Custos: Enemies Domestic Page 9

  Zach’s mind went elsewhere as he talked. Organization initials always tickled him. He was sure mischief was afoot when someone came up with AUMF, the 2001 Authorization for Use of Military Force Against Terrorists. Had to be tongue-in-cheek. The act rationalized, for example, use of drones against terrorist threats. He probably had a classmate who came up with that acronym. As he remembered from Bancroft Hall dormitory life at Annapolis, AUMF was “adios you m—— f——!” That was on par with FAA controller terminology used during aircraft emergencies, he laughed. “How many S-O-Bs (souls on board) do you have?” — a standard FAA controller query. His attention returned from wandering — along with a brilliant inspiration.

  “That reminds me: We need to be like mine detection dogs on this. You know publicly the FBI and CIA have been ordered not to surveil mosques. My gut tells me that somewhere in the vast bureaucracies, there are still a few patriots like you who will put their careers on the line for the good of the nation. I think someone is making sure there is no safe house for terrorists to plot with impunity.

  “I have a contact over at CIA who is usually in the know — a counterterrorism analyst — Glenn Curley. He’s their conduit to the National Counterterrorism Center. He is just the guy to know if anything unofficial came out of the Arlington mosque. He needs a little extra persuasion to cooperate fully. When you go, you know, take off the jacket coat and, you know, well, unbutton a couple blouse buttons at the top. Know what I mean?… Do you mind wearing a skirt instead of pants?… Can you wear 4-inch heels — after we interview the ‘Glue Gang’?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Barb replied, even though she did.

  “He cooperates more readily with ladies than men. I’m just saying…”

  _______________

  Zach demanded immediate answers from the four pre-teens — the Glue Gang — held incommunicado, “Aiding and abetting a terrorist who murders a congressman. You all are in over your heads. Whoever talks first gets the deal. The rest — God help you.” FBI counsel had advised the juveniles could be questioned without their custodians, under the Patriot Act.

  Zach smiled inwardly as they all talked at once. They knew the package delivery driver’s offer was wrong. That had made supergluing the Taurus’s doors and back windows closed enticing. Distracting the men in the car while supergluing the doors and rear windows was icing on the cake. An adult giving them permission and paying them to do it was too much. They could not resist. No, they didn’t think about destroying government property or conspiracy to commit murder, much less abetting terrorism.

  The pre-teens had not spent their $50 bills, having run back to the scene of the explosion and then realizing their likely complicity. They had been waiting out of view of the agents, around the corner. That was where the van driver said they’d get their other $50 apiece. They proved to be poor witnesses. One pre-teen remembered the package delivery guy wearing gloves when he handed out the money and superglue tubes. No one else did. One recalled that the van driver had black hair. Another recalled Abdul’s hair being light brown. One remembered Abdul wearing shorts, but Abdul’s package delivery colleagues said everyone had switched to long trousers a week ago. Again with the unreliability of eye witnesses, Zach added to his permanent memory.

  The Justice Department kept the pre-teens on the hook for evolving facts. Barb insured none of the culprits kept his $50 of ill-gotten gains. The money was confiscated as evidence. Zach and Barb adjourned for separate lunches. Barb needed to change into a skirt and heels. She felt her indignity starting to run rampant. So much for women’s progress in the workplace! Would a man lower himself to flirting to get information? Her rising ire subsided abruptly. Yes, he would, she realized. Where Zach had a sense humor to keep perspective, she had an internal equilibrating governor that kept her objective — usually sounding like a tape recorder of her mother’s voice.

  _______________

  At CIA Headquarters at Langley, Barb moved through security faster than expected, due to pre-clearance arranged by Glenn Curley. She still didn’t think much of Zach’s idea to appeal to Glenn’s male instincts. She was having second thoughts. She knew she had a tendency to overthink things. Why not just make it easy? She decided to humor Zach.

  She found a woman’s restroom before meeting Glenn. She primped like a teenager going on a first date. She took off her navy blue jacket, rolled her pelvis forward, and squared her shoulders to accentuate her breasts. She purposely opened the top two buttons of her blouse. She rechecked her minimal makeup and decided to go up two shades of red on the lipstick. She finished with splashes of perfume Zach had handed her just before she left. Why Zach had perfume in his desk, she could not fathom. And Zach had been behaving just a little off. Pressure from above?

  She greeted Glenn with girlish perkiness. They exchanged small talk for a few minutes; then Glenn produced relevant files. She remembered Zach’s words: He’ll just give you the old brush off if you don’t make it interesting for him. So far, so good. Barb yawned, outstretching her arms to the ten and two o’clock positions. Glenn could not hide his double take of Barb’s nubile breasts pushing against her formfitting silk blouse. Glenn looked as if he was going to faint.

  Recovering, Glenn said, “I’ve got some more files we should go through. Periodically, Barb brushed her bare arms against him and flirted with eager eyes. She noticed that Glenn produced even more files. Zach was right, she analyzed. Barb batted her eyelashes. Glenn brought more from the archives. Occasionally, she recrossed her legs and did a hair flip. After several hours, Barb and Glenn jointly began reviewing files on classified computers. Barb continued flirting. She didn’t like the means but thought she could see the results. They laughed over coffee. Almost any job done well has its rewards even when somewhat demeaning, she consoled herself. Her achiever personality always shone through.

  Glenn started to seem less enthralled and more than slightly embarrassed, yet amused. If nothing else, Barb’s charming performance made the tedious review of files less boring, he thought. Sometimes Barb’s forwardness was too much for him: He had to leave the room for files to hide his embarrassment. This new generation, they are something else, he noted.

  At the end of a long afternoon, the two concluded there seemed to be no evidence of foreign linkage to the assassination. Nor had Glenn heard anything informally about any surveillance on the Arlington mosque. They put away the stacks of paper files and closed out the several computer screens they had open. Barb put her blue jacket back on. Exhaustion dimmed her flirtatious affect.

  “Glenn, thanks very much for your help. And you are such a charmer! As you know elimination of possibilities doesn’t usually feel like progress, but it actually is. I sometimes have to say that to remind myself, sorry. Thank you again for your time. I really enjoyed working with you.” Barb very pleasantly smiled.

  Glenn bade her goodbye, “Come back any time. Say ‘hi’ to Zach for Kathy and me. I’m sure he told you I’m married to his sister.”

  “Of course he did,” Barb said mechanically. Her sense of outrage showed in her reddening face. It all fit now: Zach’s goofy behavior, his urging her to flirt, his insistence on her taking the initiative to bridge bureaucratic chasms, and… Her train of thought was interrupted by Glenn’s capstone.

  “I do like that perfume you are wearing. Zach had given some of the Lady Gaga fragrance to Kathy as a joke. We all got a laugh out of Lady Gaga saying it was meant to smell like an‘expensive hooker.’ And no offense to you, it’s just one of those inside family jokes.”

  Zach, you son-of-a-bitch, she mentally raged, you set me up. I’ll get back at you!

  Chapter 19

  October 8

  FBI Headquarters

  Barb was already in the investigation room when Zach arrived at work. “Mornin’. I’ve got your venti black Gold Coast Starbucks for you. I’m having a large skinny vanilla soy latte myself. Drink up!”

  After yesterday’s practical joke on Barb, Zach was hesi
tant to try the coffee she offered. She was just too eager for him to drink it, but turnabout was fair play. “How did it go yesterday? Learn anything?”

  “Well, we went through piles and piles of files. Screens and screens on the computer. At the end, we found no trace of foreign involvement. No foreign intercepts of orders for an attack. Of course, terrorist groups are very careful of cell phone use and somewhat knowledgeable of our capabilities to listen. There’s also the possibility that the Paige attack was locally supported and directed. He reiterated what you had said about their constantly updating their tradecraft. Nothing on surveillance of the Arlington mosque… I did learn about catapults actually being used to shoot bales of pot over the Arizona-Mexico border and about narco torpedoes… Anything new here?”

  Expressionless, Zach took in the information but was more interested in something else. He probed for the reaction to his practical joke. “So how did it go with Glenn? Was he helpful?” “Pretty much as you might expect. It was a very professional meeting, productive in a non-productive way. He has an impressive mind and enough contacts to make him indispensable… Try your coffee! It smells wonderful.” Barb knew Zach was anxious to find out about his joke. Zach was even more sure Barb was pushing the coffee too hard. He sensed she was getting back at him. He seemed to be searching for words.

  “It’s great coffee. Come on. It cost good money,” Barb urged, seeming to have some stake in his drinking the coffee.

  “You put something in the coffee, didn’t you?” The prospect of some masked agent in his coffee repelled him. He remembered putting ex lax tablets in the coffee of an unpopular upperclassman at dinner when he was a plebe at the Naval Academy. The upperclassman had been extraordinarily abusive, and that was saying a lot in an abusive culture.

  “Zach, why would I do that?” Barb took a long pause to make Zach speak. He did not. “Oh yes, your brother-in-law said ‘hello.’ You bastard, you had me behaving like some kind of ninny over there in Glenn’s office. I will never forget that, bud! Remember, revenge is a bitch,” she smiled sardonically. “And I’m the bitch. Now, drink up!”

  “All right, all right. Just having a little fun. Have I told you, you are angry when you are beautiful.” Zach was shooting himself in the other foot.

  Men have a knack for trying to unsuccessfully defuse anger with bad humor, the nonplussed Barb reflected. She consciously put her hands on her hips. The turn of phrase was not funny. “Have some coffee!” Barb devilishly commanded.

  “I had my coffee already this morning. Here’s a ten for today’s coffee. Thanks. My turn next time for coffee… Good job with Glenn… Did I tell you ATF traced the C-4 to Afghanistan?”

  “Nice attempt at diversion. Try the coffee!”

  Zach felt Barb gaining on the offense. “Is this a good time to ask how you got to be so smart?” The house was burning, and Zach was adding more gasoline.”

  “You really are tone deaf, aren’t you?”

  “No, seriously, I’m asking how you assimilate so much information. You must have a bag of special tricks.” Zach was like a small child trying to deflect a spanking.

  “Actually, I do, but I’m smart enough not to reveal them.”

  “Come on, help a partner.”

  “I guess there’s no harm in giving you one. Few will make the effort to use the method, so I won’t be giving away too much. My aunt taught me. She was a career teacher who learned about critical path analysis while getting an MBA. Her theory is that most of us are capable of understanding anything, except that there may be one or more minor obstacles in our way. If we can explain what we don’t understand, we can get helped through the obstacle. Sounds like a contradiction, but if we or our mentor can identify the obstacle, the problem is close to being solved.

  “In ninth-grade, I got the symbolic logic of algebra. Piece of cake. But word problems were insurmountable for me. When my aunt got me to be more specific, I sensed a coming breakthrough. I could not translate words into symbols. My aunt showed me a few examples of how she would translate a word problem. For instance, is means =. Aha! It was my Rosetta Stone to word problems. When I was a senior, I scored first in my school in a national math test… Enough?”

  Even though he seemed to have avoided the spanking, he could not help himself. “I love it. I ask for the time of day, and you tell me how to build me a watch. You lost me after the part about the aunt who played in the NBA.” Got her back, Zach thought.

  “Typical male attention deficit disorder!” Indignant, Barb turned and smiled to herself. Don’t think I fell for that distraction routine, buddy. I just got tired of watching you squirm.

  Chapter 20

  October 10

  FBI Headquarters

  “Zach, assuming there is someone who is Custos and who did in fact kill both Zimmer and Paige, I think we’re missing an opportunity in the investigation?”

  “Meaning?” Zach wondered where Barb was going with this.

  “I know what you think of profiling. You call the Behavioral Science Unit ‘profile in discourage.’ I’ll have to give you three points for that word play on John Kennedy’s book Profile in Courage — downright clever,” Barb offered. She really wanted something.

  She went on, “But, we’re going to be criticized if we don’t use all the resources available to us. Let’s get some feedback from the BSU folks on the little data we have gleaned on Custos. They may even be helpful in telling whether Custos was a player in either Zimmer’s or Paige’s death.”

  “I know I should be all alpha-male and emphatically reject the idea, but thanks for looking out for us. You are right, Barb. We have to look at all information available, as well as different perspectives. Can’t hurt anything but my pride.”

  “Sometimes you amaze me, Zach. You feeling all right?”

  “Yeah, thanks. My usual reservations as a footnote of protest. Psychology is a science dedicated to applying rationality to the irrational, for starters. That premise alone doesn’t bode well. Then, there is the academic disclaimer. The BSU will be the first to tell you every serial criminal case is different. Talk about playing under protest. Wiggle room? I think so! But mark my words. Prepare the horoscopes and tarot cards. Get ready for the psychobabble and cliches. If the word loner is not in their first twenty-five words of the profile, I’ll drink your coffee!”

  Chapter 21

  October 16

  FBI Headquarters

  Zach read the BSU profile on Custos: “Deeply conflicted young adult seeking a mother’s love denied him in childhood. Megalomaniacal tendencies manifest in his grandiose prescriptions for national order and obsessive need to control. Likely shy, anti-social loner. Well-educated. Considers himself a superior intellect. Looks down on power figures. Fixation on food to compensate for absent mother’s love. Likely addicted to alcohol or drugs. Sociopathic personality shown in creative criminal planning. Elusiveness coupled with occasional elements of flamboyance show ambivalence to being caught. Likely law enforcement or military background.”

  “Twenty-seventh word!”

  “Zach, what are you talking about?”

  “Just got the BSU profile back on Custos. Twenty-seventh word is loner. I was close to right, but you win the bet… Get me some coffee, Barb.”

  “Zach, I think that’s what you jocks call a gimme. I was prepared to give you that one. Very righteous of you not to beg off your commitment. You called it very closely, but you did bet. I’ll get the coffee. Don’t worry about my putting something in it. Don’t give it thought. Why would I hold a grudge? I was never so humiliated in all my life.” She walked away with a devilish grin.

  Chapter 22

  October 19

  CIA Safe House

  “I see Beau brought the embargoed Cohibas. Gentlemen, I brought something new to sample: Tyrconnell ten-year-old single-malt Irish whiskey. I’m told it has hints of oak and orange. I can’t wait!” pronounced Congressman John McClain at the Friday card game.

  “So what lobbyist
gave that to you?” Director of the FBI Sam Vincent grinned. “Don’t tell me; I don’t want to know.”

  “Sam, you are a wise man. Truth be told, it was from a friend who runs one of those start-up internet companies.”

  Jesus could not resist. “Beware of geeks bearing gifts.”

  “I think the geek should watch out for John,” General Nate Brown tossed in. He aimed his unlit cigar at John. “It’s not personal… I love you, man.”

  “Just to be fair, I guess I should be ripping on Beau’s receiving the embargoed Cohibas,” John focused attention on someone else.

  “John, I hate to admit it, but it is the same thing. We’re both embarrassed by the leave-behinds, and dissipate that guilt by giving the items away… I still don’t know who leaves these damn cigars.” Beau shook his head in puzzlement. “I have an idea…”

  “If you find out, thank him or her,” Sam added.

  “Don’t find out!” Nate extended the topic. “Just keep those Cohibas coming. Viva Cuba!”

  Beau reacted with a grin, “I appreciate all the good advice… I was wondering, Nate, as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, you own Naval Base Guantanamo Bay, don’t you? Last I looked, it was in Cuba.”

  “I’ll take the fifth — the fifth of that Tyrconnell Irish whiskey,” Nate dodged the implication.

  “With footwork like that, Nate, you could go on ‘Dancing with the Stars’ — or join the next session of Congress,” John offered in admiration.

  “He’ll have to work on another part of the job description for Congress, John,” Beau set himself up.

  “What’s that?” John bit.

  “Pandering,” Beau joked. He had the final word on the Cohibas, “At least with Jesus here, you can’t say anyone is blowing smoke.” Jesus had remained adamant in opposing lighting of the cigars — by word and facial expression.

  Jesus took the “green barb” and regained composure. “… one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind… My deal?”