to watch you?” Parker said.
“Fuck off,” Dennis said.
“Stranger things have happened.”
“This business we’re in sucks,” Dennis said.
“Of course it does,” Parker said. “Our orders are: Go find bad people. Catch bad person doing something bad. Arrest bad person. Prosecute bad person. Oh, and don’t break any rules, except maybe those rules. And those ones, too. Then go get more bad persons. Repeat.”
“But sometimes we work for bad people,” Dennis said.
“Well, there’s the rub,” Parker said, finishing his Crown Royal with one gulp. “That’s what makes this business so exciting. We never really know who the bad people are. Even when we think we do.”
***
“You look tan and fit,” she said. “Were you somewhere warm, I hope?”
“Yes,” Dennis said. “The desert.”