The Perfect Teacher Read online

  And that led to only one conclusion. She and Broley were getting close. Whoever was protecting the serial killer mystery woman was getting nervous.

  She spun around in her chair and leapt up, grabbed her suit jacket and her notepad and hurried out of the tiny office she shared with Broley. A cubicle wall separated them.

  Interesting that the call from the higher ups came when Broley was out of the office. They obviously didn't want Abbie telling the old curmudgeon about the call or where she was headed. Old fella would have likely wanted, scratch that, demanded to tag along.

  Protocol was undoubtedly being bent if not just plain broken with this telephonic summons. Staff members of the Office of the Inspector General, while still employees of the CIA, operated under a clearly delineated and separate hierarchical structure than other agency divisions. Set up in 1989 after Congress was more than a little fed up with a steady stream of debacles and blatantly illegal projects coordinated by the CIA, the OIG was created to put in place a permanent layer of independent oversight. OIG staff interacted with other departments every day, but their job was to keep a close eye, ask questions, pry and hold people accountable when things went wrong or foul of the law.

  Abbie was hired as an auditor when she surprised basically everyone she knew by leaving a fantastic job with unlimited potential at one of the behemoth accounting firms three years ago to join the CIA. Most folks thought she could essentially write her own ticket when she graduated the University of Virginia School of Law three years after earning an accounting degree from North Carolina.

  She had her reasons for the abrupt change in career path.

  Abbie stepped into an elevator with two other women and a man. They each held their badges out to a card reader next to the elevator floor buttons. The other riders got off at floors on the way up. The gentleman gave her a distinct look as he stepped off on the sixth floor. His gaze held a little envy for someone getting to go up to seven.

  She stepped out when the doors opened on the top floor. A security guard seated behind a desk nodded at her as she walked past. The guy obviously knew she was coming up to this ultra-secure floor.

  She walked down a hallway to an open door on the right, entered and found two people seated at a long conference table. A man and a woman.

  "Forensic accounting." The woman said as Abbie walked in. She had a thick manila folder in her hands.

  Abbie walked toward them and stood a few feet away. "Yes."

  "Pretty finite undergrad choice." She added.

  "Fun with numbers." Abbie responded.

  The woman, number three at the agency, turned to the other gentleman. It was Wyrick. "Did you know this about her?"

  Wyrick looked up at Abbie, smiled and motioned to a chair. "Please, have a seat."

  "I'm sorry. Forgive my rudeness Ms. Ross. I was wrapped up in some good reading."

  "No apologies necessary ma'am. I'm glad to answer anything about my educational history." Abbie smiled and took a seat. "I am interested in what else is in there. That looks like a pretty thick file."

  CIA Number 3 closed the file folder and put it on the table. "Oh no. I've seen much, much thicker. But of course, reviewing your personnel file is not why we're here."

  "Of course." She replied.

  "Frank, why don't you go ahead?"

  "Sure, glad to." Wyrick cleared his throat and leaned slightly forward. "Ok if I call you Abbie?"

  "Absolutely. Please."

  "Great." Wyrick smiled broadly. "Abbie, what the hell are you and Broley working on?"

  Shock. Her face undoubtedly showed it.

  "I," she stammered.

  "I know, you can't tell us. You're not authorized to disclose per OIG regulations. I get it. But since you joined his team after six months in financial auditing, bells and sirens have been going off. Genuine concerns have been raised."

  She recovered from the initial blow. "What do you mean bells and sirens?"

  Wyrick nodded. A reassuring gesture. "You are only doing your job, correct?"

  "Yes. Correct." She replied.

  "Does that job include getting people killed?"

  "Hold on Frank," Number 3 raised her hands. "No one is trying to hurt anyone here."

  "Why am I here?" Abbie was fully recovered from the initial shock and ready to go on the offensive.

  "We just wanted to ask you a few questions." Wyrick responded.

  "That's not how it works. We ask the questions." She leaned forward. "And why am I here without Mr. Broley. He is my direct supervisor, my superior."

  Wyrick's turn to lean forward a little more. "Cafford Broley is a good man and a fine auditor. But in nearly four decades, he never caused the ripples and waves that you two have in the past two years."

  "We are simply doing our job."

  "And what is that, exactly? Please be very clear on this point." Wyrick demanded.

  "Audit, inspect and investigate." Abbie was bowing up. Shoulders square. Neck straight. Eyes direct and locked on. No flitting about the room.

  "Ok, ok. Let's just take a moment and a few breaths. Dang, this escalated quickly." Agency Number 3 moved her hands outward like she was smoothing a sheet on a bed. The international sign for 'let's all cool our jets.'

  Wyrick sat back. "Apologize for my frankness. I hope my enthusiasm on this doesn't offend you."

  "Not at all Director Wyrick. I appreciate your strong feelings about your work. I just hope you appreciate my position."

  "Of course. It's just," Wyrick trailed off and looked out the window for a moment. "It's just that digging into certain dark and dangerous places could potentially expose extremely necessary secrets. We are talking exceedingly unsafe stuff here. Dangerous. People's lives hang in the balance."

  "Our goal is never to divulge or expose confidential information regarding agency resources, unless someone involved has committed actual or potential criminal actions. Then we are required by statute to take action."

  Wyrick smiled. "Oh, to be clear, we are talking about way past potentially criminal actions here. Some of the information you have been delving into, especially over the past three months, involves despicable, unspeakable criminal activities committed by members of our team." Wyrick was calm and serene now. "If you can imagine it, no matter how bad, how ugly, we have done it. And most of it is one hundred percent illegal. Has to be."

  Abbie looked from Wyrick to Number 3 and back. "How illegal are we talking?"

  "Tie a noose, pull the hammer back on the pistol, run the hot water in the bath and grab some razor blades. That kind of illegal." Wyrick was a bit detached. He was so calm and cool now.

  Abbie couldn't help it. She just shook her head.

  "I don't understand. Why are you telling me this?" She looked Wyrick square in the eye.

  "Because you need to know what you are up against here."

  And that was it. Took a few minutes to get here, but no worries, here comes the threat. "And what is that?"

  Wyrick turned from Abbie to his superior. Didn't say a word.

  "Abbie," The deputy director of the CIA was very deliberate and clear in her delivery. "We want you to seriously consider making a career move."

  Chapter 10

  Neil was out of breath but not giving up. He was way outclassed by his running partner. Abbie was in marathon shape. Neil was in decent shape, but could maybe make it through a 5k without stopping, a 10k without puking. Maybe.

  He was trying his damndest to keep up. But Abbie was on a tear. Neil definitely didn't know what he was in for when he agreed the evening before to join her for a run this nice crisp fall morning in Washington, D.C. He could tell something was going on. Her voice on the phone last night was not quite right. Her greeting this morning was next to nothing.

  Best guess - work related.

  Right about now, he kind of wished she had gotten out of her system last night whatever was bothering her and not take it out on him like this. As they entered the Constitution Gardens park area along
the National Mall, just north of the Reflecting Pond, Abbie looked back and saw Neil lagging behind a hundred feet or so. Even though this was only 4.5 miles into her run, she slowed and then stopped. He caught up to her in a few seconds and was quite pleased to stop.

  She smiled and hunched her shoulders sheepishly. "Sorry."

  Neil bent over and put his hands on his knees and took in a few deep breaths before coming back up. "For what?"

  "I think maybe I've been pushing a little hard. Not sure I've been a great running partner today."

  "No, no, you've been great. Very inspiring trying to keep up with you." He smiled through pain.

  Abbie shook her head and looked back toward the Washington Monument poking up through the morning. "Let's walk for a bit. I need to talk."

  That brought Neil straight up. "Whoa, we need to talk?" He even brought his hands up like he had a gun pointed at him.

  Abbie cracked up. "No. We don't need to talk. I need to talk. And I need someone to listen. I need you to listen."

  "Whew, just as long as we don't need to talk. I thought we were all good. New York next week and all." Neil kept a smirk on his face.

  "We walk. I talk. You listen." Abbie turned and started off. He jumped to and skipped a couple of times to catch up. Obviously thrilled the running was over, for a bit at least.

  "I'm all ears. Hit it."

  "You understand I can't talk about my work, correct?"

  "Correct. Hush, hush. CIA stuff."

  "You know I'm not a spy though, right?"

  "I know no such thing. You may be a world-class spy; one of the greatest. I'm totally cool with that." Neil said it like he was serious. "Kinda cool."

  "I work for the CIA. That's all I'm allowed to say. What I do I can't discuss." Abbie actually was serious.

  "Got it. Seriously. I understand you're job requires you to be confidential. I would expect nothing less from an employee of the Central Intelligence Agency. I've already told you I won't pry into your work. I just enjoy spending time with you."

  "Thanks. I appreciate your understanding."

  "And I too appreciate you not asking me about my work." Neil added.

  "Absolutely, absolutely. I only know you are a research analyst for the oil industry."

  "Petroleum industry; but hush, hush. Can't share any more than that." Neil raised his eyebrows to emphasize his facetious comment.

  "Ok, now that we're all clear, let me do a little talking." Abbie reached out her gloved hand and took Neil's. They looked at each other and shared a smile. "I've got a few friends, but I'm not comfortable sharing things with most of them. So, I'm looking for a sounding board here, after I'm done."

  "I'm listening. No more comments from me until you're done or until you ask for my feedback. Cool?"

  Abbie breathed out a large sigh. "I'm pretty sure that I'm about to be offered another job. A new job, still with the agency. It would probably, no, scratch that. It would definitely be a more exciting job. I would likely get to do things I've never done before." She smiled at him. An opening to respond.

  "Sounds interesting." Neil nodded, encouraging Abbie to go on.

  "I can't lie. I'm very interested in learning more about the opportunity. But, I can't help but think that a potential offer comes with the requirement that I stop working on the project I've been involved with for more than two years now." Abbie did an excellent job of talking around the topic she was really talking about. "What I'm working on is important. It could really do some good."

  The two of them walked on in silence for a time. They were on a path next to the pond in Constitution Park. A couple of geese holding out on heading south were perched next to the water. A jogger came up beside them and continued on. Neil was doing his job of patient listening. No pressure.

  "No doubt the new position would be important too. It would be something I've never done before. But moving would definitely leave things unfinished. I don't know if I can do that." Abbie let go of Neil's hand and brought gloved hands up to rub her face. She shook her head while her face was covered. She dropped her hands to her sides and turned to Neil. "What do you think?"

  He pursed his lips and thought for a few seconds before replying. "A few questions?"

  "Shoot."

  "How certain are you they are going to offer you this new position?"

  "Can't say, really. So I guess that means I'm not certain they will."

  "Ok. Do you know if this potential position is an upward move?"

  Abbie thought for a few before responding. "Nope."

  "If they did offer you this job and you said no, not right now, not yet. Do you think that means they would never offer it to you again?"

  She walked on in thought again and turned her head to him. "No. I don't know, but I don't get the sense this would be a one-time thing. These folks are definitely in it for the long run, the long game."

  "And one last question. It is the most simple but most important of them." Neil smiled.

  "Got it. Go ahead. Ask away."

  "Do you like your current job?"

  Abbie smiled. "Yes."

  "Sorry, one more follow-up question then."

  "Proceed councilor."

  "Do you love your job?"

  Abbie's turn to purse her lips. She followed this with a closed-mouth smile. "I do."

  "Well then. Case closed." Neil reached out and took Abbie's hand but she pulled it away. They stopped right there. Abbie brought her hands together so she could grab the fabric of the glove at the end of her fingers. She pulled the glove off and reached out and grasped Neil's hand with her bare hand. She squeezed it.

  "Thanks." She smiled and nodded.

  "You're welcome." He smiled back.

  They were about to continue walking but Abbie hesitated. "You know, this is probably a really good place and time for you to kiss me."

  Neil was going to say something smart and charming, but he recognized there's a time and place and stepped in close to her. She closed her eyes and bent her head up. He brought his lips to meet hers.

  Chapter 11

  Lance hung up the pay phone and turned away. Shook his head and started walking. Rod Stewart was singing with that raspy smoker's voice in his head.

  He didn't care for all these damn cameras. They were everywhere. They spied on the world from behind windows, above doors, from ATMs, perched on traffic light poles. Only good thing about most of them was the recording mechanism.

  For most, it was VCR tapes. These large cassettes were used to capture hours of video before switching to another tape machine and then back to the other after that tape was full. If he was captured on any camera, he could break into the establishment or come back the next day as a police officer and confiscate the tape.

  But some of these things were now capturing video and bringing moving images back to a central video tape deck that may be down in a basement, down the street or even across town. Networking was going to be a total pain in the rear for him.

  And then there was digital recording. Don't get him started on that new beast. CDs and DVDs were scary good at holding incredible amounts of data, visual data. Hours and hours of it.

  Digitizing was going to result in cameras on every street corner. He could see it and he despised it all. Took away all the fun of being a secret and silent killer.

  The phone call he just hung up from would undoubtedly require him to traipse across the visual recording field of several cameras to complete this mission. Then, like now, he'd have to wear some kind of get up to hide his face from the cameras.

  He stopped and leaned against the brick wall of a building. Thousands walked by on the busy sidewalk beside him. He watched a good many of them pass, tapping his toe on the concrete below keeping beat with Rod singing in his head. It was one of his classics. That one about getting caught up in a May-December love affair with an older woman.

  Of course, Lance wasn't just casually watching passing pedestrians. He had one in particular he was looking for, waiti
ng for. The first part of that phone call minutes earlier provided confirmation the individual he was tracking was indeed in town. He'd put off Seibel and Wyrick and Fuchs for weeks. Today was the start of a six-month assignment. A tidy $2.5 million order was placed for goods and services a fake company would never manufacture or deliver. Lance was pretty good at the money laundering game by now. Three years of raking in millions and millions in dirty drug money necessitated this new expertise.

  Leaning against a wall next to a busy sidewalk, beside a busy street, he let his mind wander for a few moments. He honestly didn't see himself back here, back in this game again. Yet, here he is. Couldn't just be the money. Had to be more than that. Those bombs that killed hundreds and blew up two US embassies in Africa were part of it. The new hidden war that the country was fighting against fundamental religious terrorists was part of it. His burgeoning and building plan for the future was definitely part of it.

  So mysterious. What are you up to?

  Bingo. The gentleman he'd been waiting on finally approached. Lance watched him walk casually down the street. He was nothing special. Couldn't tell him from any number of men hurriedly walking in a busy city district. He wore a nice suit, nice shoes. Expensive. But no more expensive than the shoes of dozens of men ahead and behind him. Manhattan equals money.

  The guy could be a stockbroker or a financial analyst or high-priced attorney or maybe the CEO of a start up firm. His features were Middle Eastern. But his attire, hair and sunglasses were all western. Could be from Mecca or Cairo or London or Philadelphia. He could be anything or anyone. But he was something very specific. And that's why Lance pushed off the brick wall he'd been leaning against and joined the flow of human pedestrian traffic.

  Lance was all tourist for this shindig. Ball cap, cheesy t-shirt, backpack, jeans and sneakers. Indistinguishable from a bunch of other visitors making their way around the big city. He stayed 30-feet behind the well dressed man ahead. He followed him from block to block. The guy made three turns along the way and j-walked twice. Lance had to stay on the other side of the street several times as they traversed nine city blocks.