Color of Blood(50)

“I sort of worry about you,” she said, trying her best to not sound emotionally invested.

“If I can’t handle Massey,” Dennis replied, “then I’ve no business working for the Agency.”

“But he’s powerful, Dennis. You said so yourself. Be careful.”

“Roger that,” he said.

***

The contact protocol was always the same. First, he called the man’s home, and his wife, Margaret, would answer; the man never answered the phone himself. Dennis and Margaret would then chat amiably about the weather, politics, and whatever was on their mind. Finally Margaret would say something like, “Dennis, would you like to talk to Peter? He’s in the den.”

“Sure,” Dennis would respond.

Peter and Dennis would make their own attempt at small talk until Dennis asked Peter if he’d like to grab a cup of coffee sometime.

Peter Harbaugh was seventy-seven years old and retired from the Agency, where he had worked for forty-one years. An éminence grise, Peter was a product of the gritty and complex Cold War that was fought on nearly every continent. Dennis had come in contact with Peter at the end of his career when the gray-haired veteran was briefly detailed to the IG’s office to help assess operational culpability for a failed assassination attempt. A Pakistani nuclear weapons engineer was discovered selling his services to henchmen like Moammar Khadafy in Libya and Saddam Hussein in Iraq. After the Israelis failed to kill the engineer, the job was taken up by the Agency, but it failed, too. Peter and Dennis had authored a report detailing broad-based Agency malfeasance in their failed attempt.

Dennis had instantly taken a liking to the diminutive, reserved, and professorial Harbaugh. Peter, for his part, seemed to relish Dennis’s brash investigative style, and they developed one of those odd Agency relationships—so much so that when Peter retired, Dennis managed to visit him at least once every six months. Dennis enjoyed chatting with the elder statesman, though he was not always sure why. Perhaps he found comfort in Peter’s wise and calm demeanor, or maybe Dennis was simply lonely for company. Nevertheless, their relationship endured.

On this occasion, Margaret chatted for a very long time before passing the phone along to Peter, and the two men agreed to meet at a Starbucks near Peter’s Wisconsin Avenue condo.

Peter dressed in the same preppy attire in retirement that he was famous for during his tenure. Dennis smiled when he saw him dressed in a navy-blue blazer, pressed blue button-down dress shirt, and khaki slacks. His slacks were always cuffed at the bottom. With his thinning gray hair and small, angular face, he looked like the aging preppy that he was. Peter sat at a small table cradling a coffee cup and smiling. Dennis waved, purchased his coffee, and joined Peter.

“How are you feeling?” Peter asked. “You look good. Is that a tan I see on your face?”

“Very observant,” Dennis said. “Australia.”

“That’s a funny place for a man of your talents.”

Dennis chuckled. “Was on a vetting mission to cross-check an MIA investigation by Operations. Marty said it was a small job to get my sea legs back. Something like that.”

“How is Marty?” Peter asked, slowly raising the cup to his lips.

“Piss and vinegar,” Dennis said. “Mostly vinegar.”

“When is he going to retire?”

“Says he can’t because of his divorce, but I think he just likes this crap. Plus, I think his second wife drives him nuts, and he’d rather be at work.”

“And you, when are you going to pull the ripcord and float out of there?”

“Ah, well, you know I’m in no rush to sell my soul to a Crystal City contractor at triple the pay. I mean I’d just be driving around Kabul in an armored Humvee wearing a flak jacket and eating goat kebabs. Naw, I’ll pass on that exciting lifestyle.”

“Well, you have an unusual talent for investigations, Dennis, and I’m glad you’re back at the IG’s office,” Peter said. “I gather things are falling apart inside and outside of Langley. War is exciting for the first ten minutes, and then the rest is just horrid. I hear from my friends that we’re in the vast horrid phase of the two wars.”

“I would say that is a roger.”

They took simultaneous sips of coffee.

“What’s on your mind?” Peter asked.

“Well,” Dennis started, “I think I did something stupid.” He told Peter the convoluted story of Garder’s disappearance, the hazmat alert, the phone records showing Garder’s calls to his parents, and finally his enlistment by Massey to find the missing agent.

“Massey?” Peter grimaced.

“Yes.”

“Why would you fool around with Massey?” Peter looked directly into Dennis’s eyes.

Dennis put down his coffee cup and looked away. “I don’t know, really. I just felt like I could solve this puzzle. Guess I was being brash; you know, the regular bravado from me.”

“Mmm. Massey is not a nice person,” Peter said.

“Yes.”

“And you knew that going in?”

“Sort of.”

“Well, if you can’t find the kid, you’ll be back to the IG’s office soon enough. And of course if you do find this young man, then you’re golden. Massey will probably get you permanently reassigned to his group. Is that what you want?”