The Perfect Teacher Read online

  He raised his eyebrows and tapped the table several times with his left index finger. "You are certain you will find credible, actionable information is these files?"

  Broley nodded, "We understand the weight of this request. Our ask is very specific. The select files we require access to pertain to very explicit operations."

  "I've read your requisition. I don't know the particulars of the operations you are looking into, but I understand it was a Seibel production. Caff, I don't have to tell you the rules, both written and unwritten, for this type of thing." The Inspector General turned to Abbie, "But I want to be very clear to you both that these are the most sensitive of sensitive matters. We're talking radioactive. We can't afford any missteps, any slips."

  The three of them looked at each other for several seconds. Broley busted the silence.

  "Your concerns are well founded and very clear. We will follow all standard protocols when gaining access. Nothing will enter the room with us and nothing will leave the review room. No notes will be taken." Broley spread his hands, palms up. "We wouldn't be making this request if we felt there was any other way to gather the information we believe is contained in those operation files."

  IG shook his head and looked out the window. Trees were changing out there. "I just love how this was escalated up to me." He continued to shake his head. "Don't know exactly why this came to my desk, but I can probably assume that others in the chain didn't want this on them."

  Broley removed the reading glasses from his nose and let them hang from his neck. He turned from the IG to his right hand associate. "Abbie, hate to do this, but do you mind if I ask you to give us a few minutes alone?"

  She sucked in her lips and nodded. "Absolutely, I understand." Abbie gathered her notebook from the table and stood. "Sir," she nodded to her boss's boss and turned for the door with a definite unhappy face.

  Abbie stepped out the door, closed it behind her and meandered over to a chair against the wall, across from the Inspector General's assistant. She didn't want to sit here and wait. Couldn't believe what just happened. She'd feel embarrassed once she got past the simmering anger. The smile on her face didn't hide it a bit.

  Chapter 13

  Transcript: 10.14.1998.

  Participants: (names redacted).

  Sub P1; P2.

  Begin: 10:17 a.m.

  P1: "I'm not naturally one to give in to hyperbole, but I simply must tell you that you are going to get yourself killed."

  P2: "I've been doing this a long time. Been threatened a number of times. Still here."

  P1: "I'm not talking about a mere threat to your life. I'm very specifically saying if you continue down this path, you will bring about the end of your life and others. This is very serious. Some things are beyond my control, beyond anyone's control. Seibel was and is beyond anyone's control."

  P2:"I appreciate your concern. I do."

  P1: "It's not just you. You involved her in this. I know she is very good, very talented. But you both are moving into dangerous, extremely dangerous territory here. Again, I am not exaggerating. We are talking death. Could be a car accident, a mugging, a slip and fall in the shower."

  No reply.

  P1: "I can offer you no protection. The rules are very clear here. Any digging into certain Seibel operations, no matter how old or insignificant, will result in consequences."

  P2: "He's been gone for four years now."

  P1: "These rules have no expiration date, no sunset. His reach into the agency goes deeper than any of us know. Wyrick is the tip of the iceberg. The secrets Seibel wants kept are as important as any state secret, maybe more important because of what he and his descendents are willing to do to protect them."

  P2: "I only have one job here. It is all I have done for 40 years."

  P1: "No one doubts your intent Caff. No one ever will. But this..."

  P2: "This is different, I know."

  P1: "This is not smart. It is not safe. I have to tell you I'm nervous as hell just having this conversation. Seibel did the most amazing things for this agency and this country for decades. He and his band of misfits and thieves and killers saved countless lives and undoubtedly ended countless others."

  P2: "Not countless. They can be counted."

  P1: "I know, your job. But just as he did wonderful things, Seibel and his teams committed horrible, unspeakable acts. Much of it undoubtedly illegal. And you digging into it for auditing purposes is..."

  P2: "What?"

  P1: "Crazy. It is crazy and careless and I don't really know what you are hoping to achieve."

  P2: "I'm hoping to do my job."

  P1: "I hope you don't get yourself and others killed."

  P2: "I understand. Do I have your approval to proceed?"

  Silence.

  P1: "You have my approval. I have stated my concerns. Please, please be careful."

  End: 10:21 a.m.

  Chapter 14

  She focused on the work.

  The politics and positioning and misdirection and puffery were just noise. Abbie had two-plus years invested in this extended project.

  This hunt for a killer.

  Broley told her on day one that he was looking toward the horizon. That first day she was presented with the opportunity to work with the old guy, he was right up front with his plans to call it quits in a couple of years.

  Abbie had no time for flattery. Didn't care for it. Being offered the opportunity to work with Broley was an important career move; definitely an advancement. She was told so by a number of her OIG peers, many of them envious. Working with ol' man Broley on his special projects meant long hours, deep dives into seemingly trivial material and absolutely no thanks. Completely thankless.

  No problem.

  She was up for it. Needed it. The challenge.

  Her heart raced for a moment as she thought about leaving this work behind.

  Back at her desk, she could push the rest of the world away. She and Broley worked in an ultra-secure area. Four electronically locked doors, metal detectors, fingerprint scan requirements and a couple other surprises for anyone thinking of popping in. Nobody did.

  After closing her eyes and cleansing her mind of the meeting in the IG's office, she opened them and lowered her head to read the words on the piece of paper on the top of the short stack on her desk. These documents were part of the secret treasure unearthed recently.

  She'd already pieced together a good bit of Vienna. The cast of players came together nicely. The German multi-millionaire business owner, executives for his many businesses in Austria, Germany, Poland, Russia and Italy, extensive security details, and the mystery woman. The details in the new files began to fill in the holes.

  Abbie was nearly certain this mysterious woman was the killer Broley had been tracking for a decade.

  She evidently showed up just over a decade ago in early 1988. The mysterious figure, a young woman maybe 24 or 25, attractive but not too, had no known identity. There wasn't even a name to work with. Abbie was the first to discover her. She showed up in interview notes taken during a session with a former bodyguard for the German industrialist. Vienna police brought the dude in for questioning. They had the former bodyguard cold on a credit card theft case. During his recital of the facts of the previous couple of years of questionable activity, he told a little story about a young woman moving in and moving on his German boss.

  The mystery girl disappeared the same night two executives of one of the German magnate's companies were murdered execution-style with a bullet through each of their heads. The bodyguard placed the woman at the German's Vienna apartment that night. Then she was gone. Gone. Vanished. Without a trace. Never seen or heard from again.

  His employment with the German ended a week or so later. During that week after the night of the executions, the bodyguard was certain he saw a change in his employer's demeanor. He was positive the guy was shaken, different. Something the mystery woman did shook the old guy to his core. Nothing e
ver happened with the murders of the two executives. They were cold as ice cases with no leads. The German business owner was no help in the matter. He told the police he had no idea who could have killed his two executive employees.

  This is how it works.

  Broley, or in this case, Abbie dug through seemingly unrelated files and endless mountains of data to maybe one day find a grain, a sliver, a peek into anything that possibly looks like something. Abbie found the reference to the mystery woman. It was nothing, really. But in the game of auditing CIA operations, maybe.

  In two-plus years of her current gig, Abbie pieced together a puzzle that started with that first mention of little miss mystery. The unruly puzzle piece timeline she constructed backwards and forward from Vienna had a good many holes. But, it had enough to make it real. Real enough at least that Broley was willing to go to bat for her and venture forth on bended knee to the Inspector General to beg for access to the Holy Grail of secrets at the CIA.

  It wasn't but an hour or so after she first spotted the mystery woman and brought it to Broley that the old guy pulled the glasses from his face, squinched his eyes and muttered, "I don't know what it is, but something about this feels like Seibel."

  Abbie hadn't heard that name before. The other audit work she had been assigned or completed never involved anything as exotic as Seibel. "What does that mean?" She asked Broley.

  The ancient oracle of CIA auditing rubbed his forehead and opened his eyes. "It means there is more here than meets the eye. I can feel it."

  "You think this unknown female is an operative?"

  "I think so."

  Chapter 15

  "Al Fayez?"

  "Yes. The Jordanian fixer."

  "What about him?"

  "He was killed yesterday in New York."

  Wyrick leaned back in his chair. His office chair was nothing special and it was positioned behind a cheap six-foot folding table Wyrick used as his desk. The conference room he took over four years ago as a temporary base of operations became permanent. He just never purchased a real desk. So anyone stepping in, or standing in the doorway like CIA #2 was at present, got a view of Wyrick's pant legs, socks and shoes under the table.

  "How?"

  "Was made to look like a suicide. Guy had a broken elbow, head contusions, along with a slug through his head." CIA number two in succession leaned against the door casing.

  "Temple? Open mouth?"

  "Looks like it was under chin barrel placement."

  "Suspect? Witnesses?"

  "Nothing really. Someone thinks they remember a man on the elevator with al-Fayez. Security guard can't be sure."

  "Security camera footage?" Wyrick asked.

  "All taken. They hit the video recording closet and snatched all tapes."

  Wyrick turned in his chair. He had a decent view outside through a window in the corner of the conference room/office. "Sounds like a good hit. Messy, but nothing to follow."

  "NYPD is canvassing the area; grabbing up any video around the building." He stepped into the office a couple of paces. "Any ideas on who? Anybody on your team working al-Fayez? You know I have to ask because I'm going to get asked."

  "You got my memo, right?"

  "Last week, yes." Wyrick's superior nodded.

  "All operations and operatives have gone radio silent. We're in a strict no report mode as of Sunday. You won't be seeing or hearing from this team for at least six months." Wyrick was matter-of-fact with his dismissal.

  "So there is a chance al-Fayez was taken out by one of ours."

  No reply.

  "Only Account One for the next six months?"

  Wyrick nodded. No doubt this whole thing stung the guy second in charge of the entire CIA. But he knew the rules.

  "Guess I'll have to see if and when the DCIA wants to share anything with me from your reports to Account One." He began to turn for the door but stopped. He looked back at Wyrick, "Are you allowed to tell me if the members of the old band are all back together?"

  Wyrick smiled at the question. He stepped into a screwy situation when Seibel left and had to play catch up for a couple of years. His boss, the guy standing a few feet away from him now, was a big help along the way. He didn't like having to keep him in the dark. "I know what you're asking. I can report that almost all of the team members will be involved."

  "Then we're in good hands."

  "Yep. If you like those hands to be good at putting a bullet through a bad guy's head or strangling the life out of him."

  CIA #2 smiled at that and turned back to the door to leave.

  Wyrick got up from his lousy office chair and stepped over to the window. He would be reporting to Account One tomorrow on his team's progress on the al Qaeda front. He planned on telling them just enough to satisfy their need for results. Fuchs has been in the field for a month. Intel was coming in from resources throughout Europe, Asia and the Middle East. He would be out there himself in another week, personally overseeing an information gathering project in Syria.

  The trees were turning from green to glorious out there.

  He wouldn't be sharing anything about Preacher with Account One tomorrow. Just like he played dumb with his boss a few minutes earlier, he'd leave out any mention of the subject for now. Two of the three members of Account One, made up of the executive directors from the CIA, NSA and White House Office of Intelligence, were new to the ultra elite group. They didn't have in-depth knowledge of Preacher or his work. The CIA director, in his position for a decade now, knew all about the CIA's greatest, deadliest, perhaps most secret treasure. NSA and White House Intelligence only knew of Preacher's exploits from their predecessors. They wouldn't demand a Preacher update.

  So Wyrick wouldn't tell them that Lance was in New York yesterday, or that he tracked, isolated, murdered and covered up the killing of Mahmoud al-Fayez. The Jordanian fixer, a terrorist pimp is a more apt description, deserved a more painful death. Preacher taking out that particular resource was not actually part of Wyrick's initial plan, but he wasn't about to question Lance's actions or accelerated timeline.

  Because of that violent act, others linked to and dependent upon al-Fayez for connections and weapons and, most importantly, money from terrorist donors, would need to find another conduit. That is where Preacher will find his way into the spider web.

  And when he gets in there, a good many of those scurrying terrorists and terrorist wannabe bugs will meet their bitter and very painful end. Good.

  Chapter 16

  Abbie was admittedly a little distracted.

  She glanced at the wall and the calendar hanging there. It was a Wednesday. Nothing special about that. It would be followed by Thursday and then Friday and then a couple of days off before returning to work.

  The thing was, two days from now after work, she and Neil were going to meet at Union Station in D.C. and catch the train to New York City.

  She turned back from the calendar and concentrated on her keyboard. The document she was working on was the executive summary of the initial official report on their mystery woman. After weeks and months and years, Abbie assembled reams of information on the subject. She even had a name, or better, a few names. In Vienna and Paris and Trieste, she left a measly few breadcrumbs. But the crumbs led to mice, which led to rats, which invariably led to humans.

  Report Status: In-Progress

  Executive Summary: Draft

  Between 1986 and 1991, a female operative coordinated a number of elaborate operations in cities throughout Europe. Each of these distinct operations featured a similar theme. Each operation resulted in the destruction or significant reduction in effectiveness of existing KGB programs. In each coordinated attack, from Vienna to Paris to Trieste, individuals with KGB connections were murdered and significant revenue from each operation was removed. The female operative, known by different identities in each location, led each coordinated attack and immediately disappeared from each location after the disappearance of these significant
funds. A high degree of certainty exists linking the unknown female individual as an identity-unknown operative for the CIA Special Activities Division.

  Action Request:

  To determine and confirm the true identity of the female operative, the Office of the Inspector General requires access to SAD Fileset Delta H-L.

  The particulars on the pages following the executive summary go into the nitty gritty details Abbie uncovered during exhaustive reading through mounds and mounds of field reports, news articles, transcriptions of captured Russian audio transmissions and other materials. The mere fact she pulled all this together from such a mish mash of unconnected and convoluted source material was miracle stuff.

  Broley let her loose on it the year before when she knocked out assignments he gave her in minutes or hours so she could get back to work on the mystery woman lurking in disparate data points. She became a little obsessed with it, with her.

  Abbie came to admire and respect the operative dancing through the violent and nasty and destructive stories she compiled by piecing together snippets. The most amazing thing about the entire process was the fact that for someone so incredibly talented and dangerous, very little detail existed on the mystery female. Abbie could see it - the missing parts. Throughout the journey of assembling her hundreds of pages in notebooks on the subject matter, one thing she found time after time after time were the efforts to hide, to conceal, to remain a ghostly, indistinct figure. Nothing official existed to confirm anything she compiled over the past 22 months.

  She needed more. Both Abbie and Broley knew the answers were in those black files. Seibel's off-limits treasure trove of the deepest, darkest clandestine secret intel held the confirmation they needed.

  Abbie glanced up at the clock hanging on the wall opposite from the calendar. Almost 11:00 am. She needed to go. It would take her about 35 minutes to get out of the building, to her car, out on the road and over to her destination. She nodded to herself. It was an act of personal encouragement. She logged out of her computer, grabbed her purse and jacket and headed out.