Terminal Justice (30 page)

“I get your point, but getting fidgety doesn’t help,” Stephanie said rubbing her fingers together all the more. “You’re ready and I’m ready. That’s all that matters—”

Stephanie’s words were cut short by the entrance of CIA
director, Lawrence Bauman, and FBI director, Gus Padgett. She and Woody stood immediately.

“Good morning,” Bauman said good-naturedly. “Please sit down.”

Padgett took a seat to the side of Bauman’s large cherry desk, positioning his chair so that he could see the two agents as well as Bauman. “I understand you two have some information for us. Both Director Padgett and I are interested in tidying up this little mess, but I all the more. It doesn’t do our image any good to have people browsing through our computer files as if they’re walking through some five-and-dime store.”

“Understood, sir,” Stephanie replied smartly. “We have made some headway in the little time we’ve been afforded, and I think you’ll find what we have interesting.”

“Let’s hear it then.” Bauman waved a hand and leaned back in his chair. “My schedule is tight today, so cut to the chase.”

“Yes sir. Agent Summers and I reviewed the files that were copied and found that most of them dealt with satellite photos of Somalia, mostly Mogadishu and the surrounding areas. This puzzled us at first. We kept asking who would want photos of that region? It has no true strategic value; U.S. troops are no longer there; the Russians want nothing to do with the nation; we can think of no terrorist group that would find that information useful. The bottom line is that Somalia has nothing but violence, famine, and misery.”

“That was our first lead,” Woody added. “We wondered who would be interested in a country brought to its knees by hunger.”

“That’s the avenue we pursued,” Stephanie continued, the tempo of her words accelerating as her excitement increased. “Agent Summers suggested investigating some of the relief agencies working in the area. Dozens of them are there from all over the globe, but few possess the means to gain access to our system. Agent Summers did the preliminary work on the U.S.-based agencies; I did the investigative work on the foreign companies.”

“And what did you find?” Padgett asked.

Woody replied, “We found a likely candidate. Barringston Relief.”

“You’re joking,” Bauman snapped. “Doesn’t Archibald Barringston’s boy run that operation?”

“Why, yes,” Woody said, slightly stunned at the director’s knowledge.

“Archibald Barringston is a powerful man,” Bauman said stoutly. “He’s well connected with people on the hill, and even with the president himself. He’s a heavy contributor to senators and congressmen from both parties. If you implicate him, a great many people are going to get their feathers ruffled.”

“It’s not Archibald Barringston that concerns us, sir,” Woody replied. “It’s his son, or at least someone in his son’s employ. You see, Barringston Relief is the most active relief agency in the world. There’s hardly a country that doesn’t have someone from Barringston wandering around.”

“We found operations in Thailand, Cambodia, Bangladesh, India, South America, half of Africa, and even China.”

“China?” Bauman questioned.

“Yes sir. They have a group secretly working in some of the rural areas.”

“Gutsy,” Padgett said.

“Exactly,” Woody intoned. “And that’s why we suspect them. They often work on the fringes of the law. Not necessarily our law, but the laws of the countries in which they work. And there’s more. Barringston Relief is incredibly sophisticated in structure and in technology. They work closely with several universities to develop hybrid plants that grow quickly and mature with a minimum amount of water. They recruit researchers right out of the best colleges. They also have one of the most sophisticated computer systems being operated by a private firm. They own two Cray computers, which they bought shortly before the Cray company went belly up.”

“Do you know how expensive a Cray is?” Bauman asked in disbelief.

“I do, and I also know that several military complexes use them,” Woody said evenly. “These guys have money. Archibald Industries underwrites them, and they also raise millions of dollars annually through donations. Not only that, but they own several patents on agricultural products that generate substantial income.”

“Okay,” Bauman said. “So they have a sophisticated computer system. So does IBM, but that doesn’t make them our bad guys.”

“True, sir,” Stephanie jumped in. “But they have something else … or maybe I should say, someone else.”

“That’s right,” Woody interrupted. “They have two people on their staff who have the knowledge to orchestrate the computer break-in: Eileen Corbin and Raymond Reynolds. Reynolds is a former Defense Department programmer. He wrote some of the programs that we use in the FBI and that you use every day here at Langley. But Eileen Corbin is the most interesting. In the computer world she is considered a peripherals goddess. Her great love is the fabrication of hardware. She was written up by all the computer magazines, and computer manufacturers were offering her six-figure salaries. At the height of her career, she was arrested for hacking into the computers of major businesses, stealing accounting files, and selling them to other businesses planning hostile takeovers. She made a fortune before an accomplice turned state’s evidence. She spent six months in a white-collar prison. After her release, she went to work for Barringston Relief and has been there ever since. She is fully capable of creating a device that can ram so many codes into our computer entrance and recognition protocols that it grants access.”

Bauman rubbed his chin in thought and then looked at Padgett. “What do you think, Gus?”

“Interesting, but do we have evidence?” he replied. “It’s one thing to know that she is capable, and another thing to prove she’s culpable.”

“True,” Bauman replied. “Do you have enough evidence for an arrest?”

Woody lowered his head before he answered. He had been dreading this question. “No sir, I do not.”

“There’s more,” Stephanie interjected. “This goes beyond our own problems here at the CIA.”

“How do you mean?” Bauman asked, furrowing his brow.

“We know that Barringston, or one of his people, has the means, the motive, and opportunity to commit these intrusions,” Stephanie began. “We believe that such an act is in keeping with his method of operation. I told you that his group is active all over the world. Some of his people pop up in strange places. I spoke to some of our caseworkers overseas and discovered an interesting coincidence: Many disturbing events have happened when a Barringston Relief employee was around—a particular employee.”

“Oh?” Bauman said.

“One of our caseworkers in Cambodia saw and identified a man he had served with in the army rangers. He tried to speak to him, but the man refused to acknowledge his call. He disappeared into the crowd. Two days later, thirty political prisoners were aided in their escape from a Cambodian prison camp. Sixteen guards were killed in the escape.”

“I remember that,” Bauman said.

“According to witnesses, three Americans led the escape. Our agent thinks one of them was Roger Walczynske, his former army buddy.”

“Roger Walcz …” Padgett struggled with the name.

“Walczynske,” Stephanie offered. “I pulled his file. Exemplary service, including service in Somalia during the last famine. He was involved in the attempted capture of Mohammed Farah Aidid. He lost several friends in that operation. It made him bitter, and he left the army.”

“It made many people bitter,” Bauman said sternly. “I assume there’s more.”

“Yes, but being mindful of your schedule, let me say that this same man has been spotted two other times: at the killing of a drug lord in Colombia and at the attempted assassination of the leader of the Irish terrorist group the Silver Dawn. The last one failed.”

“If I recall,” Bauman said, “no one has heard from the Silver Dawn for a while. They’re just now becoming active again.”

“That’s correct, sir,” Stephanie agreed. “I should have said that the last one was only partially successful. The man was wounded severely, as were several of his lieutenants.”

Bauman looked at his watch, “I have to meet the president shortly, and he’ll ask me about all this, so give me a quick summary. What should I tell him?”

Stephanie didn’t hesitate. “Tell him that we believe that Barringston Relief is responsible for the intrusions into the CIA computers, and that they may be responsible for acts of terrorism against other countries.”

“But you can’t prove that,” Padgett said quickly.

“That’s why we would like to have permission to tap their phones and to recruit someone on the inside to gather information,” Woody said.

Padgett shook his head. “That’s a tall order. What you have told us makes sense, but I doubt you can convince a judge to give you a warrant to tap their phones. As for an infiltration, well, that’s risky business.”

“It’s all we have,” Woody said firmly.

Padgett and Bauman looked at each other. “All right,” Bauman said. “For my part, I’ll try to find a judge to convince. And infiltration? Just be careful, very careful. If what you say is true, then our actions may have repercussions around the world.”

“I know it’ll shake up the hill,” Bauman added. “The Barringstons have a great many friends. You had better make sure that you have all your ducks in a row, or this thing will blow up in our faces.”

“Understood,” Woody and Stephanie said simultaneously.

“Where did you get these?” Stephanie asked as she turned another page of the small sheaf of papers she held.

“Some questions are best not asked and even better not answered,” Woody replied with a wry grin. “Actually we did nothing untoward. Barringston Relief is a large corporation and as such must file certain documents with the government. The list you have was compiled by the IRS. Like every business with employees, Barringston Relief must file W-2 forms on each of its employees. All we did was obtain court permission to access those files.”

“There are hundreds of names here.” Stephanie sounded dismayed.

“There are, and as you can see by the dates next to the names, most of them have been on the payroll for a long time.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Could be,” Woody replied. “There may be a loyalty factor to consider here. The longer employees stay in a firm like this, the more they feel they have invested. Retirement, medical, position, and so on. But we’ve found one person who might be persuaded to help us. He arrived less than three months ago, he holds an executive position, and he possesses one other factor that could prove important: He’s a minister.”

“How do you know that?”

“We took a look at his previous tax forms. As you know, Form 1040 has a place for occupation.”

“You’re thinking that he will be open to our questions because of a strong sense of morality?”

“Exactly. It’s not a sure thing, but it couldn’t hurt.”

“I’m not so sure,” Stephanie replied, shaking her head. “The few ministers I know are pretty independent thinkers. It’s possible that he may see all of this as bordering on deceit. If he does, then you’re sunk.”

“We’ll convince him,” Woody said with confidence. “We have to; he’s our only chance for inside information.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“There’s one way to find out,” Woody said. “Let’s go see him.”

“In San Diego?”

“That’s where he lives,” Woody said. “I could ask an agent from the San Diego office to talk to him, but I think it would be better if we did it ourselves. We’re familiar with the problem; the San Diego office isn’t.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to San Diego,” Stephanie said.

“Then pack your bags. I’d like to get there as soon as possible.”

OCTOBER STROLLED QUIETLY INTO SAN DIEGO, AS IT did most years. The days became cooler and shorter, the nights cooler still and longer. David stood on the small walk that led to his front door, watering a lawn with too many brown spots and a ragged edge. Even before he had left for Africa, the lawn had been a challenge. He spent many hours mowing it, trimming it, feeding it ammonium sulfate, spraying it for bugs, and watering it, but like an unruly child the lawn insisted on growing unevenly and yielding its green beauty miserly. Still, it was his lawn, and David felt the need to maintain it the best he could, if for no other reason than his neighbors’ sake.

Unsuccessful as he was with growing a lawn that could grace the cover of
Home and Garden
magazine (or in this case
House and Scrub
magazine), he did enjoy the simple act of watering. Like most yards in his neighborhood, his was equipped with a sprinkler system, but David often watered by hand. There was something therapeutic about unwinding a hose, turning on the bibb, and watching water spray from the red plastic nozzle. One could not hurry through such a process but wait patiently as the spray fanned out and cascaded over the grass carpet.

There was something magical about that inconsequential and routine act. For David at least, and he suspected for others, too, much more than water flowed from the hose. Anxiety and tension often were drawn out of his body in a stream that joined with that of the water. His wife had never understood this and had often
accused him of wasting time at the end of the day. But David knew that he was far from wasting time, he was investing time, time that allowed him to visit with himself, an art lost in modern society.