Color of Blood(24)

Judy laughed. “He was amusing.”

She took another sip of her wine and watched a young woman in a glistening black wetsuit paddle to catch a wave. The surfer made a brief run and then cut back over the top of the crest to the calm on the other side.

“You know I used to be really good at this work,” Dennis said. “They loved me, even if they didn’t always approve of my methods.”

“What kind of methods?” she asked.

“My primary method involved being a jerk.”

“Oh,” she said chuckling, “I think I’ve seen a little of that method.”

“You know it’s funny, but people will invariably show their real colors if you stress them, just throw them off kilter. It works extremely well. I’ve interviewed some of the most practiced liars in the US government. These are mostly agents and station chiefs whose entire life is a lie. They’re trained to pretend they’re a businessman from Nebraska, or a low-level employee at a consulate in Ankara, so when they lie about other stuff, it just comes easy to them.”

“So that’s what you do? Investigate for the CIA? They didn’t tell me.”

He nodded. “I’m in the OIG, the Office of Inspector General for the Agency.”

“So this feller, Jansen, was he not a consulate employee?”

Dennis looked at her closely; she was not authorized to know any of this, but he didn’t care. He suddenly liked talking to her, and if it meant he’d have to break a few rules, so be it.

“No, he was an agent: pretty low-level guy. Real name was Garder.”

“I see. That would explain you and the other two who came before you.”

“Yeah. We’re just trying to figure out what happened to him, but I’m afraid I’m going to end up where I started. He’s MIA. Doesn’t seem right that he just took off on a bender; my guess is that he was the victim of a random murder, but you never know. Sometimes they just take off with a lot of money or get snatched by a foreign service.”

“Mmm,” she said, “but tell me, if you don’t mind. You said earlier that your boss is no longer happy with your performance. How can that be if you show results?”

“Well, over the years I did bring in some big cases, but things sometimes went wrong.”

“Oh.”

“I guess the worst case involved the station chief in Nicaragua.” Dennis stared at the surfers. “In the early 1990s, after the Iran-Contra fiasco, there were allegations that the Agency was turning a blind eye to the importing of drugs into Arkansas, of all places. It was a preposterous charge really, but sometimes it seems the more outlandish the charges are against the Agency, the more likely they are to be believed by the media. The newspapers reported the allegations, and Congress got involved. The OIG was ordered to investigate. I was on that team. It was a tough assignment, but we delivered the goods. The Agency wasn’t at fault.”

“I thought you said something went wrong?”

“Well, for me it did. I really gave it to the station chief down there. I just went after him, scared the holy crap out of the guy. Accused him of everything I could think of.”

“So?”

“So he killed himself.” Dennis took a small sip of his single malt; the condensation on the outside of the glass dripped onto his shirt. “Idiot shot himself after the second long session with me.”

“He must have been guilty then of something.”

“No, we don’t think so,” Dennis said. “Hell, I thought he was a tough guy, but apparently he had some other stressful things going on in his life. He wrote a note. He said I told him his career was ruined, so he shot himself. Through his mouth.” Dennis raised his right hand in the shape of a pistol, stuck his rigid forefinger and index finger to the roof of his mouth, and dropped his thumb like it was the hammer.

“Bang.”

“But still, Dennis, he must have had a fragile personality. They couldn’t hold you responsible for that.”

“Well, it was just that. They’d got complaints for years about me, then this thing. And later there was an incident in London.” Dennis shook his head and stared out to sea.

How sad to see such a strong man struggling, Judy thought. Why couldn’t Phillip have talked in this way to me? Was it her fault or Phillip’s?

“Dennis, do you have a family? I realized I know nothing about you, not that it’s any of my business.”

“I have a grown daughter. She’s married and lives in California. I’m a widower. My wife died last year.” Denise spoke quickly, as if reciting a shopping list.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s OK. I’m back at work now. Everything’s fine.”

Judy reached for her glass and took a long sip.

“OK, your turn,” Dennis said suddenly, shifting in his seat.

“Pardon?”

The waitress stopped and asked if they’d like another round. For just a moment Judy waffled, but feeling the glow from the first glass and the unexpected interest from this intense, gruff, blue-eyed American, she capitulated.

“Sure,” she said. “Why not?”

“You know, to be honest, you seem to have a lot of things on your mind,” Dennis said. “I mean I thought you were pissed off at me earlier today. And while that wouldn’t be so surprising, I couldn’t help but notice something else was bothering you. Or maybe it was just me you were pissed off about. Wouldn’t be the first time.”