The Perfect Teacher Page 4

  "Jesus." Seibel couldn't help himself.

  "What?"

  "You have to do that?"

  "What do you mean? I'm just standing here waiting for whatever you wanted to talk to me about." It was eerily close to Seibel's voice.

  Seibel turned around. Seemed like a continuation of the cleansing motion. He took a deep breath and spoke, looking away from Preacher and shaking his head. "Such an asshole. You can't seem to help yourself."

  "Something about stripes, or spots, can't remember for sure," Preacher spoke to the back of Seibel's head. "You can't really change something. It is what it is. An old guy told me that a number of years ago."

  "One can put on camouflage or take on temporary characteristics, but the fundamental nature never changes." Seibel added.

  "That's it." Preacher laughed. "Then you added, 'the tiger can cover his stripes with the leopard's spots, but the tiger remains the same underneath."

  "Yep. You never change. And that's what I need, what we need." Seibel turned around slowly.

  "Uh-huh. So let me take a wild guess, you didn't bring me here to talk about Broley and his investigations."

  Seibel gave Preacher a thumbs-up. "Bingo."

  "Yep, knew it."

  "You've been off on your own the last year and a half, nearly two years really. No one has been after you, pushing you to get back in the game."

  "I am out of the game. Your game, at least." Preacher's turn to slowly spin around, away from Seibel. He knew this day was coming. They wouldn't leave him alone forever. And it didn't take much imagination to guess why they called him in now. He looked out at the trees surrounding all sides. It was nice here in these foothills, but he'd rather be up in the mountains. Couldn't seem to stay up there. Life kept calling him down. "Embassy bombings, right?"

  "Correct again." Seibel answered. "Something happening here we haven't seen before."

  "No, its all been done before. Nothing new under sun; just new versions. I'm sure everyone at Langley is scrambling to find out what they can about al Qaeda."

  Seibel paused for a moment, then came a wry smile. "You've heard about them?" The elder spook answered his own question. "Of course you have."

  "I read." Preacher closed his eyes and shot up five miles to look down on the available horizon. The first time he read the words al Qaeda several years earlier, Lance knew he would be brought in. Just a matter of time. He took it upon himself to begin gathering and synthesizing any information he could find. There wasn't much out there. Looking down on the eastern United States and the Atlantic, he felt the tug to leave, to run, to go find her.

  But he did none of those.

  "You read the book by that young British journalist?" Preacher asked.

  "Not yet."

  "Guy dug into Ramzi Yousef after the World Trade Center bombing and found a Saudi dude named Osama bin Laden funding it all. And now that same dude is claiming responsibility for two truck bombs that killed hundreds at our embassies in Kenya and Tanzania. Funny."

  "How's that funny?" Seibel asked.

  "How I can't seem to get away from nasty little bombers."

  "One of your special skills." Seibel stepped over beside Preacher. "Those nasty things and the people who build them and place them where they can do the most harm."

  Lance turned back to Seibel. He came back down from the heavens when he opened his eyes. "You guys want me to track down the bombers?"

  Seibel smiled. It was that same smile; the one that spread across his face back in Dallas a decade ago when 21-year-old Lance Priest put a gun to Seibel's head. Some parents take such joy, such satisfaction when their children achieve happiness in the world. Seibel, on the other hand, the darker hand, felt a sweeping sense of delight when the children he brought into this shadow world perform the most dastardly and heinous deeds on behalf of their country. The necessary work.

  The old man smiled now because he could tell Preacher was about to return to the world of chaos and bring with him his unique brand of destruction. People were going to die. Bad people.

  "No, we don't want you to just track down the embassy bombers. We want you to hunt and kill them. Every one of them. Your choice whether you start or end with bin Laden."

  They both turned to the sound of approaching footsteps coming down the path from the cabin. It was Wyrick. He came into the clearing and walked toward them. He held a steaming cup of coffee. Pretty good job carrying that thing down the hill and not spilling the whole cup. After taking a sip, he called out, "What did he say?"

  Seibel turned back to Lance. "Haven't heard an answer yet. I think we were just getting to that part."

  Wyrick approached, stopping about fifteen feet in front of them. He took a deep breath and looked around. "Just damn nice out here. Always good to get out of the city."

  "You need to get out here more often." Seibel replied. Preacher cracked up, shaking his head while he laughed.

  "Do share," Wyrick said.

  "Just a couple old friends and a youngster out in the sticks. Looks like a right nice scene."

  "You looking at this nice scene right now from up there?" Wyrick smiled and took another sip.

  "Nope. I'm right here laughing at the both of you."

  Seibel took a deep breath. "Not everything is a conspiracy Lance. Sometimes it is indeed right nice to be out in nature with a few folks you've spent quite a bit of time with over the years."

  "Absolutely. And be sure you ask one of them to go out in the world and hunt some terrorists."

  "And kill them." Seibel added.

  Wyrick butted in, "but not just you."

  Lance didn't have to think to hard for the answer to this little riddle. "I'm going to have a traveling partner?"

  "Yep," Wyrick answered. "A good one."

  "Guessing Foxy has already agreed to play along." Lance used the team's operational nickname for Fuchs.

  "He has. He, and Frank and I, are just waiting to hear whether you're in or not." Seibel sighed and took a deep breath.

  "You guys know I have other projects working and I'm kind of out of the game now." Lance turned back to the tree line. "You weren't going to ask me to do this stuff anymore, remember?"

  "I don't recall anyone saying anything of the sort." Seibel turned to Wyrick. "Frank, did you make a deal with him I'm not aware of?"

  "Nope. I recall thanking our young hero here after his actions in D.C. and then saying something about leaving him alone for at least six months. That was what, two years ago?" Wyrick took another sip from his mug. "Since then, the occasional phone call or request for information or access. And all along letting him do his cartel shoot em' up thing south of the border."

  Lance spun around. "You know about that? I thought I was being pretty slick and all off the books like."

  Seibel chuckled. "Didn't take much effort piecing together the stories about a gringo ghost wandering through ol' Mexico taking out drug cartel leaders and creating one hell of an ugly vacuum down there. Figured it all stemmed from your week in Juarez."

  "How does $2.5 million sound?" Wyrick asked, cutting to the chase.

  Lance turned slowly from Seibel to Wyrick. "Sounds like a lot if you're referring to cash."

  "Whatever this war chest you're building with the cartels, we can add two and a half million to the pot." Wyrick added.

  "So you're just coming right out and offering me cash for this gig?"

  Seibel's turn. "We just want to pay for a job well done. Maybe a little extra in there as appreciation for your previous work."

  "Man, times have changed. So this is what it feels like to be an asset, a gun for hire. I guess I am really out."

  "No, no. Don't take it like that." Wyrick suddenly poured out the remaining coffee in his mug. He tossed the liquid over to his right.

  Lance didn't like it. Wasn't right.

  Within the next second, Lance burst to his left, pivoted, dove and rolled and came up directly at Seibel. In continuing action, he grabbed Seibel's jack lapel, spu
n and flung the older man right at Wyrick.

  "Hey!" Was all Wyrick could get out as Seibel slammed into him with Lance right there with them.

  Preacher reached out and grasped Wyrick's sweater and violently spun and yanked him in close. The result of the explosion of movement was Lance standing between Seibel and Wyrick with each man's face just inches from his own.

  "How many ways could I kill you right now Frank?" Preacher whispered before turning to Seibel without waiting for an answer. "Geoffrey, I don't know what kind of operation you are running here, but there is a gun pointed at me right now."

  "Jesus Preacher, what the hell-" Seibel tried to pull away. No way.

  "That's my line. What the hell is a rifle doing pointed at my head?" Preacher looked up the hillside. He blinked his eyes and shot up to 1,000 feet to look down on the low mountain hillside. He could see six good places for a sniper to be positioned for a good shot down in the meadow.

  "It's Fuchs. He's got us in his scope right now doesn't he?" Preacher whispered and he slowly turned the three of them. Wyrick tugged to pull away but Preacher had them in a tight vice.

  "Lance," Wyrick eased the muscles in his arms and shoulders to try to calm the situation. "There's no gun. Calm down."

  Preacher continued to turn them all slightly, glancing up the hill. "So if I turn this job down I get a bullet through the head? Nice. Times they have changed for sure."

  "Christ. You really might be insane." Seibel shook his head. "Have you friggin' lost it?"

  "Never had it." Lance whispered as he pulled them both closer and turned the three of them slightly.

  "Just calm down Lance" Wyrick pleaded. "And to be very clear here, you did not turn down the assignment. We were just talking financing and you freaked out when I dumped my coffee."

  "Not a natural move. A signal if there ever was one." He whispered while scanning the hillside.

  "My boy, why the hell would we take you out? You are the golden goose. No one like you," Seibel relaxed his body in an attempt to ease the situation. "Now, just relax. Let us go."

  Lance let go of their jackets and gave each a little shove. No smile on his face now. "Five million. I'll give you six months. I'm only a little insulted you're asking me to go on a hunt and kill mission. You could send any field asset on an assignment like that. So that means you'll tell me what the real mission is somewhere along the way." Lance backed away from the two of them looking up the hill. He quickly turned and bolted for the tree line. Once there he turned around, "I've got a project I'm wrapping up. I can move on to this one in a couple of weeks."

  He stepped behind an oak and was gone into the woods.

  Seibel and Wyrick just watched him go. After a few seconds of head shaking, Wyrick turned to Seibel. He saw the smile on Seibel's face and sighed. "What the hell was that?"

  Seibel just shook his head and continued to smile.

  Wyrick wasn't in the mood for games. "Come on, man. Do we think the mad genius finally cracked or what? You saw what I saw right there."

  Seibel turned to Wyrick and took a deep breath. "Can you believe that punk son of a bitch still amazes me every time I see him? Every single time, never fails."

  "By freaking out and being paranoid? I'm not kidding. I think he might have finally tipped over that edge he has been dancing on his whole life."

  "Frank, I saw what you saw." Seibel turned back to the woods and the direction Lance went.

  "I throw out my coffee and he goes berserk. Yes, I saw that."

  "No. What you saw is a friggin' animal with senses that the vast majority of humans walking around on this globe don't possess."

  Wyrick took a couple of paces forward. "What are you saying?"

  "He thought, he felt, a gun pointed at him." Seibel spoke toward the woods beyond the clearing.

  Took a little bit, but realization finally came to Wyrick's eyes. He sighed again. "And you're going to tell me he did."

  "Bingo." Seibel turned back to his oldest acquaintance in his life's work. Even now, nearly four decades into their relationship, neither considered the other a friend. They were close, but not like friends. "Fuchs had his head in crosshairs."

  "Why? You just told him we need him."

  "Playing it safe. I honestly didn't know what to expect from him this time. Not out of the realm of possibility for him to want to harm you and I; kill us for what we have put him through. For what we're asking him to do."

  Wyrick dropped his head. "What you put him through." He turned back in the direction of the path up the hill. "And you really think Fuchs could have taken him out before he killed you or both of us? Hell he could have done that at any point last night or really any time he feels like it. That's the life we live while he's in the world."

  Seibel chuckled. "I think I signed my own death certificate that first day in Dallas. Still just waiting for him to pull the trigger of that 22 at my temple."

  Wyrick started to walk away. Seibel waited a couple of seconds and started after him. They stopped when a low voice spoke from the opposite side of the clearing from the direction Lance departed.

  "Are you sure it was my forehead in the crosshairs and not yours old man?"

  Chapter 8

  Broley pushed back from the table. He was more than a little astounded by the treasure trove of information spread out before him. It was all here. Names, dates, places, cover identities, operation leads, reports, field notes. All of it.

  He looked up from the four file folders and smiled at Abbie. "My god. How?"

  Abbie smiled back at him. "I couldn't believe what I'd found either. They forgot."

  "What?"

  "They missed this."

  "Who?"

  "Whoever attempted to hide it all; tried to erase everything."

  Broley shook his head as he read just one of the hundreds of documents before him. "Holy heck. This might be smoking gun material." He held up the page to Abbie. "Date, time, place, players; this one field report puts agency resources there. This is Vienna 1988. One of those white whales I've been tracking for years."

  "Yep. One of the ten in your blue book." Abbie nodded.

  Broley removed his glasses from the bridge of his nose and let them fall down to his chest where the thin strap around his neck held them. He closed his eyes and rubbed the spot on his nose there the classes sat. He squeezed his eyes closed tightly.

  Abbie had seen him do this a couple thousand times over nearly three years. She guessed he's done it maybe million times over his 40-plus years at the agency. A lot of nose rubbing.

  "Ok. I've asked the 'what' and the 'who.' Now I'll ask how. How did you do it?" Broley raised the reading bifocals back up to his eyes and looked from the table up to Abbie.

  "Evelyn."

  "Breedlove?"

  "Yep. She came through with these files earlier today." Abbie sat back in her chair. "Only took her eleven months to find them."

  "Eleven months? How's that?"

  "I first asked Evelyn last year about a series of files I believed had gone missing. You recall, after we came across those recordings from Vienna?"

  Broley had to think for a few seconds. "Yes, that German industrial magnate; the one whose businesses were all broken up a decade ago."

  Abbie nodded. "That's it. Absolutely no record of that individual or any operation related to him anywhere in any files and then we come across the audio files. So I got with Evelyn about it," Abbie leaned forward and picked up one of the files. "She started looking for anything related and finally came up with these."

  "Amazing." Broley flipped over a sheet of paper to look at the backside. He read a few lines. "Did she say where she found all this?"

  "An offsite storage facility."

  "Offsite?" Broley's turn to sit back. He rubbed his labret, that little plot of skin between the lower lip and the chin, with his forefinger. Abbie had seen this more than a few times as well. Sure sign that the old man was thinking. "I didn't think Evelyn had a storage facility offsite."r />
  Abbie nodded her head. "First I'd heard of it."

  "Didn't happen to say where this storage facility is did she?"

  "Nope. And I did ask."

  "And did she happen to mention why it took eleven months to find this wonderful stuff?" Broley smiled as he asked this last question. Even winked a little. The most experienced auditor at the CIA, with a solid lifetime of experience in the ways and means and proclivities of the place knew a scam when he encountered one. He didn't mention anything to Abbie, but Broley also knew when Seibel was working him.

  Broley hated to see the old master go when he was unceremoniously ushered out of the agency. And he didn't like being a key part of the process that discovered Seibel's huge blind spot - a Chinese mole. He still didn't understand how Seibel missed it. But then again, everyone else did. Braden hid in plain sight for two decades. Broley interacted with the Special Activities Division shrink dozens of times during his tenure. Guy never gave off even the slightest wrinkle, the tiniest scrap. It was Broley's job to find anything - anything - out of place and lead others to take action. He needed to do that now.

  "We'll need to go see Mr. Wyrick again." He muttered.

  "Yep." Abbie already reached that conclusion. "He's the closest thing we have to Seibel nowadays, correct?"

  Broley looked up from the bountiful spread of papers and files. Maybe, just maybe, he did indeed finally have someone he could pass his baton. Maybe.

  Chapter 9

  "Abbie Ross." She picked up her desk phone handset and answered after three rings.

  She listened to the voice talking at the other end for 20 seconds.

  "Yes." She said somewhat hesitantly.

  Another few seconds of listening.

  "Of course. I'll be there in a few minutes."

  Now, this was good. Consider the pot officially stirred, maybe even the solid rocket boosters lit. An invitation to come up to the seventh floor at Langley meant only one thing - people were watching. Important people.