Color of Blood(2)

“We’ve been asked to vet MIA investigations in the past,” Marty replied. “Just because you haven’t pulled one of these assignments doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Dennis said. “I’ve read the report from those two Operations guys, and I don’t understand what else they could have done. The investigation seems thorough, and I don’t see why they’re being second-guessed. That’s the demeaning part, Marty. You don’t have to send me on a Cub Scout assignment to get my sea legs back. Why not attach me to a legitimate project?”

“Ah, I see,” Marty said. He shut the folder, threw the pencil onto the desk, and leaned back in his creaky office chair.

“I don’t have to tell you that since the Iraq War started four years ago, our department has been raided, and we have very few investigators remaining.”

“Yes, I know that,” Dennis said.

“And it seems half the crew here in the IG’s office is about to retire, and God knows how they’ll run the place when we’re gone. They don’t pay us worth shit.”

“Yes, I know that, too,” Dennis said.

“You know what you should never do, Dennis?” Marty asked.

Dennis braced himself for the exchange, one that he’d heard many times.

“You should never have three kids, and then get divorced from a woman who does not remarry,” Marty said, his voice rising. “And then do you know what you shouldn’t do next?”

“No, what shouldn’t I do next?” Dennis said without looking up.

“You should not marry another woman and have two more kids,” Marty said. “That’s what you should not do. You following me?”

“Yes,” Dennis said. “That’s something I won’t do.”

They stared at each other.

“Still,” Dennis said, “I don’t mean to be a pain, but this case doesn’t seem to warrant a follow up.”

More silence.

“Representative Daniel Barkley,” Marty said, as if the title and name formed a complete sentence with subject, verb, and noun.

“Representative Daniel Barkley,” Dennis repeated slowly. “Republican from New Hampshire, chairman of the House Intelligence Committee.”

“He has requested that the inspector general of the Central Intelligence Agency look into the disappearance of an agent, to wit, the MIA in question here.”

“Why would the chairman care about a junior agent who has disappeared in a friendly country? Out of thousands of agents who are actually in hostile countries? And was this an official request from the Intelligence Committee?”

Marty smiled. “Now that’s the cynical, suspicious, no-bullshit investigator I was looking for. It doesn’t matter who asked what of whom; it’s none of your damn business or mine. The IG ordered me to review the validity of a prior investigation, and you’re the investigator I’ve chosen. Simple as that. Any questions?”

“No,” Dennis said. “I guess not.”

“And permit me to make a very strong request,” Marty said. “Actually, an emphatic request, if that’s not too strong.”

Dennis stared, unsure where Marty was going.

“I’d like you to tone down your normal investigative style, Dennis. It’s OK to take one of our pompous, narcissistic field agents or station chiefs down a few pegs with your confrontational style, but it’s really not appropriate with folks in a backwater consulate.”

“My style?”

Marty smiled. “You know exactly what I mean. Play clean. Be nice. Don’t piss anyone off.”

Dennis stood up and turned to leave.

“Sure you have no questions?” Marty asked. “Did you read the last page of the report?”

“What are you referring to?” Dennis asked, turning to face Marty.

“The treaty requirements,” Marty said. “Please pay attention to that. I don’t want us to get into any trouble over there.”

“Remind me again,” Dennis said, confused.

“The US-Australian Security Pact. Requires us to be shadowed by a friendly when we’re investigating any intelligence activity on Australian soil. Anything you do inside the consulate in Perth, the Embassy in Canberra, or any US installation is our stuff, of course; when you physically investigate anything outside of those facilities you need to be shadowed by an Australian investigator. I agree these pacts are silly—please don’t start about that—and we routinely disregard them. But the Aussies have become a pain in the ass since the start of the Iraq War and are threatening to pull their ground forces out. The IG would greatly appreciate not receiving a complaint from the Australian government about a breach in our security pact.”

“I haven’t been shadowed by a friendly in years.”

“Dennis, please let their guy follow you around.”

“Fine.” He turned, opened Marty’s office door, and walked past his assistant, Lorraine. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. He had taken several steps before he heard his name being called. He stopped and looked at Lorraine.

Lorraine tilted her head toward Marty’s open door.

Dennis returned to the doorway and stuck his head in.

“New Hampshire,” Marty said. “The MIA’s parents are from New Hampshire, the same New Hampshire that our Representative Barkley is from.”